A Haircut...and More...Part II by Just_Me

---

******
A fear so intense that I couldn’t breathe rose up in me. I looked at Nathan. "I don’t think I can do this."

He shook his head. "I’m disappointed in you, Wayne. I thought you were becoming man enough to do what’s right for you." He looked at me. "Part of me wants to drag you in that door, and make you go through with it, but, I’m really not a fiend, and I won’t hold you down while you get a haircut."

He put his hand on my neck, pulled me toward him. "Maybe this will give you the courage you need." He kissed me. I was light-headed when he broke the kiss. He put my hand on his groin. I couldn’t help but grope a little. His voice trembled with passion when he whispered, "You make me this horny with your long hair. I’d probably be twice as horny if you had a flattie."

Emotional Me and Rational Me both said, "He’s worth it. Do it! Enough stalling, Wayne. Get your ass in the barbershop, now!"

Nathan reached over me and opened my door. "Come on, it’s too hot to sit out here while you try to make up your mind. It’s time to do this, and anyway, no one is going to blame you for trying to get some relief from this heat!"

I managed to get out of the truck, and headed to the shop. The bells on the door jingled when I turned the knob, and I stepped into what felt like a refrigerator. Damn, it was cold in there. I blinked several times, while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the lower light level inside the shop. I was welcomed with, ''Come on in.'' For just a split second, I thought the radio was talking to me. The voice was deep and soothing, almost like a DJ talking.

I looked at the man who had spoken to me, or more realistically, I looked at the chest of the man who spoke to me. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head to a 30-degree angle before I could look at his face. Lust overwhelmed me. My racing heart, and shortness of breath told me that this barber was better than any fantasy I’d ever concocted. I've never seen a barber who looked as good as he did- -hell, I’ve never seen any man, barber or otherwise, who looked this good. Even Nathan paled in comparison to the barber standing there. I don't think he could've been more gorgeous. I went through my mental checklist of things I looked for in a man. Muscular without being muscle-bound—check. Thick head of hair—check (I added a double check when I noticed he was greying). Hairy—double check. (There was a lot of hair showing in the V of his shirt, his arms were covered in dark hair).
To make things even better, he had a beautifully carved, well-used meerschaum pipe in his mouth. I had a sacreligious thought. "This man is so gorgeous he could’ve talked the Virgin Mary into his bed."

Being in the same room with two men who looked like they did filled me with lust, and made me feel like an ugly duckling.

He smiled at me. "Have a seat, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes." His smile made one side of his massive handlebar mustache go up, and I was intrigued…and aroused.

I glanced at the two customers sitting in the chairs that were lined up in front of the window, and although my eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dimmer light inside, it didn’t look like either of them needed a haircut. One of them was in his early forties and looked like most of the men in rural east Texas. He had a big biker ‘stache and was wearing cowboy boots. I didn’t need to see the Coke bottle sitting beside him to know he was a tobacco chewer. His distended jaw told me that. He tipped his straw cowboy hat to me, and when he lifted the hat I could see he had a freshly cut high and tight. The light coming in from outside made the sides of his head shine like chrome in sunlight.

The brief glimpse I got of his hair made me think, "I wonder if I’d looked that damned good with a haircut like that?"

He spit in the Coke bottle and said, ''Howdy'' when I walked by him to sit down.

My pulse took off when I saw the man sitting next to the cowboy, and I got light-headed. I probably stared. He nodded, but didn't say anything.

I watch a lot of old black and white movies, and I’ve never seen a man who looked more like a movie star than this guy did. He could’ve easily walked onto the set of "Casablanca" and fit in perfectly. He was even dressed in an old-fashioned suit. I thought it looked kinda strange on a man who was probably in his thirties. I had never seen a man this young wearing this type of suit. A fedora sat on the chair beside him, completing the ensemble.

The nub of a big cigar he had in his mouth just made him look even more vintage—and more attractive.

His haircut completed the illusion of something from another time era. I thought, "If this is the type of work this barber does, you’ve finally found the right barbershop, Wayne. That’s a damned fine flattop."

His haircut was boxy, bristly and perfectly even. The sides were completely shaved, and there was a small landing strip shaved down the center of the man’s head. In addition to having an old-fashioned suit and haircut, he had an old-fashioned pencil-thin moustache. I couldn’t help it. I stared.
I thought, "I can see this man on the set of a movie, directing some starlet in a love scene…and probably luring her onto the casting couch as well."

All the smoke he was generating just increased the image of an old movie. I didn’t care if he looked like a vintage ad in Life magazine, he was sexy as hell. Just looking at him made me horny. I wanted to taste the cigar on his moustache. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to beg him to perform immoral acts with me, right there on the spot.

After Nathan sat down, I stared at the three of them. I thought, "What is this, a modeling convention? Everyone here looks like he could walk down a runway."

