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Military Style (My True Story, pt. 2) by InnocentKink


Its been a couple of months since I had my nearly waist long hair obliterated down to a boxy flattop. It took some time, but I’ve adjusted to seeing the new "me" in the mirror. I certainly don’t have a flattop, or much of a flat shape anymore. Boy, was it exciting to have that transformation done though.

The first couple of weeks after my flattop were interesting. Slowly, my hair untrained and began to stand up straight. Over the past couple of months, it has become too long to maintain the flat shape, and has taken on more of a side part look. I didn’t have my flattop redone sooner because my indecision once again took hold of me.

Frank had reacted in shock the first time he saw me after having my last haircut. He remarked that my head was made for a flattop. I told him that I liked it and would get another one. He said that’s how it usually goes, "addicting as all hell" were his exact words.

Once again, Frank had planted some seeds in my head. Before the end of the school year, he received at least one more skintight flattop. He also made a point to tell me he received a military style flattop. This time, he instructed me to touch it. After all, we were now flattop buddies, or at least in the making.

He faced downward in order to position his flattop deck at me. I then proceeded to put my hand on it, and was shocked at just how flat the top of his noggin was. I was then told to give it a good rub. The deck was like bristles of a brush, solid, and slightly rough. Of course, I felt beyond the back of the crown of his head, to feel the slightest stubble, but mostly cool, gooey, bare scalp.

The urge was there. I very much desired to find out if I could have stubble, or, gasp, skin, on my head. I continued to look at flattops on the internet, but couldn’t bring myself to print out a picture of a whitewalled flattop to bring to a barber. I even became curious at the idea of horseshoe flattops.

When I returned to the Eagle’s Nest, I was still very much undecided on what type of flattop I would get. I thought about another boxy cop flattop, which may be better than the time before since my hair was better trained. I also thought about getting something a tad shorter, with maybe some skin poking through the sides. I figured the barber that masterfully sculpted my first flattop would be working, and could guide me.

As I waited for the next available barber at the Eagle’s Nest, it became apparent that weekend mornings had a different vibe than weekday afternoons. Instead of quiet and calm, the shop was buzzing in more ways than one. As I looked around, it seemed everyone was getting peeled like grapes. Instead of three occupied chairs, it seemed as if there were a dozen, all filled with men getting haircuts of all short persuasions. It was quite intimidating, overwhelming, and intoxicating.

In a short time, I was waved over to another old barber’s chair. This barber looked a lot like the last, full head of gray hair, full gray beard, and a barber’s smock. I could tell he was different though as he was taller and wore glasses.

As soon as I sat down, the neck strip and cape ritual was completed on me. He then asked me what I wanted. I nervously said "a flattop". Instead of any questioning or confirmation, he took it that I was up for a short cut. Of course, probably anybody walking into this shop is up for getting buzzed. He then asked me how long I wanted it on the back and sides. This was the question I was dreading, as I had no idea how short I should, or could go.

"Military", was the word that fell out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe it.

"So skin, or a little more?" was the barber’s response. I responded "a little more", although I had no idea what a little more meant. I was worried that it may have meant skin high up the sides of my head, like a real jarhead. Regardless, the barber didn’t flinch and my request, so hopefully it wouldn’t be too radical.

My barber’s clippers kicked on and quickly plowed away the hair from the back and sides of my head. I was feeling serious air and was both thrilled to be having this done and anxious because of how I might look now. Mind you, my barber did this with no additional consolation like I received last time. He must assume I got my head buzzed every summer.

A few minutes later the clippers are knocking off the bulk off the top of my head. Seeing mounds of hair fall off the top of my head, and onto the floor and cape was intense.

I was unprepared for the next step as my barber ran clippers straight back over the middle of my head! This flattop was definitely going to be much shorter than my first. This was followed by sculpting the flat deck on the top of my head. The familiar flattop comb was used up top and around the edges to perfect my look.

After a few passes over the top of my head with the clippers over the flattop comb, my barber began applying wax to the bristles at the front of my scalp. I couldn’t believe how much faster, and rougher, in a way, this flattop was compared to my first.

My barber then handed me my glasses and a mirror to inspect the final product. My first glimpses of my short flattop certainly brought me joy. This flattop was also certainly more flat and true to its name. I then saw the back of my head in the mirror behind me. It was reduced to stubble, with a lot of pale, exposed scalp showing through. I couldn’t believe how my whole look had changed in a matter of minutes.

"Looks good" I told my barber. I actually meant it. Although the look was startling, deep down, I knew I loved it. He then began covering the back of my neck and around my ears with hot lather. He then told me he was going to "block my neck" because that’s what he feels goes best with a flattop. He quickly used a Bic razor on my neck and around my ears, followed by a stinging aftershave. I could get used to this; all of this.

Before I knew it, my experience was over, and I knew I wanted a repeat. I graciously paid my barber and limply walked out, and to my car. The proud wearer of a new, sharp flattop.



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