Bill Requests a Favor by Manny

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Jon was looking forward to lunch with Bill, his roommate from college days. He'd run into Bill a few times during the almost 20 years since they'd graduated, and he was also on Bill's Christmas card mailing list. The invitation to lunch, however, was a first and came out of the blue!

As soon as Jon entered the restaurant, he spotted Bill in a prime location -- always well-connected, especially with the Maître D. Bill was dressed just as one might expect of a big-shot wealth manager, in an expensive suit and tie, sporting fabulously coiffed hair.

Bill had always been very particular about his looks, even in college. In their dorm room, Jon had witnessed Bill spending gobs of time in front of the mirror, getting his center part just right and the feathered locks dried and brushed to perfection. His thick brown hair totally covered his shirt collar back then. Now, it had been trimmed back into an executive look, very full and obviously blow-dried and sprayed into place like a real power helmet of hair.

As Jon approached the table, Bill jumped to greet him. "Jon! Long time, no see! I've been looking forward to our lunch...."

There was a lot of chit-chat about days gone by and where their lives had taken them since college.

"I might be rolling in the dough, but you are a national figure, Jon! It's not every Senator who can stand up to Trump and get re-elected. I mean Montana is one of those states that can go either way," Bill gushed as he warmly shook is old college roommate's hand.

"Well, I've found that my good ole boy persona resonates with both sides. And, that's how I like it!" Jon replied.

"Ah, yes, the flannel shirt and flattop!" Bill remarked. "It's a great haircut for you, Jon. Although, I'm not sure this new, shorter version with the landing strip suits you as well as that plush top you used to sport."

Jon blushed. It was not the first time he'd heard that the very short military length flattop was not the best look for him. He'd put on some extra pounds, and the shorter cut accentuated his unwelcome weight gain.

"I mean, it makes your head look smaller and that corpulent body larger. Sort of a lose-lose look," Bill smirked, as if reading Jon's thoughts. "No time for work-outs at the gym with all the swamp action in DC? Ha, ha!"

"At least I don't have to apply a ton of hairspray every morning to keep my coif in place," Jon shot back. "Seems like you are still very vain about your looks, especially your hair, Bill." One cruel mark deserved another.

Bill smiled weakly. He knew it was true.

Just then the waiter came with the menus, and the interruption served to take end their testy spat and move the conversation in a different direction.

Bill stayed away from any more provocative comments during lunch. As they came to the end of the meal, Bill cleared his throat a bit, and came to the point of his invitation, "I wanted to ask a favor of you, as an old pal, Jon. It's my son. He needs a little resume padding, and I was hoping that an internship with the nationally recognized senator from Montana would give his thin credentials some gravitas."

"You have two sons, if I'm not mistaken from your Christmas letter and family photo. It wouldn't be the one with the big....." Jon began.

"...yes, the one with the big bush of curls!" Bill said, pre-empting the question.

Jon sat there, grinning.

Bill knew what he was thinking.

"Of course, I've talked to him about trimming his hair back a bit, even getting a proper haircut," Bill said with a tone of irritation. "Who will take him seriously, looking like that?"

Jon emphasized the point. "I mean, it looks like he's got some shrub covering his head. I don't think I've ever seen a fellow sport a larger mass of curls. Are they natural? Or does he get them permed -- perhaps he goes to a salon like his fussy father?"

"Look, Jon, I need to help him get on with his life. I don't want a boomerang kid in my basement after he graduates, mooching off me for the rest of his life. You can help me, and I can help your re-election campaign with a substantial donation. A very substantial donation!" Bill offered, tapping the check book in his suit jacket.

Well, that did change the dynamic in Jon's mind. Campaign funds were always a concern....but, he thought he might get something else out of it. Jon was still smarting about that uncalled for 'corpulent' remark!

Jon took out a pen and jotted down an address. His grin broadened as he wrote. "It's the address of the barber shop I use. Larry cuts my hair usually. He's an expert in giving first time flattops. We can meet there sometime this week."

Bill shook his head slowly. "That's not happening. Tommy is totally not going to cut his hair. He's been quite clear about that. You'd need to take him on, as is, Jon. Just for three months. And the contribution I make to your re-election fund will be in the high five figures."

The amount of money Bill was offering made Jon jolt upright.

But Jon continued to toy with his prey who seemed quite desperate. Bill needed a lesson as much as Tommy.

Then Jon dropped a real bomblet. "I wasn't talking about Tommy," Jon said slowly. A smirk crept across his face.