Another thought followed. "Damn, Wayne, you could delete every picture on your computer if you could just get a picture of the guys in this room to jack off to."

(I have thousands of pictures of men with short haircuts on my computer).

I realized I was being rude, so I started looking around the shop. The barber grinned at me when I glanced at him, and I was fascinated (again) by the way his handlebar moustache lifted when he smiled. His pipe caught my attention again. I spoke up. "Whoever carved that pipe sure knew what they were doing. It’s a beauty."

He smiled. It’s one of my favorites. I inherited it from my grandfather." Then he said, ''Welcome in. I won’t be long. I don't have much left to do on old J. C. here.''

J. C. spoke up. ''That's because I don't have much hair left on my head for you to do anything with. Between Mother Nature and your clippers, there ain't a whole lot to work with.''

I tore my eyes away from the barber (damn, he was hot!), and took my first look at the man in the chair. He looked like he had never smiled a day in his life. Anger seemed to radiate off of him, and I felt like he was pissed at the world…and he was right about his hair. Although he couldn’t have been any older than his late twenties, I could see he only had a fringe of hair around the sides, and that what hair he did have had all been buzzed down to nothing. I was guessing that the barber had used a zero blade on the sides. I got rude again, and stared at him.

I wasn’t staring at his hair- -or lack of hair. His beard was phenomenal, and the starkness of his haircut made his big beard stand out even more. His beard made mine look puny. It was so wide you couldn’t see most of his chest, and it almost reached his waist. I imagine I turned a little green with envy. I thought, "Sir, I wouldn’t be complaining about having no hair on my head if I had a beard like that. A little MPB is a small price to pay for the privilege of having such an incredible beard." Fortunately, those thoughts didn’t slip out of my mouth.

He kept talking. "Bastards like this barber are proof that God doesn’t love me. If God loved me, why did He make me bald and short, and then turn around and give this son of a bitch a thick head of hair, and make him bigger than a mountain? Did you see his eyes? I’d kill to have eyes like that. Don’t you think if God loved me he would’ve saved at least one of those goodies for me?"

I wasn’t sure who the man was talking to, so I nodded my head, just in case he was talking to me.

The businessman took the cigar out of his mouth, looked at me and said, ''Sir, you've got a nice head of hair there. If you wanna keep it, you'd better run out that door before that old coot of a barber gets ahold of your head. He purely hates hair, and I can promise you this, he'll take ten times more off than you ask for!'' He then rubbed the top of his head (God, how I wanted to know how that felt!) and put the cigar back in his mouth.

The barber spoke up. "Wayne, do you ever shut up?''

He turned to me and said, ''Ignore that mouthy old bastard. If you wanna know if Wayne is talking crap, just look to see if his mouth is moving. If he's talking, he's talking crap!''

"I ain’t talking crap! That sign behind you says it all."

I looked to see what he was talking about, and sure enough, there was a sign on the mirror behind the barber that said, ''We specialize in traditional haircuts, military flattops, crew cuts and burrs''.

"Well," I thought, "If you’re wanting a short haircut, it looks like you came to the right place, Wayne." I breathed deeply—trying to relax. Even with the mellow smell of the barber’s pipe and the sharp scent of two cigars being smoked, I smelled what had to be the traditional scent of hair tonic and powder that so many barber enthusiasts talked about online.

"Wayne, it's closing time. Instead of talking trash, why don't you make yourself useful and close the blinds and put up the closed sign.''

I followed Wayne with my eyes, and for the first time, I noticed more about the shop. I thought, "Holy hell, Wayne. You wanted an old-fashioned barbershop, and you found it. This looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, or an old Saturday Evening Post."

Several hats and baseball caps hung on a coat rack by the door. The requisite old poster that shows all the different styles of haircuts was hanging on a wall. An old-fashioned brass cash register sat on a counter. The black and white tile floor was littered with big piles of hair in all colors. (All that hair on the floor told me that this barber wasn't afraid to cut hair. I got excited, and I got scared.)

Wayne came back and sat by me. He smiled when he sat down, but didn’t say anything. We just sat there, and watched the barber finish up the haircut he was working on.

The barber picked up a straight razor, and started sharpening it on his leather strop. Something about the sound was disconcerting, and seeing that long, wide piece of leather made me think of stories I’d read about people having a razor strop used to discipline them—whether that discipline was voluntary or involuntary varied according to who was telling the story. I was glad my folks had never believed in corporal punishment. I knew I didn’t want to feel that thing hitting me on the ass.

The barber shaved around J. C.’s ears, and then his neck. The cape came off, and I heard, ''Well, that's the best I can do for you. At least you don't have fuzz sticking out all over the top of your head. Now, if you'd just let me do something with that ridiculous beard of yours.''

