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Tom Barbers His Boys by Manny
As I headed up the nave to "my" pew, I was totally taken aback by the site of the family in front of me. Like normal, it was just the dad and his five boys (ages about 4 - 15). The lads all appeared as they usually did -- quite disheveled with shirts untucked, clashing patterns and awful home-spun haircuts made worse by a lack of sufficient washing and brushing. A few of them looked like they'd just rolled out of bed.
But it was the father who my eye clamped on. He was remarkably altered from his normal disheveled self. Instead of his usual overgrown thatch that covered his ears and collar -- he'd been shorn into an extremely short scissor cut. I mean, it just wasn't off the collar in back. The thick brown locks had been chopped off at about the earlobe. The back was awfully blocked, not tapered. And it looked shaved for an inch and a half above the natural hairline, leaving a wide ribbon of white skin.
In addition to the short haircut, Tom's clothes seemed neater. The shirt was pressed instead of wrinkled and the pants looked new-ish with a nice leather belt.
During the service, I examined his haircut closely. Yes, the neck was quite white where the long locks had been stripped away. On top, some parts had been cut so short the hair stuck straight up. I also got a view of the transformation in front as Tom turn to chide one of his boys into behaving.
The long droopy bangs that formerly had persistently fallen across his eyes were gone! His fringe had been whacked off almost to the top of his forehead! An awkwardly short, fringe that was cut a lit in a u-shape -- almost to the hairline on the sides and a bit longer in the middle He looked totally transformed by the short and somewhat awful haircut.
Despite the awful execution of the haircut, he looked infinitely better without the shaggy, sloppy mop.
At the end of the service Tom turned to greet me and chat a bit per our normal routine.
As we shook hands I exclaimed, "I hardly recognize you, Tom, with your haircut!" I stretched the truth somewhat, "It looks great. Fantastic really."
He blushed a bit, taken aback by my enthusiasm. "The haircut was way overdue, I admit. The guy at Great Clips sure gave me my money's worth. He cut is so short... I felt like a shorn sheep when I left the shop yesterday. Still getting used to it, I guess."
"Short looks perfect on you -- gives you a real handsome, manly look," I noted with a slight wink.
Tom's blush intensified, but I could tell he relished the praise. "Gee, thanks for the compliment. I'll have to tell my wife the haircut was a success. She's on the road, as usual. But when we Face-Timed last night she was pretty shocked and fairly negative about the haircut."
"I admire the way you can take care of those boys on your own so much of the time," I said, glancing at the troop of kids who were beginning to fidget.
"Being a house-husband is a lot more work than it sounds, I can assure you of that. Since my wife is on the road about 75% of the time, its almost like I'm a single parent," said Tom.
Tom's youngest started tugging on his pant leg, trying to get his attention, but Tom preferred to keep talking to me. "Jimmy, can't you see I'm speaking with Mr. Young!" he snapped.
Then, Tom continued, "Laura's mother had been helping out, baby-sitting when I needed it, doing some shopping and giving the boys haircuts. Unfortunately, she had a stroke that left her with a bit of paralysis last month and can't be of much help any more. Jimmy will be starting school full time next week, so that should make things somewhat better. I'll have a bit of time for myself with all five boys off the school each day."
"So, it'll be short haircuts for the boys at Great Clips this week as they get ready to go 'back to school'?" I asked, especially eyeing the middle son who sported a huge mop of curls. He had about twice as much hair as his brothers with straight hair, but it ironically looked better groomed. The huge, loopy, soft curls made him look like Raggedy Andy.
"Well, not sure if I'll take them to Great Clips. The price is right, but I think my hair got cut too short, especially the bangs. I can't get used to it," Tom laughed nervously tugging on the short fringe. "Don't you think the bangs got cut too short?"
"I don't agree at all. The short hair lets your handsome facial features shine -- like those nice green eyes. I'd never noticed them before with that long hair in your face. Actually, Tom, I'd like to see your hair cut even shorter. My barber could give you an excellent short taper up the back. Frankly, if I were giving the instructions, I'd have him give you a flattop!"
"A flattop!" Tom gasped. "You're talking ULTRA-short now!" There was a moment of stunned silence, but then he continued," "Do you really think that would work for me? My grandfather sported one as a young man in the 1960s. He looked very spiffy in the photo of him we had on our mantle when I was growing up."
