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Pastor Hilda Makes a Convert by Manny
My first story involving a barberette!
The thought of a lady pastor didn’t quite appeal to me, it wasn’t something I was used to, but I decided to give the church a try as I was new in town and it had been recommended as a good place to meet people. The congregation was very warm and the service inspirational. After a few Sundays, the idea of Pastor Hilda seemed normal.
She was outgoing and exercised good leadership. Her sermons with sound and thought-provoking. And she had a very handsome husband who always sat on the first pew and gazed up at her lovingly. The role-reversal was complete with John playing the part of the dutiful pastor’s spouse who made small talk and helped newcomers feel welcome.
"Come to our house for dinner next Sunday," John said to me, with a warm smile radiating from his handsome face. "We’ll go together, right after the service. I’ll prepare some of my special Swiss fondue."
John Wuthrich’s thick blond hair and sparkling blue eyes conveyed his apparent Swiss heritage quite well.
"I’d love that," I said, accepting the invitation eagerly.
As John shook my hand farewell, his thick blond forelock slipped down over his eye, covering it completely. His nice mane was quite shaggy, lapping down past the bottom of his collar in back. What I wouldn’t give to take a clippers to him and buzz him down to a tight military length!
I wanted to engage him in some talk about his hair. Almost without thinking, I popped an impromptu question. "Oh, John, I was wondering if you could recommend a good barbershop? I’m getting to that point," I said, running my fingers through my chestnut colored hair with fiery auburn highlights. My hair was considerably shorter than John’s — in a longish businesscut that seemed quite conservative next to his floppy moptop.
"Wuthrich’s! It’s convenient and free!" John laughed.
John was an amateur barber?! My mind raced at the idea. Maybe he could cut my hair and then I’d offer to do his....
But, he quickly took the wind out of my sails, pointing to his wife, "Pastor Hilda is my barber! And, I’m due for a trim myself. But I hear Jones’ Barber Shop on Main Street is quite good. Ask Herman Miller — he goes to Jones’. There's Herman. Maybe you can catch him," the pastor’s husband urged me pointing to an older gentleman exiting the church.
The following Sunday I was in for a real shock.
John Wuthrich had gotten a haircut during the week — and it was a brutal shearing! He looked scalped....awful really. His forelock had been hacked off near the roots and was nothing more that a tuft. The chop job was uneven and nothing left was more than an inch in length. I felt so sorry for him. His glorious hair butchered. And I wasn't the one wielding the shears....
John came bounding up to me with his usual grin as I entered the foyer. "We’re on for lunch, right? You didn't forget! Have you had fondue before? I hope you like cheese."
All that chatter....and I was trying to process his awful amateur hack job. The amount of hair that must have hit the floor in Pastor Hilda’s Barbershop was undoubtedly staggering.
"I’m looking forward to it," I said, unable to take my eyes of his haircut.
John noticed the focus of my attention. He quickly ran his hand over the remaining tufts of hair. "I guess I got more than a trim this week," he said with a blush. "My annual spring shearing. I love to shed the overgrowth after the first day of spring. In fact, I wish Hilda had cut it shorter...."
Then I blurted out a bald faced lie. "She did a great job, John! You look good with short hair."
"I’ll be sure to pass the complement on to my wife," he said, beaming.
Throughout the service, I couldn’t keep my eyes off John’s awful haircut. I imagined Hilda hacking away at his beautiful hair and the piles of shorn locks growing at her feet in the amateur kitchen barbershop.
Strangely, the idea of a hideously short kitchen haircut that looked awful made my cock stir. As I imagined the scene, the man in the chair drifted between John and me. Hilda hacking away at my power helmet hair style, totally decimating it. I would feel small, insignificant and vulnerable in her chair.
The lunch was delicious and after we’d finished consuming the fondue, the house husband dispatched the pastor and me to the living room while he prepared the coffee and desserts for us.
"On the way home, John told me that you praised my barbering skills," Hilda said after we’d settled into the living room.
"Oh, yes, it was a big change, but the short haircut suits him," I replied.
Hilda smiled with a bit of an ambiguous look on her face. "He also told me you were looking for a barber."
My heart thumped wildly. I knew were she was heading..... It excited and scared the heck out of me.
I nervously touched me hair, "Yep, it’s getting a little long."