J. C. shot the barber a finger.

"Come on, J. C. You know I was right when I finally talked into letting me cut off that ridiculously long comb-over that you had. Now you need to listen to me and let me do something with that stupid-looking beard of yours."

J. C. gave the barber another one-finger salute. He pointed at me and said, "If you can make my goatee look as good as that man’s, I might let you talk me into something like that- -some day- -but it ain’t gonna happen today. Then he turned to me, and said, "That’s a mighty nice goatee you’ve got there. It sorta reminds me of a mink pelt."

I didn’t know who he was talking to at first, and when I realized he was talking to me, I blushed. (Damn, I hate the way I blush all the time.) Anyway, I tried to pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I have to admit: I was honored that he had commented on it. I said, "Thank ya, sir. I guess I am a little proud of my beard, but I’m ashamed to be in the same room with someone who’s got a beard as great as yours."

As soon as the cape had cleared his body, I noticed that his right arm had a huge dragon tattooed on it that seemed to be winding itself around his arm. There was something about the tattoo that made me wonder if J. C. was into martial arts. He stood up and pulled a tobacco pouch out of his pocket, and started packing a pipe. I wondered if I was dreaming. I muttered to myself, "Surely this can’t be real! Am I dreaming, or have I died and gone to my version of heaven? How can this be happening? Sometimes I’ll go months between spotting just one pipe or cigar smoker, and I’ve got two pipe smokers and two cigar smokers in one room…and they’re all handsome as hell too. I’d think I was reading about someone’s fantasy if I wasn’t experiencing it."

The barber gave me another of his grins, and I thought, "Holy hole in a donut, Batman. J. C. was right. He does have incredible eyes!"

"It looks like you're not going to follow Wayne’s advice and run, so you're next. You can get in the chair as soon as J. C. quits screwing around with his pipe and pays me.''

Honestly, J. C. literally growled before he said, "Back off, you greedy old bastard. You’ll get your damned money when I’m ready to give you your damned money."

The barber just laughed, and said, "Go back to your cave, you cantankerous old grizzly." He then turned to me and said, "''We have a saying around here. Every month J. C.'s beard gets longer and his temper gets shorter. Pretty soon his temper is gonna be about as short as J. C. is. Don’t worry though. He growls a lot, but I’ve never known him to bite anyone."

J. C. got his pipe going, and then yanked his wallet out. He growled again when he said, "Here’s your damned money, now quit messing with me about it!"

My spirits fell when James took the pipe out of his mouth, and sat it on the counter. He looked at me. "You’re up."

I pointed to the two men waiting and said, ''They were here before me.''

He said, ''I've already dealt with those two ne'er-do-wells. We're going to head out for a few drinks after I get done cutting your hair. You're welcome to tag along. Now, have a seat and tell me what can I do for you, or are you just going to let me decide for you?''

I stood up, and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and convince myself to go through with my plan. Hearing what the barber said shocked me, and I didn’t know what to think- -or say. My nether region liked the idea. It jerked, as if showing its approval. ''Ummm...what did you have in mind?''

He gave Nathan a smirk that I didn't understand. Nathan just nodded and smiled back. I noticed that Nathan had dimples when he smiled, and thought, "Damn! That smile of his lit up the room like a thousand-watt bulb." I instantly had dreams of the two of us alone. I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted to get my hands on his head, and to feel the velvety smoothness of his flattop again.

Nathan didn’t say a word. He put his cigar in his mouth, but his beautiful green eyes never left me.

James picked up the cape, and a big, beefy hand came my way, and he said, ''Oh, by the way, I'm James, the proprietor of this here shop. Forgive me for being rude and not introducing myself.''

"I’m Wayne, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you—and you're James? Who’s George."

''George was my dad. He opened this shop in 1946, right after he got through fighting the Nazis. I grew up in this shop and was giving haircuts by the time I was thirteen. Dad died standing right here. Poor Mr. Williams had half a haircut for the rest of the day. I wasn't able to finish his haircut until the next morning. "

"How'd you find out about my shop?'' he inquired, as he was putting the cape on me.

''I was just out driving around, and had some car trouble. Nathan recommended you."

"What do you think about our little town?"

"It’s great! I’d love to live somewhere like this."

"It’s a good little town, and there’s some good folks around here. I know most of the people in town. If you ever want to live around here, just let me know and I’ll help you find a place to live. Now, back to my original question. What kind of haircut did you want today?''

I drew a deep breath in, trying to decide whether to go for it. Fear got the best of me. ''I think I want to go shorter, but nothing too drastic.''

Nathan’s face let me know what he thought about that idea. He shook his finger at me, and I could imagine a mother saying, "No, no" to a child. His silence was probably the loudest noise I’ve ever heard.

