Something More by Crewed

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The day began with me running through my normal morning routine: shave, shower, eat, get dressed and then spend the rest of my day working as a paralegal in a large law firm. The job is tedious at best and I don’t really enjoy it anymore, but I’m good at it and it pays the bills. I follow up my workday most evenings at the neighborhood gym for some much needed stress relief. I’m not a gym rat, but I do enjoy staying fit and I appreciate the energy working out provides as I enter my mid-30’s. I pretty much keep to myself at the gym â€" I’m there to work out and don’t really pay much attention to the "scene" aspect of a mostly gay gym. I’m friendly, but not flirty. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I’ve never really met anyone at the gym that I was particularly attracted to and I just prefer to stay low key and concentrate on my workout. On this particular day, as I was doing leg presses, I was awestruck by one of the most handsome men I had ever laid eyes on. This gorgeous man just seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was about my age, a little taller than average, well-built and a fairly muscular. Oh, and he had the most amazing haircut I’ve ever seen.

I’ve had a haircut fetish since puberty, so I have a bit of expertise in that regard. Given my history of haircut interest, I knew this particular haircut was known as a horseshoe flattop, which is without a doubt, the sexiest, most masculine haircut ever conceived. His thick, dense dark brown hair was cut in a short top deck that sat very high on his head. The sides of the deck were beveled in and perfectly blended with the clean-shaven sides and back. It was astoundingly flat, like a piece of wood or a slab of concrete, and it had very sharp corners at the top edges of the deck. The top was so short that the landing strip was very pronounced, very wide and also shaved bald. He had a perfectly shaped round head and a sexy nape that lead to a thick neck. It was the epitome of an extreme military-style horseshoe flattop…and it was beautiful â€" a thing of geometric precision and barbering skill personified. I think my jaw dropped when I first saw him, and I had a difficult time concentrating on my workout thereafter.

I decided to cool off with a few laps in the pool and then a soak in the hot tub to relax my muscles. Just as I was about to exit the pool area, in walks Mr. Horseshoe wearing a tight square cut swimsuit. Now I get to see (pretty much) the whole package, and it was very impressive. His arms were large, his shoulders were broad, his chest was nicely sculpted, and his legs were shapely and powerful. It appeared as though he had a very nice cock as well. He wasn’t 2% body fat and didn’t look like an overly worked out steroid clone or an emaciated twink with a six-pack abdomen; instead, he was fairly bulky and thick, just…perfect. He had the kind of body that you can imagine holding you close and cuddling with.

I enjoyed watching him swim laps as I sat in the tub. When he finished, he got out of the pool and walked toward the hot tub. I tried not to seem like I was mesmerized by his glistening body, his sexy haircut and the fact that his swimsuit was now clinging to his genitalia, leaving very little to the imagination (yep, nice cock). He entered the tub and sat directly across from me. He gave me a nod and said, "How’s it going?" I said "Good, thanks." He smiled, leaned back, stretched his large guns out over the edges of the tub, put his head back and closed his eyes. I sat there admiring him, trying not to stare, but it was no use. The fact that he was half naked and only a few feet away caused me to get an erection. Given that I was wearing my tight swim briefs, I was trapped until I could get myself under control. I tried to stop staring at his haircut, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to touch it, rub it, pat the flat bristled deck. I wanted to stroke my dick up and down his bald landing strip. Eventually I stopped fantasizing enough to be able to exit the tub without an obvious boner. I gave a quick look back as I headed to the locker room and noticed he was watching me. We gave each other a quick smile as I headed into the locker room to shower and get dressed.

I left the gym and started to drive home. I couldn’t get Mr. Horseshoe out of my head. I kept thinking about his amazing flattop and fantasized about getting one myself. Although I knew that would never happen, I still had a strong urge to be in the barber chair. After a few blocks I suddenly made a U-turn and headed to the barbershop in hopes of making it in time before they closed.

Although I’ve had a haircut fetish for about as long as I can remember, I’ve never actually had a short haircut. I’ve always been fascinated with buzz cuts, high & tights and flattops, but I’ve never had the courage to actually get one myself.

One time, when I was a kid I saw a barbershop near our house that had a sign in the front window that declared them to be "Flattop Experts". I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have a flattop, so one day I went in, sat in the chair and asked the barber for a flattop. He caped me up and just as he turned on the clippers, I chickened out and told him to stop. I don’t think I really intended to go through with it; I just wanted the thrill of sitting in the chair and asking for it. I know…pathetic.

