Machinations, Plots and Schemes--Part 2 by Just_Me

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He said, "OK, so the hippy finally got in my chair. What’ll it be?"

I was proud of myself. There was no hesitation in my voice. "I want a short flattop."

"A flattop?"

"Yes, sir. A short flattop like you’ve always given the Skipper boysâ€"complete with a landing strip."

Clark laughed. "What the hell? Are you stupid, Wayne?"

I grinned at him. "Just wait. There’s a method to my madness."

The barber took it in stride. "A flattop it is." He threw the cape over meâ€"and then nothing happened. I turned around to see what was going on. He was grinning at me. "How the hell am I supposed to cut your hair when you have that cap on?"

I blushed. "Oops! Sorry about that, sir."

I threw the cap at Ben. "Hang on to this."

He got up and put it on the hatrack in the corner.

Mr. Anderson ran a comb through my hair, combing it straight back. "Damn! Your hair is thick. Are you sure you want a landing strip? I’m going to have to damn near shave it to get it short enough for a landing strip."

"Yes, sir. I’m sure."

"OK. It’s your hair." He pumped the chair up.

"Ready?"

"Go for it."

He went for it. He stuck a weird looking comb on the top of my head, and then I heard a loud click, and I jumped. The steady hum of the clippers followed. I knew the second the clippers started cutting my hair, because of the change in the sound they made. He pushed the clippers from the front of my head all the way to the back. A huge wad of hair fell in my lap, and I smiled. Seconds later, another bunch of hair fell. I felt a stirring under the cape and thought, "This is FINALLY happening!"

He made pass after pass over the top of my head, and I could tell it was beginning to be a flattop. Just as I thought Mr. Anderson was through with the top, Uncle James came in. His mouth opened, and his cigar fell to the floor. "What the hell is going on in here?"

I grinned. "Pick up your cigar, Uncle James."

He bent and picked it up. "Once again, what the hell is going on here?"

Mr. Anderson and I both started talking at the same time. "I told you…" "You told me…"

I stopped the barber. "I’ve got this." I turned to Uncle James. "Part of the conditions of me getting to stay with you was that I would get a flattop. I’m living up to my word."

He stuttered for a moment. "W-w-what about what Marie said"

"Mom never told me I couldn’t get a flattop. She told you."

He nodded slowly, as if what I had said made sense. Then he tried again. "...b-b-but didn’t you hear what I said this morning?"

"I heard every word you said, and what you didn’t say. You didn’t say, ‘Wayne, I’m releasing you from your promise.’ As far as what you said goes…last week you said, ‘My house, my rules,’ followed by, ‘If you’re going to stay with me, you’re going to get a flattop.’ Then you said, ‘I won’t have a long-haired hippy living under my roof.’ I believe your next comment was, ‘I won’t put up with any shenanigans once we’re at the barber’s. You’ll sit quietly, and take your haircut like a man’."

I grinned at him. "This morning, I believe you said, ‘You can just have him trim it off the ears and neck, or you can have it shavedâ€"or anywhere in between. It’s up to you.’ I think a flattop falls into that category, don’t you?"

I guess Uncle James realized he wasn’t going to win an argument with me, so he turned his wrath on Mr. Anderson. "What the hell were you thinking? You know this boy’s not mine."

Mr. Anderson looked like he was getting mad. "I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but don’t you yell at me, James Skipper. You were the one who said, ‘I want you to give each boy the type of haircut he wants.’ You didn’t say, "Each boy that’s mine.’ You said, ‘Each boy’. Don’t blame me if you can’t say what you mean, and mean what you say." He looked at me. "Besides, it’s too late to do anything with this one, but finish it up."

Uncle James plopped in a chair. "OK, finish it up, but do me a favor. Pray to the Virgin that his mother doesn’t kill me."

Mr. Anderson pumped the chair up really high, and once again I heard the clippers start up. He firmly pushed my head to the right, and placed the clippers at the very bottom of my left sideburn. The sound of hungry clippers eating hair filled my ears as he ran them higher and higher up the side of my head. The clippers vibrated pleasantly against my skull, and soon I watched in fascination as another big clump of hair fell in my lap. I felt a rise in my jeans, and thought, "Oh, my god. I hope I didn’t tuck my shirt in. It would be embarrassing as hell for everyone to see the bulge in my jeans."

