Impatient Results Part 1 of 2 by Lavro

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I liked Hayden. I liked him a lot. It didn’t matter that I was only twenty years old, and he was five years older, and that felt like an eternity to me. It didn’t matter that he strong-armed me into a date when I didn’t really think I was interested in him, until something unknown for some reason just clicked. A first date turned into a second and into a third until we lost count, and we saw each other almost every day. I liked him a lot.

There was something very normal about him. I would not dare to say regular or plain, but rather simple, or straightforward. He was average height â€" shorter than me. His build was not stocky, nor extremely thin like I was. His body was attractive, but not overly so. He kept a bit of face scruff but never any deliberate beard styles. His face had sharp, angular, handsome features, with a huge smile, one that captured hearts. He kept his hair pretty long. It was a perfect balance of wavy and curly, often spilling out from under a ballcap, curling up over his ears and hovering above his collar, a chestnut brown with slivers of sun-kissed gold.

He had a temper, one that did well to conceal itself, but not one that was of any harm. It was a mixture of brashness and impatience that sometimes revealed itself if he let it slip by. He was careful to mask it with courtesy whenever possible, but that did not always work. It was fair, human, and normal, typically calming itself as quickly as if came on.

Unlike my perception of him, I felt very abnormal, in that I had a mind-raging obsession: men’s hair, haircuts, and hair in general… and his hair was gorgeously enticing. I kept my own at a medium length at all times after high school, maybe daring to let the barber use a #6 clipper guard on the sides for a longer taper cut, leaving a floppy fringe that didn’t like to hold on to styling for very long. Anything else terrified me, especially in the days where the skin fade was first breaking out in wide-spread popularity. I both craved short hair and was terrified by it â€" especially the dreaded buzzcut (which I simultaneously desperately wanted imposed upon me). The same way I both loved Hayden’s shaggy waves and felt the urge to cut them off.

That urge to sever his locks from his handsome head was minor compared to the overwhelming and obsessive desire I had to sit in a chair in front of a mirror at Hayden’s mercy, imagining the consequences that could come of an amateur haircut. Even better, I wanted to replace my professional barber with him entirely, handing over to him the power of my most intense erotic desires. He was smart, sharp, and I felt that even if he did mess it up, we could always get it fixed. My mind jumped through these endless hoops as our relationship grew, until all I could do was try to communicate with him about this taxing obsession.

As my hair got shaggier, past due for a haircut even, it became my resolve to tell him my secret, however terrifying that sounded. The thought of it not being out in the open was eating me alive from the inside. Worse, a refurbished Oster 76 that I impulsively ordered online sat unused in a drawer in my bathroom. To tell Hayden was not a decision as much as a similar impulse, that eccentric voice in my head that would risk his repulsion for the chance to turn fantasy into reality, and to make unity of our mutual admiration and eroticism. Over lunch, in a semi-private setting, I explained it in rather simple terms.

"So, it would turn you on if I gave you your next haircut? Is that what you are telling me?" Hayden’s tone was perfectly nonjudgmental, but curious, and even cheeky. He could see the color in my face change at his understanding. "Sure, I’ll give it a try. Can’t be that hard." He pondered for a moment. "Can I just use one length all over so it’s easier?"

"No! No, that’ll be way too short…" blood swelled in my face, and I covered it with my hands in embarrassment.

"Oh, I see. That works you up," his big mischievous smile came out and he leaned in. "Have you ever had a buzzcut before?" I shook my head as if to say "no," my face still buried in my hands. "I think you’d look hot. But I can try to give you something less extreme, ok?" I lowered my hands and locked on to his eyes. I was excited and he could tell.

"You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to," I said, feeling guilty about asking him to entertain me like this.

"Look how worked up you are… I love it. It’s cute. I’m actually excited to do it now. I can come over tonight if you want."

"Tonight?!" I wasn’t ready for that. When I decided to tell him about this, I hadn’t considered that he would say yes, or that the subsequent events would be an actual haircut, in real life. I could feel my heartrate elevating.

"Yeah, you needed a haircut, like, two weeks ago," as he said it, he reached out and pulled a tuft of hair hanging over my ears.

"Look who’s talking," I retorted with a confident wink. His hair was much longer than mine, though that was his style rather than the overgrown, untidy look that I had.