I’ve always been afraid of the reaction of family, friends and coworkers if I were to ever get that kind of haircut. My entire adult life, I’ve never had a haircut shorter than a standard businessman’s cut â€" about an inch on the back and sides and about three inches on the top â€" sometimes longer. Although I’ve never actually had any type of buzzcut, I still very much enjoy getting a haircut and being in the barber chair. I always imagined that I was getting a much shorter cut than I was actually receiving, and I always got an erection during the process. Whenever I was lucky enough to witness my barber administer a buzz cut on another patron, I would watch with a mixture of fascination, desire and jealousy - always getting hard in the process.

The Roseway barbershop is named after the neighborhood in which it resides and it is perhaps the only traditional barbershop that remains in our city. It’s in a blue-collar area of town and it is as close to the quintessential American barbershop that you can find these days. It is operated by a father and son team named Joe and Marty. Joe opened the shop in the 50’s and it seems fairly unchanged since then. From the black and white checkered floor, to the wood paneled walls and the red leather Belmont barber chairs; it’s like stepping into a time warp. It mainly caters to a blue collar/ law enforcement/ military clientele. I’ve always preferred getting a haircut in an old-school barbershop rather than a salon. If it doesn’t have real barber chairs and a spinning barber pole, well then, it ain’t a real barbershop. Just walking into the Roseway and experiencing the sights, sounds and scents is enough to get me aroused.

I was surprised to see a "help wanted" sign in the window as I approached the barbershop and I could see Marty was there alone. I noticed all the condolence cards around the shop and also saw a tri-folded American flag, an old army cap and a pair of barber shears sitting on Joe’s chair. We exchanged pleasantries and I gave him my condolences. He thanked me and told me that Joe passed peacefully in his sleep a few weeks earlier. Joe was a kind-hearted hard-working guy that was beloved by everyone who knew him. I was really sad to hear of his passing. Wow, a lot can happen in a month. I asked Marty about the help wanted sign and he said that he had been looking for another barber for about a week. He had placed postings on job boards, ads in the paper, etc. He had interviewed a few women, but he was unsatisfied with their skill level and said he preferred a male barber who better fit the atmosphere of the shop. He also mentioned that he was thinking about selling the shop, buying a ranch out in Montana and moving there with his family. He said he had been working alongside his dad since he was a kid and he was growing tired of the business and needed a change of pace. I told him I understood, but feared the new owners of the building probably wouldn’t keep the barbershop and that would be a shame. The neighborhood just wouldn’t be the same without the Roseway. He said that was also his concern, as he knew his father would prefer to keep the legacy of the Roseway intact as well. For now he was just going to hire another barber and give it some time. Marty gave me my usual cut, and although my urge was somewhat satisfied, my "usual" was becoming increasingly boring and frustrating to me.

As the next couple of weeks passed, Mr. Horseshoe and I became friendly at the gym. Turns out his name is Brent, but I still like to refer to him in my mind as Mr. Horseshoe. We seemed to be on the same schedule and we would run into each other at various machines, the free weight area and, my favorite, the pool/ hot tub. Occasionally he would ask me to spot him at the bench press and I was so transfixed on his heaving chest and killer horseshoe flattop that I was afraid I would lose concentration and let him drop the weights on himself, not noticing his despair until his landing strip turned beet red. Thankfully, that never happened. As I obsessed on his haircut, I noticed it never seemed to grow. It was always, and I mean always, freshly cut. The top constantly remained perfectly flat and the sides, back and strip were always clean-shaven. Did this guy live in a barbershop? We mostly made friendly small talk and I still didn’t really know much about him other than he was new to town and worked as a landscaper.

After a few days I noticed that Mr. Horseshoe (uh, I mean Brent), hadn’t been around. Another week passed and still no Brent. After another week of absence, I was beginning to fall into a bit of despair. While trying to play it cool and not feign too much interest, had I missed my opportunity to get to know one of the most handsome men I had ever met? Why didn’t I ask him out on a date when I had the chance? I spent the next week or so in a bit of a mild depression as Brent was still nowhere to be found at the gym. How could I have let my dream man disappear without so much as asking for his number? I was fairly overdue for a trim so I decided to go visit Marty at the barbershop, as sitting in the chair always lifts my spirits (among other things.)