In no time at all, he had worked his way around my head, and I watched each clump of hair as it hit the cape. I was completely spellbound. I could tell the sides and back were short, and my hands were itching, because I wanted to touch it so badly. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I pulled my left hand out from under the cape and reached up. My hair that had fallen nearly to my shoulders now felt like sandpaper. I shivered, and then gave a low whistle. "Damn, that’s short!"

Mr. Anderson grinned. "It’s not as short as it’s going to be."

Uncle James groaned when he heard the barber say that.

I was intrigued. "Really? That’s so cool. I can’t wait to see it."

He turned gruff. "You’ll see it when you see it. Now put your damned hand back under the cape, and let me finish up."

I smiled. "Yes, sir."

He slowly went back over the sides and back, but no more big tufts of hair fell on the cape. I was mesmerized by the steady flow of tiny little hairs that floated down. There was something intriguing about the random patterns that were laid down.

Excitement almost overwhelmed me. I kept thinking, "Hot damn! I’m finally doing it!"

He turned the clippers off, and I missed the constant sound they made. I thought, "I wish this had lasted longer," but I was premature. He wasn’t finished with me yet.

"I’ve gotta sweep up some of this hair, before I fall on my ass. You sit tight."

After he swept, he grabbed a can of Butch Wax. "Pay careful attention. If you want your hair to stand up, you’re going to have to use Butch Wax every day for a couple of weeks. After that, your hair will be trained to stand up, so you won’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I’d recommend it. Wax makes a flattop look better, in my opinion."

"Yes, sir, and I agree. I like the shine wax gives a flattop."

"By the way, don’t let me forget to give you a can of Butch wax before you leave."

Clark spoke up. "Save your wax, Mr. Anderson. He can have mine." He gave a rare smile. I imagine Wayne will be going home with six cans of wax. I’m sure my brothers will happily give him theirs."

They all nodded.

Mr. Anderson said, "That’s mighty generous of you boys." Then he laughed. "It’s easy to be generous when you’re giving away something you don’t want." Then he put some wax on his palm, and showed it to me. "This is the amount you need: no more, no less. If you put more, you’ll never get it worked in, and have to wash it down the sink. Any less, you won’t get the control you need."

He kept going. "Rub it into your hands, making sure you have equal amounts in both hands. If you don’t, your flattop will be shiny on one side, and dull on the other."

He started rubbing it in my head. "You’ve got to get some wax on every hair, even the very short ones. I know some people only use it in the front, but I think that looks strange."

"Yes, sir."

After making sure the wax was to his satisfaction, he picked up a brush and started brushing my hairâ€"hard. I thought he was going to take the scalp off my skull. Eventually he got my hair to do what he wanted, and grunted with satisfaction.

I was startled when he said, "I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name."

"I’m Wayne, sir."

"Wayne, would you mind if I smoked while I finish up your haircut?"

"No, sir."

He bellowed, "James, get your ass over here, and give me a cigar."

Uncle James got up. "I shouldn’t give you one, after the sneaky way you acted."

Mr. Anderson bristled. "Who was sneaky? I did exactly what you told me to do."

Uncle James didn’t say a word.

Once Mr. Anderson had the cigar going, he picked up the strange, wide comb and clippers again. He lowered the chair, until I was eye-level with him. "For the next few minutes, don’t even think about moving. Wherever I put your head, keep it there."

"Yes, sir."

He positioned my head, and laid the strange comb on the top of my head. The now familiar clack of clippers being turned on followed. Once again he began running the clippers over the comb, and the sound of clippers cutting hair seemed to mesmerize me. After a few passes, he laid the comb down and started freehanding the top, running the clippers from the front to the back. Tiny, glistening pieces of hair flew into the air, and settled on the cape. It reminded me of standing outside while a fine mist was falling.

I enjoyed watching those little hairsâ€"that is, I enjoyed watching them until I inhaled one of them. My nose started burning and stinging. I thought, "Ignore it, Wayne. You don’t want to interrupt your haircut."