James looked disappointed too. ''Well, I’d prefer to do more than that, but one slightly shorter haircut is coming up. Relax. I'll have you fixed up in no time.''

He combed my hair, parted it on the side (even though I came in with a center part) and pumped the chair up, so I was at the height he wanted me. Every ka-chunk of the chair made my stomach churn. I saw him as he reached back for clippers--and then he turned them on. They sounded like a bunch of angry bees to me. Since I hate bees, my stomach started churning. Emotional Me almost made him stop. I soothed Emotional Me with the thought, "He’s just going to give me a regular haircut. It’ll probably be shorter than you wanted, but it won’t be too drastic." That thought silenced Emotional Me, and somehow made the sound of the clippers change from menacing to soothing.

My emotions switched. The buzz of what I knew to be hair-hungry clippers, coupled with the sight of this hairy, handsome barber made my hard cock quiver.

James walked around to my side, put the clippers at the base of my sideburn and then went halfway up my head. A HUGE clump of hair fell in my lap. I looked in the mirror, and saw a completely bald spot going halfway up the side of my head. Every trace of a sideburn had been taken care of with one swipe of those voracious clippers.

''WHAT THE HELL? I didn’t say shave my damned head!''

He turned bright red. ''Bull! I'm calling that a damned lie. I knew what you wanted when you marched in here, and I’m disappointed that you didn't have the balls to say it. That bulge in your jeans tells me that you're turned on about getting a haircut, and I'd be willing to bet you've fantasized about a real short haircut, maybe even a forced haircut, from a real, old-fashioned barber for years. You’ve probably dreamed about a flattop or crewcut for years."

He took a deep breath, and some of the redness left his face and neck. "Every man in this shop is gay, and we all knew what you wanted when you walked in the door. It couldn't have been plainer if it was tattooed on your head. You're trying to fulfill a fantasy. You've got some serious fetishes, and you're not alone. All of us have the same fetishes. In fact, the five of us get together once a month to fulfill our fetishes and act out our fantasies. You came on the right day. We're going to fulfill those fantasies of yours better than you ever dreamed. You're gonna leave here with a real haircut and maybe a sore ass!''

My thoughts and emotions raced. "Gay!? These macho men? I don’t believe it!" This was more than I could've ever dreamed about... And I knew it was what I wanted. It was time. Hell, it was past time!

Part of me was scared stiff, but another part of me was so stiff I knew I wanted to see where this led. My pride stepped up, and wouldn’t let me admit it though. ''What the hell are you talking about? I don't know what kind of messed up crap you guys are into, but leave me out of it! I guess I have no choice now but to get a short haircut, so go ahead and do it.''

It seems James thought I was really scared. "I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was your first real haircut. I would’ve approached it much differently if I had known that." He looked at me. ''I’ll stop, and salvage as much of your hair as I can...if that’s what you really want. Your body language is telling me you want to go through with this fantasy of yours, but I want you to tell me it's ok. What's the verdict?"

All I could say was, "Uhmmm…"

He looked at Nathan, and Nathan nodded. James dropped the back of the chair, bent over and kissed me. Once I got over my surprise, I kissed him back, thinking, "Holy s**t! Kissing a man feels so different than kissing a girl!" After kissing me brutally hard for just a bit he stepped back. "Enough of that. Your reaction told me what I needed to know. Let’s get you a real haircut."

Quicker than a wink he had the chair back in an upright position, and the clippers in his hand. He said, "You came in here all dressed up like a pretty boy, so I’m going to make you a pretty boy. One little boy’s haircut is coming up." He started peeling the hair off the sides of my head. I can't say he was rough, but he was firm about putting my head where he wanted it, and kept a hand on the top of my head the whole time he was dealing with the back and sides. When he bent my ear over to go around it I wondered if he was going to pull the ear off.

I felt guilty for misleading him, and finally my conscience made me tell him the truth. "Thanks for what you’re doing. You were right. I’ve always dreamed about getting a real haircut from a real barber, but this goes way beyond anything I ever dreamed of."

"Before this night is over we’re going to show you lots of things you’ve probably never dreamed of. Now, let’s get your haircut done."

He started cutting my hair again. He peeled the sides about halfway up, and the feel of the clippers sent chills down my back. I thought, "Damn, if I’d known it was going to feel this good to get a haircut, I would’ve done it years ago." Clump after clump of hair hit the cape.

Emotional Me showed back up. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You’re going to hate this! You're going to look like the biggest goofball on the planet. I hope that the hard-on you have is worth it."

Rational Me said, "Well, if we're going to look like a goofball, why not look like a complete goofball. Tell him to go ahead and give you a flattop. You know it's what you want, and Nathan made it clear it’s what he wants. If you do it, maybe he'll take you to second base. Hell, you might get a home run!"