"Well, maybe when it’s time to cut mine, you can do it for me," he studied me for my involuntary reaction. "It gets on my nerves, but I’m not ready to let it go just yet. Would you like that?"

"I would love that," I admitted, even as anxiety swelled inside of my stomach about my upcoming haircut. Tonight.

***

Tonight came very quickly, quicker than I could adjust for. I still lived at my dad’s, but my bedroom had its own spacious bathroom with a large mirror and was very private from the rest of the house. We never had to worry about our privacy being infringed upon in any case. I had a simple folding chair in my bedroom. Hayden authoritatively opened it up and plopped down in front of the mirror in the bathroom while I dug for hidden treasure in the cabinet: the Oster 76 and the set of hard-plastic clipper guards that I bought with no plans to ever use them.

"Come on, have a seat."

I did as I was told. We had no haircut cape, so I removed my shirt. Hayden got the hint and stripped his off too, showing off his modest musculature and scattered tattoos. He shuffled his hands through his disheveled hair, fingering it back into place with a hint of irritation. He didn’t miss a beat, his typical brashness, picking up the clippers and plugging them in. He flicked on the switch and looked at my alarmed reaction to the powerful sound that rippled from the small motor within the device.

"I am just going to do my best, ok?" he powered it off. "I am not sure what all these guard numbers mean, but I’m sure you don’t want a #1, and these other ones look pretty big," Hayden said, grabbing the #3 and snapping it onto the Oster blade.

"That’s pretty short, I think," I added hesitantly.

"Isn’t that what you want though?" he looked at me for a second.

I didn’t know what to say as I stared at myself in the mirror. Yes, that is exactly what I wanted, but I couldn’t say that out loud. My dark brown hair sat heavy on my head, covering the tops of my ears and across my forehead. The crown was full, and the back was unruly â€" not quite long enough to look good. I ran my hand through it, scared that the #3 guard would be too much of a change, and that I wasn’t ready. But I wanted him to do it. Before my contemplation ended, the sound of the Osters filled the room again. He stepped behind me, placing the machine at the base of my neck and locked his eyes with mine in the mirror.

I felt the short clipper blade begin to cut through my hair as Hayden raised it halfway up my head, a few inches of hair falling on my exposed shoulders. I was overwhelmed with sensation and excitement as he quickly glided the clippers up from the base of my neck to the middle of my head again, and again, this time large clumps hitting my shoulder and rolling into my lap. I took them in between my fingers in amazement, soaking in the bliss of how short I knew it was being cut.

Alarm struck, as he continued to cut the back, higher, dropping more hair onto my shoulder. Then higher again, far up into the base of the crown! The clippers were pushed up, taking off the even longer growth that I always kept for the shape and style I was used to. Within a moment, I felt the #3 all the way up the back of my head, cutting the hair short from my neck to my crown. His hand was firmly placed on the top of my head as he ran the clippers over and over along the back, meticulously cutting every piece. The hair from my crown was twice as long as the rest, four, five or close to six inches feeding the clipper blade with noticeably louder passes. He stopped only to shake the clipper above my head, releasing a large tuft of the hair from my crown onto my lap, then continued his work.

I didn’t protest. I didn’t want to, even as he evenly took all the hair off the back and moved on the sides, combing the top out of the way and running the clippers over my ears, then all the way up to where the sides meet the top. I watched as the clipper entered low, concealed by my shaggy hair, moving up, taking it off, revealing precise strips of evenly shorn hair, only three-eighths of an inch. He moved to the other side and did the same until my back and sides were uniformly clippered, leaving the top untouched, with no attempt to blend or taper.

"I really like this," Hayden said. "And this is fun. You doing ok?"

"Yes," I replied, in a bit of shock.

"Ok, good. The top is too long. Could you get me the scissors?"

It felt very submissive leaning forward in the chair towards the cabinet, fetching the tools that Hayden might butcher my hair with. As I moved forward, the large clumps of hair that were shorn off of my head fell from my body to the floor. I opened the cabinet and grabbed the sharp, silvery scissors and comb and handed it to him. He started to comb through my hair, clumsily trying to gather it in a neat section, as he’d seen barbers do, except he left it dry. He did not actually manage so well, his impatient temper slipping through for a moment. He glided the scissors through the large section he had grabbed anyway, taking about half of the length off. With two short snips the long hair that was hanging over my freshly clippered sides was on the floor. Now, the alarm in my face was more visible, even as he haphazardly grabbed another section and cut roughly the same amount off.

