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Mr. Johnson's surprise by Manny
“Good morning, Will," Mr. Johnson said to me as he walked through cubicle land towards his coveted private office on manager’s row near the executive suite.
“Good morning, sir," I dutifully replied as I admired Mr. Johnson’s expensive suit and higly polished Bruno Magli shoes. It would take me months of hard work and sacrificial economizing to afford such footware. And the expensive attaché case the tall, handsome manager carried was totally impossible for an entry-level employee like myself.
The irony was that Mr. Johnson totally relied on my research and analysis to do his job. I pulled the stuff together and he drifted into the executive suite to present it, often taking the credit for it himself! I supposed that was part of the hierarchy in the office. One day I would be in his private office and perhaps he would be in the corner suite. I had good rapport with Mr. Johnson and several times he suggested he was mentoring me so that I could climb the corporate ladder behind him.
I often studied Mr. Johnson’s appearance and mannerisms in order to groom myself as his successor. The clothes were one object of my study, and the hair was another! Mr Johnson wore his thick mahogany locks in a highly stylized manner. Definitely a salon coif, carefully trimmed and styled with a blower so that the waves were perfectly tamed and sprayed into place.
I sported a much shorter cut — military length, sides practically skinned and the top a patch of very short hair. It was a low maintenance haircut and suited my thin, limp hair well.
I often thought how funny it would be if Mr. Johnson were to visit my neighborhood barber for a $13 buzzcut. There was no doubt my barber would make short work of his glossy locks! Could he still carry off his sophisticated persona with a simple butch cut? I doubted it. Mr. Johnson with a butch cut, chinos and a polo shirt — the thought was hilarious!
As I was lost in my little fantasy, suddenly a breathless Mr. Johnson burst into my cubicle. “Will, I’ve totally screwed up! The analysis of the third quarter — I just got a reminder that I need to brief Mr. Stewart In ten minutes. At 9:15! I have no idea what to say!"
“You told me the meeting would be next Monday, not today!" I stammered anxiously. I hoped I wouldn’t be blamed for this major glitch.
“I know! I’m not sure what I was thinking. And there’s no way to delay this. Mr. Stewart flies out to China this afternoon and needs this briefing before he meets our counterparts there," Mr. Johnson babbled.
“Take a deep breath, sir. I’ve already got the analysis done, it’s just that I don’t have it in written form for you to hand over. Go to the meeting and delay as much as possible with the general message — profits are way up. Over 32%. That’ll make Mr. Stewart cluck. I’ll come as soon as I can with a few hand-outs. Tell him that I am going to do an oral presentation..."
“I’ll tell him that it’s a developmental assignment for you, that I’m grooming you for a position of more responsibility....the deputy position I’m creating!" Mr. Johnson suggested. “Oh, you’re a life saver, Will!" The look on his face was sooo appreciative and tender. If I ever had any doubts that I was Mr. Johnson’s pet in the office, they all vanished with that enamored look!
Mr. Johnson disappeared, and I flew into action. Fortunately, I already had the charts made up and was quite familiar with what I needed to say. By the time I entered Mr. Stewart’s executive suite, the big boss was in high spirits — smiling and grinning at the general news of our success.
“Ah, so this is your deputy in the making?" Mr. Stewart said as he gave me the once over, looking with a bit of disapproval at my open collar and casual loafers. “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve decided to let him brief me directly this morning, Jake. Developing our leaders of tomorrow! It’s exactly what I was talking about in my blog. Did you read it?" Mr. Stewart asked me.
“I certainly did!" I said. “Mr. Johnson makes sure I read your blogs — we even discuss them during our monthly touchpoint meetings. “Take care of your employees and the profits they generate will take care of you," I murmured, repeating the final line of Mr. Stewart’s most recent blog. Mr. Stewart beamed with pride and self-congratulations that his blog had impacted the intended audience.
The briefing was a smashing success (although it probably would have been a bust had the overall message not been so encouraging).
“The final report will be on your desk well before you head to the airport, Mr. Stewart," I promised.