"What do you say we take you and the boys to my barber some time this week. A flattop for you. Back-to-school haircuts for the boys. And, I'm needing a trim myself," I said, remembering how nice my fussy business cut looked in the mirror as I got ready for church earlier that morning. I really didn't need any sort of a trim as I like my business cut on the longish, very plush side.
"Tell you what, I've been needing a break from the boys. What do you say I ask their grandpa to babysit tomorrow afternoon and we visit your barber together. Then, it's pizza and beer on me at the Tavern on 5th Street," Tom suggested.
"A date? Why not! If you let my barber take you down flat, I'll pick up the tab for the haircut. I know you'll be the most handsome guy in the pub when we show off your new flattop," I laughed.
"And if we're sporting twin flattops, all eyes will be on us, for sure!" he joked back.
Unexpectedly, Tom reached up and gently stroked my soft chestnut colored hair with natural auburn highlights. "You've sported this little business cut for too long, Sam! We both need a big change."
I was taken aback by his boldness in touching my hair in such a public manner -- and in church! And the fact that he would press me to go flat as well. I mean in one quick turn he went from being my prey to being my pursuer.
A surge of excitement swelled up within me. Before I could get cold feet, I quickly said, "I'm up for it. Tomorrow. 4:30 p.m. Frank's Barber Shop -- just three blocks from the Tavern on 5th, near Dobbs Street."
"I'm excited about our date," cooed Tom. "I had no idea I'd be open to an even shorter haircut than what I got yesterday. I felt quite scalped when I left Great Clips, mourning the loss of my long bangs. I had grown quite accustomed to them covering my eyes..."
Just then, the priest walked up. "Quite a change, Tom. Did you get a haircut?" he said, asking the extremely obvious.
I used the opportunity to slip away. For the rest of the day I could not stop thinking about Tom's very short crop, coupled with his sons needing 'back to school' haircuts (all five of them!) and then his boldness in moving my business cut to the chopping block.
I ran to the bathroom several times that afternoon to examine my meticulously groomed hair. A nice helmet of hair, healthy and shiny. I grabbed a hand mirror and surveyed the back. The chestnut locks were full of body and sheen. I loved the slight wave and the way the hair at the nape lapped down halfway over the dress shirt's collar.
I also thought quite a bit about my lifelong fantasy of telling a barber to 'give me a flattop'! With one quick zip of the clippers my pampered forelock falling to my lap! The barber obliterating my fussy business cut, my legs wobbling with nervousness as I emerged from the chair, feeling the flat bristles on top for the first time. I'd always fantasized about the transformation at the barber shop. The fear of showing it off for the first time....
Now, to add to that, the idea of Tom making it happen! I imagined him to take charge and give the barber instructions about how my hair should be cut. And, if I squirmed in the chair...perhaps Tom would need to paddle me. That was my other fantasy. To receive my first adult spanking! The thought of having a handsome young father spank me like I was one of his erring sons made my cock more than stir.
As all these thoughts were racing through my mind, the phone rang. "Sam? Tom here," the voice came through clearly.
My heart beat quickly. Was he going to cancel out?
"Tom! Good to hear you. I was just thinking about you...." I replied.
"You were? Thinking what?" he asked, suddenly putting me on the spot.
"About that flattop you're going to tell the barber to give me. I want my very first one to be quite short!" I blurted out. I could not believe what I had just said!
"Oh, so you want me to be a bit of a father-figure, instructing the barber while you squirm in the chair?" he laughed. "I have plenty of experience in making sullen lads comply with instructions and meekly submitting to things they don’t want. My oldest is in a very trying stage just now. He's beginning to show a rebellious streak."
"You're not a believer in 'sparing the rod'?" I asked.
"And risk 'spoiling the child'?! What does the Good Book say? Of course I have a paddle! It's my last resort, but it's put to use from time to time," he stated.
"Sometimes I wish I had been paddled as a boy," I mused. "My mother pampered me and all my father had for me was praise! I got away with everything!"
"Oh, so you were a mollycoddled Mama’s boy?!" Tom exclaimed. "Well, act up in the barbershop tomorrow, and you may just get your wish to experience the paddle. That fussy business cut of yours -- you know, that nice, pretty soft hair of yours....I don't want any whining when the first big clumps start falling to the cape? Do you understand?" Tom snapped playfully. "I can hardly believe you set this little outing to the barber shop up. You always came across to me as a rather vain man, quite stuck on himself. I've seen you admiring your well groomed hair in the church lavatory. Making sure every lock was neatly in place and then smiling with great approval at your perfect coif. But, tomorrow, you'll be hustled into the barber shop and made to sit very submissively while I instruct the barber to take the clippers to it!" The level of excitement in Tom's voice grew as he chatted.
