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The horseshoe is just a beginning by Etienne

Attention please. I normaly speak french!

As long as I can remember, I allways had long hair. Not till the shoulders, of course! But at least ten inches on the top. Sometimes even more. I liked my black wavy mop very much. It’s a good thing to have dark hair, I think. It’s more spectacular. More offensive. More visible. More agressive. I loved my big and thick mutton chops too. My parents hated them. They found them very low class. It was a good reason to let them grow. I combed, since I was sixteen, in a sophisticated Pompadour style. Elvis in the fifties. Or something like that. Complicated to do, of course. And long to achieve too. But the result was really OK. It was my homework in the morning. Il used my comb for at least ten minutes. I greased my hair a lot. As much as I could. In fact, I wanted almost oily hair. It was really shining in the light. You could see each tooth of the comb in my heavy locks. Mom and Dad were horrified by that style when I still lived with them. For me, it was a good sign. In the evening I had to repair the Pompadour. Another ten minutes. Some more grease. But it was really worth the effort. I found myself very sexy. Some others did too.

Recently, I became tired of it. The feeling was coming little by little over the weeks. I did not even notice it in the beginning. After it became the great question. I had the impression never to change. I had a Pompadour for ten years, after all! I did it time and again. Always the same trick. No surprise. I needed badly a new look. Something more natural. Less complicated. Shorter, maybe. Even wild, why not? I did not know exactly what. But I had time to think about it. No hurry. I could for instance notice with a better attention the guys walking on the streets. I would certainly find THE good idea. The inspiration. As I walked, I did see lot of styles indeed. The only thing to do was to eliminate from the contest the boys with shaggy buns or poney tails. So I concentrated on men with short hair. I was rapidly fascinated by some of them. The were buzzed, sometimes very short. I found some chromed domes very attractive. It must be a real pleasure to stay forever bald. Bald can be so beautiful! I saw one or two flattops too. They were alas very few. A pity! It’s became quikly for me THE masculine haircut. The thing made for the real guys with balls. Specially with shaved sides and back. Only bare skin seen from behind. Clean, naked and smooth. Looking at this few wonderfully shorn studs, I became more and more excited. I hated now my Pompadour.

After a month, I was convinced. No doubts. No hesitation. I had to cut my hair in a very short way. I looked with attention at websites to learn the names of the hairdoes. I wanted to look determinated and not silly in the barbershop. After two days (and two exciting nights, I muss confess), I knew all usefull namings, from «recon» to «high’n tigh».From «induction cut» to «southside». My favorite word was of course «horseshoe». It was the thing that I really wanted after I’ve seen it in pictures of good looking young muscular military men and gorgeous fat cops. This extreme haircut made me immediately horny. My locks had to fall brutally on the barber’s floor. All of them. My back should become white. Totally smooth. My now ridiculous mutton shops had to let only souvenirs. I just needed the man to do that. I wanted for this sacrifice a dominant severe barber. A guy in the old style. He would have no pity for my curls. I allready imagined the sound of the Oster with the 00000 blade coming and going over my head. At the end it would remain only a tiny crown of black hair. The rest shaved to the bone. I was specially longing for a broad shaved landing strip. Thinking about it made me really mad.

I had to find the right barber. I walked during a week in the city. Some hairdressers looked too polite. Too modern. Too classical. Some others were too close to the fashion of the day. Hipster and so on. I was a litttle bit disapointed. But neverless! The perfect man existed surely somewhere. I would also find him someday. In fact, he lived in a narrow street, located in a place where I seldomly went before. The man was in his late forties. I saw him trough the window. It was a small shop. There was only one seat inside. A museum piece, this armchair! The guy had almost no hair. It was a perfect beginning. He wore a white short tunic, with no shirt under. I could see lot of hairs on his chest. Black hair, like my mop. A good thing too. I like hairy men. It was a realy hot day. The guy was sweating. I saw it very well under his very wet arms. I’m fond of sweating blokes too. It’s a wonderful manly smell. Some clippers were placed before the mirror, waintig to roar. Probably Oster, if I had seen clearly the photos of the sites. No client for the moment. I could match some pictures on the wall. Black and white. Only men with short hair. I was fascinated when a saw in the middle a photo of a teenager of the fifties wearing a flattop. A short one. Not a shoe, alas, but something already wild. Yeah!