I tried to blow it out, by exhaling hard. The hair moved, but it moved to a spot that was more sensitive. It really started itching and burning. My eyes started running. By this time, I was thinking, "I’ve GOT to sneeze, but Mr. Anderson is so focused I’m scared he’ll jump if I say something. What the hell do I do?"

I guess I started making sounds like I was going to sneeze, because Mr. Anderson turned the clippers off just as a big sneeze exploded out of me. It sounded like a cannon went off. He handed me a tissue and said, "Boy, don’t ever sneeze while you’re getting a flattop. I can tell you from experience that it’s a one-way ticket to a shaved head!"

He went back to work on the top of my head. He’d make a pass or two with the clippers, comb my hair and then brush all the loose hairs off, before doing it again. I thought, "Damn, is there going to be any hair left on my head by the time he’s done?" I grinned when I answered myself. "I don’t care if there is any hair left."

After finishing the top, he attacked the back and sides with the clippers again. Although I couldn’t see what he was doing, I knew he was being meticulous.

He finally turned the clippers off, and stood in front of me, looking at my hair. He muttered, "That’ll do." He walked behind me, and I heard the now familiar whirring of the shaving cream machine.

I almost jumped when he put some on my head. "That’s warm!"

Mr. Anderson laughed. "Have you never had a barbershop haircut?"

"Not since I was about six."

"Well, the dispenser warms the shaving cream."

"That’s cool! I wish I had one at home."

He finished spreading the shaving cream around my neck and earsâ€"and about halfway up my head. I thought, "What the hell is he doing?" I didn’t say anything though. I wanted to see what was going to happen.

He took his straight razor, and shaved everywhere he had put the shaving cream. I couldn’t imagine what it was going to look like, but knew I had to go with the flow at that point. I thought, "Time will tell. I’ll know what it looks like when he’s done."

I thought he was through with my haircut when he put the razor away, but he wasn’t. He picked up the clippers again, and worked for a long time on the area he had just shaved.

I was ready to hop out of the chair when he laid the clippers down, but instead of lowering the chair, he raised it. Then he suddenly appeared in front of me with a pair of scissors and a brush. He leaned over until we were eye to eye (He was so close I was afraid his cigar was going to burn me.) He brushed the top again, and spent what seemed like eternity clipping what had to be single stray hairs. Finally, he smiled. "That looks even better than I thought it would…and I had thought you’d look pretty damned good with a flattop."

He unfastened the cape, and dumped all the hair on the floor in front of me. I gawked at it. "Sweet Jesus. Was all that hair on my head?"

He laughed. "Son, that’s not even half of it. Wait until you see what’s on the floor behind you."

He lowered the chair. "Ready to see the new, and improved, you?"

The biggest smile of my life spread over my face. "You’re damned right I’m ready, sir."

He held a mirror in front of me, and my eyes bugged…and honestly I got tears in my eyes.

I was awed by the image reflecting in the mirror. I had known my hair was thick, but hadn't realized how thick it really was. Somehow, it being so short emphasized the thickness. It looked like a really thick, plush piece of velvet. I loved it! It was everything I had longed for for so many years…everything and more. My hands involuntarily reached up and touched the sides. They were shaved about halfway up (which I obviously hadn’t expected) but the blending into the hair on the top of my head was perfect. I admired the way the shaved side emphasized the thickness of my hair. I was surprised by how smooth the sides felt…slick and smooth like marbleâ€"but warm, like the marble had been out in the sun. My finger brushed the stubble that turned into a deck that was perfectly flat, and my hand moved up to feel the deck. Not only did the top of my head look like velvet, it felt like it too. The landing strip was bristly, and the combination of smooth, velvety and bristly almost put me in sensory overload.

I stared for a long time. Then I heard Mr. Anderson, almost as if he were far away. "Don’t leave me in suspense. I think that smile tells me what I need to know, but what do you think?"

It seemed like my brain and mouth were disconnected. I opened and closed my mouth, but no sound came out. I swallowed and tried again. I finally was able to whisper the one word I could think of. "Perfection!"

I looked at Uncle James. He was beaming.

I finally found my voice. "Uncle James, you sure know how to find good barbers. Thank you."

He just nodded.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. I looked at him. "What do you think?"