I entered the shop and I think I gasped when I saw the long-lost Mr. Horseshoe, dressed in a white barber jacket, sitting in Joe’s old barber chair reading the newspaper! My eyes didn’t move off him as Marty stood up and welcomed me to his chair by saying, "Hi Jake. In need of a trim today, huh?" "Uh, yeah," was all I could muster. Upon hearing my name, Brent looked up and said "Hey Jake! Long time no see."
"Yeah, uh, haven’t seen you at the gym for a while."
"Marty hired me a few weeks ago so I had to adjust my schedule."
"Oh, cool. I thought you were a landscaper."
"I am, among other things. But I’m also a trained barber and barbering is my true passion."
"He’s really good at it too," Marty chimed in. Oh right, Marty. I was still in shock and excited about seeing Brent that I seemed to have forgotten that I was there for a haircut. I sat down in the red leather Belmont chair and Marty wrapped the tissue around my neck and fastened the cape. "The usual?" he said. "Yeah, just clean it up a little bit." As soon as the cowardly words came out of my mouth, I caught a glimpse of Brent looking at me. His expression was a mixture of curiosity and disapproval.

Another few weeks passed and I couldn’t get the image of sexy Brent sitting in his barber chair with his polished horseshoe flattop and crisp white barber jacket out of my head. Brent was a trained barber? Holy s**t! I fantasized repeatedly about having this flat-topped stud give me a haircut just like his, and although I knew that was an impossibility, I still imagined sitting in his chair and having him give me a short haircut. Perhaps I could raise enough courage to ask him to cut it a little shorter than usual. Nothing too extreme, still adhering to the corporate culture that I had grown to distain, but maybe, just maybe, showing a little skin. My cravings and yearnings could not be contained any longer so one late afternoon I left work early, rushed home to change into street clothes and headed straight to the barbershop; my dick got hard as I envisioned the possibilities.

I arrived at the Roseway about a half hour before closing time and just as I had hoped, Brent was working alone and didn’t have any customers. Damn, he looked incredibly hot sporting his waxed horseshoe and wearing his freshly laundered barber jacket.

"Hey Jake! How’s it going?"
"Hey Brent. Good, how are you?"
"Good, thanks."
"Is Marty here?"
"No. He has Thursdays off."
"Oh, that’s right. I forgot."
"Well, I can fix you up if you like." He then swiveled the barber chair in my direction and patted the seat.
"Um, yeah, I guess that would be okay."
"Have a seat."
I nervously stepped into the chair and he then wrapped a tissue around my neck and covered me with a pinstriped cape. He stood behind me, placed his large hand on my shoulder and addressed my reflection in the mirror, "So, how would you like it today."
"Just a trim. Maybe a tad shorter on the sides and back and take a little off the top."
He then slowly spun the chair around to face him and asked, "Is that really what you want, or did you have something else in mind?" as he stroked his flat-topped deck from front to back.
I smiled and said, "Oh, no way man, I could never get a haircut like yours. I couldn’t pull that off, and besides, I work in a law firm and they would definitely not approve. Just a trim."
"Are you sure about that? I’ve seen the way you look at my shoe and I know that deep down inside, you want one too. You know Marty doesn’t work today, yet here you are, sitting in my chair. It just leads me to believe that maybe you were here for something more."
So, I guess he has pretty much had me figured out for a while and my attempt at acting nonchalant has failed miserably. Time to fess up.
I sighed and said, "I’ve always admired your haircut and I’ve had a crush on you since I first saw you. I’ve fantasized about it, believe me, but I could never get a haircut like that. My boss would freak out and my friends and family would never understand."
"Maybe it’s time for you to quit worrying about what other people think and start living life for yourself. How long have you been suppressing your true desires? Suppressing your true self?" That pretty much struck a chord and got me thinking. He was absolutely right. I was living my life as a gutless coward, letting other people’s opinions dictate my decisions. He then waked to the front of the shop, flipped the closed sign, locked the door and closed the blinds. "What are you doing?" I asked. He just looked at me, smiled and then walked back behind the chair, took the Oster 76 off the hook, danged them by their cord and said, "Are you ready for something more?"