It was the right guy to destroy my too well combed hair. I was sure. I had a week off. I decided to visit him the next day. Wenesday would also be the moment of my new look. At two o’clok, I stand before the shop. S**t! A client was already here. But nobody at least was sitting and waiting for his turn. I lost nothing to watch discreetly from the street the actual haircut in progress. Il was a real massacre. The young custumer sat. The barber began to work on his thick red hair. It was quite long and silky in the back. An enormous strand dangled from the forehead. Flamboyant. I saw the barber taking his Oster with a visible pleasure. He raised the locks very high with a comb and put with joy the blade under. Ten seconds after, I could see the beginning of the scalp. At the end, the guy had only a quarter of inch left on the the head. The rest had fallen into the cape. The shorn guy looked happy. I saw him caressing his buzzed head before he paid and went away. «Next time, you’ll take all off. I must once try the bald look», said the guy when he did close the door.

Now, it was my turn. I was a little bit trembling. I had a dry mouth. But I had to go. I heard the bell as I went in. The barber look at me with disapprobation. I was apparently not his type of guy, even if I was not more deviant that the now well cleaned redhaired boy. «Well, well,well… I normaly cut hair short or very short. I shave heads too.» My response was ready since a week. «I come to get rid of all that nasty and stupid hair.» The words were magical. Ten seconds after, I was sitting in the chair. The dude was now smiling. I starred at him. He looked good with his shiny head. His armpits smelled even stronger than I thought. What a parfume! He had long black hairs on his hands too. I took a deep breath and I said. «A want a horseshoe». Mister Barber gave me during two seconds the impression not to understand. Or to be deaf. It was too good to be true. Normal. A horseshoe is a dream for a hairdresser. Specially when there is lot of thick curls to cut savagely. It’s a gift... I repeated it. Slowly. With a neutral voice. «I will a shoe with a very broad landing strip. Back and sides totally shaven.» The man became extatic. Now he talked very quickly. I had just to confirm, and twice. «We do agree, is’nt it. A 00000 blade everywhere, except for the shoe.» I answered with calm «You said it. Be ruthless». Now the die was cast. No way back. I felt incredibly excited.

I was nervous under the cape. The barber took the Oster. I could see through his trousers that he was horny. What a dick! He choose the shortest clipper. It was OK. Some seconds after, but as long as an eternity, I did feel the cold steel of the blade on my neck. The man pressed the machine as much as I hoped on the skull. The noise was loud. Very loud. It was an good old hairclipper. Mister Barber pushed it higher and higher. I saw, in the mirror hanging in the back of my head, the black hair gradually vanishing. It fell and fell and fell down to the floor. Like feathers. My skin was becoming visible. Very pale. The carnage I hoped. Mister Barber was gone into into a trance. After the neck came the both sides. Moving my head a little bit, I saw myself in the other mirror (the one in front of me) without sideburns but with madly white walls. «Stay calm. I’ll do the top.»

Waouh! My top. The place where I had my longest locks. In less than a minute there were all gone too. Twelve inches away. Very little left. Tiny, tiny twigs. «And now the landing strip. You said very large, is’nt it?» I did confirm with a movement of my chin. What a moment! I had the impression to explode. It was so good to feel the steel scraping and scaping again the summit of my head, leaving nothing but bare skin. «I shave now the sides and back before we do the finishing.» I looked at him. The guy was now all perspiration. I coud see the sweat flow though the numerous hairs of his chest. So manly. I wanted to lick it. «What do you prefer?», said the barber to me. «A clean shave with water and soap or the electric razor?» I chose the razor, and I don’t regret it. With the running blade becoming hot, I felt better the fact hat I was becoming almost a baldy.

