Butterflies by Mark Demarlo

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My obsession with haircuts started during my wonder years (ages 1-12). I was always being sent to the barbershop whether I needed a haircut or not. Every two weeks. My parents were beyond reason wanting me to always have a fresh haircut. I say this because I noticed on the calender my mom kept in the kitchen there was a note every other Friday that said "Mark haircut". Come on now, really, she had to mark it on the calender? As if she or my dad would forget. Making things more difficult for me was the fact I became a teenager (13) in 1974. Well, the fight was on with my parents and I for just about all of my teen years. Eventually every two weeks went to once a month. Then every two months and they would be on my case until I gave in and went to the barbershop. My theory psychologically is that during puberty as all men must remember a kid is always with a boner. Having to get my haircut so often my brain may have connected haircuts with the feel good center known as sex, creating a fetish. This is just a theory, but I have no other logical explanation as to why I am so excited and turned on to short masculine haircuts. I don't think it warrants going to see a shrink over ,I mean its just a haircut. I also think everybody has something, some kind of kink whether they admit it or not. Put in perspective, mine is harmless compared to allot of sick and nasty things others are into. In matter of fact the haircut thing is really quite hot. If you don't agree then stop reading now as I don't want to offend anyone in any way.

It was building up during my wonder years and unknown to me that this was the time when my fixation was getting more and more intense. I used to get butterflies in my stomach riding my bike to a barbershop. Each time I would go to a different shop. If I heard rumors on a barber that was clipper happy thats where I would go. For some reason I wanted a real short (almost a crewcut) haircut. However I didn't want to ask for it. I wanted a barber to give me a real short haircut regardless what I told him. Then afterwards I would go home and make the short haircut my parents fault. Extending the amount of time I would be allowed until my next haircut. The time extention wasn't originally planned but it worked out to my advantage. Always when I thought no more haircuts, sometimes several months would pass. The longest I went in between cuts was 7 maybe 8 months. My ears were completely covered and longer at the back covering my collar flipping up in the back . Thick shiny dark brown or raven Italian hair. (my dads side of the family are Italian, from the Naples area of Italy)

During the 70's even though I had a secret haircut fascination at the same time I wanted long hair, to be cool, to fit in with my peers. As much as I liked short haircuts, I kept that secret. Growing my hair long and finally doing it for seven or eight months was what all the guys in my neighborhood wanted. I was able to find out I had nice thick hair that had a slight wave to it. I grew it almost to my shoulders and went with the Jesus hippy look for a while. My parents were never happy. During that brief time I think only one or two pictures were taken of me. My parents didn't want pictures of me looking that way. I remember my dad saying one time "I'll wait and get a picture of you some other time, after you get a haircut. Watching TV one of my favorite shows was "It Takes a Thief". My dad once asked me if I wanted to get a haircut like Al Mundy (Robert Wagner). Doesn't have to be real short, just around your ears and off your collar. That way when you wear a nice shirt and tie it will look good. Of course I would refuse telling him "no way man". He would get a bit angry and tell me he would put his foot down soon, not to let it get any longer.

My step grandfather, actually I shouldn't even say step because the man was my grandpa from the day I was born. Anyway, he wanted me to ride with him to pick up his two sisters that were flying in from Ireland. They were coming in on a plane that would be landing in Toronto. This is about 400 miles from Suburban Detroit. I was never really asked to go I was told I was going, this coming from my dad. Then the shocker, Grandpa wants you to get a nice haircut so you look clean cut. My dad was prepared for my argument, as he said "your not going to win this one Mark, Im with your grandpa on this, I want your haircut today". He handed me 5.00 and told me that grandpa liked the last haircut that I had gotten. Go to the same place, grandpa and your mother and I want you to look nice and clean cut when you meet grandpa's sisters.
It had been almost seven + months since my last haircut. I had gone to a barbershop that had a reputation and ended up with a really short Princeton, actually a crewcut it was military tight with just a shadow of a sideburns. The shadow was faded all the way up over my crown and just a little over an inch in the very front. The barber put butch-wax in my hair, I looked like I went to a military school. I had gotten this short haircut after calling the barbershop speaking in a low deep voice I said I was my father. Give my boy a clean cut haircut, short . If he tells you a Princeton to give him a short, a real short Princeton. I want him well groomed, no, go ahead and give him a crewcut, use some wax and make it nice and flat, I want it high & tight military. Then went to the barbershop. Of course I changed my mind on the way to the barbershop. I had done this kind of stunt before and always was able to cancel out the crewcut, and always getting a regular haircut. The barber would still cut it shorter than I expected. I liked having to argue with the barber convincing him my dad will be OK with a regular clean cut haircut. Usually after making such a phone call I would chicken out of course and just go to a different barbershop. However, I had fooled around and it was now late in the afternoon. There wasn't time for me to go anywhere else, so I went there anyway. The butterflies in my stomach were stronger than they have ever been. I already had a boner and wasn't even in the barbershop yet.

