A Haircut...and More... by Just_Me

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You might want to skip this if gay-themed writing bothers you. This story is sensual in nature, and involves two men.
*****
I woke up with a smile and a laugh. "Yeah! I’m so ready for two weeks of no work, no alarm clocks and no dastardly boss riding my ass!"

The freedom sounded thrilling.

I only had two things planned for my vacation. First, I wanted to get as far away from my boss as I could. Secondly, I wanted to find a barbershop- -a real barbershop- -and get a haircut. I didn’t know what kind of haircut I would get, but I knew it would be short.

You see, I’ve had a thing for short hair since my early teens (some would call it a fetish, but I preferred "desires"). Despite my "desires", I had never had the nerve to get my hair cut short.

Getting a dickhead for a boss had finally given me the courage to go through with it. I’d only worked for him for about three months, but I already hated his guts.

We had clashed the first day we worked together- -and almost every day since. On my boss’ first day, one of my coworkers came in with a fresh induction cut, and Dan (my boss) had yelled, "You, get your ass over here. NOW!"

The guy ambled over. "What’s up?"

"Who are you?"

"I’m Jack Thompson. Who are you?"

"I’m the new manager here. Did you just join the army?"

Jack looked puzzled. "No, sir."

Dan roared, "Then what the hell did you do to your hair?"

"I got it cut. Do you like it?"

"Hell no! It’s extreme, and not professional. Don’t ever walk in here with another cut like that, or you’ll be walking out with a pink slip in your hand!"

My coworker bristled. "The employee handbook doesn’t say anything about the length of our hair. It just says it has to be neat and clean. My hair is neat and clean."

Dan turned purple. "Do not argue with me. I will not allow my workers who work with the public to have extreme haircuts. They’re not professional. This is a business, and I will only allow my employees to have business men's haircuts, or longer. If you insist on that haircut…" Dan pointed at Jack’s hair, "I’ll fire you or transfer you to the docks, where no one can see you. It’s your choice." (Dan looked like he was old enough to have grown up in the Seventies. I figured he was still stuck back there.)

Dan looked shocked. "I’m your best salesperson, and no one has ever said anything about my hair."

I stepped in. "Go to work, Jack. I’ll call HR and get this straightened up."

To make a long story short, our HR lady told Dan to back off. Jack had been right. The company had no policy about short hair.

Dan never forgave me for intervening, and he made my life hell.

To make matters worse, he had a haircut similar to mine, and I despised looking like him. The only difference in our look was our goatees. Mine was long and full, and his was trimmed.

I knew getting a short haircut would be like shooting him the finger, so I decided to conquer my fear, just to irritate Dan.

Just a little history…I had only been in a barbershop one time in my life. When I was fourteen, Jeff and I got caught smoking by Jeff’s father. At first, I thought his dad was going to be cool. He calmly asked, "Jeff, what’s the legal age for smoking?"

Jeff answered, "I think it’s eighteen."

His dad nodded. "You’re right. Do you know what the legal age is to join the Marines?"

"It’s eighteen, isn’t it?"

"Right again. Since you think you’re old enough to smoke, that means you think you’re old enough to join the Marines. Right?" (Mr. Adams had been in the Marines. I figured he knew what he was talking about.)

Jeff was always smarter than me, and he figured out where his father was going before I did. "No, sir."

"Well, your actions say you think you are. If you think you’re old enough to join the Marines, you’re old enough to look like a Marine. We’re going to go get you a jarhead haircut. Let’s go."

Tears started flowing down Jeff’s face. "Do I have to, Dad?"

Mr. Adams grabbed a handful of Jeff’s hair. "This is going away…today. In the car, now!"

Jeff got up, and I started slinking toward the door. I stopped when I heard a rumbling, bass voice say, "Where the hell do you think you’re going, Wayne?"

"Uh, home, sir?"

"You are not going home. You are going to the barbershop with us, since you’re equally to blame for this."

I gulped, and reached up to touch my hair. "I can’t make you get your hair cut, but you’re going to witness what your actions have brought about. Get in the car. Now!"

Jeff looked miserable, and wiped tears the whole time we were riding. I felt guilty as hell, even though I hadn’t been the one who came up with the idea of us smoking.

