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Charles Toys with the Boss by Manny

At first I was quite excited about being the boss' favorite....or his "pet" as my colleagues teased me relentlessly. Mr. Manson invited me to sit in on meetings with important clients and high ranking executives. He also invited me out to lunch fairly often -- "his treat" -- all under the rubric of mentoring "an exceptional, young fellow who shows a lot of initiative and promise." I had heard his little descriptive phrase about me many times as he explained my presence in venues where I normally would not be expected.

Initially, the lunch dates were exciting, even fun. But after a few months, I began feeling uncomfortable. Mr. Manson started acting a little too familiar with me. He even began greeting me with a breezy, "Hi, Handsome!" as I'd join him in the restaurant. Then, Mr. Mason began suggesting we get together on the weekend to have some fun.

My boss was very particular about clothes and grooming. He shared several fashion tips with me under the guise of a "dress for success" chat and told me that I'd really rock the "skinny suit" with my physique. Another thing he encouraged was for me to grow my hair out from the very short ivy I sported.

"You have great hair, like mine," Mr. Manson purred as he casually flicked back the thick, gleaming forelock that dangled across his tall forehead and swooped back, aided by a lot of natural body. For a man his age, he had an extremely healthy head of hair that made him appear more youthful than the mid-forties his bio informed his age to be. "Best salons, best products....it all pays off," he pontificated. Over the weeks, this conversation about his hair came up several times. It was clear to me that Mr. Manson was very much in love with his coiffed locks and the "pretty" image he cultivated.

As I began to plot a way out of my status of boss' pet, I began thinking that putting an end to the unwanted relationship could very well be accomplished by launching a guerilla attack on Mr. Manson's pampered locks. Certainly Samson did not continue pursuing Delilah after she shaved off his magnificent mane! The more I thought of it, the more it cracked me up, imaging Mr. Manson slinking into the office with a bald head! That would certainly take the wind out of his sails and cool down the hots he undoubtedly had for me.

Coincidentally, the next time we were lunching together, Mr. Manson mentioned he'd had an appointment with his hair stylist after work. This was the green light I needed to set my plot in motion.

"Oh, Mr. Manson, why?" I asked. "Your hair looks fantastic as it is right now. In fact, I was just thinking that your forelock -- so long, dangling over your left eye like that -- is super sexy! The only change I'd consider is letting it grow out even a little long, especially in back. Why not let it grow down to the base of your collar? Your hair is so fantastic, so thick and gleaming!"

The praise delighted him immensely and he couldn't stop smiling. He ran his fingers through his silken locks. "Call me Jake, please. I've asked you that many times, at least when we're not in the office!" he chided. Then he continued, "Perhaps I will push the envelope a bit and let my hair grow a bit longer. Especially if that would please you, Charles?" I gave him the thumbs up, and he continued, "What I really love about my salon visits is the professional shampooing I get. My stylist has such strong vigorous hands. He massages my scalp thoroughly as he works the lather through my locks. I'm convinced that's what keeps my hair so healthy and full of volume."

"I'd love to learn how to give such a stimulating shampoo job like that...." I murmured.

Mr. Manson took out his cell phone and smiled as he dialed a number. "Jacob Manson here. I need to cancel an appointment I have for 6 pm. Something very important has just come up....."

"This evening, my hair will be in your hands, Charles," he said with a wink. "I will instruct you through the process of washing and blowing drying my hair."

"Why don't I have you over to my place? You'll be happy to know I have experience with the blower. I'll text you the address," I said as I got up from the table. Slipping behind him, I fondled his hair gently and allowed the silken locks to run through my fingers. It really was such nice hair.

"See you later, Handsome!" he called out with an enormous smile on his face.

On the way home, I stopped by the store and bought a set of electric hair clippers which came with a whole barber set, including a cape and metal clip to fasten it in place. Mr. Manson would be in for a big surprise!


Jake was all smiles as he stood at the door with a bottle of wine in his hands. "To commemorate our first date," he said as he stepped in.