Trying to fight it I kept telling myself don't go, get it cut tomorrow because it will be too short if you get it cut in this place. I wanted to keep my hair longish, no get it cut short. I ended up telling the barber just to trim it around the ears and off my collar, nothing more. That would be short enough, even to short. The barber said he had talked to my dad. This is when I said to him that I didn't care what my dad told him, just trim it around the ears. That I would deal with my dad. Well all right, he said, and he gave me a regular haircut, still a bit short but that was expected, oh well. He had just finished using the straight razor edging around my ears and neck making the haircut complete when he told me. We are going to have to cut it short, as he re-attaching the cape. Saying I had moved during the haircut and now it had to be cut short. How short I asked him, he said its going to be short. I was starting to panic, and said to him again "how short, you don't mean a crewcut or anything like that do you?" He answered "well, its going to be pretty short, just relax" "No, I told him, I don't want a crewcut" He answered "Well we will see, but its going to be a short haircut" I was ready to have a panic attack. This was really happening. Something very strange was happening too, those butterflies suddenly got so intense the erection I had almost exploded. There was a tent under my cape that was really liking the fact that I had to get a shorter haircut. I said to the barber "can't we just leave it the way it is and it will be alright in a week or so, right" The barber replied no, it has to be cut short. I asked if I could take a look at it to see how bad it was messed up. He had me switch chairs, and in the middle chair (three chairs in the shop) as he was adjusting the cape again I noticed I could no longer see myself in a mirror. I was worried he had seen the bulge in my pants as my woody remained throbbing. Control yourself , I was thinking of old grandma's wrinkled up, anything that was a turn off. It was useless, the more the barber said about cutting it short the more excited I became. I then said to him "my dad is going to like this, thats for sure" Truth of the matter is my dad would like the shorter haircut.

The barber lit a cigarette was doing something with a large clipper. Thinking of how short my haircut was going to be I was ready to explode without even touching myself. He then turned to me holding my head with a firm grip saying "now don't move. Click, the sound of rotary clippers fired up. At my left sideburns pressed firmly against my skin he plowed straight up, real high, to where he had parted my hair. I could feel the vibrating teeth, he flicked the clipper and a sizeable amount of dark hair fell onto my shoulder then rolled a few times into my lap. Looked to be a few inches . The tent I was hiding exploded, over and over again. I was a sticky mess. I kept my composure, very confused and I heard myself say to the barber "My dad said to tell you a Princeton" Saying that meant I would get the haircut as described in the phone call. Why did I tell him that? Once again I had a tent under the cape, The barber was clipping me now up the back and told me "were going cut it the way you dad wants it, he is going to like this haircut" The haircut went on for at least 30 minutes. He was using a thin barbers comb and scissors. Then he would use clippers again, my hair kept getting shorter and shorter. He was putting butch wax in my hair, that thin barbers comb had a hard time combing through it. He was snipping the top shorter, combing it straight up, then buzz. Making it semi flat, buzz, buzz I didn't stop him. The sides got closer, real close, buzzing them real tight. This was the shortest haircut I have ever had. Finally it was over. I had a H & T flat crewcut I loved the feel of it. The contrast from my white scalp showing through my dark brown tapered sides and back looked so clean cut, a strip on the top of my head, not to the point of being severe, still a landing strip. Butch-wax made it stand at attention. The longest part of this haircut was a little over an inch in the very front cut flat. I had a baseball cap, but when I was about to put it on and cover this haircut I thought for a second. Then threw the baseball cap in the gutter. I took my time riding home when I realized I was late for dinner.
When I got home, my parents said they liked it allot. My grandpa was having dinner at our house and kept telling me how much he liked the haircut. Said to my parents "see to it he keeps it that way, best haircut he has ever had" Yes indeed, grandpa kept going on about that haircut. This was seven months ago, and is the haircut he wants me to get again.

My dad was right I couldn't win this, so I was off to the barbershop, the same barber that gave me a crewcut was going to cut my hair again. Maybe he won't remember me. Still dad told me to get the same haircut that grandpa liked so much. If I come home with something longer he will take me to the barber himself. I brought all this on myself, me and that stupid phone call. Now it was going to happen again. Just showing up at that barbershop the barber is going to skin me like before. After all he had instructions from my dad, or who he thought was my dad What a mess, that cut was so short. I was riding my bike to the shop and about halfway there the butterflies started. My whole attitude started going into short haircut mode. I started peddling faster, again, yes again, I couldn't get there fast enough. The barber remembered me (of course) giving me the exact same haircut, butch wax and all. Best haircut I have ever had, a keeper. Grandpa was all smiles over it. "He said "don't give your parents anymore blarney about getting your haircut lad, what ya got there is a keeper"

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