We pulled up in front of a barber. A sign on the door said, "Closed due to illness." I saw hope spring up in Jeff’s eyes when he read the sign. He whispered, "Thank you, God."

Mr. Adams muttered a profanity, and put the car in reverse. "This ain’t the only damned barbershop in town." He drove to another one. "OK, everybody out." He marched us into the shop.

An old man in a barber’s tunic stood up when we walked in. Jeff’s dad eyed the barber, and smiled. "You look like a barber who knows how to do a real haircut." He pushed Jeff toward the barber chair. "Make this boy look like a man. He thinks he’s old enough to smoke and join the Marines, so give him a jarhead cut."

A gleam came in the barber’s eyes. "Hell, Marines get induction cuts before they’re allowed to get a high and tight. Wanna just take it down to the wood?"

Mr. Adams considered a second. "It depends on how the boy acts. If he takes his cut like a man, give him the jarhead. If he so much as whimpers, or you see a tear in his eyes, take it all off. Either way, I want most of the hair that’s currently on his head to be on your floor when he walks out of here."

The barber got right in Jeff’s face. "You heard your father. I’ll be watching you. One tear, and your hair is gone. Hell, I’ll shave it if your father will let me. Do you understand me?"

Jeff gulped, before whispering, "Yes, sir."

I think watching Jeff get his haircut was the start of my fascination with all things related to the barbershop. Without bothering with a cape, the barber pulled Jeff’s head back, so that Jeff was looking at the ceiling. He grabbed some clippers, and ran them straight down the middle of Jeff’s head. A bunch of hair piled up around the barber’s feet. When the top of Jeff’s head had been reduced to bristles, the barber shoved Jeff’s head to the side, until his ear was on his shoulder. The clippers went up the other side of his head and hair started sliding down his shirt. I watched in fascination as the barber completely dethatched Jeff’s hair all the way around the sides and back. I shuddered in dismay when I saw him take a razor to the area he had just cut.

After finishing the haircut, the barber said, "I guess you’ll think twice before you do something else your father won’t like. Now get the hell out of my chair, you little brat."

Jeff almost slid out of the chair when the barber released him. He had the strangest look on his face when he reached up and touched his head.

The barber pointed at me. "Him too? God knows he needs it."

"He’s not my son, but you're right. He needs it. Do you mind if I use your phone?"

"Go ahead."

Mr. Adams picked up the phone. "What’s your phone number, Wayne?"

Jeff answered for me. "759-1967."

I watched every number being punched. "Mrs. Davis, this is Charles Adams. Is your husband home?"

I silently prayed that Dad was gone. The long wait told me Mom had gone to get him.

"George, Charles Adams here. Sorry to bug you, but I feel like you should know I caught our boys smoking today. I made Jeff get a short haircut as punishment. I thought I’d see if you wanted Wayne to endure the same treatment."

It seemed like Dad talked forever. I was waiting on pins and needles to find out what my fate was going to be. Finally, I heard Mr. Adams say, "It’s your call. I don’t like it, but I’ll respect it."

He hung up, and I stood waiting for him to tell me what was going to happen. He looked at the barber and then pointed at me. "It looks like this fish is going to get away from us. George smokes and has long hair, and he doesn’t think it’s right to punish the boy for doing what his father does."

The barber slammed the clippers down. "Son of a bitch! What kind of father is he? Boys shouldn’t be able to get by with crap like this." He shook his head. "This younger generation has no respect for what’s right and wrong." (I was never clear if he was talking about my generation or Dad’s.) Then he muttered, "I was looking forward to cleaning that boy up."

After that one close call with a barber, it seemed like I was consumed with thoughts of going to the barbershop. I started wondering how I would react if Dad marched me into a barbershop, and soon I was longing for him to. I’d imagine how stern Dad would be, and how I’d feel coming out of the barbershop with a short back and sides, or a high and tight, a flattop (yes please!) or just some stubble.

Back to my vacation. Even though I had a visceral longing for a trip to the barbershop, I was still scared. I rolled out of bed that morning, and I looked in the mirror. My bed-head self looked back at me.