Bill sat there, bewildered.

"I was talking about you, Bill," Jon said, his eyes sparkling with delight.

As he began to comprehend Jon's meaning, Bill struggled to respond, "You, uh, um, you can't..."

"Oh yes, I can," Jon said, twisting the knife as he brandished an imaginary set of shears fashioned from his fingers.

"My hair?" Bill asked, incredulously.

"Just once. That power helmet sent to the floor of the barber shop by Larry. When he carves out the landing strip, you'll jump in your seat! I think you'll do it for your son...." Jon remarked, savoring the moment.

"Jon, you cannot be serious! I am NOT getting a flattop!" Bill exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"I am totally serious," Jon replied, unmoved, continuing to snip in the air with his imaginary finger/scissors. "The donation, plus one flattop....and Tommy comes onto my team for three months. I won't have him at public events with me, unless he ditches that mop of curls. But, he can work in the office, answer phones. I will write a glowing referral. Trust me, Bill. A senator's personal referral opens doors -- MANY doors!"

Jon absolutely relished watching Bill react to his unorthodox proposal.

Bill sat motionless, in silence, while the price of the "favor" sunk in.

Jon continued, "If you accept, I will want to walk you into the barber shop myself and tell Larry just how short to take you. You won't mind having a corpulent senator watching the transformation, will you? I want to witness that carefully combed hairstyle of yours dispatched to the cape. And you are going to get a nice wide landing strip up on top just like mine. I just hope you don't turn out to have a pea head like mine!"

Bill squirmed nervously in the restaurant chair.

"Let me think about it," Bill said reluctantly. Then he added, "But if I can convince Tommy to get a decent haircut, then no flattop for me, right?"

"Oh, no, Bill! You're getting a flattop for sure. Now, if Tommy ditches the bush of curls, then he'll have a much more rewarding internship. Right up on stage with me. Some nice photo ops to include with his resume. But those curls need to be clipped off close to the scalp."

"By Larry?" Bill asked.

"By anyone. Even by you, Bill -- an amateur butch cut in your kitchen, for all I care. Or, I'll take the clippers to that thatch myself...." Jon said. "If I weren't a senator, I think I'd enjoy barbering. Lining up the lads on the last day of school and clipping them all down tight for summer vacation -- cajoling the dads to ditch their businesscuts for the summer, as well. Maybe after I retire from the Senator, I'll go to barber college."

"You were always after the guys in the dorm to let you cut their hair," Bill reminisced.

"And I did a fine job," Jon bragged. Then, his face clouded over, "Well, most of the time."

"Remember the thrashing you got when that football jock, Greg Evers, was not amused by those very short bangs you gave him?" Bill laughed.

"He said coach wanted the hair out of his eyes," Jon whimpered defensively.

"When I saw those long clumps falling to his lap, I suspected there would be trouble," Bill laughed.

Bill made one last attempt to squash the idea of him getting a flattop. "I had been thinking about $85,000 to your PAC, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I should seek out the Republican candidate."

"Be my guest, Bill," Jon said, sensing a bluff. "You might truly enjoy a boomerang adult kid mooching off you! I've got this re-election race in the bag -- with or without your contribution."

Bill fondled his cherished locks nervously. His hand nervously smoothed the thick, silken mane down in the back. "Please, though, no landing strip -- a longish flattop that will grow out quickly," his voice and eyes pleaded.

"I'll give you a choice. A military-length flattop by Larry or an amateur butch cut in my garage. You never let me clip you down in college, but perhaps now you will!" Jon laughed. Then he playfully leaned across the table and tussled Bill's hair. "If you're too shy to be marched into a barbershop, I can mow off this thatch in my garage. Your pampered exec tresses at my feet."

Bill felt a sudden jolt in his groin. To be seated on a stool in Jon's garage -- shirt off...Jon wielding the clippers. Watching clumps of his cherished hair tumbling from shoulders to lap to floor! A far cry from all the cooing and fawning in the fancy salon he patronized.

"How tight would you take me, Jon? Down to the wood?!" Bill stammered, his unexpected excitement safely concealed beneath the white tablecloth.

"Tidy and ultra-tight!" Jon exclaimed. He smiled broadly, and continued, "So, a beefy, amateur barber putting an end to that fine coif you're sporting appeals to you? We could go there now! To my garage! And, guess what? You can forget your contribution to my re-election campaign. I don't need it. But you need to say good-bye to that fussy executive look -- even if it's just once."

