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Bob's Bun by Manny
Bob was grateful that he worked in a tolerant office environment. He had several peculiarities that his colleagues and his boss seemed content to overlook. The most visible of them was the massive bun he wore, pinned neatly to his nape.
Massive was no overstatement! Bob's thick, glistening brown hair fell all the way to his calves when it wasn't pinned securely into a massive bun. Heavy locks, worthy of a woman's shampoo commercial -- that's what graced his head. Bob was extremely possessive of his long hair, which was a sort of security blanket for him.
But he knew that to be accepted in an office, the hair could not be flaunted the way it was in the evenings and on weekends. He had to keep it coiled tightly and pinned to his nape. Bob loved the many comments he received -- even (or maybe especially) the negative ones! 'I thought you were a woman from behind.' 'Isn't all that hair a lot of bother?' 'Saving money by not visiting the barber?' What he spent on conditioner more than made up for a $13 clip job at the barber shop!
Bob had his massive mane trimmed professionally once a year at a salon. It was always the occasion for the stylist to get all her colleagues together to gawk at the man with the 'longest hair I've ever seen!' They all cooed and clucked and noted what brilliant sheen it had. What Bob loved most about his annual salon visit was the professional wash and blow dry -- someone else to do the arduous task and the result was glorious!
But, in his 9-5 workaday world, the hair was pinned up into a massive bun, the size of a large wasps' nest, right above the coat and tie he had to wear every day. He was able to pull off a minimally professional look.
And so it went routinely....until....a new colleague of Bob's took a special interest in his bun.
Malcolm had been transferred from an office on the east coast. He was handsome and charismatic. Everyone took naturally to Malcolm and he fit right in. He looked like everyone else with his dark business suit and business cut parted on the side. He was almost instantly the boss's pet. Malcolm, this. Malcolm that! Everyone was talking about the new guy, Malcolm.
A few days after he started working, a Thursday it was, Malcolm approached Bob. "How about I take you out for a beer after work? You seem to be a key person here; someone I need to know better. What do you say?"
Bob felt flattered! He had never been the object of interest before -- at most someone who was tolerated, even marginal, among his peers.
"Sure, Malcolm," he replied, trying to hide his excitement. "But let me invite you -- you're the new kid on the block."
Bob felt so comfortable with Malcolm at the bar he'd chosen. It was like they were old buddies. He'd never had an office mate that he clicked with so well.
After they'd been there for about an hour, Malcolm's attention turned to Bob's bun. Walking back from the bathroom Malcolm paused just behind Bob and touched the mass of hair tenderly. "Tell me about his, Bob. I'm intrigued by your bun. Not the typical man bun, I might add."
"No, for sure," Bob laughed. "I've had it forever. Long before the term man-bun was ever invented. I've been a longhair ever since my parents let me control my hair length. Almost 30 years now!"
"How long is it?" Malcolm asked curiously.
"Down to my calves!" Bob exclaimed.
"You're kidding me!" replied Malcolm. "No way!"
"Want to see?" asked Bob, reaching in back and quickly removing the bobby pins that held the massive bun securely in place.
In an instant the unbound hair unfurled in all its glory plunging to an incredible length.
Malcolm stood to get a better view of the incomparable mane of hair that hung almost to the rungs of the bar stool.
"That's awesome! Incredible! I've never seen anything like it," stammered Malcolm.
Bob basked in the attention and tossed his head a bit so that the long hair rippled and shimmered in the warm lighting of the bar.
Malcolm reached toward it. "Can I?" he inquired with a hopeful tone.
Bob blushed. "Of course! I like it when someone wants to fondle my hair."
Malcolm gathered the long mane into his hands discreetly and whispered into Bob's ear. "You are a real Samson, you know?"
The name sent a shiver down Bob's back. He knew what happened to Samson in the Bible story from Sunday school.
"I just hope you're no Delilah!" Bob chuckled nervously.
"Why don't you wear your hair loose like this, to work?" asked Malcolm returning to his bar stool. "There is absolutely no reason to hide that beautiful hair in a bun all day!"
"I've been tempted to," admitted Bob. "Just a bit nervous. I mean, I like attention, but probably not at the office. It might turn the others off. Do you think that sounds strange?"
"Yes! And we're going to do something about it. Tomorrow! Your hair is beautiful. You should show it! And I'm going to help you make your office debut with flowing locks totally awesome. Come on over to my place. I'll give your awesome mane a thorough washing and then brush it while I work it with a blow dryer. What do you say? Your hair will totally shine in the office tomorrow!"