«The finishing now». Mister Barber decided that a should have a minimal shoe, what I did approve. «With me, the are no such words like too short. Even schoolboys should be shorn. All of them.» He added: «With black hair, the shoe will be perfect.» The scissors worked with precision. I saw better the landind strip. What an heavenly vision! We were approching to the end. A bit of grease on the few remanig hair on the forehead and it was finished. I was another man. More virile, as I wanted. More mature. But not fully satisfied, and this new feeling was extremely exciting. My big change was not only a matter of hair. I knew it since ten minutes. The horseshoe was only the beginning of a total transformation. Il felt suddenly too slim, for instance. Much too slim. A shoe looks especially good on chubby dudes, with a large neck and a big salient nape. I had noticed it that several times on the pictures I saw on sites. The biggest dudes were allways the best. I should also also stop to shave my body like a clean honest guy. I had to let my bodyhair grow again. And no more deodorant with a stupid girlish perfume! Just a shower. Real men stink. And they smoke big cigars.

I was suddenly interrupted in my reveries. Mister Barber had taken the hand mirror from the wall. He wanted to show me the spectacular change. Good Lord! Holly s**t! I was in Heaven. I could see my fully shaved back and the incredibly broad strip. A real piece of art. «Do you like it, at least?» I starrred seriously at him, and I said calmly «No». Mister Barber looked desapointed. Really desapointed. I had my little fun. I smiled as broad as I could. «No, I love it man. You’re the king of the clippers. I should have done it years ago. I should have done it as a kid.» I stand up. A caressed my bare neck. And my broad strip. So smooth! «You’re my barber now. I think we have to do it every ten days. Is that right? I will need lot of your clipper shaves» Hearing those words, I noticed the guy became horny again. Like me, in fact. We will both have a good, lasting and exciting partnership. Maybe not only for hair.

I went out as as new guy. I knew my parents would again hate my hairstyle. But I felt I had chosen the right way. I would keep the flattop close to the scalp. I’ll take some pounds. No, no no... Not «some». Forty. Fifty. Even more. I already had in mind an entirely transgressive body. My horseshoe was placed over an hairy belly and the large ass of an American bull. All that flesh could be very sexy on me. And, last but not least, now that I was rid of my hair, I thought that I could immediatly do something else to become another man. Oh yeah! Yes indeed! Why did’nt I think about it before? Il secretly dreamt since ages of big, bright, bold, and colourful tattoos on my both hands. The scandalous thing. The «no way back» trick. It was the moment or never to call a good studio. To meet as soon as possible a tattoist working in the old style. In ten day, when I’ll go back to submit my head to Mister Barber, I would also have a hand with a glorious tattoo. I was sure that such an attractive guy would love the work of a wild Mister Tattoo.

It’s in fact an old story that I’m telling you. I’m sure in reality that Mister Barber will appreciate my fresh ink today at 2 p.m. I’ve been his happy victim nine days ago, now. The first colourful tattoo has been done yesterday afternoon. It was painful, but I had to earn it. I was horny again looking at the incredible work in progress. I never thought that I would dare once such a shocking design. Like the barber, the tattoist asked me to repeat twice that I «really wanted» an enormous skull bleeding on a blue rose. «It will cover your entire hand and fingers. Impossible to remove it. You could regret it.» It’s huge indeed. It’s extremely vulgar of course. But now it’s forever mine and I love the idea. The other hand will be inked in seven days, with another skull. A little bit bigger than the first one and even more savage, if possible. It will be then a week before my new appointement at the barbershop for a third minimal haircut. Oh, I still have something to add! At the end, the tattoist admitted that a wild thing on my hand was perfect with «such a masculine haircut». «I would never have the guts to order a shoe. You certainly have steel balls.» What a compliment! «Someday I’ll probably put some ink on your face.» My God! What an invitation!

What else to say? I really think, since the «bad taste» tattoo of yesterday, that Mister Barber changed my life with his magical Oster and his taste for radical cuts. The thin man with the Pompadour is really dead now. He killed him. A big, hairy and heavy guy, with a bunch of hot motives inked everywhere, will gradually take his place. I just began to change ten days ago. It will probably take years. It will certainly shock people, and not only my Mom and Dad. But someday I’ll be for good a 250 pounds (I’m rather tall!) happy bull with a minimal horseshoe, a very thick neck and a double ou triple chin. Sweating like hell as Mister Barber does. With black bodyhairs everywhere. A cigar. Pants allways musky. Armpits too. AND I WILL LOVE IT!

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