By my standards, my hair wasn't extremely long, but it was long enough to irritate me. Rational Me shook his head in dismay and started talking. "Look at that hippy in the mirror, Wayne! He looks like crap! Give him a real haircut, and while you’re at it, you’ve just got to do something about that moustache. If the barber straightens it up for you, you’ll be able to chew your food, instead of your moustache when you’re eating."

His attack was relentless. "You really need to consider doing something with that goatee. No sane person has a goatee hanging down to the middle of his chest, and those sideburns are so bushy that you look like your father in 1973."

Emotional Me spoke up. "You said you don’t want to look like Dan any more. You don’t have to get a short haircut. You could let it grow out. You wouldn’t look like Dan then."

Rational Me said, "You’ve had long hair all of your life, and you want something different. You really want to fulfill your ‘desires’." He kept talking. "On a different note, you’ve decided it’s time to come out of the closet. Do you really think people are gonna be worried about what your hair looks like when you tell them you’re gay?" He frowned and started clucking like a chicken. "That is, they won’t care about your hair unless you get cold feet about coming out like you always do when you decide to get a haircut."

I had to admit that Rational Me was right. This was probably the best time to do it. I thought, "Wayne, you should start your new life with a new look."

Emotional Me was quick to respond. "Yeah, but what if it looks like garbage? Just because you like the look doesn’t mean it’s gonna look good on you. You’re not going to find a guy who’s interested in you if you look like the biggest geek on the planet!"

Rational Me kept talking. "Don’t give in to the fear. You’ll never know for sure how you’ll look until you try it. Hell, you might’ve wasted much of your youth not looking your best. You might look even more handsome with short hair."
Vain Me spoke up for the first time. "Your good looks will still be there, no matter what hairstyle you have."

Rational Me stepped back in. "Wayne, you’ve fantasized about going to a barber and getting a really short haircut for years, just like you’ve fantasized about meeting a guy to love. You’ve let what others think about you stop you from fulfilling all your dreams. How many more years are you willing to waste, worshiping at the altar of other people’s opinions?" He glared at me. "Grow a pair, already."

Emotional Me spoke up. "Wayne, you don’t want to catch any flack from your circle of friends, and you know the clowns you run around with will definitely give you seventeen kinds of crap if you show up with a really short haircut."

My mind started whirling as I imagined the jokes they’d make if I showed up with a buzzed head. Rational Me shut up Emotional Me when he said, "Wayne, I’ve already answered this. They’re not going to be worried about your hair when you tell them you’re gay. Anyway, why the hell are you still hanging out with the same idiots you ran around with in high school. You’ve been out of school for fifteen years, it’s about time you grew up, and found some real friends."

Rational Me got heated. "After years of dreaming about getting a ‘real’ haircut from a ‘real’ barber, Wayne is going to do this, so just shut the hell up, Emotional Me." He looked at me and snarled. "If you want a short haircut, then get your ass in the truck and go to the barber shop. It’s as simple as that."

That had settled it in my head. I mentally shot my friends a finger and started getting ready to go get a "real" haircut. I thought, "Today’s going to be the day—no matter what!" Then I qualified that statement. "It’s going to be the day, if I find a great barbershop."

I dressed carefully, wanting to make sure I presented the perfect image. I knew I’d remember this day for years, and I didn’t want any thoughts of "I should’ve" to ruin the memory. I thought about putting a suit on, and then remembered how hot it was outside. I put on a white (tight) t-shirt, tight jeans that were faded perfectly, a pair of beaten up cowboy boots and a great plaid shirt that I left half unbuttoned. Not too rustic, not too dressy.

I combed my hair, and looked at myself in the mirror before heading out. What I saw made me shake my head in disgust…which made my hair fall in my eyes. I had to shake my head again to get the hair out of my eyes. I grabbed a faded baseball cap and settled the cap on my head. I had another conversation with myself. "There, that took care of that problem for a little while, and you’re about to take care of it for a long time. Wayne, you’re a damned fool for letting your hair get this long. It’s getting on your nerves in a big way. Go get rid of this mess."