Bob's heart beat quickly. He loved the result of a session with the blow dryer. "It'll take several hours!" Bob warned. "There's a ton of hair here."
"I'll keep at it all night, if necessary," Malcolm promised.
They hurriedly paid their bill and Malcolm drove the two over to his place.
On the way he noted casually, "We can do it in the kitchen. Put all the hair in the sink and give it a good lathering and rinse with the sprayer. Then a trim. And finally a long session with the hair dryer."
The word 'trim' was like a flashing red light in Bob's mind. No trim!! No scissors near his hair by anyone but a trained professional that he was paying.
Instantly, Bob got ice cold feet. His thoughts went to the one time his mane had been brutally attacked and nearly decimated. A relationship that had abruptly ended when his partner lulled him into agreeing to a 'bit of a trim'. They had been together for months....he had total trust. There had been no hint.... And as he sat expecting the trim to begin a few inches off the bathroom floor where his long locks dangled, be felt a cold blade thrust across his neck, right below the nape. He was too blown away to process what was happening to him. Even the first hideous crunching sound of the shears chopping through dense, wet hair did not jolt him into reality. Bob forced himself to look at the floor just in time to see a massive shank of wet hair -- almost four feet long -- falling to the tiles. Then his shriek of agony emerged from his lips, followed by the bolt from the bathroom and his partner's house without a shirt or shoes. The hideous cackle his partner let out as he fled still haunted him. Fortunately, he escaped with only one hefty chunk missing. He still had massive amounts of hair to fashion into a marginally smaller bun. No sign of the attack was noticeable once the bun was in place. Fortunately, after many years, the missing chunk regained it's original length.
Bob spit out his boundary to Malcolm quite clearly, "Wash and dry, yes. Trim, no! No way! I only get one a year, and I get it from a professional. Do you understand?"
"Hey, calm down. Sorry. I obviously hit a raw nerve, pal. Okay, no trim." Malcolm's words were soothing, like an ointment taking away the sting and hurt.
Bob felt embarrassed about his outburst. "Sorry I reacted that way. Had a bad experience once that I don't care to repeat."
"Got it," laughed Malcolm, who leaned over and caressed the lengthy tresses. "I'd be protective too if I had such beautiful hair, buddy!"
For the rest of the evening, Malcolm went out of his way to be kind and solicitous. Bob felt increasingly bad about his outburst and apologized several more times.
"Look, let's put that behind us. It was an innocent offer and I regret it. That's it, okay. Come to the kitchen now and let's get started on the wash. I can't wait to see this huge mass of hair filling up my kitchen sink!" Malcolm grinned a toothy, endearing smile.
He brought a chair over and Bob slouched down so that his hair went into the stainless steel basin. It was immediately apparent that Malcolm had very strong hands and fingers; he plied the shampoo in and massaged the scalp vigorously. Bob was almost in a dream world of relaxation. He loved someone taking over the chore of washing his long hair.
"I never dreamed I would have so much hair in my kitchen sink!" Malcolm exclaimed.
"And I never dreamed I would have such a strong, handsome fellow washing my hair," Bob replied. He wished Malcolm would lean over and give him a peck on the lips, but he didn't. He stayed concentrated on the huge task of washing the hair that fell down to Bob's calves!
Bob coached Malcolm about the best way to avoid tangles and get the long, clean hair brushed out. Sitting up straight in the chair, after the wash concluded, the hair actually dragged on the floor a bit.
"I hate to think it's getting dirty down there," commented Malcolm.
Bob's heart skipped a beat, thinking about what he was about to say. His stomach churned with excitement as he made the offer, "Why not trim it for me? Just off the floor. Take off about two inches."
Malcolm smiled broadly. Then he took Bob's face in his hands and planted a huge kiss right on his lips. "You're an angel!"
Bob felt happy that he offered the trim to Malcolm. "You did such a good job on the washing and combing. And, I want to prove there are no hard feelings for your kind offer earlier."
"I do have a barber's kit," Malcolm said. "A nice cape, shears....big set of Osters...." Before Bob had a chance to get nervous, Malcolm added, "But I'm not going to give you even a trim. I want to stay away from that very raw nerve and bad experience of yours. I'll just go get the blow dryer."
Bob felt very nervous about the fact that Malcolm had a barber's kit at home. That wasn't normal! He half expected him to return with the clippers in hand. A feeling of anxiety gnawed at him, with just a bit of excitement mixed in. Surrendering his locks willing to Malcolm might just.....
