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How it all began... by P.J.

How it all began...
I know there a lot of you out there that get off on getting buzz cuts and extremely short cuts. I may have a slightly different twist to the fetish, you tell me if I'm not alone.
I love getting my rocks off watching someone go from long to short, whether it's forced or not doesn't really matter, but forced or surprised is definitely hotter. If they go short, I quickly lose interest after the cut is done. I don't get into shot hair AT ALL. Buzz cuts, high and tights, shaved heads leave me limp.( I have a great respect for our military and law enforcement guys, just hate the haircut.)
I also, however, get physically ill just thinking of buzzing my head or getting an extremely short cut. I've been forced many times in my youth so have many stories to share that are true.

A bit of background...I'm P.J. I was born in '60 so my formative years were during the rebellious '60s for guys hair. I was raised in Uptate New York in one of the big 3 cities. I came from a fairly conservative family, and always attended Catholic schools until college. My earliest recollection of getting haircut is around kindergarten age(5ish). These schools required uniforms and a certain respectability to your appearance. I remember my Dad and I being sent to the barbershop to get my haircut for a school picture. The first of many dreaded school picture haircuts in my life.
My Dad wasn't really strict, my mom was the disciplinarian of the house. Dad was instructed to get me a "Princeton" haircut. Basically a short back and sides, or a buzz cut with a bumper, buzzed but not shaved, and a little tuft on top in the front to comb into a short quif or pomp. I didn't have really long hair at that point nor was I particularly aware of the other boys around me and how they looked. (It didn't take long for that to change.) I only remember the relentless clipper work, the wrenching of my head up, down and side to side as the curls were buzzed off. The sound, feel and somehow the smell of the experience totally skived me out. I couldn't wait to get out of there. My Dad got his usual shortish back and sides and quite long on top cut.
Needless to say I looked "sharp" for my debut in front of the camera. The first documentation of me with what I consider VERY short hair. I still look back at those pics and want to puke. I look like Charlie Brown from the comics.
My grammar school years were pretty routine, getting an almost buzz cut every fall just before school pics and pretty much shaved down every summer the week after school got out. The barber varied from my Dad's to an older aunt who was a hairdresser by trade.(hard to say no to family). No amount of pleading or discussion about how long to leave it, or could we wait another month. When Mom determined you needed it cut, off it came. Too much balking led to a spanking or worse yet, the "Paddle".

I noticed as I got older, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th grade (still in grammar school for me) that my friends were being allowed to let their hair grow out. Keep in mind were talking late 60's early 70's at this point. Mine hadn't been even trimmed since the Christmas break so it was definitely getting long, fringe below my eyes , sides over my ears mostly, and back just nicely getting over my collar. Before puberty, I had dirty blonde mostly straight hair, side parted. It had a slight wave to it when it got longer. It also bleached out in the summer as I spent as much time outdoors and away from my MOM as I could. My school buds had longish hair, significantly longer than mine for the most part. Usually trimmed by their Moms or Dads during the year. (I was so jealous.) Waiting till the week after schools out for the dreaded summer CHOP at the barber shop.

I think I was in 5th grade when my MOM decided the long hair had to go for summer and dragged me to the local strip mall barber for the CHOP! I vividly remember encountering a buddy coming out of the shop with his MOM, screaming and crying, his beautiful long straight mop that was down below his chin in front and trimmed all one length around to below his collar in the back had been completely buzzed down to 1/4 inch all over. His expression was paralyzing to say the least. He saw me and promptly screamed RUN! they're butchers in there, look at me! I'll have wear a cap all summer! For my mom, this of course required that we stop and have a brief chat with Marks Mom. How busy were they, how nice Mark looked etc. Part of me was already getting butterflies and weak knees thinking about what was coming, and curiously part of me wished I'd already been in the shop to watch Mark get divested of his long thick mouse brown hair. I was slightly turned on by this, a new sensation for me.
We moved on, ever closer to the "butchers" as Mark had called them. We entered the shop, took a seat, it was moderately busy at the time, lots of kids getting shaved for the summer. Looking back, I wish I'd had a camera! I was soon called to a chair by one of the white coated "butchers", nothing like what I remembered from the trips with my Dad. I was taped, caped and ready to be shorn, trembling and nearly ready to barf right in my own cape covered lap at this point. I was so consumed by what was about to happen to me that the rest of the guys getting clipped around me faded to black. As the "butcher" was combing through my beautiful blonde locks came the dreaded question, "what'll it be?". I knew that pleading at this point was futile and would only bring punishment when we got home later. Before I could utter a syllable I heard my Mom pipe up and say cut it short for the summer , leave a bit in the front to comb up. To which the barber replied "yes mam, coming up".
I thought I might pass out as the clippers roared to life. The barber didn't even have the decency to turn me away from the big wall to wall mirror. I was going to have a front row seat to my own humiliation!
The left side came off first, my ear suddenly feeling cool being the first indication of the shearing I was getting. Once the barber was back behind my ear he didn't have the decency to stop at the part line, he went all the way up and over the crown. I knew then I was being balderized as I perceived it. I shut my eyes and involuntarily shuddered. I didn't open them again until he and sheared the just developing collar curls and the rest of the back and right side of my head. The cape was covered in by dark blonde hair, I could see where it was just starting the bleach out to my summer white/light blonde that I thought looked cool. I wasn't sure whether to puke or pass out. i closed my eyes again as he started to pass the clippers back and forth over the top of my head starting at the crown and moving forward, shaving off all the nice long top locks, some of which were probably 4'-5" long by this time. I could feel it all landing in my lap. He stopped just short of my front hair line at my forehead. Next out came the scissors, he combed down my long fringe covering my eyes at this point , and I felt snip, snip, snip, just below my hair line. Oh GOD!
The long bangs slid down my now tear stained face and landed at the top of the pile in my lap. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, I knew I would look to Hideous for words, I'd have to spend the rest of the summer in my room. The barber put some sort of goop in what was left of my bangs , flipped them up with the comb and called to done.

While we were paying , I got a quick look around at the other chairs just in time to see a guy about my age get a huge handful of thick brown locks sheared off the side of his head, landing in his lap too. Amidst all churning emotions I was having about what had just happened to me, I almost didn't want to leave. This kid had gorgeous chestnut brown hair, thick, blunt cut all one length , well below his now appearing ear lobe, it was all combed down all the way around his head in preparation for getting sheared off, Bangs down to his chin. As I watched I felt the stirring again down below, a feel good sensation amidst all the bad emotions, perplexing to say the least. Like passing a car wreck, I couldn't take my eyes off him as the barber slowly divested him of all that thick beautiful hair. My Mom had paid and we were moving on out, or it would have become obvious I was staring at him, I didn't want him to catch me watching, I knew all too well how he must have been feeling then.
We left the "Butcher" shop and went on our way, my MOM commenting on how nice I looked and how handsome I was now, and didn't I feel better? (I never wanted to see this place again, turns out I didn't ever go back to that particular shop.) Did I want to stop and get something to eat on the way home? I could only muster, between sniffles, that no, I felt like I was going to be sick and wanted to go straight home. (Secretly I wanted to strangle her for subjecting me to this horrible fate) That's when it all began....
The summer before 6th grade brought about a couple of life changing events. We got new neighbors, they have 3 boys that attend my school. the youngest is my age, they all have great long hair, well trimmed, by their MOM....
I have many more of these first-hand accounts to tell if you'd like. Let me know if you want more in the comments.

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