I got in the truck and sat there for a long time. Finally I started the truck, and headed east. A few miles down the road I thought, "You’re never going to get to feel the wind in your hair again. Take the cap off, and roll the windows down."

I did just that…and the wind blew my cap out of the window. After just a few minutes I was sick of the wind in my hair. I rolled the windows up, and started mourning for the lost cap. My hair would not stay out of my eyes.

Soon (like they had for years), fantasies about what the barbershop would look like filled my head, and I paid no attention to the road as I escaped into my daydream. Images of an old-fashioned barbershop that looked like it had been transplanted from the Fifties filled my head. I imagined an old coot--one who had been cutting hair since the Fifties--sitting in the chair, waiting to whack my hair off.

I had never had my hair cut by a barber who looked like an old coot. The only people I’d ever let near my hair with a pair of scissors were sexy, twenty-something stylists. However, I’d read plenty of stories about this kind of barber, and knew it was what I wanted to experience. One of my favorite websites was filled with stories about haircuts in this type of barbershop. (I had submitted a few fantasy stories to the site, but evidently I had no writing talent. No one ever commented on the stories.)

I drove for a while and eventually stopped thinking about finding a barber, and started reflecting on my life. I started berating myself. "Wayne, you’ve always always known you were gay. Why did you try so hard not to be?"

I reflected on how I had tried to prove how straight I was by sleeping with as many girls as I could, and then made it worse by bragging about my sexual encounters. I shook my head in dismay, thinking, "I really didn't care if I ruined their reputations, as long as I enhanced mine with stories of my conquests." Bile rose in my throat, and I said a prayer. "God, I'm really ashamed I used the good looks and natural charm Mother Nature blessed me with to worm my way into a lot of girl's beds when I cared nothing about them."

I kept talking to God. "I’ve finally grown up, and realize that I hurt some good people with my actions. I‘m really ashamed of all the broken hearts I’ve caused. Please help those girls heal, and find them someone who will love them like they deserve."

Tears were running down my face by the time I quit praying.

Rational Me spoke up. "A lot of good all your bed hopping did you too, isn’t it? No matter how many beds you got into, you were never satisfied. You know it left you feeling dirty and pathetic. You knew you didn't care for the girls, and honestly, there were always three people in the bed: you, the girl and whatever fantasy man you had in your head. You always used the image of the man of the day to get hard. Shame on you."

Rational Me was right. I had always imagined scenes where I was in a barber shop, and the barber was peeling the hair off my head with great gusto to keep me going while I was in bed with a girl.

Rational Me had an interesting question. "Why do folks in the Bible Belt scream so much about people being gay, when not a one of those religious people said anything about you sleeping around like that? Isn’t fornification as bad as homosexuality?"

I came out of my reverie and said, "Crap! Something sounds like it’s wrong with the truck! What a way to start a vacation."

I breathed another prayer. "Dear God, please let me find a mechanic who’s open on Saturday before the truck dies."

I kept driving, and within two two miles I saw a sign saying "Nathan's Auto Repair".

"Deo gratias! Now please let it be something that's not too expensive." the next thought was, "Damn! I'm glad I brought my credit card." (I had planned on using cash for my vacation and not going any further in debt.)

I parked, and reached into my back pocket for my comb (it was a habit by then.) I thought, "Thank God I didn’t throw the comb away." I managed to get most of the snarls out of my hair, and walked into the shop. The mechanic came out of what I assumed was his office. Just the sight of him sent me into orbit. The start of some wrinkles around his eyes told me he was probably in his forties. He was tall and well-built, without being muscle bound. Even with the cap he had on I could tell his eyes were something special. He had a pair of heavily scuffed boots on, and a blue work shirt with the name "Nathan" embroidered over one pocket. The sleeves of his shirt were almost too small for his muscular arms. Just to make him more irresistible, he had enough stubble for me to be able to tell he was able to grow a full beard in just a few days.

He took a big cigar out of his mouth, exhaled a cloud of smoke as he walked toward me, with his right hand stuck out to shake my hand. "Welcome. I'm Nathan. You're not from around here, are you?"