My mind flooded with so many different emotions. Fear. Embarrassment. Anxiety. Disbelief. But most of all, excitement and desire. The persistent urge that I had felt for so many years had finally reached a breaking point. I took a deep breath, looked him in the eye and said, "Shoe me." I couldn’t believe the words actually came out of my mouth.

A huge grin flashed over his face as he approached, removed the cape covering me and said, "Attaboy! Let’s get you a little more comfortable first." He pulled my polo shirt up over my head and set it on the next chair over, leaving me bare-chested. "Very nice", he said as he slid his hands over my pectoral muscles. He removed my shoes and socks and then unzipped and removed my pants. I think he was surprised to see that I was wearing skintight Speedo swim briefs as underwear. He smiled and started to remove those until I stopped him and told him that I’d prefer to keep those on. While I do wear Speedos at the barbershop for "practical" reasons, I also have a swimwear fetish and have always enjoyed when the two interests merged. "That’s fine," he said while he caped me back up and then ran his hand through the hair on the top of my head and rested it on my shoulder. "Alright. I’m going to shave it bald high up on the back and sides, cut a tight flat beveled deck on top and carve in a wide landing strip down to the wood…just like mine." "Just like yours," I nodded in agreement, my voice shaking and barely audible. He smiled and said, "Relax buddy. You’re going to look great. One horseshoe flattop coming up!"

He began the epic experience by standing behind me, placing a firm grip on the top of my head and taking the Osters to the top of my left temple and slowly, methodically moving them through my hair, across the top portion of my temporal bone, continuing high over the crown. My light brown hair began flying in the air, dropping on my shoulders and cascading down the cape to rest in my lap. Holy crap! The clippers left a huge bald line, which seemed very high on the top of my head. What the f*** are you doing, Jake, I thought to myself as I sat stunned in disbelief. Brent then repeated this process on the right side and back over the crown, the clippers eliminating every hair in their path. Oh my God! Is this really happening? What are you thinking? This is going to take months to grow back.

In just seconds, I now had a large bald white line running horizontally across the top edges of my head and over the crown. My heart was racing and my whole body was shaking as I saw my reflection in the mirror. I watched in awe as Brent continued to move the whirring clippers through my left sideburn and up the side of my head to the bald demarcation line he had just created, shearing off my hair and leaving nothing but stubble in their path. My hair continued to fly in the air and land on the cape that covered my nearly naked body. I was fascinated by how quickly my appearance was changing as I stared at the now bald left side of my head compared to the right side where hair still remained. It looked like two different people were gazing back at me in the mirror. By the time he reached the center of the nape of my neck and navigated the clippers over my occipital bone, stripping my head of hair, my sense of fear was somewhat relieved. I accepted the fact that I somehow agreed to this and it was indeed happening, so I should start to savor the moments because it’s something I’ve been dreaming of for a very, very long time. I then just submitted to the absolute ecstasy of the experience. I relaxed my neck, lowered my head slightly and started to delight in the power and pressure of the sharp clipper blades caressing my scalp; a sensation I had never felt before today and it was even more pleasurable than I had dreamt it would be. I finally succumbed to the ecstasy of having my head denuded of hair â€" and it was liberating. It seemed as though I could feel my scalp tightening as the Oster 76 peeled me bald. I could feel the cool air of the AC blowing on my naked scalp and it made my dick pulse. Brent continued the process of fleecing the sides and back of my head in a somewhat dramatically playful fashion. It seemed as though he would purposely collect as much hair on the clipper as possible and then dump it directly in my lap with an exaggerated turn of his wrist, like he was appalled by all that hair and I should be too. I would compare it to some sort of tonsorial striptease, except he was performing it on me.

The clippers were then turned off and I lifted my head to see my reflection in the mirrors. The sides and back of my head were now exposed and barren. I was now, more or less, about ¾ bald. Brent took a long-bristled talc covered brush to my head to whisk away any stray long hairs that clung to the remaining stubble. He then placed his hands on each side of my head, slowly moved them toward the back, down the nape of my neck and rested them on my shoulders. "How does that feel?" he said. I closed my eyes and sighed, "It feels great." "Good, because we’re just getting started."