Emotional Me was quick to respond. "You'll strike out before the first pitch. Don't waste your breath."

I was quick to say, "Emotional Me, it’s too late for you to pipe up. The deed’s done. Go back into your cave and stay there. You’ve lost this battle."

The two of them kept arguing, and I finally stopped listening, and just enjoyed getting my haircut. I was closer to my dream haircut than I'd ever been, and I was so excited I could barely sit still.

After the first few passes with the clippers, I was reduced to a mass of sensations. I think the only completely coherent thought I had was, "I hope Nathan and the three guys watching are enjoying this as much as I am." Otherwise, there were only random bits of thoughts that passed through my mind. I was so emotional that nothing made sense.

Once James started on the back of my head, I had to feel what he’d done so far. I reached up and brushed the side of my head, and shivered. I tried to think of something it was similar to, but couldn’t. My first thought was, "It feels like a piece of fine sandpaper." Then I thought, "Nope. That’s close, but no cigar." I thought a bit more. "Is it like a cat’s tongue?" I instantly negated that idea. Nothing I was thinking felt right, so I gave up.

Even though I couldn't define what the texture of the short hair felt like, I knew it felt very different from the smooth, silky way my hair had felt when I walked in. I liked it.

I could define the feeling of getting a short haircut. My mind had a ton of descriptive words to express that feeling. It was a divine feeling. It was exquisite. It was sensual, amazing, wonderful and awe-inspiring.

Nathan had been right. I was so hard I wondered if I was going to split my jeans.

James kept going around my head with the clippers. Every time he'd cut some hair he'd throw it over my shoulder , and clumps of hair kept falling in my lap. I wanted to ask if he was doing it to show me how much he was cutting, or if he was trying to make me horny. Either way, I was shocked (and pleased) with how much hair was coming off my head. I knew I was going to look like a completely different person when he was done with me.

He finished the sides, and started on the top. It was left fairly long--at least in comparison to the sides. He cut my bangs at a sharp angle, and I could tell I was going to have a Dennis the Menace rooster tail in the back. There was one piece of hair that was sticking straight up.

He sharpened his straight razor again, and shaved around my neck and ears...and shaved up the sides a bit too. I had no hair on the bottom third of my head. He took his scissors and spent some time snipping here and there. When he was satisfied with the way every hair looked, James splashed something in his hands and the smell struck me as one of the smells I’d read so much about. Then he rubbed it in my hair.

I sniffed, and said, "I love that smell."

"Good," he replied. "You’re going to be smelling of it all night."

"Huh? Why?"

"The smell lingers." He looked at Nathan. "If this goes like I think it’s going to, you’re going to experience some things you’ve never experienced. What I just put in your hair is really greasy, and we sometimes use it as a lube." My dick jerked, and I shivered when I heard that. James laughed and said, "It looks like you like the sound of that." He ran a comb through my goatee. "I can’t stand it. I’ve gotta do something with that face of yours. How would you feel about a handlebar moustache? As you can see from looking at me, I’m partial to them."

I said, "Sure, no problem. Whatever you think."

James laughed. "I’m torn about the beard. Like J. C. said, it’s a thing of beauty, but I don’t like it with your haircut. I’m gonna just trim it up first, and see what you look like. If we don’t like it, I can take it off."

Nathan spoke up. "Let me look at him, and I’ll tell you what I think." He looked at me. "Move your legs." He sat on the footrest, and leaned forward, staring at me. His exquisite eyes, and the sight of him between my legs sent shivers through me. I imagined him leaning forward and undoing my pants. Visions of him taking my hard cock in his mouth tantalized me.

I turned into a mass of sensation- -again.

James turned to Nathan. "What’s the verdict? Keep the beard, or lose it?"

Nathan said, "If he’s gonna keep his hair this long, let him keep the beard. Maybe take another inch or two off."

James laughed. "Nathan, you know me. Saying ‘an inch or two’ means he’s gonna lose three or four."

Nathan smirked. "Let me rephrase that. Take about half an inch off."

James gave a thumbs up, and then increased my sensory overload when he bent down and started kissing me again. He stopped abruptly. "Nathan, get the hell out of my way. I’ve got work to do."

Nathan stood up, and rubbed my head before going to sit down.

The haircut was over way too soon. I wanted to sit there all night long, and feel James doing something with my hair. Once it was cut to his satisfaction, he took the cape off, and had me look at it. It looked so much better, and I was thrilled...until I became disillusioned and dissatisfied. It wasn’t the flattop I had really wanted.

James looked at Nathan. "Are you next?"

Nathan got up and walked to the chair. He gave me a look of reproach when I walked by him, and his flawless green eyes looked sad when he got into the barber chair. I looked away, and stared at a painting on the wall as if it was the best piece of art I’d ever seen.