I didn't want to let go of his hand. This man was my ultimate fantasy. The only thing I wasn't sure about was his hair. I could tell it was short (and the slight amount of grey at his temples confirmed my suspicions that he was in his forties), but most of his hair was hidden under the baseball cap he was wearing.

He asked me a few questions, and I hope I gave intelligent answers. I brushed the hair out of my eyes (again) so I could focus on his incredible strong jawline. I forgot about his jawline when I got my first "real" look at his eyes. I literally gasped, thinking, "Oh, my god. Those are the most hauntingly beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen, and envy must make girls turn about the same shade of green as his eyes when they see the long, dark double set of eyelashes he has."

I wanted to take his face in my hands and just stare at those eyes.

While he was talking, he pulled his cap off, scratched his head and then set the cap back on his head. I almost passed out. "My lord! He's got a flattop, and it's gorgeous!" Involuntarily my hand reached out to him. I wanted to feel the deep, plush pile of his head. It looked like velvet.

He took the cap off again, and I had a hard time breathing. He bent over a little and said, "It's obvious you want to feel it. Go ahead."

I don't know how I kept from having a spasm when I felt it. A groan escaped my mouth before I could stop it. A shiver of delight went all through me.

Somehow I managed to pull my hands away from his head without pulling him in for a kiss.

Nathan just grinned.

He opened the hood of the truck and asked me to start it. He listened for just a minute and said, "You can kill the engine now. I know what it is. Come here."

He had his elbows on the fenders and was looking at the engine when I got out of the truck. I walked to the other side so I'd have a direct view of his fantastic green eyes. He started talking about what was wrong with the truck, and I didn't understand a word he was saying. Watching him point at things with his cigar and listening to his deep bass voice kept my focus on other things.

I came back to my senses just as he said, "I'm sorry, I can't get the parts I need until Monday, and there's no motels in our little town. I'm going to Hendersonville this afternoon to get a haircut, and I'll be happy to drop you off at a motel after I get my haircut. Then I'll pick you up Monday morning."

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious when he said, "You could get that mess of hair on your head cut while we're at the barbershop. James is an old-fashioned barber, and I know he's got a pair of clippers that he'd love to get into your hair. You've got a nice face, and it's a shame you're hiding it."

He took another draw on his cigar and looked at me intently. I couldn't quite figure out what he was looking for.

I took a deep breath. Was this the opportunity I had been looking for?

Nathan kept talking. "Your reaction made it pretty damned obvious you're attracted to my haircut. Why not get one of your own?" His grin caused a response in my crotch. "I'd love to see if you're going to be as good looking as I think you will be with short hair." He took his cap off and patted his flattop. "You’d look awesome in one of these beauties." He kept talking. "If you don't wanna go this short, you don't have to, but you need to stop hiding behind that hair. You're too cute to hide all that handsomeness."

Emotional Me thought, "Holy crap! Is he flirting with me?"

Rational Me spoke up. "Wayne, you've got to be mistaken. There's no way in hell a macho man like that is gay.""

Emotional Me replied, "You’re wrong. He is flirting." Emotional Me almost swooned, and sighed, "My god, this Greek god is actually flirting with me."

A mischievous glint appeared in his phenomenal eyes and I melted inside. "Hell, it's only hair. If you don't like it, you can let it grow out again."

I opened my mouth with the intention of saying, "I’ll think about it." What actually came out was, "I’m on vacation, and I’ve been looking for a real, old-fashioned barber straight out of the Fifties. Does your barber fit that description?" I flipped the hair out of my eyes. "I've always dreamed of a flattop, and never had the nerve to do it."

After I shut my mouth, I looked around to see who had said that. I thought, "Wayne, were you really stupid enough to just say that?"

Nathan gave me a knowing grin. "Seeing how you first looked at my haircut made me think you had a haircut fetish. Get your ass in my truck. I'm closing up early, and we're heading over to James'. I think you'll find he meets your criteria."

I nervously touched my hair. He smirked. "Don't think you're gonna weasel out of getting a haircut. You're going to see James if I have to hog tie you and drag you into the barbershop by your heels!"

I was thrilled! I was going to get my dream haircut, and this handsome stud was "making" me get it! Talk about fulfilling fantasies! My cock was throbbing so hard I thought I was going to shoot a wad in my pants.