He then took a smaller pair of vibrating clippers over the same areas, which unbelievably, seemed to take the stubble down even shorter, eliminating the shadow of hair that remained. He had a firm grip on my head while lifting the scalp one small area at a time and scrubbed my head with the sharp fine-toothed edger. As his fingers lifted my scalp, it felt like the stubble he was touching was being pushed back into my head. It almost felt like copper wiring poking my scalp; it was both slightly painful and pleasurable at the same time. The large clippers felt good, but having the small sharp blade scrub my scalp repeatedly was nothing short of amazing. I felt I could sit there all day and never tire of this sensation. I was surprised that they were able to take off even more hair, reducing it to just microscopic stubble. I guess it’s comparable to the difference of merely washing a pan as opposed to scouring it; and my scalp was definitely being scoured; scrubbed of any remaining remnant of fuzz.

After Brent was satisfied with his handiwork on the back and sides of my freshly shorn head, he then grabbed his comb and a pair of barber shears and began to snip away the bulk of the hair on the top of my head. More hair tumbled to my lap and shoulders as I could now see a remotely flat brush taking shape. When most of the bulk was removed he placed his tools on the counter and dispensed a wad of shaving cream on his palm from the lather warmer machine on the counter. He then began to distribute the lather through the hair on top of my head. He slowly worked the foam in to ensure it was evenly distributed. Following that, he took a brush and hair dryer and began to blow the hair straight up, hardening it in the process. My hair wasn’t the only thing that was stiff and standing erect.

Brent then picked up the large Oster clippers from behind the chair and placed his hand on my shoulder. I knew what was coming next, but I never could have prepared for it. He centered the clippers above my forehead and said, "Deep breath." I complied and he then carefully placed them about an inch from my front hairline, lowered them and placed them directly on my head. He then slowly, forcefully and deliberately navigated them from the front center of my head all the way along the top center ridge, climbing over the top and then down to the crown to meet the hairless back. More hair rained down as a huge bald white line was installed on the top of my head as he mowed through the thatch of hair. This was the beginning of my landing strip. The sensation of the sharp bare blade converging with my sagittal suture bone was overwhelming and I think I was close to losing consciousness. My dick jumped yet again and I almost shot my load right then and there. I was truly being scalped, and it felt marvelous.

He continued to widen the landing strip, shearing off more and more hair along the center top of my head. Brent then lined the clippers up to the center of my forehead and moved them in toward the front fringe of hair. He began sculpting the deck leaving about ½ inch of fringe in the front, continuing toward the crown as the clippers once again skinned the top center of my head and removed all that was within their path. Another pass followed as the front was reduced and a flat plane was beginning to take shape. He worked with a flourish and expertise of someone who was very talented and passionate about his craft. This man is an artist, I thought. No different than a sculptor creating a statue, only he was using clippers, scissors and razors to form his masterpiece. I felt like he was a God and he was re-creating me in his image.

Although I was fascinated with the visual of my transformation, at this point I decided to close my eyes and concentrate and relish in the sensual pleasure of the clippers touching my scalp; the sound of the clippers making contact with the hair; the feel of his strong hand positioning my head with authority. As he continued to flatten the top deck, I could feel him using a small stiff brush against my scalp as he positioned the deck in perfect cutting position and also whisked away the stray clippings. The feel of the tight bristles against my scalp was yet another wonderful unexpected pleasure.

The buzzing sound ceased and then Brent reclined the chair and rested my neck in the curvature of the sink behind the chair. He turned on the faucet and began spraying warm water on my head while running his strong hand over the entire area, caressing my head in the process. He turned the faucet off and then applied a dollop of hot lather directly on my freshly cut landing strip. The warmth of the lathing being directly applied to the top of my naked scalp was yet another sensation I wasn’t prepared for. Another throb of my cock. He repeated the process of one dollop each to the left side of my head, the right side and then the back. He worked the lather in purposefully, moving his hand in a circular motion from the strip, to the top edges, down the sides and finally up the nape to the crown. The experience, if not before, became truly intimate at this point.

Next came a hot towel. He placed it on back of my head and then wrapped it around the sides, over my forehead and resting over my face. He let the towel sit for a minute or two and then forcefully pushed it down hard over all areas of my scalp. He then removed the towel and wiped the excess foam from my head. Still with my head resting on the sink, he then applied a generous amount of pre-shave oil. After he was satisfied with the even distribution of the oil, he lifted the back of the chair to the sitting position. I was expecting to catch my first glimpse of the near finished product, but I noticed that Brent had covered the mirror I was facing with a barber cape. "No more peaking until I’m finished," he said and grinned. More dollops of hot lather and deliberate application followed.