"I’d be happy to give you a haircut after we finish desert," Pastor Hilda proposed.
"Oh, I, uh....I’ve already troubled you enough today and taken up your time with the great meal John prepared. Sunday must be an extremely busy day for you and I’m sure you’re eager for me to leave so that you can relax. I mean, isn’t what the Sabbath is for?" I babbled nervously.
"Barbering is such a relaxing activity. I was stressed yesterday preparing the sermon. It wasn’t falling into place. And when John popped his head into the study and asked if I had time to given him his spring haircut....well, it was like my stress drained away. And as I cut his hair, some great insight descended on me," Hilda explained earnestly. "But, obviously, an amateur kitchen haircut may not be your cup of tea. From the looks of it, you're used to an expensive salon."
Just then, John walked in with the tray and announced, "I hope you like German Chocolate cake!"
My mind was dizzy with confusion and agitation as I tried to continue with polite conversation. I had been let off the haircut hook, but I wanted to bring the subject back up again! Strangely, I wanted my fussy business cut butchered by Pastor Hilda! John and I would sport matching hideously short haircuts!
"Do you play squash, Bill?" John asked, yanking me back into the real world. "We’re looking for a fourth to join us on Tuesday night at the club — my buddies and I."
"Oh, sorry, but I’m a golfer," I explained.
I stirred up coffee slowly and gathered up my courage.
"Your wife offered to give me a haircut just before you brought in the dessert, John. What do you say? Was she just being polite? I don’t want to be an imposition....a free lunch and a free haircut!" I left out a nervous laugh. "Would that be taking advantage of your kindness and hospitality?"
"She loves barbering! It would be no imposition, at all. I can assured you of that," John said, studying my hair.
"A trim?" Hilda asked, "Or are you looking to go a lot shorter for spring like John?"
"Well, I had admired John’s haircut when I saw him in church this morning. A good spring shearing is what I had in mind. You know, like his." I tried to appear calm and matter-of-fact. But, as I looked at John’s awful amateur haircut, my stomach churned. I was insane! And my cock was throbbing something fierce. I crossed my legs to quell the excitement. Somehow, I wanted my fussy business cut absolutely butchered!
When we’d finished with our cake and coffee, Hilda announced, "I’ll get my barbershop set up in the kitchen. It’ll just be a few minutes." She strode out with a spring in her step and I heard her going down in to the basement.
John fingered his severed forelock. "Feels so great not having hair in my eyes for a change. I really wanted to go shorter, but Hilda hadn’t gotten her clippers out and I didn’t feel like asking her to troop down into the basement. She’d had a rough day."
Just then Hilda popped her head into the living room and held up a box —- Oster hair clippers! "Look what I brought up, John. After I finish with Bill, I can tidy you up a bit more. Give you that short military-length we were discussing last night."
"Swell, Honey!" John said.
After a few minutes, John ushered me into the kitchen.
"Take off your Sunday clothes -- jacket, shirt and all, Bill," Hilda ordered. "Oh, I mean not your pants!"
What? No cape?! I was going to be shorn by an amateur lady barber with no shirt on?! This was sounding awful.
I slowly took off my Sunday jacket and tie, followed by my dress shirt and cuff links. I felt so vulnerable. My stomach heaved as I saw the comb, shears and clippers displayed on the table — and plugged in! There was no going back on my little plan. I would enjoy it for all it was worth.
I sat uneasily on the kitchen chair. "What was your idea for the clippers?" I asked with a hint of excitement in my voice.
"Before John and I got together, I dated a soldier. His was the first haircut I learned," Hilda picked up the clippers and studied it as she described, "A #2 on top and a zero on the sides and back."
"That sounds wonderful!" chimed in John. "It’s definitely what I want this year."
"For you too?" Hilda asked, looking straight at me as she snapped on the clippers. The #2 guard was already on it.
"What’s the length of a #2?" I stammered, playing for time to steady my resolve.
"Quarter inch. It will be very tidy!" Hilda announced. "I could start with a half inch...."
"No, I want what John’s getting. A #2 on top and a zero on the sides." I flashed him a grin and he replied with a double thumbs up.
Just then, I felt Hilda thrusting the screaming metal teeth into my fussy business cut. She steadied my head and was firm with her resolve. The vibration on my scalp made me almost numb with excitement. Silence reigned in the kitchen as Hilda mowed the first clipped path through my lush chestnut-colored hair. She pulled off a wad of my shorn mane and showed me.