I saw Nathan look at my jeans and grin, but he didn't say anything except, "Let's go."

We got in the truck and Nathan said, "I really don't like going into town looking like this. Would you mind if we stopped by my house so I can clean up a bit?"

I'll admit my first thought was, "Hopefully it'll be more than a few minutes. I'd love for him to get distracted by me, and us spending a few hours doing other things."

I didn't say that though. "I don't mind, take all the time you need, but I also don't mind going with you looking like you do."

"Oh, I don't want to embarrass you with the way I look."

My mouth opened again, and more words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them. "How the hell could someone as good looking as you are think you could ever embarrass anyone with the way you look?"

I blushed and he smirked. He had to have known the effect he was having on me. He turned the truck on, and the sound of an orchestra in full crescendo filled the truck.

Nathan quickly turned the volume down. "Sorry. I was in a classical mood this morning."

I grinned. We were now on my turf. "I love Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. It’s a great piece!"

He looked stunned. "You like classical?"

I nodded. "My two favorite genres are classical and jazz."

A huge smile spread across his face. "Mine too!"

We started talking then, and the conversation flowed freely, as we discovered many common interests.

When we pulled into his driveway he asked, "Can I trust you not to run off while I'm getting ready?"

I laughed. "You've got my truck locked up in your garage. How would I run off?"

He grinned- -and that grin made my stomach do flips. My heart almost stopped when he said, "I've got some handcuffs, and I'm of half a mind to lock you to my bed while I take a quick shower."

The idea of being handcuffed to his bed had appeal, but so did the idea of getting in the shower with him.

"I promise. I'll still be here whenever you are ready... But would it be too forward of me to ask you to hurry. I want to get this over with."

"Is that a 'I'm dreading this so much I want to get it over with' or a 'I'm so excited I can't wait to do this'?"

I was a little embarrassed when I said, "It's probably a little of both--or more realistically, a 25/75 split, with excitement winning the largest share."

"That's what I figured. I'll hurry, but the anticipation will just make the actual experience better."

When we got to his house, he said, "Come on in. There's beer and soft drinks in the fridge. Grab something if you want it. I won't be long. I just wanna get the grease off of me and change clothes."

I grabbed a beer and tried to sit on the sofa, but my nerves were too wound up for me to sit. I paced his floors while waiting on him.

After what seemed like hours Nathan finally walked in, and said, "You're going to wear a hole in my rug if you keep pacing like that."

My heart started racing when I saw him. I stared at his head and looked him up and down. His flattop was glistening with wax, and standing at perfect attention. The black felt cowboy hat that he was holding looked like it would be perfect to the color of his hair, but I thought, "I really don’t want him to put the hat on, and hide his awesome haircut." My next thought was, "He completely fills those jeans out in all the right places," followed by, "I’d kill to have a pair of boots like that!" (He was wearing a pair of gorgeous golden-colored alligator boots.) More looking made me think, "Damn it! He shaved. I was hoping to get to feel his stubble." My disappointment faded when I looked at his incredible green eyes. "Who gives a damn if he shaved, he didn’t change his eyes." His green and black western shirt made his emerald eyes stand out even more. The top two buttons of his shirt were left undone, and revealed an enormous amount of chest hair. A couple of cigars were stuck in his shirt pocket.

I went back to look at his eyes again. They were gleaming with something that looked like mischief, but also revealed a depth of color I hadn’t noticed before. There was something mysterious in his eyes that intrigued me.

I couldn’t help but stare. I don’t like poetry, but my thoughts felt poetic. "His eyes have every shade of green known to nature, from the bright and soft green of trees in the Spring to the darkest hunter green of mature trees in a forest, with the various shades caused by light bouncing off the branches. Those eyes will ever remain young." My next thought was earthier. "My god, I’d love to see him lying naked on the grass, just to see which was greener, the grass or his eyes." My mind went into a whirlwind of thoughts about what we could do in a secluded glen, surrounded by trees, a flowing creek and singing birds.

I don’t know how long I stared, but he broke the silence. "Do I pass inspection?"