His voice was husky with emotion when he said, "I thank God I lived long enough to see this day. You look like a Skipper now, and it’s about damn time!" Then he grinned. "I just hope your mother doesn’t kill me."

"I imagine she’ll kill me first, but I can die a happy man." I turned to Mr. Anderson. "Thank you, sir. I mean it. I could die today, and I would be happy knowing I was leaving the world looking this good."

Evidently Mr. Anderson wasn’t the sentimental type. He said, "You're welcome. Now get your ass out of my chair. I have more work to do."

I pulled out my wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

James said, "I’ll pay for your haircut."

I look at him. "No, sir. Mom and Dad taught me to pay my own way." I turned back to the barber. "What’s the damage?"

"A flattop is $3."

"You should charge more for a first time flattop. You worked hard on my hair." I pulled my wallet out, and handed him $5. "Keep the change. I love the way you made me look."

"Thanks." Then he said, "Don’t forget your cap."

I looked at him. "There ain’t no way I’m covering up this haircut with a cap. You can have it."

Before he took my place in the barber chair, Ben said, "You look amazing…and as Dad said, welcome to the Skipper family." He hugged me and whispered, "If I’d known you’d look this good, I would’ve made you get a flattop years ago."

He hopped in the chair, with the directions, "Another flattop just like the one you just did."

Mr. Anderson didn’t say a word, he just started cutting Ben’s hair. I heard Uncle James say, "Thank God at least two of my boys are still going to have decent haircuts."

When it was Andy’s turn, he said, "Cut the least amount you can, and leave me some mutton chop sideburns and a moustache."

"You got it."

Andy looked at Uncle James. "I’m gonna look cool for my senior pictures now. Thanks."

Andy looked startled when Uncle James said, "You can keep the money you’ve been saving for an apartment now, and use it when you go to college."

Andy started several sentences, but didn’t finish any of them. "How…?" "What…?" "I don’t…"

Uncle James cut him off. "I’m not mad at you, but we do need to talk about it. Do you mind waiting until we get home?"

Andy shook his head.

Uncle James sat in the barber chair, and my heart went to racing. I was so excited. I thought, "This is going to be fun! All of my weapons are in place for phase one of my revenge."

James played right into my hands when he said, "Trim me up, Gus."

I cleared my throat, but he didn’t notice. I cleared it again, but louder. The third time he looked at me. "Got a hair stuck in your throat, Wayne?"

"No, sir. I was just wondering if you meant to say, ‘Trim me up’?"

He looked startled. "Huh?"

All the boys stopped talking, and started listening.

"Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you saying, ‘Curt and Rose, I want you to be my witnesses. I’m swearing an oath of honor to Marie that Wayne’s hair will not be cut shorter than mine’." I looked him in the eyes. "Isn’t that what you said?"

"You know damned good and well that’s what I said."

I nodded. "I thought so. Don’t you think your hair will be considerably longer than mine if you just get a trim?"

He looked like I’d punched him in the gut. "Oh, hell. Do you never forget anything?"

I gave him my most charming smile. "No, sir. I have a mind like a steel trap!"

Very softly, so he wouldn’t think I was being disrespectful, I said, "I proved I’m a man of my word. I promised you I’d get a flattop, and I did. Are you going to keep your oath of honor to Mom?"

He looked at Mr. Anderson. "Oh, hell! Make that a flattop."

I asked, "What kind of flattop do you want, Uncle James?"

He looked crushed. "A horseshoe flattop."

A huge split my face. Clark punched me. "What the hell just happened?"

Mischief overtook me. "Don’t you wish you knew?" and I turned around to watch the show that was about to take place. I didn’t want to miss a second of the destruction of Uncle James’ pompadour.

Mr. Anderson combed Uncle James’ hair straight back, and reached for the clippers. "What do you want me to do with these sideburns? They’re gonna look out of place with a shoe."

I answered for Uncle James. "Take ‘em off."

In one of those rare, magical moments, all of us boys started chanting in unison, "Take ‘em off. Take ‘em off."

Uncle James looked crestfallen. He listened to us chant for a few seconds, and then waved us into silence. I knew his capitulation was complete when he said, "You heard the boys. Take ‘em off."