Once outside the executive area, Mr. Johnson could not contain his gratitude and relief. “You are a genius, Will! I totally owe you. BIG time!" He even gave me a sort of bro hug, and I thought I felt a little bit of a pat on my rear as I walked onto cubicle land and he turned into his private office. Perhaps Mr. Johnson had something more in mind than grooming me as his deputy. I imagined us entwined romantically, with me tussling his mahogany locks, messing them all up as he struggled to smooth them into place.
After Mr. Stewart’s return from China, he summonsed both Mr. Johnson and me into his office. “The verbal briefing that Will gave me before my trip was very effective. I had a lot more clarity from his direct explanation, Jake. And so, from now on, I’d like that to be our standard practice. You can still sit in on it, of course, but I’ll take my cues directly from Will. Oh, and since he’ll be seeing a lot more of the executive suite, see to it that he gets a wardrobe upgrade. Use the corporate card.“
After we left the suite, Mr. Johnson seemed a bit flustered. “Well, that was quite a development. A new wardrobe, and on the company! I’ve never seen such a bene given to such a young pup!" I couldn’t tell if Mr. Johnson was happy or irritated by my good fortune.
Mr. Johnson looked at me a bit skeptically. “I’ll take you to my exclusive men’s store — get you looking nice and sharp for the managerial ranks, Will. I just hope, though, that you don’t eclipse your mentor....know what I mean, kid?" There was a bit of condescension in his voice as he pursed his lips and grimaced a bit.
Poor Mr. Johnson was feeling the heat! I rather enjoyed watching the pompous man squirm uncomfortably.... I could eclipse him sooooo easily, I thought to myself. Then his pompous wardrobe and pretty boy looks would count for very little!
At the clothing store, Mr. Johnson surprised me a bit when he followed me into the changing booth as I took in the haul the salesman had loaded us up with. At first I thought he would hang up the clothes that I was to try on and exit, but Mr. Johnson stood there watching my every move. Talk about the lack of privacy! I was a bit embarrassed at my dingy white Fruit of the Looms; he smirked as he examined the lowbrow merchandise I sported and asked if I bought them at WalMart.
But the biggest surprise was when Mr. Johnson decided that I had not tucked my dress shirt in correctly. And did his hand ever wander as he was “straightening things out" deep inside my trousers!!
“Just want to make sure everything is laying down, Ih place, you know, exactly where it should be ," he commented as he watched me blush.
I felt humiliated and tried to suppress an urge to strike back. But, the truth was, I had reached my limit with Mr. Johnson taking advantage of my lowly position. He had no right sticking his hand down my pants and giving my cock a huge squeeze!
My blood boiled as I stared at him with an icy glare. His pretty boy locks.... “Like your hair, perfectly in place!" I suddenly exclaimed as I reached up and decimated his perfect coif with my hand. Mr. Johnson cringed at the assault, and I felt good he was getting a taste of unwanted touching.
The mahogany locks felt divine. I thoroughly enjoyed giving Mr. Johnson a taste of his own treatment — taking extreme liberties. With my hand deep in his locks, I grasped the pampered mane and gave it a slight yank — just enough to sting. It felt good having some power over Mr. Johnson.
“Ouch," Mr. Johnson whimpered as I continued yanking his hair. Finally I released my grip, and he went into overdrive, straightening his locks and arranging them back into place.
Once his hair was smoothed, Mr Johnson did not attempt to hide the satisfied look as he admired his locks in the three-way mirrors. Such a vain, self-satisfied man, I thought...ripe for being cut down to size.
“I suppose if I’m to really climb the ladder, I’m going to have to get myself a pretty boy coif like yours, Jake," I said, purposely seeing how my boss would react to a more familiar first-name address.
“Pretty boy!" Mr. Johnson exclaimed. “It’s a standard executive style, for your information, perhaps a bit on the longish side. And since when did you think it was appropriate to address me as Jake?"
“The fellows in cubicle land all refer to you as Mr. PrettyBoy, with the clothes and hair and all the accessories," I commented sheepishly, assuming again the subordinate position.
