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Obsession part 3 by Fantasy Weaver
1: Some slightly adult content ahead.
Monday was both a blessing and a curse it seems.
Sebastian felt blessed since he would walk by the barbershop on his way home, but cursed did not begin to describe what he was feeling as he stared at the projection screen in his science class.
They were currently studying the mentality behind sex. And their teacher had decided to show the class a documentary focusing on people with distorted views on sex, or as it happened to be, fetishes.
But it was just his luck that the documentary pertained to one fetish in particular. It referred to tricophilia.
The documentary was exaggerated to say the least. Or perhaps this person was just very comfortable with their fetish, but Sebastian could not see himself in the people that passed by the screen. He was enthralled by the brief sequences with barbers, though most of them were old, he liked watching them work as the narrator said something he didn’t catch.
He was glad he was able to contain his excitement and embarrassment. The only trouble he had was trying to concentrate on the video, as there would be homework assigned with it, while some of the more stupid students -jocks mostly- snickered about how "stupid it is to want sex with hair."
Sebastian balled his fists. Of course it showed they were not listening to the film, but they really had no idea what they were talking about.
Sebastian was just glad Nicolas and Scarlet said nothing ill of the documentary.
After classes ended, he took the same route he’d been taking for almost three weeks now. The shop was in view and, lucky him, a client was just getting caped up.
Sebastian slid into his place by the window and watched as the mid-length blond hair was attacked with a clipper. It had a guard on, but there was only light fuzz left when the barber was finished. Then the platinum-haired man took up another set of shears and tapered the sides.
Warmth flooded the raven’s senses as he watched as patches of skin were denuded and groomed by those skillful hands. His organ jumped in his pants when a lather was applied to the man’s neck and was then shaved down with a straight razor. Sebastian was sure that a blush was reddening his cheeks by now. Still, he stayed there until the barber lifted his gaze to the window.
The stare that was sent his way had Sebastian’s shaft hardening in his tight jeans. No sooner had those red abysses snapped up at him had he hurriedly left the premises.
Inside the shop, the barber watched the rapidly retreating youth. His client was totally oblivious to him, which he supposed was a good thing.
"There you are, sir" he said as he uncapped the man and shook the white fabric of hair.
When the man had paid and gotten out the door, the pale man turned to his friend and colleague, Kent.
"Kent," he started, an amused tone to his voice. The dark haired man looked up from sweeping the floor, a questioning look on his face. The younger man grinned, "I do believe we have a timid fan."
On the last day of March, the morning had been sunny and bright, albeit cool. No one could have foreseen the storm that raged in the afternoon.
The students seemed hesitant to file out of the high school, seeing the strong winds and the pouring rain. Sebastian wasn’t one of those students. He didn’t linger any longer or he knew he would just want to wait the storm out like everyone else.
His booted feet sloshed in puddles and his jeans and hair got heavy with rainwater. The winds made the rain seem even colder as he ran. The raven was soaked to the bone by the time the barbershop came into view, but he decided against sitting by the window for today.
However, inside the shop, a certain barber was actually waiting for the boy to show up. Without really knowing why, he noted the time every time the youth was at his shop window and knew, without a doubt, that he would run by any minute. And when the barber did see the familiar mop of black hair, he hurriedly reached for the umbrella he had put aside in case the boy had none.
Sebastian ran past the window at lightning speed and barely heard the sound of the bell chiming against the door as someone opened it.
"Hey! You’ll get sick in this weather without an umbrella!" the raven heard someone calling.
He turned around and faced…
Good lord. It was the barber. He was standing in the doorway holding said umbrella and looking worried.
He was worried about him.
But just then, Sebastian’s embarrassment and social anxiety flared to life and he was left feeling incompetent and stupid. He fled; he didn’t turn back when the barber called out to him again.
The white haired man sighed as he watched the teen’s retreating back.
He smiled despite himself. ‘Poor kid’ he thought. ‘You’re shy, aren’t you…?’
The next day was a weekend. And weekends meant time to think.
Sebastian thought it was the trimmer that had started it all. At least, that was the beginning of feeling something other than fascination when it came to the barbershop and its owner.
Having the trimmer in his hand making that purring sound and vibrating…That was when his thoughts had started being flooded with other thoughts. Sexual thoughts. No, perhaps not thoughts, but feelings.
Sebastian had gone through that phase in the beginning of puberty; the one where he started touching himself. He was maybe twelve or thirteen the time and felt uncomfortable talking about his "nightly accidents" with his father. His mother on the other hand had been a big help. She would see his red face and immediately would help him change his sheets and wash his bed. She never said anything. Being older Sebastian no longer needed the help nor did any more "accidents" happen.
But more and more he found his nether regions reacting to the barber’s skill. While watching videos he would sometimes, a lot of times, find his shaft standing to attention. The trimmer’s noise elicited erections, the sound of scissors cutting would give him tingles and watching someone get shaved made warmth pool in his abdomen.
In a way, the teen felt like he was re-experiencing his sexual awakening. This time however, it was much more potent, more poignant, more exciting, richer, darker. He seemed less over-eager. The excitement would grip him suddenly, at small details, instead of being activated by a girl’s developing breasts or things that twelve-year olds fantasize about.
This was full-fledged arousal accompanied by thoughts of a darker kind. To say he was infatuated was to put it mildly. He felt obsessed.
He decided to not hide it from himself any longer, to not deny it any more. He had tricophilia, and he was going to make the best of it.