He looked at me. "I never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d be letting my boys tell me how to get my hair cut. I have you to thank for that."

The barbershop was completely silent (except for the drone of the clippers) after that. All nine of us watched with rapt attention as Mr. Anderson’s clippers destroyed the first sideburn. Nine sets of eyes watched as the first clump of hair fell on the cape. Nine heads bobbed when the clippers were placed low on Uncle James’ head, and nine heads gradually rose as our eyes followed the clippers up to the crown of his head.

I suppressed a giggle when I saw the white patch of skin the clippers revealed. The stark contrast of the sickly white skin against his dark tan and coal black hair was funny.

Ben broke the silence. "Dad, you might oughta take off work today, and stay in the pool. You’re gonna need some sun on that head. Your coworkers are going to laugh you out of the shop if you go in looking like an egghead."

Uncle James snorted. "They’re gonna laugh at me anyway, especially when they find out I was outwitted by a fifteen-year-old." He glared at me.

I noticed a Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream store as we walked out of the shop. "I think we all have something to celebrate. Ice cream is on me." Then I looked at Uncle James. "That is, if it’s OK with you.’

"Part of me wants to go home and hide under the bed until my hair grows out, but I guess I have to be an adult and face the world with a horseshoe flattop." He poked me on the shoulder. "A horseshoe flattop, thanks to you." He looked at the boys. "Wayne’s right. Let’s go celebrate."

We got home, and Uncle James called out from work. We spent a few hours in the pool, and then went in for lunch. After lunch, Uncle James said, "Wayne, I’d like to talk to you. Would you mind taking a walk with me?

I guess I looked scared. He laughed. "You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you."

"OK, sir."

He took the lead, and we walked in silence for a long time. Curiosity was killing me, and just as I was about to say something, he said, "What in the hell possessed you to get a flattop after all you said to me yesterday?"

I reached up and rubbed his horseshoe, thinking, "God, that feels good." The feel of it made me start thinking about how I was going to arrange things so I could get mine cut the same way. I didn’t let on though.

I asked, "Regretting your cut?"

He laughed. "Not as much as you’re going to regret it. Some day I’ll pay you back."

I laughed. "I probably deserve it."

"You’re damned right you deserve it." Then he chuckled. "I’ll call you a damned liar if you ever say I said this, but I probably deserved it too."

We were quiet for a moment, then he broke the silence. "I thought I understood what you were talking about yesterday, but this morning I understand it in a completely different way. I was literally sick to my stomach when my choice was taken away from me by your machinations. I can only imagine what my boys have felt through the years. It’s a miracle that they don’t hate me."

He seemed to want me to say something, but for once in my life, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

He started talking again. "I can promise you this, I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to them."

Once again he stuck his hand out. "Thank you." Then he rubbed his head. "I’m still going to kick your ass for this someday!"

He looked at me again. "I really would love to know why you decided to go through with getting the flattop. What was that incredible mind of yours thinking?"

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. "Well, it’s a convoluted story."

He smirked. "I can’t imagine your brain coming up with anything but a convoluted story."

I kept talking. "Well, to start with, I’ve been fascinated by your boys’ haircuts since the day we met…and I always wanted to look just like them."

"You said that yesterday. You were kidding me, right?"

"No, sir. I’m serious as a heart attack."

"To be perfectly frank, I was attracted and repulsed at the same time. I was jealous, and wished Dad would make me get a flattop, but the idea sickened me too. I spent many hours feeling sorry for your boys, and imagining how mean the kids at school must have been to them."

"I’ve always wanted to fit in with your family. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, and I wanted to be part of a big family, or maybe it’s because Mom and Dad don’t get along, and we don’t have the sense of family I see in your bunch. I don’t know."

"Why didn’t you just ask me, or tell Curt?"

"I’ve thought about it, many times. I’m sure Dad would’ve taken me to the barbershop if I’d asked. I imagine you would’ve too."

"You’re damned right I would’ve!"

"I didn’t want to have to ask. I guess I considered a flattop the price of admission into your family. To me, it seemed like if I’d got it voluntarily, I would’ve been forcing my way into the group. I wanted you to say I belonged, and make me go to the barbershop. I guess I felt like if you initiated the haircut, it would be you asking me into the family."