After the cape was on him, Nathan said, "James, show my friend here what a real haircut looks like. Take it down low. Don’t give me a horseshoe, but I want it short."

"One short flattop on its way."

I was completely mesmerized by the process of Nathan’s haircut. I don’t think I blinked while I watched every pass of the clippers. One pass up the back, the second pass, then a third. Each swipe of the clippers revealed some scalp under it. I was definitely surprised by how much hair was coming off Nathan’s head. It hadn’t looked like he had much to cut, but the hair was piling up on the cape.

Watching as James did the haircut completely consumed all of my attention. Every time the clippers started low and moved toward the top of his head made me want to gasp for air. I honestly wondered if I was going to be able to watch the entire haircut without hyperventilating. Tiny little filaments of hair kept falling. The care which James cut the top was amazing.

I never dreamed that there would be so much work in cutting a flattop.

I had thought Nathan was crazy when he said he needed a haircut. It had looked very damned good to me. Now, after seeing how crisp and sharp his hair looked, I understood. I’d never seen a flatter flattop. It was perfectly even, and straight as an arrow.

As James started winding up the haircut, I realized I was running my hands over the buzzed hair on my neck, really reveling in the way it felt. (I've always been very tactile, and I'm easily entranced by the way different things feel.)

I looked up at Nathan, and seeing how good he looked made me start berating myself for not going through with the flattop. The look of disappointment in Nathan's eyes was haunting me.

Emotional Me had switched sides and was all for the new hair style. He was now saying, "Wayne, getting your hair chopped off was fun and you're a dumb ass for not going through with getting a flattop. Why did you chicken out? You know it's what we wanted all along!"

I snarled at Emotional Me. "You were the one who kept me from doing it years ago. Now shut up and go to your cave."

I could sense Emotional Me pouting about the way I talked to him, but he went away to sulk in his corner.

Once James had removed the cape, Nathan coughed, looked at me and patted the top of his head. His eyes had huge question marks in them. I nodded. A smile that made his dimples show up spread over his face.

I pointed at the closed sign with question marks in my eyes. Nathan 's grin got bigger.

"Hey, James. I think my friend wants a flattop like mine. Are you willing to stay a little longer?"

"God, I was hoping to hear that! Wayne, get your ass in this chair."

Once I was caped up again, James said, "Do you mind if I smoke while I cut your hair?"

"No sir, not at all. I like seeing a man with a pipe in his mouth."

Nathan spoke up. "Wayne here is a closeted pipe smoker. He might join you, if you’ve got a spare pipe."

James laughed. "Oh, I’ve got a spare pipe or two." He looked at me. "How about it? Wanna join me?"

I blushed…again. "Sure. Why not?"

He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a rack that had at least thirty pipes on it. "Take your pick."

I selected a nice straight one, and James pulled out his tobacco pouch, and handed it to me. "Here you go."

After I had my pipe packed, he handed me his lighter. I hesitated.

"What’s the matter?"

I laughed. "I’ve smoked a pipe for years, but I’ve never smoked in front of someone. It just seems strange."

James laughed. "Try it. You’ll like it." He filled a pipe from the rack for himself and lit it.

Nathan started laughing...and kept laughing. We were all looking at him like he was crazy.

When he could breathe again, he said, "Y'all are looking at me like a cow looks at a new gate."

Someone said, "What the hell was so funny about Wayne sitting in a barber chair?"

"Well, within seconds of seeing him I was hoping I could get him in James' chair to get a flattop. He fooled me with his first haircut, and I'm so happy to see him getting a real haircut I couldn't help but laugh."

Nathan stood up, and walked over to me. He stood there a bit, and then said, "Well?"

I was confused. "Well, what?"

He laughed again. "Don’t you know when a man wants to kiss you? Move that pipe, so I can lay one on you."

I complied, and Nathan kissed me, long and hard.

Nathan broke the kiss, and started to step away. I said, "What brought that on?"

"You just looked so damned good sitting in the barber’s chair I just had to kiss you."

Emotional Me showed up. "What will people say about you kissing a man in public?"

I silenced Emotional Me with a "F-off." I pulled Nathan back toward me. I kissed him long and hard, thinking, "Take that, Emotional Me!"

While we were kissing, I felt hands on my balls, and assumed it was Nathan. I caressed his in return, while savoring the feel of his lips on mine.

In the far distance, I heard James say, "OK, you two. Get a room if you’re going to keep that up."

I looked up, and all three of the customers had their phones out, filming us. The business man with the flattop said, "Don’t stop on my account." He chuckled. "Hell, I thought I was going to get to film some porn before you two stopped." He got a far away look in his eyes. Then he winked at me. "Wayne, I can tell you from experience. You can find some interesting positions to try in a barber’s chair."

James cut Wayne off. "Ready?"

I nodded.