I turned beet red. "Sorry, you’re just so damned gorgeous, I couldn’t help but stare."

He ignored my comment. "You ready to go?"

"Am I ready to go? I'm beyond ready." More words popped out of my mouth, before I had a chance to filter them. "Are we going to the barbershop or your bedroom?"

I dropped my jaw…and blushed…yet again. "Did I just say that?"

A huge smile spread across his face. "Yes. You just said that."

I looked at the floor. "I normally don’t talk like that. Hell, I’ve never even kissed a man before."

His smile got bigger. "I normally don’t go to the bedroom until I know someone, but you are tempting me." He walked up close, and tilted my head up, so that we were eye to eye. "Do you mind if I take care of those virgin lips?" He bent closer, and whispered. "I’d be honored to be the first man to kiss you."

I couldn’t say a word. All I could do was look into his eyes.

He stared at me for a second, and evidently saw the plea that was in my eyes- -the plea that my voice couldn’t enunciate. He closed the distance between us. I could smell the soap from his shower.

He threw his hat on the sofa. One hand touched my face, and the other brushed the moustache away from my lips…and then I felt his lips gently brush mine. Passion rose up in me. A moan escaped from my mouth. Nathan answered with a groan of his own. I could hear the desire in his voice.

I reached up, and felt the bristle on the side of his head. Very softly, his tongue traced the crease where my lips joined. A barely coherent thought crossed my mind. "An invitation?"

I opened my lips slightly, and his tongue touched mine in the softest caress, and then backed up. I touched his tongue with mine. I could taste his toothpaste, and I thought I could detect a faint hint of the cigar he was smoking when we met.

A hand grabbed each of my ass cheeks, and pulled me closer. The kiss deepened when my arms went around him. I could feel Nathan’s arousal against my own. Emotional Me thought, "Dear God in heaven. I never dreamed I could make a man respond to me like this." I mentally flipped Emotional Me off, and said, "Just shut up and enjoy it."

Emotional Me minded, and for a long time after that, I had no coherent thoughts, just emotions.

Nathan stepped away, and I felt like the world had dropped out from underneath me. I wanted the kiss to go on forever.

Nathan was breathing so hard he was almost panting when he said, "We need to stop, before we reach the point we can’t stop. Let’s go see James, and then see where the day takes us."

His words felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I didn’t want to stop. I guess my face told him what I was thinking. He looked me in the eyes. "This is not over between us. I can promise you that." He reached up and ruffled my hair. "As sexy as I think you are, I think you’ll be sexier with a sharp flattop." He picked up his cowboy hat and put it on. "Let’s get you a haircut. I can’t wait to see you peeled, and looking sharp."

I grinned. "By the way, thanks for the incentive. I've always wanted a flattop "

"It's my pleasure." He looked me up and down. "I guess it's a double fantasy day. I've wanted to get that long hair off of you since the first second I saw you. I think you're going to be mighty handsome when James gets done with you." He stared at me for a second, and I could see the desire in his eyes. "After James gets that long hair off of you, I might attempt to get those clothes off of you."

We got in the trunk, and before we pulled out of the driveway Nathan was asking questions. His first question was, "So, how long have you dreamed about getting a short haircut? Do you jack off to the thought of it?"

I blushed and stammered. I finally nodded. (I'd never talked to anyone about my haircut fetish, and was more than a little embarrassed by the question.)

He grinned. "Don't be ashamed. You're not going to say anything I haven't experienced, and I have a few friends who have the same emotions. You might get to meet some of them today." He kept talking. "Let me tell you, the reality of sitting in a barber’s chair and getting buzzed is better than anything you've ever dreamed. You're going to be so hard you're going to wonder if your zipper will break."

He asked another question. "Do you just want the haircut, or have you ever thought about having sex while getting your hair cut?"

I turned an even brighter shade of red. "Uhhh…I’ve never thought about have sex while getting my haircut. Is that what you think about?"

"I’ve had a blow job while getting a haircut." He shook his head. "That was the worst haircut I’ve ever had, because I couldn’t be still." A huge smile flashed across his face. "It was also the most fun I’ve ever had while getting a haircut."