"I’ll be damned! I never would’ve dreamed you felt that way. Sure, I noticed you looking at our haircuts, but I always thought you were looking because you thought they were strange, not because you wanted one."


I changed tactics. "Do you remember me telling you how one of my classmates had been made to get a short haircut after his mother caught him smoking?"

"Yes."

"Then a few weeks later you caught me smoking one of your cigars?"

"Yes."

"That was all planned. I knew exactly where you were. If I hadn’t wanted to be caught, I could’ve gone somewhere else."

"Were you hoping I’d make you get a haircut?"

"Yes, sir. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought you would threaten to tell Mom, and I was going to say I would get a flattop if you wouldn’t tell. I just knew my plan would work…but it didn’t."

"Holy crap! You and Curt have a way of reading my mind. I seriously thought about doing just that."

I sighed. "But you didn’t."

He sighed. "No, I didn’t. I wish now I had." He looked at me. "I really am sorry, Wayne."

"Don’t feel bad. It didn’t work on Mom either."

"You let Marie catch you smoking?! I’m surprised you’re still alive!"

I nodded, and kept talking. "I tried a different trick on Dad. You know how he’s always been about my grades. Well, I told him about someone having to get a short back and sides because of bad grades. He said that seemed like a reasonable punishment for bad grades, so I stopped doing my homework, and brought home two really bad report cards. Obviously Dad never took me to the barbershop as a punishment."

"You really should’ve just told one of us."

"I guess I was ashamed to admit I wanted short hair…and like I said earlier. I wanted you to want me to be a part of the family. I didn’t want to force my way in."

"Oh, my god." He shook his head. "I wish kids came with an instruction manual. I would’ve never thought any of this was possible."

I thought for a moment. "Do you know why I spent so many nights at your house?"

"I’ve never thought about it."

"I always wanted to be there on the days you went to the barbershop. I hoped you’d take me with you. I had this fantasy of what you would say to the barber."

I couldn’t talk for a minute. Uncle James finally broke the silence. "What did you want me to say?"

"I always imagined you’d say, ‘This boys been around so much he’s become part of the family. Make him look like a Skipper’."

He laughed. "That sounds like something I’d say, and honestly, I almost did say it that one time you went to the barbershop with us."

I looked at him. "That was one of the worst days of my life."

He looked quizzical. "Why?"

"I was overjoyed when you told me to get in the van that morning. Everything within me just knew it was going to be ‘the day’. It felt like I was floating on the air. My heart soared with excitement. I watched each boy’s haircut with fascination, imagining what it was going to feel like when it was my turn, wondering when it was going to be my turn. Only my turn never came. I felt like someone had kicked me in the balls when you said, "All right boys. Everyone in the van’. It was all I could do to keep from crying on the way home. I went straight home and cried the rest of the day."

"Wayne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. If it makes you feel any better, everything within me wanted to make you get in that barber’s chair. I looked at you the whole time I was getting my hair cut, thinking about it, and wondering what Curt and Marie would say if I brought you home looking like a Skipper. You looked so out of place, with your long hair."

I looked down. "I felt out of place too…but that’s the story of my life. I’ve never really fit in anywhere."

"I was so excited when Mom told me I was going to get to come spend a couple of weeks with you, and my first thought was to hope you’d make me get a flattop. I was thrilled when you called me and told me about ‘the rules’. It was just what I wanted."

"Then I got really pissed when I heard you and Dad plotting to make me get a horseshoe. All of my excitement left me, and was replaced by rage."

"Anyway, I decided to go ahead and get the flattop I’ve always wanted."

Uncle James interrupted. "What about all you said yesterday about my boys not fitting in. Don’t you want to fit in?"

"Sir, like I said before, I’ve never really fit in anywhere. I’m a geek. Unlike your boys, I will never fit in. I’ll never be popular. After acknowledging that, I decided if I’m going to be an outcast anyway, I might as well do something to deserve it." I stopped and thought. "I’m glad I did. I’m now the best looking geek I’ve ever seen. I’m happy with who I am now."

Then I said something I never dreamed of saying out loud. "On top of being a geek, I’m gay. I’m a fag. I’m queer. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever fit into the mainstream."