“And that’s why they are still in cubicle land!" Mr. Johnson retorted with a withering sneer.
The following week, there were many rumors circulating in the office....a possible merger, a corporate restructuring, a takeover by a larger company.
On his way into the office, Mr. Johnson caught up with me in the parking lot.
“Will, I’m worried. Mr. Stewart has been keeping me out of some key meetings. Like, the 2 o’clock call with China. He told me I had probably more important things to do so he’d ‘understand’ if I wasn’t on the call...." Mr. Johnson stammered.
“Maybe because he’s asked me to sit in on it...." I said, suddenly sending Mr. Johnson’s worry-meter over the moon.
“Will, if I get fired, I do not know what I’ll do. Apart from the salary, I need the health insurance. This is the worse time ever for me...some family issues, and there are so many men with my experience pounding the pavement just now. I can’t be one of them," he pleaded, as if I had something to do with it.
I felt sorry for Mr. Johnson. What a terrible situation to be in....but he had spent years taking credit for my work and lately he’d started abusing his position over me with off-putting come-ons.
When we got into the office, there was a commotion in cubicle land. My colleagues called out, “Here’s our new boss, Will Patterson!"
Then one fellow quipped, “If you need help packing up your stuff, Mr. PrettyBoy, I’ll give you a hand....."
“Packing up....?" Mr. Johnson stammered, before hustling on, not wanting any explanation.
I followed Mr Johnson into his office. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Jake. I’ll intercede with Mr. Stewart on your behalf."
“Oh, Will, you sweet thing! You’d do that for me?" Jake gushed, looking up at his young mentee from the chair he’d slumped into.
“Some menial job would be better than none — like my old position," I suggested.
“You mean, like a position exchange?" Jake asked, in a very tenuous tone. His fingers plied his mahogany mane nervously.
“It’s up to you — a cubicle with a salary and health insurance or the sidewalk," I said, soberly summing up Jake’s options.
Then I came close to Jake, towering over his hunched frame, and put my hand tenderly on my boss’ shoulder. “Of course, I will help you transition into your new position. We can run by WalMart for some more appropriate clothes and then on to the barber shop...."
I savored the moment as I stroked Jake’s prissy mane. “I think a buzzcut will be a nice, practical haircut for you, Jake. Yes, a tidy butch will help you blend in with the fellows in cubicle land. Perhaps a #2 all over." My voice reeked with a false sympathy. I wanted that vain, cocky pretty boy shorn!
Jake looked up, knowing that pleading for anything else was a non-starter. Then I took Jake’s face in my hands and brought his lips towards his former frightened prey. The feeling of power was intoxicating. I whispered in his ear, “Fruit of the Looms with a simple butch cut — no doubt, a big change for you. I think I’ll like you, innocent and submbssive! And if you squirm or carry on in the barber’s chair, I will certainly take my paddle to your hind end!"
“A spanking?!" Jake exclaimed nervously.
“I can’t wait to see your pretty boy look falling to the barber’s cape — thick, copious clumps of this pampered hair, piling up on your lap," I purred as I stroked the lovely mahogany locks.
“Perhaps you might leave some length on top," Jake pleaded.
“Or perhaps I might instruct the barber to give you a flattop with a generous lather shaved landing strip on top!" Will retorted. “How wonderful, virgin scalp would be up here — stroking your bare skin!!"
“Oh, Will, you wouldn’t!" Jake begged.
“That’s Mr. Patterson to you, Jake. And now I’m thinking that I might take the clippers to you myself. Pick up a set at WalMart when we’re there shopping for your new wardrobe and subject you to a nice amateur kitchen buzzcut. A #1 butch all over. Tight, tight, tight. Nothing left up here by stubble!" I imagined all of Mr. Johnson’s wonderful hair at my feet and the miserable look on his face as he sat submissively on my kitchen chair. Mr. Johnson’s first butch cut!
I studied the thick, copious forelock that was the flagship of Mr Johnson’s executive coif as I spied a pair of scissors on the desk next to the ruler and tape dispenser. I could begin Mr. Johnson’s unwanted makeover....