"Let me oil the clippers up first."

I was so nervous I thought I'd throw up, but it wasn’t a bad nervous. It was an excited nervous. One look in the mirror told me I had a goofy-looking grin plastered on my face. I tried to wipe the sweat off my palms, but it didn't do any good. My hands stayed wet. I was shaking and I was certain my audience could hear the beating of my heart. I thought, "Wayne, you are some kind of messed up. Your feelings are so intense you can hardly stand them, but you also have a detached or sense of unreality. It’s almost like this is happening to someone else. How can you be feeling both?"

Emotional Me thought, "I wonder if you'd be this nervous if you didn't have a bunch of fetishers watching me?"

That thought calmed me down. Knowing I was going to make my audience happy made me feel good about myself. I decided to put on a show for them. "Come on, James. Let's get this started. Those guys over there are staring at me like a bunch of buzzards looking at fresh road kill. Make 'em happy. Peel this s**t off my head!"

James needed no more encouragement. The insatiable clippers came on, and he pushed them all the way up the side of my head, leaving just a slight stubble behind. My emotions went into overdrive.

In what seemed like seconds, all the hair was off the sides and back, and he started removing hair from the top of my head. I shivered. It wasn’t from the thrill of the haircut--it was the cold air from the AC hitting the newly exposed scalp.

He put some wax in my hair, and spent a lot of time brushing it back. Every hair was standing straight up when the gluttonous clippers started flattening it up. I felt it when the top started taking on the flat shape.

After the top was looking great (at least in my opinion) he grabbed the can of butch wax and put some more on my head. He explained. "It's a pain in the ass to get this wax out of your hair, but it'll help get your hair trained faster. You can start using less in a few weeks, if you want to. However, I'm partial to the waxed look. To me, it looks more authentic, more vintage. I know this, if you ever come back to see me, you'll leave my shop with some wax on your head."

"Oh, wild horses couldn't keep me from coming back to see you. I want to keep my flattop looking this great. It'll be worth the drive just to get a haircut that looks this good."

"You’re welcome to join us on the last Saturday of the month. That's the day we all get together and play barber." He got a lecherous grin on his face. "We also just play. No rules, just fun. Afterwards, we normally have a few drinks. You'd be a welcome addition. I'm tired of looking at these old buzzards. However, your hair will need to be cut a lot more often than once a month."

When he had every hair standing at attention, he started the whole process again.

He turned me to the mirror. I stammered, "It’s perfect!" I kept looking, and then my smile faded.

James was quick to notice. "Not liking the beard now?"

"How’d you know?"

"I felt the same way. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re thinking the beard takes away from the perfectly perfect flattop I just gave you."

I laughed. "It’s nice that you’re so modest about your skills as a barber."

He grinned. "No one has ever accused me of being modest. I’m very damned good, and I know it…but back to the beard. Are you keeping it?"

I looked at Nathan. "What do you think?"

"I thought you’d never ask!" He grinned. "You look like a cop with your flattie. Why not try a cop ‘stache?"

J. C. spoke up. "Good idea. Hell, I’d let him arrest me."

Emotional Me was quick to be negative. "Moustaches are not in style right now. Don’t do it."

Rational Me spoke up, "Hell, a flattop is not in style either. If you want it, go for it."

I looked at James. "You heard them. Give me a cop ‘stache."

I’ll admit I got a little teary-eyed when James took the clippers to the beard. He trimmed up the moustache a bit after all my beard was on the cape.

"Ready to see the new you?"

Nathan hopped up. "Let me inspect him first."

He sat on the footrest again, and looked me up and down. He half stood, put his hand on my chin, and tilted my head. I shivered. It had been a long time since anyone had touched the skin on my face. I shivered again when his incredible green eyes looked into mine. He leaned forward and kissed me, and then stepped back. "The moustache feels great. I think you should keep it." He walked to the side and his hand caressed the side of my head. I shivered again. He placed a kiss on the top of my head. Despite the emotions he was stirring up in me, Rational Me was able to think, "James must’ve given you a landing strip if you can feel Nathan’s lips."

Nathan grabbed my hand. "Come on, Wayne. Let’s get out of here and leave these losers to their own devices."

James spoke up. "You're not joining us tonight, Nathan?"

Nathan looked at me and winked. "No, I think I have other, more important things to do tonight."

James turned to me. "You’re welcome to join us for dinner and drinks." Then he leered at me. "You're also welcome to join us for the entertainment afterwards."

For about the thousandth time that day I blushed. I didn't know what to say. Nathan saved me. "I think Wayne and I will grab some dinner on our own."

J. C. gave me a lascivious look. "From the looks flashing between you and Nathan, I’d say you’re going to skip dinner, and go straight for dessert."