His words brought tears to my eyes. "Look at me, Wayne." I looked up. "I don’t care if you’re homosexual or straight. I will always love you."

His next words shocked me. "You’re not the only gay one in the Skipper family. One of the boys told me he’s gay."

After the shock wore off, I said, "Who?"

He shook his head. "He’s not ready to tell the whole world. I just want you to know you’re not alone." Uncle James kept talking. "I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. Part of me wishes you weren’t gay. Not because I think it’s wrong, but because I know how people react. You’ve got a hard road ahead of you, but I’ll be here for you. Any man smart enough to fall in love with you is always welcomed in my house."

Ever the smart-ass, I said, "Even a hippy?"

He smiled. "Even a hippy…but I’m not promising I won’t try to convince him of the benefits of short hair."

We both laughed.

"Wow! You really do love me, if you’re willing to put up with a hippy on my behalf."

"You’re damned right I love you, Wayne Harris-Skipper. You’re goddamned right."

It was like he read my mind. "Don’t worry. I won’t say a word to Curt and Marie. You’ll tell them when you’re ready…and if you’re worried about what they’re going to think, don’t worry. I’m positive they’ll support you." Then he growled. "If they don’t support you, call me. I’ll come get you, and you can come live with me."

I was so shocked I couldn’t say anything. Uncle James growled again. "Let me amend what I just said. I’ll come to pick you up, but before we leave, I’ll beat Curt and Marie black and blue!"

"Thanks, Uncle James. I really appreciate it." I paused, before I continued. "For the record, I love you too."

Maybe Uncle James sensed I needed time to pull myself together, because he didn’t say anything else. I thought about several things I wanted to say, but finally blurted out, "I guess I should thank you for making your boys be geeks. They all have great personalities, and would’ve been popular if you hadn’t condemned them to nerd-hood. They wouldn’t have been my friends all these years if it weren’t for you. I would’ve had a very lonely childhood without them." I paused. "They probably won’t be my friends now that they’re getting to be ‘normal’."

"I think you do yourself a big disservice. You’re not a geek, and I’ve raised my boys right. I’d be willing to bet you that y’all will be friends the rest of your lives."

I perked up. "I hope you’re right, but I have my doubts."

"I guess we’ll have to let them prove me right." He grinned. "As far as my boys’ personalities go, you must not have ever spent any time with Clark."

I laughed. "Well, Clark is definitely a curmudgeon, but the rest of them have a lot of charm."

"Curmudgeon? Where the hell do you come up with these words?"

I laughed again. "I like the word curmudgeon. I use it a lot when describing you."

He laughed. "Stop being a brat!"

I paused. "I was wrong about one thing yesterday. I said the haircut had nothing to do with how manly a man looked. In my case, I think my flattop makes me look more manly."

He shook his head. "I agree. You look more manly, but I think you were right yesterday. You look more manly because you look more confident. The confidence is becoming to you."

I was in a constant state of arousal all day, but couldn’t find a place to be in solitude so I could relieve the throbbing in my groin. It seemed like the universe was once again against me. Someone was always around, and I knew I couldn’t hold the bathroom hostage long enough to do what needed to be done.

Even at bedtime, it took a long time for me to be alone. There was a movie on that everyone wanted to watch, and it was late because of breaking news. Then everyone had to get a drink, and use the bathroom. Frank forgot his watch. Henry left a book he wanted in the living room.

Finally, I was alone, and I almost ran toward the bathroom. Just before I got there, Ben came out of his room. I mumbled, "Damn it!" when I saw he was wanting to go in the bathroom too.

He looked me up and down…and the evidence of my arousal was clear for him to see (I had stripped to my underwear before heading down the hall.) I blushed.

He took it in stride. He whispered, "Don’t worry. I’m a man. We all get hard-ons. I was about to deal with one myself."

I blushed harder. He looked down, and cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Just hurry."

"You can tell me it’s none of my damned business, but I’ve been curious about it all day. Are you like me? Does getting a haircut make you horny?"

I blushed so hard I thought I was going to catch on fire.

He just stood there, looking at me. Finally he said, "Does it?"