But, just as I was imaging holding aloft the severed lock aloft before tossing it into the waste can, Mr. Stewart burst into the office.
“Oh, you’re both here! Fantastic. You’ll get the news at the same time. Will this is your new office. You’re in charge of the division. And Jake, it’s your time. You’re finally being made executive VP! Congratulations to you both!" The CEO shook our hands vigorously and he offered profuse congratulations. I don’t know who was more surprised, Mr. Johnson or me!
When he had left the private office, the air was bristling with excitement and tension.
Mr. Johnson quickly moved to lock the door. “So you have a paddle, young Will! Ever since you mentioned it, I’ve been desperate to feel it.“
“It’s at home, but this will do for now," I said as he picked up the ruler I’d spotted earlier. “Now are you going to drop your pants like a good boy, or am I going to have to....."
Very quickly Mr. Johnson undid his belt and dropped his pants. My heart beat with wild excitement as I leaned him over the big desk and pulled down his fancy silk boxer shorts.
THWACK! The first blow was perfect. THWACK, THWACK. The second and third left faint pinkish markings across the virgin buttocks.
“And what about these locks?" I asked, fondling the pretty boy coif. “I’m wanting more than ever to be your barber."
Suddenly, Jake wriggled away from beneath my control.
“What are you doing Friday night?" Jake asked as he pulled his pants back on.
“Giving you a haircut in my kitchen?" I shrugged.
“How about watching my head get shaved at O’Flannigan’s Pub?! I signed up last night as a late-entry shavee for the annual St. Baldrick’s fund raiser. My sister has just diagnosed with cancer and I want to support her. Here, let me show you where you can donate."
Jake excitedly tapped away on his computer and then the photo with his perfectly coiffed mane appeared with a “new" stick on the corner. Under his photo was the caption: shavee.
“Oh, Jake! You’re not the vain, pompous self-absorbed pretty boy that I had you pegged as," I exclaimed. “That is so decent of you! I’ll be there to watch all of your beautiful hair fall to the big green cape.... And, of course, I will donate to the cause."
And with that Jake and I found ourselves lost in a blissful few moments, enjoying each other, chatting about our promotions....and imagining how Jake would look with his first ever head shave as he returned to the office as a VP sporting a tight butch!
A few days later Jake Johnson squirmed nervously in the folding chair as the barber cast the huge green St. Baldrick’s cape around his neck and fastened it tight with a huge metal clip. The whole office was in the pub to watch the transformation, even Mr. Stewart who had contributed generously.
“This nice mane of hair raised over $2000 in just two days," the event coordinator announced as he stroked the shimmering executive coif.
Jake whispered something to him.
“Of course he can! Will Patterson, come on up here and kick off Mr. Johnson’s transformation!" The coordinator announced.
I scrambled up onto the makeshift platform and took the huge set of Oster clippers into my hand. I took the copious forelock and held it straight up — a full six inches of mahogany glory!
“Bald, bald, bald...bye, bye Pretty Boy," the fellows from cubicle land began to chant.
My hand trembled with excitement as I snapped on the clippers and brought the naked metal teeth right to the hairline.
Then, with a shriek, the clippers hit the copious lock and plowed into the thicket of hair.
I was firm and authoritative with the clippers, driving them slowly, steadily, and forcefully through my boss’ mane of lush mahogany.
Suddenly, a huge mass of lovely brown hair fell with a mighty thud onto the green cape.
Jake shuddered at the sight. His transformation was certain. He panned for the camera. “I just wanted a trim," he whimpered dramatically as he reached out from under the green cape and fondled the severed lock.
“Sit still, Baldy!" I snapped playfully. “Or, will I have to use my......"
The rest of the sentence was lost in the cheer from the crowd as the clippers emerged through the locks at the back of the head and a huge white strip of scalp became clearly visible.
“Someone hand Jake here a tissue," I quipped. “When our dear PrettyBoy sees himself shaved bald, I’m sure we’ll all be crying — tears of laughter for most of us, but tears of sorrow for one particularly prissy, vain boss!"