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On my knees with gratitude by Manny


I stepped out of the house into a welcome burst of sunshine. The bright blue skies were another indication this was going to be an excellent day. Briefcase in hand, I headed toward my car. If it were just a tad warmer, I might even consider putting the convertible top down.

Just then, a gust of wind wrecked havoc with my hair. The carefully brushed coif was instantly in disarray. I pushed my forelock away from my eyes with my fingers and worked quickly to smooth my glossy chestnut-colored locks with fiery auburn highlights into place. But the wind made it a losing battle.

"I can help you with that," a booming voice came from inside my neighbor’s garage. "Stop by after work. I’ve got a big set of clippers that can clip that thatch down to a manageable length."

I was my neighbor Clark — a hunk of a fellow who was always chummy and playful. He’d mentioned several times before he was an amateur barber, but this was the first time he’d suggested he might employ his talent on my pampered locks.

The thought of him mowing off my carefully styled coif gave me an instant woody.

"Thanks, Clark. Very kind of you to offer, but I have an appointment for tomorrow to get it cut," I said quickly. Mental note: schedule haircut at salon for Saturday.

"Well, if you change you mind, the cape and clippers are here in the garage," Clark purred. "Perhaps after work, this evening? Why wait till Saturday?"

All day at work, I walked around with a woody, thinking about Clark giving me a butch in his garage. During one private moment in my office, I even measured the length of my lustrous forelock. A good six inches would fall! I imagined him snipping it off quite short before tacking the remaining stub with the clippers.

Perhaps he’d just been toying with me in the driveway -- this could not be a serious proposal. So, why not toy back? Feign interest? Saunter into the garage and then high tail it out before any real threat to my dreamy locks had been unleashed.

I fantasized a bit about Clark overpowering me, manhandling me into his makeshift barber chair. Oh to give into his will and finally slink away with a clipped head — down to the wood!

Clark ran a lumber yard and I was a bank exec. His big strong hands treating my hair like one of his lackeys treated a big uncut log. Unleashing the big cutting machine. Whacking away all the excess — leaving naked wood! Then laughing at what he’d done to my prissy persona and my fussy hair style. ‘Sweep up all that hair,’ he would command, handing me the broom. My gorgeous chestnut-colored locks being swept into a large pile on the garage floor and then being dumped into the trashcan. That kind of treatment was really what I needed....

Heading to my car in the parking lot, my woody felt bigger and harder than ever. I glanced into the rearview mirror. That ostentatious forelock needed some serious discipline, even some severe discipline. Perhaps have my stylist snip it short for spring — take off three inches! Cut straight across the middle of my forehead -- such a goofy length! I opened my glove box, grabbed the hairbrush, and plied it through my soft, silken tresses. Shoot, I had forgotten to schedule an appointment at the salon. Freshly brushed, my chestnut hair looked more amazing than ever.

As I drove home, my desire to engage with Clark intensified. Pulling into the driveway, I saw his garage door open.

I’d just poke my head in….play with him and leave him fantasizing about taking his clippers to my marvelous mane. Maybe even flaunt the length a bit and taunt him. Oh, to be overpowered and dragged to the barbering stool! And after the haircut….?!

I grabbed my briefcase, like it was a shield to ward off marauders and bandits. Of course, my helmet hair was another defensive bit of armor.

The garage looked empty. Just, as well. I had been playing with myself all day. No way I would be getting a spring butch cut from Clark!

As I turned to leave, his voice boomed out for a dark corner. "Where are you going? I’ve got everything set up. Now get over here!"

My heart beat quickly. I played innocent, "Set up for what? I was just stopping by to…."

Clark stepped from the shadow into the light of the garage. He sported a leather barber apron with his name stitched into the central pocketed flanked by barber poles on either side.

He cut into my lame explanation, "There’s the stool! Now take a seat!"

My woody sprang back to life. I felt embarrassed, as his eye riveted onto the bulge.

"Let me at least change, get out of this suit…." I whimpered.

"I have an ample cape to cover the suit. But, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you always hide that hot, shapely ass of yours under a boxy suit coat," Clark replied in a tone that mixed seductive purr with clipped command. After he stripped off my hair, surely, he’d strip off my suit.

I set down my briefcase — no more shield. I took off my suit coat — no more body armor. Clark's eyes locked onto my shapely ass. Then, I flicked my massive forelock back from my eyes. I was ready to have the helmet taken off.

My legs felt like putty as I climbed onto the stool. Clark was all over me with the cape, fastening it tightly about my neck.

Then his fingers were in my hair. He cooed, "So much long, thick, glossy hair…."

I gulped nervously.

"Just a trim?" he teased while reaching for the clippers.

He snapped on the machine. A low rumble filled the garage.

"Or something shorter?" he questioned.

I wanted to surrender it all to him.

"Something shorter. Much, much shorter…" I whispered in a breathy, panting voice. "I hope you are a very aggressive barber."

Clark grasped my by the hair in back to immobilize me. There was no backing out now. No use even pleading to be free from the clippers.

Then he did it!

He brought the clippers up past my frozen stare, up under the forelock. As the chattering metal teeth hit the hairline, the heavy veil of hair began to give way. With horrified glee, I watched as one determined push caused the whole mass of hair to fall to the cape. Light bathed my stunned, but exhilarated face. The clippers continued up through my hair, down the top of my head, sending sheaves of my treasured silk to the cape. The cloth was covered with clumps of cut chestnut-colored hair, the fiery auburn highlights blazing a final hurrah.

Clark fingered the first swath of stubble. "Love this length. I can’t wait to take the rest off….you’ll look so sweet and submissive with the baldy cut."

Then he jerked my head back, as if he were a marine boot camp barber and took off another swath of hair from the top of my head.

I could imagine no one else I’d rather be surrendering my pompous hairstyle to — Clark was my idea of a perfect mate. Assertive, aggressive, authoritative. I loved the way he kidded and taunted me as he shaved everything off.

"Look at you now!" he gloated as he snapped off the clippers.

"So innocent-looking with your baldy cut!" he exclaimed as he stroked my short pelt of hair. "How are you going to thank me for giving you such a practical haircut?"

Clark undid the fastener which secured the cape.

I slid off the stool, standing atop the pile of my cut hair on the floor and felt my baldy for the first time. I liked the feel! I grinned sheepishly and looked at Clark with longing eyes.

"Maybe I’ll give you a ride in my convertible, with the top down," I said.

He grabbed me by the tie and wrenched me down toward the floor so that I found myself kneeling amidst my cut hair. He towered over me as he began unbuckling his belt.

"First a private ride together in here, then we can head out to the convertible," Clark instructed.






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