Carl's Proud Mop part 1 by Vince

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Carl's Proud Mop

I was rooming with a couple of other people a few years ago. There was one girl and a guy -
although some thought they were both girls.
The guy was Carl and he had the longest hair I'd ever seen on a boy. Of course, at 20 years
old he'd had time to pamper his precious hair for years. And pamper it, he did! The dude was
completely enamored with his own extra long locks of hair. It was his pride and joy.
He couldn't keep his f***ing hands off his long hair - now how no way.
If he wasn't brushing it gently with his camel hair brush - imported, don't you know - and very
expensive, don't you know, he was running his long lean fingers through the soft strands, or he was
on a search for a reflective surface to look at it and "gotta sort my long hair" - or he was talking
(aka bragging) about his long blond locks of long hair.
The HAIR was everything.
He was a smart guy and as stupid as they come at the same time. He did really well at college and
he was known for his quick wit at times, but he was also very very stupid because he was so vain
about himself. He could not see other people's point of view sometimes - or maybe he just didn't
care, more like it.
When he was pampering his long hair, his IQ seemed to drop as his tight skinny jeans seemed to rise.
Maybe all the blood heading for his crotch took away his intelligence from his brain! He was very
very enthusiastic over his long hair and since we shared a bedroom, I knew just how much each night
as he took care of business on top of his pillow after taking care of his hair for an hour or more
in the mirror.

At first, it didn't bother me that he was so entrapped in his own beauty and his own long hair.
After all, it was the most stunning shade of blond and it cascaded down over his shoulders like
ribbons in a waterfall, the hair then sailed down past his skinny shoulder blades and down almost
to the lip of his jeans - well, if he had his jeans all the way on which he rarely did. The last
few inches of the blond mass was a lot thinner and curled a bit. They should have been trimmed
really, but Carl didn't ever like scissors coming near his precious long hair.
I teased him once that those thin bits of hair were soon going to get stuck in his crack with his
jeans on a constant sag, but he just laughed it off.

I guess with the constant attention to his long hair and the constant talking about it - bragging and
belittling others with their less than beautiful hair, there was a cumulative effect. I didn't notice
it coming on, but I think that is what happened.

It was November. It was a little early to be getting ready for Christmas, perhaps - but all of us would
be going home for the Christmas holiday, and I would not be coming back because I'd rented in another
city for a new job.
The three of us were sitting around the kitchen table wrapping presents. We'd had a few drinks- true
enough, but we weren't drunk or anything.
The long rolls of wrapping paper were out and we were joking around as we went through the yearly
ritual of slicing swaths of colorful wrapping paper and slapping tape on the various gifts.

Carl, as usual, was being an asshole. He spend more time fondling his long blond waves of golden
hair than he did anything else - oh, except for criticizing our wrapping abilities!
I went to get a glass of water and on my way back to the table I was behind Carl. I saw the pride
and joy flowing down his back completely obliterating the black shirt he was wearing, strands of it
slung forward over his shoulders and down his arms. The length reaching well below the chair getting
tangled as usual around everything like a living creature.
He swung the hair for the umpteenth time and his fingers flew through the soft long strands as they
cascaded out and back over the chair - a hair fountain that returned to its banks somewhat.
Then I saw it.
I imagined me with those huge scissors we were using on the wrapping paper - taking a hold of that
long blond hair and shearing the boy to his scalp - giving him the haircut he deserved. I'd never
thought of it like that before, but now the thoughts cascaded into my mind just as much as his long
blond hair did over his slender back, arms, and the chair to his tiny little ass.
I smiled as I came around and sat down.

Carl looked at me and smirked.
"When are you going to grow your hair and stop looking like a f***ing old man?" He teased.

I kept smiling but felt like slapping the smirk off his face.
"You know I can't do that, Carl."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You're going prematurely bald, aren't you," his sneer was enough to turn
anyone into an impromptu barber. "BALDY" He giggled like the little boy he really was.

My face turned beet red. It was a very sensitive issue with me. I had tried to come to terms
with it, but this long haired brat was getting on my nerves and making me all sensitive about it as
I had been when I first learned that I was losing my hair so young. I wasn't much older than the
long hair across the table that smirked at me under the shafts of blondness that fell constantly
over his face.
He swung his hair and blew some silky strands away from his mouth. A few strands fell in through
his supple lips and he had to extract them with his fingers.
He swung the hair back over the chair - yet again.
It surprised me that the kid didn't need to see a chiropractor for the constant hair flicking and
hair swinging that he did all day.

Susan looked at both of us. Maybe she saw something, maybe not, but she said, "Boys, boys, just
behave. You both look adorable and this is a happy time of year. Giving gifts is so much fun."

I pretended to have a good time, but it wasn't as much fun after Carl's rudeness. All I could think
of now was getting a pair of scissors or clippers or both into that mop of his and shearing his long
hair down to tiny stiff stubble that stood to attention like a good army boy.
Or maybe I could go further.
The thought got me excited.