"There! Say good-bye to the business cut!" Hilda laughed. "I’m going to make a soldier out of you. And John too!"
"Oh, Bill, this is so much fun!" John chirped. "I’m so glad you asked Hilda to cut your hair. I think she’s going to become your regular barber."
Hilda was very authoritative with my head. There was no doubt who was in control. "Sit still, Bill, or I’ll take off your ear."
I felt so vulnerable as I watched clumps for my plush hair fall onto my lap. I’d been stripped of my Sunday clothes and now I was being stripped of my power coif.
By this time the whole top of my head had been clipped down to a #2. Hilda was swapping out the guard.
As she fiddled with the clippers, John leaned over and stroked my stubble. "It’s hard to recognize you without your fussy little business cut, Bill." I blushed and eked out a weak smile. His fingers lingered in the plush locks that still covered the back of my head. Then he gently tickled my sensitive nape. Too bad he’s taken, I thought to myself.....
"Out of the way, John," Hilda snapped. "Time for the remnants of the pretty boy look to come off!"
She pushed my head down so that my chin nearly touched my chest. Then the clippers were driven up through the nape. I shivered with delight.
"Like that?" she asked.
Then Hilda exclaimed, "Wow — that’s short!" She gasped audibly after the first drive up the back.
"I think Bill would be very handsome with a #0 all over," said John.
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious.
"Is that what you want, Bill? A baldy? To the wood all over?" asked Hilda.
"No, ma’am. I think your original plan would be best," I stammered.
The rest of the haircut transpired in silence.
Finally, Hilda snapped off the clippers. "Not much left up here that can be cut. Just this stubble!" She laughed as she caressed the top of my head. "Go look at yourself in the mirror, Bill!
I think you'll like your new streamlined look."
I stood and surveyed the floor around my feet. The linoleum was strewn with clumps of my hair. Lifeless and without purpose on the kitchen floor.
As I hustled out of the kitchen, I noticed a broom leaning against the side of the wall. Around it were mounds of John’s shorn blond hair. The amount was amazing — like piles of straw waiting to be bailed.
"It’s a good thing you did’t tidy that up yesterday," I noted as I headed to the bathroom. "John lost a lot, but there’s more to come off."
"Sit, John!" Hilda ordered. From the tone it seemed like testosterone was pulsating through her body. Ladies should not be preachers, I thought to myself....or barbers!
I was in for a horrible shock when I finally caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom. John was right. I was unrecognizable! I could not believe how my ears stuck out! The shape of my head reminded me of the Mr. Potato Head toy I’d played with as a child. I touched the bristles on top gingerly. Ouch! They felt sharp. I could not stop looking at myself. After the shock wore off, I felt a bit proud that I'd finally gone through with my life-long fantasy -- shave off my pretty hair. When I had dressed for church that morning and admired my hair in the bathroom as I brushed it into place, I had no idea I'd be returning home with a #2 on top and a #0 around the sides and back.
By the time I dragged myself back into the kitchen, John’s haircut was approaching the end. Hilda had worked her magic quickly. He was very acquiescent to his wife’s instructions. He looked marvelous with his military length crop! The awful botched scissors cut was obliterated and now he looked like a rugged marine.
"How am I looking?" John asked.
"Like a proud soldier. Much better than I am," I murmured back.
"You don’t like your new look?" he asked.
"It’ll take some getting used to," I replied.
"But, you will keep coming to Wuthrich’s Barber Shop," he stated with an air of finality in his tone.
"Oh, definitely!" I replied. "Consider me a convert!"
"It’s so much fun to have a buddy to get buzzed with. Maybe next time we can barber each other," John suggested. "That way we wouldn’t have to take up Hilda’s time."
Just then she snapped off the machine. "Another signature haircut by Hilda!" she exclaimed. "I guess that’s short enough. I like you clipped short like this, sweetie."
John was eager to see his makeover in the bathroom.
"I love it too, Honey!" he called out.
"You two boys go play down in the basement while I clean up," Hilda said. "Here, and take these clippers down with you."
As we descended the dark staircase, I felt John’s fingers caressing my clipped head. "What do you want to play," he whispered in my ear.
My legs turned to jelly at the thought....