"So why did you call?" I asked, hardly able to contain myself at the thought of Tom playing the father-figure and making me be submissive.
"Well, now that I know what's on your mind, my idea isn't going to fly at all," Tom said, rather disappointed.
"Tell me," I urged Tom. "Maybe I'll like your idea even better than my own."
"I went to my mother-in-law's this afternoon and picked up her barber kit. I thought I could give you a haircut myself. I’ll get a little experience on you and then take the clippers to the boys -- a hassle-free, back-to-school butch cut for each of the five. Or should I say, given our recent conversation, short butch cuts for all six of my boys?!"
Suddenly my cock sprang to attention. An amateur kitchen butch cut! That would be even more demeaning than a professionally cut flattop by an experienced barber.
"Why don't you bring your clippers here -- and your paddle? Right now! Yes, get some practice on my hair — send it all to the cape yourself, like you said, and put a quick end to my vain preening. Then we can head back to your place and watch the curls fall. Do the boys know about the butch cuts?" I asked.
"Yep, and they're excited. Well, four of them are. They hated having to sit quietly for their grandmother and the ordeal went on forever. I told them we'd have the clip jobs done in just a few minutes. And there would be no more squabbling about hair not being combed in the morning when they were hurrying to catch the school bus."
"Was it the one with curls who objected?" I asked.
"No, not Carl! He is the most excited of all. Said he was tired of the kids saying he looked like a sissy with girl's hair. Poor guy, his grandmother was so fond of the curls...she simply would not cut them off as he wanted her to." Tom said. "No, it's my oldest who is objecting to kitchen haircuts from me. Bill. He's in a snit and said that at his age he should make up his own mind about his hair."
"Poor fellow. Give Bill $20 and send him off to the barber on his own. He may surprise you," I recommended.
"Well, I'll think about it. And, I'll be at your place in, uh, 10-15 minutes! Clipper and paddle in tow, for sure!" exclaimed Tom.
From the time we hung up to the time I heard rapping on front door, I had had a radical change in feeling. My wild anticipation flip-flopped abruptly to shear dread. There was no way I wanted a burr haircut...or even a flattop. I could not face my colleagues and acquaintances without my usual fussy business cut. My helmet hair was like a security blanket. I didn’t want it mowed off and discarded.
The rapping at my front door grew louder, very insistent. "Open up at once, Sam!" the demand came. "I know you are in there!"
And then, to my shock, the door just flew open. It had not been locked and Tom barged in. He dropped his bag and pulled out a set of barber shears. "Come here right now!" he ordered me, brandishing the flashing steel blades. "I can’t wait to get your transformation going!" He exuded authority.
"Oh, Tom, I've changed my....." I began whining.
But my objection was cut off by one swift move. Tom lunged at me and grabbed my pampered forelock. He wrestled me into a firm head lock and then I heard the hideous shriek of shears sawing through dry hair. The blades of the shears were pressed to my scalp. The forelock was coming off right at the root!
"Changed your what?!" Tom demanded, holding aloft the severed lock of my beautiful chestnut colored hair. He tossed the mass onto the coffee table. "Now, stand up! Pull down your pants!" he ordered.
I complied with fear, excitement and trepidation. With my pants around my ankles, Tom hustled me over to the dining room table and forced me to lean across it. Then he wrenched down my white Fruit of the Looms.
THWACK! Instantly, the sting of the paddle reverberated through my whole body. "You should have opened the door when I knocked!" THWACK, THWACK! It was obvious that he was full of energy and the desire to vigorously subdue me.
I felt myself in full splendor, eager to explode with excitement.
Then Tom smiled sweetly and stroked my locks. "I hope you've learned a good lesson, Sammy. Your virgin ass looks so artistic, streaked with red. Oh, it's so firm! Now, be a good boy and lets get the barbershop set up in your kitchen."
I hastily pulled up my underpants, hoping my delight wasn't on full display. Then I seated myself on a kitchen chair and waited for the barber to arrive.
As Tom entered the kitchen, I noticed a definite bulge on him, as well. "Ready for your butch, Buddy?" he asked.
