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A Generous Benefactor by dukebaldfade

I was sat under the cape, eyeing this new barber. The usual guy wasn't there, but I needed a trim and I didn't want to wait. He looked about 40, a little overweight, and had a thick French accent. Would he roughly push my head down? Would he be overzealous in his pruning of my swooping pomp? His own thinning black hair was cut in a close buzz. Perhaps he would be just as severe with my cut.

"What are we doing with this?"

Before I could reply, the guy who had walked in just a step after me piped up in a cool, clear voice that could only be described as academic. "A short ivy for the boy, shave the sides really close."

The barber nodded before I could say anything and picked up his scissors and comb. I seemed to have lost the ability to speak as he combed the pomp down into my eyes. The floppy length was lifted by the comb about an inch and snipped off in quick, fast motions. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch. The curling mass fell into my lap, and just as quickly the barber combed up the hair behind and cropped it to the same brief length. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch. I felt my cock stirring in my jeans and felt deeply confused by the sensation as I watched my crowning glory being ruined before my eyes.

"Make him look like a smart young lad again," the barber remarked, evidently unaware of my age. The guy chuckled and continued watching in the mirror, meeting my eyes and giving a knowing smile at my ashen face. My pomp was gone! My entire style was in my lap, hacked down to an ordinary length.

Once the four inches of hair on top had all been roughly cut to the same length, the barber put the scissors down and took the clippers into his hand. He put on the smallest guard, turned them on with a clack, and drove them up through my sideburn, leaving a bit of stubble behind. In front of my ear a path appeared that looked basically bald most of the way up my head. The carefully swept-back sides melted away to the hungry clippers and fell into my lap, a memory of the magnificent masterpiece before. The barber continued around the back, shearing my thick hair to basically nothing. I could barely tell the rich mahogany colour I was so proud of from the stubble that was left.

Then the barber took the guard off the clipper. If I had thought the previous pass had been short, I was wrong. The barber shaved up from the hairline halfway up the side of my head, eliminating all traces of my sideburn and leaving just pale skin. I felt his rough hand guiding my head forcefully forward on the sensitive bald skin as he mowed off the stubble over my occipital bone and round the side. He spent some time going over the blend, and with the clipper vibration I thought my head would explode with ecstasy.

When he turned off the clippers finally, I was almost disappointed that my balding was over. He brushed the clippings from my head and I felt myself almost come from the feel of the brush against my bald scalp. In the mirror I noticed the top of my head still looked like the hair needed to be blended in and neatened up a little, but I loved the contrast between the bald sides and the long, plush top.

But my pleasure was soon to be ended - the clippers fired up again, this time with a longer guard on. The barber drew them back from just behind my new inch-long fringe, and I was astonished to see a chunk rolling off the clippers' teeth that seemed much longer than I had expected - about a half inch long. Although that was normally what came off when I had a trim, this was now half of my hair length that I was very keen to hang onto. The barber continued pulling back the clippers through my hair as I realised I would no longer be able to style my hair apart from perhaps the very front - if I was allowed to keep that, even.

As if in answer to my question, the barber finished mowing the top and returned with his scissors. He picked up the remains of my fringe between his fingers and hacked it down until it was just a little longer than the top. He went over it again in a second pass, angling it so that it would only fall one way, before taking the thinning shears to it so it would lie flatter.

"How's the length on top?" The barber asked the guy waiting. "A little bit shorter, yes?"

The guy nodded. "Yes, take him down another couple of notches."

I gulped as the guard on the clipper was replaced with a yet shorter one. "Number two," said the barber. My boner went into overdrive as he drove the clipper back again, reducing the half inch to a quarter. More of my hair fell into my lap, and the remainder of my rich colour. Now it was a dull brownish colour with none of the red natural highlights that had glistened in the sunlight. The scissors and comb came out when he was done, and a quick two spritzes of the front drenched the thin wispy remains of the fringe. He combed up the dripping fringe and snipped half of it off again.

As the barber went over the sides and back with the edging clippers, I noticed with a cold shudder that I could see scalp through the top of my hair, even the fringe. My glorious pomp was no more. I was uncaped before I knew it, and then the guy waiting took out his wallet and paid for my haircut. He discreetly brushed his hand against the bulge in my jeans and gave me a card with his number on it. I sat down heavily on the waiting bench, rubbing where the bald back of my head turned to stubble, and somehow knew what I'd be doing tonight as I watched the barber administer a smart trim to my generous benefactor's businessman's cut.

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