Brent took a long straight razor from the counter, wiped some cream away from the demarcation line above my temple with his thumb and began shaving my head. The motion of the razor scraping my scalp repeatedly was almost more than I could bear. He forcefully, but respectfully positioned my head where he wanted it and held it in place as he continued the process of reducing the microscopic stubble to nothing but skin. I moaned with pleasure as he shaved the entire length of the landing strip and continued over the crown as my dick bounced yet again. After he was done shaving, he lowered the back of the chair again and placed my neck back on the sink. He rinsed it again, applied more hot lather, and began shaving it again; this time he was using a safety razor and took slow strong strokes against the grain, all the while my head was enveloped by the basin and controlled by his powerful grasp. He kept running his thumb over my scalp against the grain to see if there were any rough spots. When he found one, he carefully smoothed it out.

When he was finished with the shaving process, he applied a generous amount of aftershave onto my newly exposed scalp, pouring it directly on my bald landing strip and then rubbing it all over my freshly skinned bare scalp. The bay rum aftershave was mildly painful as it stung slightly, but it also seemed as though it tightened and protected my skin; and the aroma was intoxicating. Such a fine line between pleasure and pain. The front of my Speedo was drenched in pre cum at this point.


Brent finally lifted the chair and although I was sitting upright again, and my head was spinning. The whole process was truly a mind-boggling affair. He spent the next few minutes meticulously blending the remaining hair in with the smooth shaven areas. He repeatedly inspected each area and ensured he had a perfect blend along the sides and top, fine-tuning his meticulous creation with various clippers and blade lengths.

I thought it was finally time for the big reveal, but I was wrong. Brent reclined the chair once again and swiveled it so that my feet were now pointed to the counter and my head was on the headrest. This was the first time that I could feel my bare scalp resting on the leather of the chair. If felt naked, bare, and strangely adhesive. It felt so bald and clean. "Just one more thing to finish it off" he explained. He put his hand under the cape, cupped my lyrca-encased scrotum, ran his finger up my taint and then palmed and stroked my rock hard cock several times. He unsnapped and removed the cape. He then stood above me and undressed down to an army green jock strap. His dick was erect and his ass was spectacularly round and firm. Noticing my raised eyebrow, he grinned and said, "You’re not the only one who has to keep it in check at the barbershop." Next, he straddled me in the chair and began moving his hands up and down my chest and stomach and then moved to my shoulders and the back of my hairless head while lying directly on my body. He propped himself up on the arm rests of the chair and began grinding his mesh covered penis over my spandex wrapped dick. We kissed hard and passionately. He was as talented with his tongue as he was with his clippers and he tasted good.

He stood up and removed his jockstrap to reveal his beautiful rock hard cock and manscaped crotch. He placed each hand on the sides of my swim briefs, grabbed them, grinned and said, "It’s not like you need to worry about hiding your erection anymore," and slowly pulled my snug Speedo off and dropped it on the next chair.

He seemed a bit perturbed when he revealed my unruly bush, but more than pleased to rectify the situation. "Looks like we have one more haircut to do." He made quick work of reducing my shrub to a #1 stubble. He then slathered hot foam on my entire crotch and began carefully shaving my shaft and scrotum with a safety razor. He removed the excess cream with a hot towel and cleaned the rest of the area. My cock and balls were now as hairless and smooth as the majority of my head.

Now that my pubic hair had been tamed, Brent began to run his tongue up and down the shaft of my penis. He placed his shorn scrotum above my mouth and I reciprocated sucking his dick. We tag teamed for several minutes until he stepped off, walked to the front of the chair and began to masturbate, using my saliva as lubricant. He held my head up close to his crotch and ejaculated a load of hot cum directly on my newly skinned smooth landing strip. It’s a good thing I was already lying down because I nearly lost consciousness again after that. It was shocking, but also exhilarating. So that’s what landing strips are for, I thought to myself. Not missing a beat, Brent began to rub his own brand of butch wax into the remaining hair on my head. He lifted the chair and began to work his semen into my shoe, and then brushed it up with the blow dryer again. When he was satisfied with the final product he then approached the cape covered mirror. "Are you ready, buddy? It’s outstanding!"