Malcolm walked back into the kitchen with something hidden behind his back. The clippers! That's what Bob guessed his host hid behind him.
Then, Malcolm put that gnawing doubt to rest. "Tch-nan!" He revealed the blow dryer and brush! "Get ready for beautiful silken hair. Oh, and switch to that desk chair over there -- it's higher and your hair won't drag on the floor."
The long, arduous drying process began. Bob was lulled into a sense of relaxation as the warm wafts began turning the damp mass into shimmering, healthy, glossy tresses. "Your hair looks, smells and feels fantastic. Come, let me show you in the bathroom," Malcolm said when he finally finished an hour later.
He led Bob through the bedroom into the master bath. Bob smiled broadly when he saw how nice his hair looked. "Perfect! You did such an excellent job." Then, Bob spotted the barber's kit on a shelf off to the side of the mirror. The clippers were laying on top of a white jacket.
"That's your barber kit you told me about," Bob said, rather absent-minded.
"Yes, I enjoy cutting men's hair. That's why I offered to give you a trim," Malcolm said.
There was an awkward silence as the two stared at the barber kit on the shelf.
"Show me what you look like with your barber's outfit on," Bob said as he fingered his hair nervously.
Malcolm complied eagerly. He slipped into the barber smock which buttoned up on one shoulder. On the chest pocket the name "Dale" was embroidered.
"Oh, you look so authentic!" Bob said. "Like a traditional barber from the 1950s. But who's Dale?"
"My father. He was a barber," said Malcolm. "When he passed, I kept his things. Including his barber chair. Let me show you...it's in my den."
Bob was led into the den and in the middle was a huge wrought iron chair with fantastic red leather uphostery. Beautiful and menacing all at once. "Take a seat. See how comfortable it is," encouraged Malcolm.
Bob complied silently, even eagerly. He had never sat in a barber's chair before. He gripped the arms tightly as he sat. It felt very strange....and almost wonderful.
In a flash, Malcolm pulled the beautiful long hair out and let it flow down the back of the chair. "See how easy it would be for me to give you a trim here? I can pump up the chair." He did so, without an additional word. Suddenly Bob felt himself going up into the air. Perched high, an easy escape was not possible.
"I said you could give me a trim," Bob replied calmly. Then he took a breath and forced out an additional though, "Why don't you take off two inches like I asked?"
"Sure, I'd love that. I'd like to cape you up though, and give you a real barber shop experience. Could I do that?" he asked tenderly.
"Sure, I'd like that," said Bob.
In a flash, Malcolm retrieved a cape from a small stand and cast it in the air. It was huge and billowed like a sail. In a few seconds, Bob was completely swaddled in cloth. The cape was vast and totally covered him and almost all the chair. "There!" announced Malcolm as he fastened the cape with a bit metal clip. Then he brushed the long hair again. Over and over he plied the brush.
Bob felt a lot of tension. Both of them were emitting a contained sense of excitement. Bob even felt his cock stir. Finally, he asked, "Malcolm, what are you thinking right now? If I said you could do anything you wanted to my hair right now, what would you do to it?"
There was a long silence.
"Oh, Bob, you're playing with me. You're teasing me! Why?" spouted out Malcolm.
"You look so sexy in your barber's outfit," said Bob, egging him on. "Go ahead -- tell me your fantasy about my hair!"
"It would be.....um, uh....to take the biggest, most powerful, set of balding clippers I own. Snap the machine on. Take it to your beautiful hair, systematically strip it off and watch it all fall to my feet. Every last lock, clipped down to the wood. Your mass of beautiful hair taken from you! Stubble up here and a vast carpet of silk at my feet! Then, me, stroking your bald head, consoling you. You would be weeping....and I would tell you how sexy your bald head looked."
Bob sat paralyzed. It's exactly what he'd expected! How he wanted to say, 'Do it!'
But....he knew that was impossible. Totally impossible. It should be, anyhow....
"Would you mind very much if I went home now, Malcolm?" Bob asked nervously. "I feel quite tired all of the sudden."
Bob half expected Malcolm to take out a set of straps and immobilize him to the chair. In fact, he subconsciously might have been asking for that forced treatment.
Instead, Malcolm began unfastening the cape. "If you're too tired, Samson, you could sleep here with me," cooed Malcolm. "I would lull you to sleep, with your head on my lap."
"Could you take me home instead, Delilah?" Bob asked, as he got up from the barber's chair.
