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When You Least Expect It by buzzedtothree

Today, I had, without a doubt, the strangest haircut experience that I have ever had. And it is no big deal; this is a true story, but I kind of thought that the only people that would find this interesting are the people on this website. I'll preface with some information to try and communicate the stakes and the people I am mentioning.

I go to college in Ohio, not precisely near any of the cities you would recognize. My school has a few small towns around us, but we are not a typical "college town" type campus. Regardless, I have grown up getting "overpriced" haircuts at the salon my mom and sister visit. When I started college, I had stretches of the semesters where my hair got too long for my liking, meaning I had to find a place near me. This meant either below average haircuts from a guy or gal in the dorms, a buzz cut with my clippers, or a trip to Great Clips.

I should mention that I definitely have some sexual feelings when getting my hair cut and when I read stories like these, but I've never really gotten involved with anything in practice. I never wanted to shave my head bald, and I never cut my girlfriend's hair. I've always been pretty under the radar. However, I do care about how my hair looks. When I get it cut, I keep it about 3.5-4 inches on top with a #4 on the sides—nothing crazy, just a clean side part with some gel to spike my bangs up. In the summer, I will vary my cut a little; nothing exciting but a bit shorter on top for the heat. I have gotten down pretty close to an inch but had never been able to commit to a buzzcut like I always had sort of "fantasized, or planned on" doing one day when I gain the confidence to achieve a significant change.

I had tried Great Clips a few times, one average haircut and one of the least aesthetically pleasing haircuts from a lady who was guessing for most of the cut. One way or another, I decided that I needed to look elsewhere. I look online for barbershops and cheap salons, eventually finding a girl on yelp, Andrea, 22 or 23 years old, and looking to build a clientele. Andrea is honestly very good at cutting hair. Before today, I had only gone to her twice, but she had given me two clean, well-shaped haircuts. I came in today with an above-average amount of hair for my standards; puffy from humidity and way overgrown around my ears and back hairline. With 5ish inches on top and a two on the sides, I was itching to get it off when I sat down in her chair.

Okay, the stage is set;

"So your text said a shorter cut," Andrea inquired as she pumped up the salon chair, "but the pictures you sent were sort of all over the place."

I tried thinking back to the pictures I sent her earlier in the week, but nothing was coming to my mind.

"Yeah, it's gotten so long that I sort of threw 'Men's Summer Haircut' into Pinterest and sent you the shorter ones that I thought looked alright," I said as the black cape was thrown over me and buttoned in the back.

"Ohhh, okay, that makes a lot more sense. So just a shorter, summer cut?" She questioned as she placed her shears in her stylish pocket.

Andrea seemed more confident now. It appeared that a picture was forming in her head of what I was communicating.

"Yeah, something low maintenance for summer that will grow out nicely for when it isn't so hot out, ya know?" I checked as it seemed we now got on the same page.

I sat further back in her chair, nervously anticipating a slightly shorter cut. I ran through conversations in my head that would likely never happen, explaining to my dad why I went down to a #3 on the side, my mom telling me that such a clean, smart haircut was good for the middle of the summer.

"For sure, a low-maintenance summer cut that will keep you cool until it cools off." She said as we made eye contact, both nodding. I saw her give a little excited, nervous grin. I figured she was just ready to get underway, so I thought nothing more of it.

Andrea turned my chair 90 degrees toward the empty chair next to me and started asking me basic questions about my summer job at the college. I give basic, genuine answers while she prepares her clippers, snapping on guard after brushing off any stray hair off the customer before me.

Setting up behind the chairs, starting the clippers, I instinctually tuck my chin, ready for her to slide her clippers through my overgrown nape section. Andrea gave a sort of confused giggle, placing her free hand on the crown of my head, bringing my head back to the position it was in while she was preparing the clippers.

Before another thought can cross my mind, Andrea, in one casual motion, places her clippers on my forehead, drags her clippers through the middle of my bangs, scoops the five inches of hair, discarding it onto my lap.

Shocked beyond understanding and on a completely different page than Andrea, I sit and discuss my job while Andrea clips my hair down to a single, blunt length. Just when I figured my haircut was complete, Andrea rubbed my new buzzed head, clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction, and walked to her station, adjusting her clippers. I tried to turn back to the mirror to sneak a peek at my new haircut, but Andrea stood in the way. She turned around, smiling at her work so far, and pulled my chair so I was even less in a place to check her "progress." Andrea gave a slight crouch getting us closer to the same height.

I wasn't sure if Andrea was double-checking or still working on it, but all of a sudden, the clippers were now back in the mix, starting with a loud snap and continuing with a low hum. Andrea, to likely no one's surprise but my own, placed the clippers and ran them back over the top of my head; over and over until she was content.
She took her last look at her work, called it done, and went to put her clippers back, muttering to herself, "Something about the #3. It always suits the guys."

Andrea grabbed the back of the chair and turned me around, and sure enough, my new short summer haircut was a #3 buzzcut.

I'm not sure how I feel about it. It feels great and sexy as hell having Andrea rub it and wash off the tiny hairs at her wash station. Maybe it's going to be a summer tradition. Who knows.

Word to the wise, don't wait too long to carry out your fantasies, or your hairdresser will take care of it for you when you least expect it.

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