I nodded.

"I thought so. It does me too. I’m always horny after a haircut. Hell, sometimes just seeing a man with a short haircut makes me horny."

I croaked, "Me too." I paused. "I thought I was a freak. I didn’t know anyone else reacted that way."

He grinned. "Well, you’re not the only freak around. I’m a freak too." He looked around. Seeing no one, he said, "Do you deal with it the same way I do?"

"By ‘deal with it,’ do you mean…?" I made a hand motion.

He grinned. "I think the words are ‘jack off’."

I blushed some more.

"Why are you blushing? Everyone does it. Hell, I’ve heard that even girls do it."

"Really? How?"

"Honestly, I’m not sure."

"Since we’re both going to do the same thing, I don’t see why one of us has to wait. Come on in the bathroom."

"Wouldn’t that mean we’re gay, or something? I’m NOT gay."

"No. It wouldn’t mean that. It would just be two men doing what men do." (I liked the way he referred to us as "men".)

"Uh, OK, as long as it won’t mean we’re gay."

"Dad says jacking off is natural. What’s more normal than two friends doing something that’s natural?"

I walked into the bathroom slowly. I thought I was going to burst through my shorts.

He looked at me. "Do you mind if I touch your hair? I think it would be cool to feel someone's hair beside my own while I jack off."

Part of me wanted to beg him to, but I played calm. "I guess it’ll be ok."

"Cool! Thanks." He paused. "We’ll take off our drawers on the count of three. One. Two…"

Just then someone knocked on the bathroom door. We both jumped. I heard Aunt Rose’s voice say, "How much longer will you be?"

Ben mouthed, "Tell her you’re on the commode."

I said, "I’m on the toilet, Aunt Rose. Just a minute."

"OK. I’ll go get a drink, and come back."

I looked at Ben. "What are we going to do?"

"I’ll hide in the shower. You flush the commode, and wash your hands. Make sure you use soap. Sometimes Mom wants to smell them, to see if you washed your hands."

By this time I was thinking, "I’ll never jack off again!"

From the safety of the shower, Ben whispered, "Wrap a towel around you to hide your hard-on!"

Somehow, I got the towel around me, my hands washed, and opened the door. Aunt Rose said, "I love the smell of that soap. Thanks for washing your hands."

I ran to the couch, and buried my face in the corner.

A few minutes later, Ben fell on me, laughing like crazy. "That was fun! Want to finish what we were doing?"

I cringed. "NO! I just want to go to sleep, and I hope I die in my sleep."

He laughed. "You’re not gonna die. Hell, we were lucky. Just about everyone in this house has been busted while jacking off. It’s sort of a family joke now."

He sat on the sofa beside me, and started talking. I finally took my nose out of the corner, and sat up.

"Did you really mean it when you said you like looking for men with short hair?"

I nodded. "Sometimes I even go to the mall, and just sit in center court, hoping to see someone with a flattop or short hair."

He shook his head. "That’s the worst place to go. Normally, only younger people go to the mall. You should try a lumber yard or hardware store. I normally see at least one man with a decent haircut there."

I was being drawn into his conversation. "That’s a good idea. I’ve never thought about going to either one."

He kept talking. "There’s a Marine Recruiting Station not far from here. I’ll take you there. There’s always someone with a sharp looking haircut there."

"I’d like that. When can we go?"

"How about tomorrow? Mom doesn’t really care where we go, as long as we’re home by dark." He kept talking. "Sometimes I go to the Baskin-Robbins we went to today. I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a great view into Mr. Anderson’s. I’ve seen a few great haircuts while eating ice cream." He reached up and touched my head. "None as good as yours though." He looked down. "I thought I was going to shoot in my pants when you told him you wanted a flattop with a landing strip. That was amazing!"

I shyly said, "I’m glad you enjoyed it. I loved watching you get your hair cut too. I was glad I hadn’t tucked my shirttail in though. Everyone else would’ve known I was enjoying it too."

He laughed. "I had the same thought too."

Ben and I talked late into the night, and pretty much were inseparable after that. We spent hours discussing haircuts, and dissected every haircut we saw that we thought was interesting.

We never wound up in the bathroom together again, even though I privately hoped we would.

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