"I can't wait to get my hands on your hair," I replied. "I've set up a little salon in my kitchen. Come on through."

Jake was quite surprised when he walked in to see the barber kit with the clippers plugged in, setting on the table and the cape draped over the back of the chair. "What's that for?" he asked with a tone of alarm.

"Well, after I left you at lunch I got to thinking about your hair a bit more." I reached up and grasped it in my hands and drew him close to me, in a teasing way. "Instead of growing it out, perhaps a very, very short cut like mine would be better. Then I started thinking I'd like to play barber instead of salon boy. I could so easily clip this all off right down to the wood. Give you a very edgy look with just a five o'clock shadow. You'd look so manly... A very, very, very tight butch cut."

Instinctively Jake recoiled in horror, "Charles, you have to be out of your mind! I don't....uh, I wouldn't....." he stammered nervously.

I let out a laugh, "Jake, you little nervous Nelly! Fooled you! You are here for a vigorous shampoo job! The chair by the sink is for you. This little barbershop area with this clippers is for me. I thought you could trim my hair afterwards and save me a few bucks. I'm getting a little shaggy."

"But I don't have any experience as a barber," he argued.

"And I don't have any as a salon boy. But I'm willing to give it a try and learn. You're always praising my initiative. And what's that you call me frequently -- a risk manager? Now come take a seat here by the sink," I insisted. "That is, after I undress you...." I said, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief and relaxed. Jake was like putty in my hands. I worked very slowly. "You should have seen the look on your face when I said I was going to shave you down to the wood. All your beautiful hair at my feet. A real nightmare for you, I imagine -- your butched head sticking out like a naked light bulb."

Jake laughed nervously. "Of course you freaked me out. Imagine me having to walk into work tomorrow with no hair. I would feel so vulnerable and nervous."

"That would build character, I'm sure. Then I'd refer to you as a risk manager. I'd really admire a boss who would make that sacrifice for his office pet. And you'd let it slip out casually that I'd been recruited as your private barber."

I was taking Jake on a roller coaster ride. Dangling myself in front of him, asking him to forego his pampered hair for me. He was paralyzed with uncertainty.

I took both of my hands and began fondling his thick, long hair. "Such beautiful hair. Virgin, untouched by the clippers. Up until the moment you surrender it to me....dare yourself to let me be your barber. But I must warn you -- I will be a very aggressive barber. I will be merciless. No matter how many tears stream down your tender cheeks, I will not stop shaving until you bald. Your beautiful hair at my feet," I whispered with my lips near his. "You're warming to this makeover....I can feel it."

As Jake came towards me, I slipped from his advance, leaving him to stumble towards the makeshift barber chair. I came behind him and guided him towards taking a seat. "You will look so handsome under the barber's cape," I said, as I forced him into the chair.

I shook open the cape and he stammered silently protesting the move. I fastened it tightly. "Look at you! Ready for the barber!"

"I'm afraid!" he blurted out.

I picked up the machine and snapped it on. "Of course you are. You have a lot to lose." I grabbed the forelock and handled it brusquely. I yanked it straight up from his face to provide ample access to the clippers.

Something happened as I brought the clippers to the roots of the magnificent forelock. A pang of remorse charged through me. Poor Jake looked so miserable. But what astonished me was that he was submissive to my authority.

I paused and waited for him to break away from the cape and clippers. But he sat still.

"I can't do this to you!" I suddenly declared, snapping off the machine. "Your mane is your pride, your badge of distinction that sets you apart from all those other boring, look-alike executives. Let's give you the vigorous shampooing you came here instead."

His eyes had a look of gratitude as I removed the barber cape from him. He was cooperative as I guided him toward the sink. We waited silently for the water to warm up, and then I leaned him over the sink and began the delightful task of massaging a copious amount of shampoo through his dense mane. I groaned with delight as I pressed my body against him and lathered up the long locks. I continued working and working my hands through his hair.

"You're a natural, a true pro, Charles," he murmured from his prostrate position.