I honestly didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. It was truly astonishing. I knew it was me in the reflection, but the person staring back didn’t really look like me. The guy in the mirror was practically bald, with what appeared to be the top of a Mason jar sitting very high atop his head. Everything about my appearance seemed altered. My face looked wider, my jaw looked squarer, my eyes seemed larger and my neck looked thicker. I looked…kind of bad ass! I resembled one of the guys in the many haircut photos I have masturbated to. Now I was finally among the ranks of the ‘shoed and it was both frightening and liberating.

Brent was smiling ear to ear as I stared at the mirror with a stunned, and then pleased look on my face. He touched the crown of my head and pushed it down a bit and put a hand held mirror above my head so I could get a good look at the top. There was a clear U-shaped ring of hair around the circumference of my head which, when viewed from the top, only extended to just barely past my ears. The landing strip was enormous and gleaming white. It was more of a landing pad than a landing strip, and it was glorious. It was one of the most extreme, severe versions of a horseshoe flattop I have ever seen. I had been thoroughly and completely ‘shoed, and it was spectacular.

Was this the longest haircut in history? It’s very possible. What I know now, in retrospect, is that Brent knew exactly what I was going through and wanted to make it the best experience for me that he possibly could. He knew my first buzz cut was a once-in-a-lifetime event and he spared no detail. It was the full treatment…and beyond. I also know that he felt he had found a kindred spirit in me and was motivated to help me finally realize my true self.

I sat in the chair for a little while longer, staring at myself. I touched my head as I tilted it from side to side, forward and back. The shaved portions felt as smooth as glass and the deck felt so rigid, stiff and flat; I couldn’t stop rubbing it. I was in awe of my new haircut and thrilled with the result. I finally had the haircut that I’ve always coveted and longed for…and it looked great on me. My dick began to harden again and I then became strangely aware that I was still naked in the neighborhood barbershop and quickly got dressed.

Brent and I decided to grab some dinner at a local diner together. As we walked in and as we ate, I caught several patrons staring at us. What a sight we must have been: two jar-headed studs with matching horseshoe flattops eating together and barely able to take their eyes off one another. I mentioned the looks we were getting to which Brent simply replied, "The extreme always makes an impression. You’ll get used to it."

We ended up at Brent’s condo after dinner and immediately started making out. We made passionate love and explored each other’s bodies (and haircuts) for hours. I blew my load as Brent nuzzled the back of my smooth nape while stroking my dick and pounding my ass with his hard, virile cock. It felt like I ejaculated 30+ years’ worth of pent-up cum. I was the most intense orgasm I ever had. Exhausted and covered in sweat, we eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I woke up the next morning to the sensation of what seemed to be my penis rubbing against a very fine sandpaper. I looked up and saw Brent moving his landing strip up and down the tip and shaft. His once smooth landing strip was now peppered with slight stubble, and it felt incredible against my stiffening dick. Another love making session ensued.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen after we ate breakfast, I heard Brent’s voice beckoning me to the bathroom. When I arrived I saw him standing behind a chair holding a razor. "Have a seat", he said. I chuckled and said, "What’d you have in mind?" "Stubble can be fun, but we’re going keep you nice and smooth for a while. Daily maintenance will keep it looking and feeling sharp." I didn’t want to spoil the moment, so I just quietly walked over, sat down and said, "Sounds good." Brent smiled, placed a towel around me and then began spreading shaving cream over the back, sides and top of my head. He started with the razor on the landing strip. He placed the razor very far forward on the front of my head and took one long pass along the top center, making a smooth bald path once again. I sat looking at my reflection and the man above shaving me, and at that time I realized that I would never have a "regular" haircut ever again.

Brent needed to join Marty at the barbershop that morning so I prepared to leave. He then suggested I hang out at his place, and wait for him to finish work. After the somewhat life-changing events of the previous day, I decided to call in sick and take him up on his offer. Brent showed me his rather extensive selection of swim briefs and trunks in a dresser drawer and suggested I spend some time at the pool sunning my, once again freshly shaved, pale pate.