Bill called for the check. His fingers trembled as he signed the receipt. The two buddies quickly left the restaurant.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Bill murmured as they walked to Jon's car.

Once they got in, Jon's fingers began to fondle Bill's glossy locks. "I am going to have so much fun....and I want you submissive on the stool! Understood?! No squirming or whining! Head bowed and body still when the machine starts mowing all this off."

"I promise," Bill said, almost panting for breath. Suddenly, the idea of getting an amateur butch had seized and consumed him.

The two hustled into the garage and Jon flipped on the light. "Come here!" he ordered. His fingers began untying to fine Italian silk tie. He pulled Bill very close. "We're going to take off all these trappings of power, Bill. Understood?" His pudgy hand grasped the copious forelock and he dragged Bill by it to the stool near the workshop bench. "Off with your jacket, shirt and trousers. I'm going to get my barber kit. When I get back, I want you on that stool in just your briefs. Understood?"

Bill nervously began disrobing. Why hadn't he let Jon cut his hair in college? Why was he anxious to give in now?!

He felt so vulnerable in just his briefs on the stool when Jon returned with the barber kit.

Jon entered the garage with a flourish, clad in an authentic white barber's tunic that buttoned up on his left shoulder. With his tight, military-length flattop, he looked like the real thing -- a beefy barber hungry to put an end to Bill's pretty boy look.

"Look at you! So anxious to be clipped down to the wood. A simple baldy cut for the wealth manager!" Jon taunted.

"You look so authoritative in that tunic, Jon!" Bill stammered. "And very manly!"

Think what we missed out on when we were roommates in college," Jon said as he examined the clipper guard. He snapped on the #1 length.

He slowly forced Bill's head down. "There will be no going back to the salon after today, Bill. Is that understood?" Jon cooed sweetly in his ear.

"Yes, understood," Bill replied, squirming on the stool.

CLICK!

The sound of a low mechanical purr reverberated through the garage.

"Keep your head down, very still, now," Jon instructed.

Then he brought the chattering teeth up through plush nape of silken, dark hair. The clippers shrieked as the first chunk fell from the executive helmet of hair.

Bill's groin surged with delight. "Oh, Jon," he gasped in a breathy voice.

Jon continued thrusting the machine up, up, up detaching a generous clump of Bill's mane. He pulled off the mass of hair with his free hand and dropped it into Bill's lap. The clump was so large it almost covered the expansive of Bill's briefs.

"Say good-bye to your executive look, Bill," the amateur beefy barber purred.

Bill pawed at the cut hair in his lap nervously. He thought back to college days, imagining Jon putting an end to his cherished feathered cut, parted in the center and falling in a styled manner over his ears and collar.

Jon continued stripping all the hair off the back of Bill's head, ensuring he kept his head bowed low. He fondled the stubbled swath he had created. "The #1 length feels so energizing....sharp little spikes all over the back instead of that silken flow!"

He glanced at the floor of the garage. Quite a collection of cut hair, but a lot more was set to fall.

"Okay, Bill, sit up straight!" Jon ordered.

Jon loved seeing Bill so cooperative and submissive. His hand tingled with excitement as he brought the clippers right in front of Bill's face and prepared to tackle to longest hair on top.

Then he did it! He pushed the screaming teeth right into the hair helmet and straight down the top toward to the cowlick. Mounds of shiny hair fell away in all directions.

Bill blinked nervously while concentrating on sitting still. "Is it very short?" he asked nervously.

"Yes, VERY!" Jon exclaimed. "Feel it yourself."

Jon took Bill's hand and helped him locate the stubbled swath on top.

"Oh," Bill stammered as he brushed the sharp nubs. "It feels like a 5 o'clock shadow."

"No more hair helmet for you, Bill! Ever! I'm going to keep you clipped down tight like this...." he murmured with delight as he stripped off two more swaths of the executive coif.

Then it came time to clear away the rest of the hair that still grace the sides of Bill's head. With a tight grip, Jon cocked Bill's head sideways, first to the right and then the left while he quickly shaved away the remnants of hair.

Finally, the haircut was over -- a #1 butch, Bill's first ever!

"How does it look?" Bill asked anxiously, feeling the head of stubble.

"Amazing!" Jon replied, very happy with his work. "And, now I'm ready to take the clippers to your son, Bill. A little bit of tough love -- take away the car keys, suspend the allowance, establish a curfew....you have lots of levers at your disposal. I know he'll be on this stool before you know it for a curl harvest!"

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