"It's all yours. What number am I going to get?" Now that there was no turning back, the anticipation had returned.
"I had thought about a #2, but the forelock came off so close to the scalp I think you're getting a #1!" he announced.
"A #1 all over...." I murmured, imagining how I’d look clipped down to the wood.
Tom looked so in control and authoritative as he plugged in the clippers, eyeing the remains of my business coif. "I rather like this role of barber! Oh, and look — a real barber’s cape to fasten about your neck!" He exclaimed as he took out a folded square of white cloth from the bag.
He cast the cape and placed the metal clip so that the cloth nearly choked off my airflow. Then he stroked my lush locks that were still nice and thick, lapping longish as they dangled from my nape. "Oh that feels soooo good, Tom," I groaned with delight.
"So I’m fulfilling all your fantasies today, Sam?" He whispered in my ear.
"Almost all of them...." I replied.
He shoved my head forward and the banter stopped. The next thing I knew, the metal teeth of the clippers were at my nape chewing through my plush businesscut, taking it down incredibly close to the scalp.
"Oh, it’s amazing how easily this comes off!" Tom commented. "You’re going to look so sweet and innocent with a baldy cut!"
My heart pounded as I followed the path of the clippers in my mind. Tom was determined to strip my head bare.
"What do you say I give you a baldy when you finish my haircut?" I inquired.
Tom laughed off the suggestion. "No, baldy cuts are for boys. Especially in large families where every penny needs to be watched. Besides, Christina was very mad about my short haircut. She absolutely forbade me to cut it any shorter!"
So Tom was indeed a henpecked house husband! I felt like calling him out on it, but feared it could provoke another round with the paddle and my butt was still sore.
"Now, sit up straight," Tom snapped at me. "Time to tackle the top!"
"A amateur kitchen haircut is so exciting," I said with a nervous, giddy giggle. "What will I tell everyone at work tomorrow?"
"I just wish Christina weren’t so opinionated....." Tom mused.
"Or so domineering?" I asked. "You’d look sweet with a baldy cut too, Tom!"
"My heart had been set on the flattop...." he sighed. "Imagine us all on the same pew in church. Me with an immaculately cut flattop and the six boys from oldest to youngest with baldy cuts!"
"Including Bill?" I asked.
"Well, he’s still under my roof. I need to be more authoritative with him -- yes, he will bite his lip, grin and bare it! The bare head..." Tom said firmly.
Tom proceeded to clip my whole head, carefully sending the entirety of my fussy business cut to the floor of the kitchen.
"Oh, you are looking amazing, Sam! I think the clipped head is so sexy!" He turned off the machine and set it down.
Tom stroked my closely clipped pelt with his hand. It felt like a tender caress. "I could stroke your head all day like this."
I smiled shyly. "So, you think I look sexy?"
"Very...." his voice trailed as his lips approached mine. "Oh, I shouldn't do this...." he mumbled. He firmly took my head in his hands to let me know who was in charge. I melted like butter under his control. After a while, we paused. He continued talking, "I get so lonely at home with just the boys...making sandwiches for their lunches, doing laundry, driving them around to their activities, making sure they do their homework. Clipping off your business cut and our time together now makes me feel like a real man!"
"You can't imagine how virile you looked when you pulled down my pants and forced me over the dining room table!" I gushed.
"You know, I am going to get the flattop! I don't care what Cristina says. I'm the man and will cut my hair to the length I please!" he said, oozing confidence.
The next Sunday I was not surprised to see Tom and his sons just as I imagined. The five boys with baldy cuts and Tom with an amazing flattop.
I reached up and tapped his shoulder. "You look amazing with your flattop!" I whispered.
"Hey, Sam. Come sit up here with us." He turned to his sons. "Boys, move down a bit and make room for Mr. Young. He's going to sit with us."
I felt very good to be included in the family unit.
"Oh, Bill," I said, that's quite a smart haircut you got!" I noted.
He blushed. "Well, my Dad gave me $20 and said I could go to the barber and get the haircut of my choice. But my brothers enjoyed the kitchen butch cuts so much.... Well, I asked my Dad if I could keep the $20 and get a butch too."
"And he agreed?" I asked.
"Sure did! He's the best Dad. And guess what? I decided to put the $20 in the church offering today."
"Seems like he's raising a very fine son," I said with a big smile as I rubbed Bill's butch a bit just as the opening hymn started.