And here is the part that really got me going. I had met Carl's dad and he was no longhair for
sure!
He hated the boy's hair - and even though Carl had turned twenty, he still relied on his parent's money
to support him and all his youthful habits.
When Carl had reached the limit of dad's patience while we were there, he reminded Carl that his long
hair was not invincible after all.
Apparently, the rule was that if he ever got a haircut, the hair had to stay short. There would be no going
back. Having lived with his mother for years had allowed him to grow the long locks but now that he was
back "at home" the long hair was only tolerated because he'd had it for such a long time.
The haircut the father immediately wanted to give the boy was put off by making this deal.

Of course, Carl was too stupid to understand that they were controlling him by his long hair. Whenever he
got too mouthy or too carried away with his youthful antics, they would bring up the hair and the possibility
of his losing it for good.

What did Carl take from this?

"My long hair is too long to fail!" He joked and laughed like the f***wit he really was.

I was cutting a long strip of wrapping paper, reaching a long way across the table. Carl suddenly leans forward,
letting the massive long blond hair slide over the table and the paper I was cutting.
It wasn't the first time.
Usually I would stop and say, "Carl, watch your long hair, dude. You don't want to lose it, do you?"

"F*** that!" he'd swing the hair away. "Be f***ing careful, dude. I ain't getting no f***ing haircut from you,
baldboy."

I felt the excitement grow every time he did this after my new imaginings from my drink of water.
This time, I did not warn him. I just kept slicing the paper and a few strands of the "most awesomest long hair
in the world" (his words" were sniped along with the paper - falling unceremoniously from the kid's head to the table.

"Ahhhhhh!!!" The screech would have made any girl proud. Carl was up and running for the nearest mirror, screaming
like a banshee. "MY HAIR! MY LONG HAIR"
He looked hilarious in his tiny skinny jeans waddle running to the mirror. "You better not have ruined my long hair,
you asshole!"

I tried to look all apologetic and came up behind him. "It's okay, Carl. Your long hair is fine."

He is turning back and forth trying to see the cut - trying to assess the damage.

"Look at it. You f***ed me up!"

To be honest, you would be hard pressed to even see where the hair was missing. He had SO much long hair.
But apparently, he could see it and he was pissed off.

Susan walked up to us carrying the severed long blond locks from the table. They looked fragile and dead in her
hand. The once proud long hair was now detached and lifeless in her hands. The beauty of the blondness and the
astounding length of hair for a boy was still there, but they were alone and now only good for the trash bin.

"Can you reattach these?" she asked.

I looked at the substantial swath of blond hair in her hand and almost laughed, but I contained myself and
pretended that I was very upset about what I had done.

"I'm not sure. Let me try." I took the hair from her and was surprised at how much there really was.
I had, in fact, given this mouthy little brat a HAIRCUT! The dude would never admit is of course once he settled down
because he had so much hair to work with, but someone had made him have a haircut after all. Just like a wolf that
tastes human blood, I could not resist to go back to the well for more. The long soft hair in my hands felt so
luscious that I imagined all the waterfall of long hair from this boy in my hands.

Carl was hopeful. "Really. Can we put them back on? I don't want to lose any of my long hair."

This was a bit rich after all our minor arguments about him leaving strands of his long blond hair all over the
house and especially in the shower drain.
His side of the couch sometimes started to look like it had a hair blanket on it because he'd brush out his hair there
and each day a few strands would fall out. He was too lazy to clean up after himself and we stopped doing it for a
while to see if he would mend his ways.
I even teased him about losing his long hair, but he said (rightly) that everyone loses a few hairs each day. He'd
looked it up on the internet he said proudly.
"My hair is so long it just looks like a lot - but it ain't."

"Let me try," I said again.

At first Carl looked like a pitiful little boy about to pee his pants because he lost his long hair. But, of course,
it wasn't long before he turned on his sneer and punk attitude and turned on me.
"You better f***ing be able to fix my long hair, asshole. Nobody f***s with my hair and gets away with it."

"Okay, okay," I try to calm him down. I can now see the chunk where the scissors crunched. I hold it out for him
to see more clearly and his face pales in the mirror. I think he might start crying any minute.

"What the f***! You better be able to fix my long hair, dude. I'm f***ing gonna kill you if you don't. My f***ing
hair is my baby. Nobody but nobody touches my f***ing long hair! I can't believe this. Nobody touches my hair!"

"Take it easy, Carl. I can fix your hair. I promise." And I meant it - sincerely - very very sincerely. I just
didn't totally define "fix" for him. He would probably be too stupid to get it anyway, lol.

"Oh man," Susan said. "I've gotta go to work. I'm going to leave you boys to sort out this mess." She tapped Carl
on the chest and said, "Be nice."

"Whatever," he mumbled.

She left. We were alone.....together.........just the two of us......and the HAIR.... oh - and the scissors.

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