Trying to get the subject on less sensitive ground, I asked, "Have you always had a flattop?"

He grinned. "My friends call me Dice, because they say I pick my hairstyles with a roll of the dice. I’ve tried just about every haircut known to man, but I keep coming back to the flattop. To me, there’s just something special about it. I wish it would come back into style."

"Tell me about some of the styles you’ve tried?"

A small laugh burst out of him. It made me smile.

Nathan started talking. "Hell, I’ve tried everything: recon, flattop, short back and sides, businessman’s cut, high and tight, induction cut, Mohawk, and a full shave- -just to name a few." He looked at me. "Sometimes I’ll let it grow out, just so I can experience my hair being peeled down short." He looked like he was enjoying pleasant thoughts when he said, "I had hair almost as long as yours on New Year’s Eve. I decided to start the new year out fresh, and had James shave me." His amazing eyes sparkled. "That was a fun evening. James shaved everything."

I could hear the doubt in my voice. "Everything?!"

"Everything! Head to toe." He shook his head, and started scratching. "I’ll never do that again. I went through the torment of the damned when the hair on my body and groin started growing back. I didn’t know if I would survive all of the itching I went through." He paused. "It sounded like a good idea when I came up with it, and James and I had fun while he was shaving me, but I’ll never do it again." He looked at me. "Don’t ever do it. It’s not worth it."

"I’ve never thought about a full body shave, and I don’t think I want to ever try it."

"Good." He paused. "I also like to experiment with facial hair. I’ve had every beard and moustache combo I could imagine too."

"What was your favorite?"

"That’s a tough one." He thought for a second. "I guess I’d have to say whatever style I was wearing at the time." He rubbed his chin. "I liked almost all of my moustaches: pencil-thin, horseshoe, handlebar and Fu-Manchu were my favorites."

"You said you liked almost all…what didn’t you like?"

He grinned. "It’s funny. I love seeing a guy with a cop ‘stache, but I didn’t like it on me."

"I’d be willing to bet it looked good on you. What was your favorite beard style?"

"I think I loved my Amish beard the most, followed by the tailback. That’s probably just because they’re different."

"I’d love to see you with all those looks."

He grinned. "I have pictures of them. If you’re nice to me, I might let you see them…but I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. I’m assuming you have a thing for beards too. For someone with a facial hair fetish, it might be too much for you to handle."

I grinned. "I would die a happy man."

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigar. "Do you mind?"

I blushed…again, and looked down.

He misread my blush. "It’s ok if you don’t like it. I can wait."

I could feel the flush of embarrassment covering my whole body. "No. I actually want you to." I looked down again. "I’m ashamed to admit I have a thing for a man with a cigar. It’s one of my ‘passions’. I think a man with a flattop and a cigar is beyond sexy."

He grinned. "Hot damn, and thank you. Just when I think you can’t get any better, you get even more better!" He got serious. "Why are you ashamed to admit you like a man with a cigar and a flattop? It’s no different than some other man saying he likes a blond woman with big tits. It’s just what you like."

I hung my head. "I’m not really out yet, so this is all new to me."

He laughed. "You’re not out yet, and you’ve already asked to go to my bedroom? You’re gonna be a force to be reckoned with once you’re comfortable with who you are. I hope I’m around to see it."

He blew some smoke out. "Have you ever smoked a cigar?"

"I’ve had a few, but I prefer a pipe. I always have one near me."

"Well, light it up, if you have it."

"It’s in the truck. I have never smoked around anyone. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not many pipe smokers out there."

"There’s not many cigar smokers either, but I don’t give a damn. If people don’t like it, they can go away."

I grinned. "Maybe I’ll reach that point some day."

Nathan’s brakes screeched when he stopped in the parking lot of the barbershop. I thought, "The cobbler’s children have no shoes, and the mechanic’s brakes need fixing. It figures." I looked at the barbershop. It was a white frame building, with the paint peeling. I tried to look through the windows, but I couldn’t see a damn thing because of the glare of the sun on the windows. The only thing that said "barber shop" was the familiar red and white striped pole turning by the door and a sign that read "George’s Barber Shop" hanging on the door.
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