James spoke up. "I think J. C. is right, and I don’t blame either of you." He stuck his hand out. "You’re always welcome here, and don’t forget the last Saturday of the month entertainment." He looked at his friends. "You’d be a welcome addition." He finished the handshake and pulled me into a hug. "You're one of my adopted family now. No more handshakes."

As I was walking out, James said, "Don’t forget to bring my pipe back next time you come."

When we got outside, I started to walk to my side of the truck, but Nathan stopped me. "Let me get a good look at you. If I don’t, I’ll probably run the truck off the side of the road, because I’ll be looking at you, instead of the road." He stepped back, and the lust in his beautiful eyes made my stomach flip flop. There were other things in his eyes as well: things I couldn’t figure out, but everything within me wanted to know what he was thinking.

I stopped thinking, and just enjoyed the beauty of his eyes. Hell, I was enjoying everything about him: his hair, his skin, his build. I reached out and touched his dimple. My eyes asked a question, and his eyes answered. I kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, but it held so much promise.

He wrapped his arms around me, and just held me a minute. A smile crossed his face. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

I got in the truck, and started laughing. Of course Nathan wanted to know what was so funny.

"Hell…I never got to see what I look like. You pulled me out of there before James got to show me his handiwork."

Those incredible eyes stared deep into my soul. "I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. You look way beyond amazing." He paused. "To be perfectly honest with you, you’re hotter than f-ing hell." He looked at me a bit longer. "What the hell have you done to me? I’ve never reacted to someone like this before."

I put a hand on each of his cheeks. "Me either, babe. Me either." Then I closed the gap between us, and kissed him again.

Despite the romance in the air, I got the giggles. "I just had a weird thought. I wonder if James’ clippers are still hungry, or if they got enough hair to fill them up for the night."

He laughed. "I imagine they’d still eat some more hair off your head, if you want to offer it to them. Are you thinking about shaving it now?"

I was startled, but I liked the idea. "No, I’m not thinking about that--at least not yet. Give me a little time to learn to deal with the flattop."

"Well, I’ll be completely pissed if you ever shave it, and don’t let me watch. I have to say though, you look so damned sexy with that flattie, I might cry if you do decide to shave it."

"I think you just guaranteed I’ll never shave my head. I don’t want you disappointed in me, or pissed at me."

"I’d probably forgive you if you tried it. Who knows? You might look even better." He paused for a second. "You might want to try it. After all, it’s only hair, and it’ll grow back...but it’d better not ever grow back to what you had when I first met you. I won’t forgive you for that."

Nathan pulled away. "It’s getting late, and I probably should get you to a hotel, so you can rest." Then he stared at me with those stunning eyes, and kept talking. "Unless you want to spend the night at my place. I have a spare room and you're welcome to stay there."

My blood pressure skyrocketed, as I asked myself, "Did he really just ask me to spend the night with him?"

Then I realized what he said. My spirits plummeted. "Did you say in the spare room?"

He laughed. "That’s what I said, but it’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to think I’m in the habit of having strange men spend the night. In case you’re wondering, that’s not something I typically do, but I’d do it with you…"

His stomach growled, and mine answered. He laughed. "I was so excited to get you into a barbershop that I forgot to eat lunch."

I was startled. "I didn’t eat lunch either. No wonder I’m so hungry."

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"

I blushed, and looked down. Nathan raised my chin, and laughed. "Spit it out. What are you thinking?"

My blush deepened. "I just thought I want you to eat a good dinner. If things keep going the way they’re going, I’m hoping you’ll need the energy later."

He grinned. "Good thinking…and I think you’re right."

Nathan turned the truck on, and we both started laughing when we heard The Eagles singing, "Welcome to the Hotel California."

We had a great dinner, and spent a lot of time laughing. We talked until the restaurant closed, and then stood in the parking lot kissing…until I started laughing.

Nathan stared at me. "What the hell is so funny?"

I said, "Crap! I forgot to pay James for my haircut!"

"You’re a damned fool. Come here." He wrapped me in his arms, and picked up where we had left off.

Just as I was contemplating ripping his clothes off in the parking lot, Nathan said, "Ready to spend the night with me...with the hope that it will turn into many nights- -maybe an eternity of nights?"

All I could do was nod. We got in the truck, and the music that started playing couldn’t have been more perfect. The incomparable Etta James started serenading us with her rendition of "At Last".

*****
Author’s note: much of my writing is autobiographical. Unfortunately, this is not. I’ve never experienced anything close to this…damn it!

I originally wrote this about four years ago. At the time, it was a R-rated story involving a visit to a barbershop that got fairly graphic. I recently pulled it out, and tried to edit it into a PG version. There are some differences in the story line as well. Nathan was not in the original story, just a barber and four hair fetishers. (If you’d like to read the original version, Google "A Haircut…and More…" Just-Me GayDemon.)

---