As I walked out to the community pool I caught a glimpse of my shadow in the sunshine. I had to chuckle at the extreme geometry of the image. I saw a perfectly rounded head disrupted by a square cap on top with a slight curvature at the very top where my bald landing strip had been installed. I smiled and stroked my flat beveled deck of bristles. I was still having a difficult time accepting the fact that this is the new me. However, I regret nothing. I know it’s a cliché, but this truly was the first day of the rest of my life. As I laid on the lounge chair, reveling in the warmth of the sun on my depilated head, I kept playing the events of the last day in my head and immediately got another hard-on.

Brent and I spend the rest of the weekend together getting to know each other better and talking about our upbringings, our lives thus far, our interests, hobbies and of course, our haircut fetishes. We went out to eat, swam at the pool, and even went dancing at one of the local gay clubs. I’m not exactly a regular at the club, but I noticed several acquaintances do a double-take when they saw me and my new tonsured appearance. I was starting to become more comfortable with the stares we received and just took it in stride. I was happier than I’ve ever been and very proud to be with Brent.

Monday morning eventually came around and it was time to face reality. Brent gave me a quick shave and tune up of my shoe, which had become a morning ritual over the weekend. My extreme horseshoe flattop was as fresh and smooth when I stepped into the office as it was last Thursday evening at the barber shop.

The reactions and comments were fairly non-stop. My male colleagues made a lot of jokes at my expense. We’ve all heard them: did I join the marines, did I lose a fight with a lawnmower, did I lose a bet, did I piss of my barber (ha, not even remotely ;)), etc. [Maybe I should have told them that yes, I did piss off my barber, but only for having long pubes, so he shaved those off as well. Okay, maybe T.M.I.] A lot of the women just gave confused looks, although a couple asked if they could touch it. I happily obliged. I tried to play it off like it was no big deal, just a short haircut for summer. Of course, it was a big deal, particularly to me. This is how I now choose to present myself and I was growing increasingly more comfortable with that. I was quickly learning that when you wear a horseshoe flattop, you’ve got to own it. I was getting there.

About halfway through the day my boss called me into her office. She made it clear that she was not a fan of my "bizarre" new haircut. She told me that although the firm does not have a specific dress code in regard to hair, my new flattop was unacceptable and not in adherence with the image the firm was trying to present. She told me to grow it back to "normal" or suffer the consequences. It became clear after a month, as I was still sporting a freshly shaved horseshoe flattop, that I had no intension of growing it back. She soon after asked for my resignation in exchange for a severance package, to which, again, I happily obliged.

A few months passed, and Brent and I moved in together after I sold my condo. I didn’t start looking for a new job right away. I decided to take some time off to figure out my next move. I was spending a lot of time at the Roseway observing and learning from Marty and Brent. Marty, by the way, was quite entertained the first time he saw me after my transformation. He laughed his ass off for a minute or two, then gave my head a rub and said, "I always knew you’d get there some day, Jake. It looks good on you." I asked him why he never encouraged me to get a short haircut if he knew that’s what I wanted. He told me everyone evolves on their own timeline and that I obviously wasn’t ready yet…and added that "You’re a grown man. You can make your own damned decisions." Ah, the wisdom of a barber. Anyway, Brent even started letting me cut and shave his flattop sometimes and eventually I got pretty good at it. At their encouragement, I enrolled in barber school. I think I always knew I wanted to be a barber; it’s just not something that was on my radar given my white-collar upbringing. But this was more than a fetish or fascination now, it was a passion; a lifestyle.

After I graduated barber school Brent and I got married and then bought the barbershop from Marty who in turn bought a ranch in Montana. In just over a year and a half, my life had completely changed. I was now a happily married man, a licensed barber and co-owner of the neighborhood barbershop. Oh yes, and very proud wearer of a horseshoe flattop…usually freshly shaved. ;)

We made a few updates to the shop, but still kept the general old-school vibe. We lost some regular customers when Marty retired, and a few more when people found out we were a couple. However, most of the regular clientele didn’t really care as long as they got a good haircut. Occasionally someone will walk into the shop, get a look at our matching severe flattops and then quickly turn around and leave. It makes me laugh every time. We did however gain some more customers as we started marketing more to the gay community and have even hosted a few haircut nights at the local Levi/ leather bar. The shop is now thriving and we are considering hiring a third barber. Who knows, maybe having a horseshoe flattop will be a job requirement. ;) Giving a good one certainly will be.

I’ve had many different short haircuts over the past few years since I met my husband; high & tights, recons, total baldies, but I always return to my beloved horseshoe flattop. I finally got "something more."

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