Scott scraped clean by Manny

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This is a sequel to: Ted's hedge clippers and hair clippers


To say I felt apprehensive as I got dressed for work Monday morning would be a huge understatement. I was so nervous that my fumbling fingers couldn't get the tie right. My eyes were riveted on the site of the new butch cut I sported. It was hard to believe I was staring at "the new me" in the bathroom mirror. A #1 all over. Administered by Ted, my neighbor, in his garage. One minute I looked like a high power attorney with an executive coif, and the next minute I looked more at home on a marine boot camp base.


Actually, I thought the cut suited me. I felt manly and vigorous. I loved feeling the bristles, as well. But, the fear of what others at the office would say was terrifying. I tried to bolster my image with a power suit and tie, as well as the solid gold cuff links that always garnered ample praise. But, there was no escaping the butch! My head looked like a naked light-bulb. Thinking back to Saturday, in a moment of weakness I had thrust myself onto Ted's stool and had him peel off my pampered forelock, followed by the rest of my once-plush mane. It was exhilarating to finally go through with it, to put a brutal end to the salon coif....but now, there would be hell to pay!


I steeled my nerves as I pulled into the law office's parking lot. With my expensive leather attache case in hand, I strode in, trying to project a routine, normal Monday morning attitude.


"Hey, Janice. How was your weekend?" I said in a cheerful tone.


"Whoa! Scott!! What happened to your hair?!" she gasped.


"Got it cut. Pretty short, eh?" I stammered as I breezed through the lobby.


"Quite!" she called out as I disappeared from site. "Oh, your first client arrived early. It's a new case."


"Bring him down in five minutes, please. I need a bit of time to review the file," I replied, trying to quickly get to the safety of my office before only once else saw my new butch cut.


I tried to compose myself. Janice's reaction was not what I'd hoped for. She would spread the news quickly. By the time I dispatched my first client, I'm sure the whole office would be buzzing about my ultra-short buzzcut.


A few minutes later, the door to my office swung open slowly. Janice announced, "Mr. Chester Burkhardt, owner of Saville Salon."


A slender fellow about my age was ushered in. It was obvious he spent a lot of time in the salon he owned! His shoulder length hair was arranged to a tee in a very womanly-like manner. Lovely waves cascading down that cupped under right at the shoulders. If it weren't for the expensive suit and tie, I might have addressed him as Ms. Burkhardt!


"So you want to bring a suit against the manufacturer of a permanent wave solution. Is that it?" I asked.


"Yes, it's to fend off a suit filed against us by a client. She said that the perm she got at the salon totally ruined her hair. Turned it brittle and then clumps of it snapped off. She wants millions for pain and anguish," he said, summarizing his objective.


"And it wasn't the fault of the stylist? Was the person giving the perm a trained professional?" I asked.


"Well, he claimed to be. After the incident, when we were trying to verify the credentials, it seems, well....uh, there wasn't any record on file of an actual cosmetology license....but that's not the point. The point is the product was defective!" Mr. Burkhardt insisted.

"Did other clients complain or have their hair damaged? You, for example. Or are those pretty waves natural....." I said with a slight sneer in my voice. I shouldn't have, but just couldn't help it! The preening booby was really getting on my nerves.


"How impertinent! I need a lawyer who will represent me, not one who is questioning every word I say!" he exclaimed. "Especially one who has probably never had his hair cut in a professional salon!! Look at you. That amateur butch cut. Did your wife shear you in the kitchen with a $10 set of clippers from Walmart?"


"No, it was a neighbor in his garage!" I shot back instantly. "And it looks a thousand times better than that prissy mange of yours. Sitting under a big hair dryer with your hair coiled tightly around perming rods. Really, Mr. Burkhardt! You should be ashamed of yourself. You hired an untrained professional who didn't follow instructions and damaged your client's hair! I hope that poor woman collects millions from you!!" I bellowed in an out-of-control rage.


Suddenly, I saw my boss at my door. "What is going on in here? All the screaming? Scott -- you sound like you're in a psychiatric ward. And you look like a prison inmate to boot! What is with that butch haircut?!" he snapped in an authoritative voice.