Jake savored every moment of the rinse and towel dry.

"Shall I sit in the barber chair for you to comb it out and dry it?" he asked. "I'd like to be under your barber's cape again."

My heart beat rapidly as I followed his instructions. My fingers trembled with excitement as I struggled to secure the cape into place! "You look incredibly handsome under the barber's cape."

His eyes sparkled. "And I want you to be my barber. All of this is yours to do as you please," he said as he pushed a wet lock from his eye.

I took my time, combing through the dense, damp mane. All the while, my eyes kept darting over to the clippers that were within reach. The smell of fresh shampoo was almost intoxicating. I turned the blow dryer on and the session was a true delight. I had missed my calling. Jake's hair shined and shimmered in the kitchen light. The dark locks gradually lightened in color as they dried. He was remarkably handsome for a man his age. With his longish hair, he almost looked like a magazine male model. I half expected him to amble off a polo pitch and endorse my favorite cologne. My heart began to beat more quickly....

I cleared my throat nervously. "I really want to thank you for the interest you've taken in me in the office. I can't believe that someone so high in the organization has such an interest in a newbie like me. And, just now, I'm finding you exceptionally handsome...." I blushed realizing I had verbalized my growing feeling towards Jake.

"I hope I haven't taken advantage of you. Those lunches.... At times, I felt like you were coming along because you felt you couldn't say 'no' to me, Charles." He looked up at me, with a sad, somber gaze. "I was taking advantage of my position over you, and that wasn't right."

"I did feel like that, at time, Mr. Manson," I confessed. "In fact, I asked you to come here tonight because I wanted to do something that would turn you totally against me....to make you lose all interest in me....to have your fury rage at me....." I stammered.

Jake's eyes turned toward the clippers. "Those were bought for me, weren't they?"

"Yes, Mr. Manson," I admitted.

"I've told you to call me Jake," he said firmly, yet tenderly.

"Yes, Jake. I wanted to play the sadistic barber who would shave off all your beautiful hair without your consent. I wanted to stand in the midst of a vast carpet of lovely, cut locks and laugh at the site of your freshly shorn head. I wanted you to slink into work tomorrow feeling vulnerable and nervous....." I confessed.

He sat in silence. Finally, he spoke. "All that you just said, what you planned to do to me -- it's exactly what I want I deserve. In fact, strangely, it's what I want. I'm ready, Charles." He instinctively flicked his head and sent this locks rippling in an appealing manner.

"How will you feel when you hear the whispers and giggles as you walk through the office without this?" I asked, fondling his hair tenderly. "When people started calling you Baldy behind your back?"

"I'll feel small and insignificant. I fell like I desperately need a loving, supportive partner after hours to comfort me...." he said as he bowed his head.

The mass of shimmering, gleaming locks dangled forward covering his face. I snapped on the clippers. He sat still and submissive. I peeled off the guards. He was going down to the wood. I placed the screaming teeth at the base of his neck. I felt his body tense up. Then, slowly, firmly, mercilessly the clippers began climbing up through his magnificent mane. In torrents, his hair fell to my feet. I looked down and watched the pile grow as the locks rained down. The bald strip was hideously short revealing a patch of white skin. I felt sad about his sacrifice....and, amazingly, I felt head over heels in love with Jacob Manson. The clippers continued up, through the dense mane atop his head, pushing off mounds of his treasured hair. The forelock succumbed in the final instants of my first drive from nape to forehead.

And then through the rent veil, I saw his eyes, glancing up hopefully to meet mine. In rapid succession, our lips met for the first time..... "You will look so pathetic with no hair. I couldn't love you more for your sacrifice," I gasped as we struggled for breath.

Tears streamed from his eyes, "As long as we're together, I want to look pathetic -- clipped down bald to the wood -- to remember this moment."

"I won't disappoint you. I can be a very aggressive, merciless barber!" I exclaimed as I yanked him by his hair abruptly and plunged the clippers again into his disappearing trademark tresses.

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