"Don’t worry," he reassured me, smiling at the evident change in my hair-covered gym shorts. "This is going to look so good." Hayden was genuinely enjoying himself, delighting in cutting off my hair, toying with how he could make me react, taking the top shorter piece by piece until most of the top was short and choppy, looking more uniform with the sides.

He noticed a nervous shift in my composure as he started to comb through my bangs. I watched with intense focus and slight paranoia as he combed them back. He was less awkward now, finding a rhythm in his scissor work and drawing the fringe up in between his fingers. The bangs are undoubtedly a highly erotic area and can change so much about a look or style, even as far as to ruin it if not done correctly. I always had fantasized about cutting them off but never had the courage. I wanted to savor the moment, take it slow, feel the transition. But Hayden wasn’t wired like me. Hayden didn’t understand the subtlety of the various erogenous zones in a haircut, as he snapped the scissors closed in a long blunt chop.

In that one chop, half of my long fringe detached from my head, falling past my eyes and landing in my lap. As I looked down on it, another piece was severed and fell with it. I glanced at the mirror to see the damage as he drew up the last section and sliced through them again and released his hold on them. My fringe sat about mid-forehead. I couldn’t believe it, delighting in the drastic change. Though, it was uneven by over a half inch, and blunt, which Hayden noticed. He combed it forward, highlighting the unevenness and longer areas. I felt the cold scissor on my forehead as he slid the open blade across, cutting the fringe evenly, even more length coming off, even more of my forehead revealed. My hair had never been this short in my adult life.

"Hm, still uneven," he said moving in front of me, leaning in and studying them closely, a little frustration in his voice.

"I think it’s ok like this," I tried to reason.

"Shhh," he said, raising the scissors to my forehead again.

His shirtless body was blocking my view of the mirror, but I could feel the cold scissor higher than it had been before. With my eyes partially closed as to avoid getting hair in them, I could still see another quarter inch fall in quick little snips across my forehead, only slightly less towards the end where it had been longer than the rest. He studied them again, a smile coming back to his face. When he stepped to the side, I saw myself again, my fringe no more than a couple inches long now.
Hayden ran his fingers through the top, messing it up and seeing how the hair fell. There were some rough areas, some unevenness. It was short though. I felt it too, for the first time gliding my hand up the back of my head, feeling the crisp #3, transitioning into the rough chopped top no more than a couple inches long. All of my senses were firing off, my pleasure in the moment didn’t care about how it looked.

"It’s getting there," he said, showing his own nerves for the first time. "How do I make it look better?" Yes, I wanted more.

"Uhh, thinning shears?" I suggested.

"Yes, perfect. I love when they use those on me." He leaned in where he saw me grab the scissors and pulled out the thinning shears. After a few tries, and some uncomfortable pulling, those blunt lines were disappearing. He even used them to blend the top into the sides a bit, until at last I had a haircut that was passable.

"Careful," I warned. "Don’t use those too much around the bangs." He was cautious like I asked, still enjoying the large, long chunks that the thinning shears took off.

When he was done, he used my trimmer to sharply carve squared off corners in the neckline, taking all the extra fuzz off from around the ear, and blocked off my sideburns higher than I normally would. He combed it again before grabbing my molding clay and running it through my hair. He styled it into a fauxhawk, gathering any remaining hair that abruptly met the short sides to the middle. Once it was styled, he grabbed the scissors again, much to my excitement. Some parts of the fauxhawk were longer, so he snipped them down, evening it all out and making it uniform. Even now, the fringe area tried to resist being styled… was it too short now?

Still, I felt renewed, transformed, his. All around me, my hair cast a shadow of who I felt I was only a half hour before. I was a short-haired person, and all thanks to this man, Hayden, who I was falling in love with. I looked at myself in awe, as did he, before we met eyes again, smiling big at each other, enticing one another. Now more than ever, his hair looked especially long and thick.

"I’m kinda jealous," Hayden winked. "You look so cute and fresh. This sh*t drives me crazy sometimes. I think I’ll let you have a go at it sooner than you think. Especially since I know you have the tools. Those thinning shears are an absolute must for me."

Hayden put his hand on the back of my head, rubbed the fresh cut, leaned in, and kissed me.

To be continued…

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