Mr. Burkhardt stood to take his immediate leave from my office. "I can't wait to put a review on social media.....avoid the lunatic with the amateur butch cut! In fact, avoid the whole law firm!" His meticulously maintained hair swished about his shoulders as he left.


"Too bad that idiot didn't get the unlicensed clutz to fry his hair with the perm solution and have it snap off at the roots in clumps! Better yet, someone ought to march him off to a real barber shop and have an old geezer submit that girlish hair to a set of powerful, fast-feed electric hair clippers," I seethed.


"So he'd wind up looking as idiotic as you, Scott?" my boss said, bursting my bubble. "Janice, bring in some boxes for Scott. He's clearing out his office. You're fired, Scott! Go get a job in a warehouse driving a fork lift. That'll be a more appropriate workplace for your social skills. And that amateur butch cut will fit right in too!"


I stood there dumb-founded. I'd been fired! My boss' reaction was far worse than my wildest dreams. Of course, there was the little shouting match with a new potential client that contributed to my professional demise as well.....


All of the anger and stress and resentment and petty office politics that had bothered me for so long welled up as I was packing my things in boxes. "Take this job and shove it!" I shouted as I exitted the law office for the last time. It felt good to be free from that place. All the money was not worth it.....


I glanced in the rear view mirror of my fancy sports car. Every time I saw the butch cut, I liked it even better. I gave my scalp a vigorous rub with the palm of my hand. Ah....loved it! Of course, I did miss running my fingers through my silken locks, but....there was definitely an equal trade off.


As I pulled down my street, I spotted Bill -- the neighbor whose tight butch cut had been the catalyst for my turn on the stool in Ted's garage and on the receiving end of a radically short spring shearing.


"Hey, Scotty!" he called out. "Ted told me that I inspired you to lose that pretty boy look of yours! Man, I can hardly recognize you without that floppy mane."


"Now you know how I felt when I saw you without that mop of ginger curls! Little Orphan Andy turned GI Joe!" I laughed.


Bill reached in my window and gave me a quick rub. "How did your high highfalutin lawyer colleagues like the new look?"


"Not at all!" I laughed. "And, guess what. I quit today. Just had it with that obnoxious bunch." I shaded the truth a bit. Bill didn't have to know the details of my personal failures.


"I thought it was early for you coming home. I mean it's not even 10:00 a.m. yet. Come on over and I'll rustle you up a brunch," Bill offered.


"Sure, I'd love that," I replied.


Bill signed off by rubbing my head again playfully. "Bet you can't get enough of that, can you?"


"Let me change out of these clothes. I'll see you in about 15 minutes. I hope you have some good, strong coffee, Bill."


It felt fun relaxing at Bill's place over brunch instead of dealing with outrageous clients like Mr. Burkhardt! I could get into the easy life -- lazy mornings, jeans and a sweater shirt.


"The butch," Bill commented, "has the regret set in at all?"


"No, not one bit. I actually quite like the minimalist look. I was ready for something else. If I said I missed something, it would be the silken feel of my plush locks. I mean, the stimulating feel of the stubble is great, but it's not the same as the soft and smooth caress."


"Wait right here!" Bill declared. "I'll be right back. We're going to revive what you like most about your old look while at the same time keeping your new look essentially intact!"


He returned a few minutes later holding up a can of shaving cream and a razor.


"What?!" I stammered.


"Cueball! When you stroke your virgin scalp, it will feel softer than silk! Come on, man! Everyone's got to try the clean, cueball look at least once," he urged.


"Does that include you too, Bill?" I asked, warming to the idea.


"Sure. I'll go first if you want. I've often dreamed about being scraped clean. No evidence left of that ginger! I hated having girly red hair growing up...." Bill laughed.


Suddenly, my cock stirred. "No! I want to go first!"


"Take off your shirt," Bill instructed. "Come over to the sink."


I complied.


"No more pretty boy attorney big shot," Bill said with a slightly mocking tone. His strong arms leaned me over and he firmly forced my head under the warm stream. I was like putty in his hands. My legs wobbled and I felt woozy. Bill could take it all from me, and more.....

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