"Will you wear your hair down, like this, tomorrow, so I can fantasize about it?" Malcolm asked.
"Yes, I'll do that for you," agreed Bob.
The two did not talk as Malcolm drove Bob back to the bar to get his car.
The next day, Bob felt very nervous as he entered work with his hair flowing down freely to his calves. The stares, the whispers....everything he expected materialized.
"Hey, Honey Bun? Where's your bun today?" one of the female receptionists asked. "That's quite lovely hair you have. And so long!"
Inside the office the cracks from his colleagues were even more pointed, and some downright mean. 'Enough to make wigs for a whole cancer ward full of bald kids!' 'Would love to see that mane get caught and sucked into the paper shredder!' 'It's a wonder he can walk and sit normally with all that in the way.'
Then Bob saw Malcolm in Mr. Verasco's office. The boss and he were laughing and looking almost as if they were sharing some intimate conversation. Mr. Verasco began fidgeting with his hair, feeling the back that hung over his collar a bit. Malcolm must have been telling him he needed a haircut....
Then Mr. Verasco spun around in his big desk chair and looked out at the work area where Bob was. His eyes locked on Bob! He shook his head in a bit of surprise and a whole lot of disdain.
Malcolm pranced out of the office smiling broadly. "Hey, pal! You look fantastic this morning! Love the hair. But Mr. Verasco....well, he, um, wants to see you. Like now!"
But before Bob could get up, Mr. Verasco strode out of his office, straight to Bob's cubicle.
"Well, what have he here?! Rapunzel?!" said Mr. Verasco loudly enough so that the whole office could hear. A round of laughter erupted.
Instinctively, Bob rolled his chair back away from the boss. In the process, it rolled over a chunk of his hair that dragged on the floor. The hair got tangled in the wheel and yanked his scalp savagely. "OUCH!" poor Bob screeched.
"Oh my goodness. That hair is a workplace hazard! Someone hand me a scissors!" Mr. Verasco demanded.
"Shall I free you from your predicament, Bob?" the boss asked, brandishing a huge pair of office shears.
"Chop it off! Chop if off!!" the cadre of office buddies began chanting.
Bob scanned the mocking fellows, seeing if Malcolm was joining in.
We wasn't! Bob felt a small bit of comfort in the midst of his horrible situation.
The boss snapped the shears open and shut anxiously, eager to start chopping. Bob was immobilized and had no way of getting his hair untangled from the chair wheel.
"If you would do me that favor, Mr. Velasco," Bob whimpered in a very submissive, subservient way.
The boss gleefully attacked his long hair, wildly chopping and hacking at it. Viciously! Then he handed the shears to another fellow who hacked a bit more. They all took turns. Everyone except Malcolm.
Bob's hair was a butchered mess by the time the office mates and Mr. Velasco finished having fun at his expense.
"Oh, Bob," Malcolm whispered in his ear. "I'm so sorry...."
"Would you take me to your house, Malcolm? I need something desperately...." the traumatized Bob said softly.
"What would that be?" Malcolm asked.
"I think you know," said Bob, looking him in the eye.
"Does it involve the biggest, most powerful, set of balding clippers I own?" the amateur barber asked coyly.
"Every last lock, clipped down to the wood. Stubble up here and you stroking my bald head, consoling me....telling me how sexy my bald head looks." Bob had a loving, tender look in his eye, despite his miserable situation.
Malcolm gulped nervously. Finally he asked, "Would it make a difference if you knew I was the one who suggested that Mr. Velasco come out here and shear you himself?"
Bob gulped. He could not suppress a tear that streamed down his cheek. Malcolm had sabotaged him!
"Yes, it would...." Bob said, almost inaudibly, but no mistaking the crushed sense of betrayal and disappointment.
Malcolm turned to walk away. He hadn't taken but two steps.
"No, Malcolm! It wouldn't! All I want now is stubble...." Bob blurted out suddenly, reflecting a dramatic change of heart.
Malcolm smiled broadly! "Your bald head will look so sexy! Let's go....."
The two walked out with an excitement to the spring in their step. As they crossed the parking lot Malcolm added, "We can spend the day together, but at 5:00 pm I have another 'client' who needs a 'trim'. Anyway, he thinks he's getting a trim...."
"Who?" asked Bob, rather disappointed that he might be just another client in Malcolm's home barber chair.
"Mr. Velasco! His fussy little business cut is as good as gone!" laughed Malcolm.