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A Hundred More Butches Part 1 by Butchme


A Hundred More Butches (True Story)

My first haircut was a butch. I was three. Barber Cliff cut off my curly blonde locks, me sitting on a board, caped up, in the chair. The older I got the more I hated the butch. I wanted to have some hair to comb. In the third grade, after getting probably 100 butches, I convinced my folks to let me grow my hair out. They were a hard sell. Anyway, I grew it out and finally got it to stay down. I loved it. I greased it up good in the morning with Vitalis, Groom and Clean or Score. Sometimes I used baby oil. I combed it to the right, into a pomp. I loved having longer hair to comb.

In the fourth grade I came home from school. Mother handed me a dollar (the price at the time) and said "You need a haircut, why don't you get a butch? You look so nice in short hair." I thought, "We don't do butches."

I walked downtown. It was a small town. Bill's Barbershop was in an older, small, rundown building. I pulled the screen door open and entered. The place was unkempt and dirty. There were several large bottles of hair oil, each a different color, sitting on the shelf behind the chair. There were two chairs, one barber. Also on the cigarette burned shelf were clippers, towels and cotton barber capes, a shaving cup, and a tall jar with blue liquid and combs. There was a dirty hair washing sink that was never used.

Bill was alone, not unusual. I climbed into the chair and was caped up. Bill combed my hair and fired up the clippers. He began to clipper my hair, (no guard) around the edges. When he was working on the back I heard myself say, "I think I want a BUTCH!" He said, "You want a butch?" I said "yes". He said "O.K." I couldn't believe I'd said that. Of course I didn't want a butch. It's what Mom wanted. Or did I want one? Maybe it was the first sign of a short haircut fetish?

Bill loved to cut my hair very short. He must have thought, "It's about time". He left the clippers with no guard on. He edged all around my head. Then he attached a #1 guard and cut half way up my head, blending it in with the bottom. Then he put on a #2 guard and clipped up to the top of my head, blending that in. I must have looked funny, no hair on the sides, longer hair on top. Not for long. I knew now there was no turning back, I was getting a skinned up butch haircut. I would not want anyone to see my hair like this. I wanted to change my mind but knew it was too late.

Bill now used clipper over comb to cut down the length on top, leaving about an inch. Then he put the #2 red guard back on and behind my one inch fringe took the top down, blending it in with the sides. Next came a strange touch. From the counter behind the chair he scooped into his fingers some thick, white cream from a jar. He rubbed it into his hands, applied it to my head and pushed back hard, leaving my fringe standing straight up.

Then Bill took a sharp pair of barber shears and snipped straight across my fringe leaving it short. Thick clumps of greasy dark hair fell on the cape. He did it again, snip, snip, snip until the fringe standing in front was the same length as the hair in back. A semi bumper standing straight up.

He pushed my hair back with his hands. I knew the haircut was over, I now had a butch. He removed the cape and shook it, leaving my longer hair on the floor to be swept up and thrown away. Then he spun the chair around for me to look in the mirror. Bill was smiling. There was a boy with a little boy butch. It was SO short! I was horrified. Bill was called "Bill the Butcher" by many boys.

The worst part was I knew it was the first of a hundred more butches. They would not let me grow my hair out again. Most of the boys in my class did not get a butch. Some got a "summer butch" but grew it out during the school year. I had to get a butch and keep it all year.

I paid Bill, left the shop and headed home, hoping no one would see me.

When I got home I went in the back door. My mother said, "Oh you got a butch. You look so good". At supper, my uncle said, "Well look at old skinhead". I ran upstairs to my bedroom and put on my baseball cap. I wore it at home and most places except school.

It was now time to go to school sporting the new butch cut. I was dreading it so. I went into my fourth grade class and right away a girl came up, rubbed my head and said, "Hi Butch". I turned so red.

So I endured the butch for the rest of fourth grade. Then came summer with a short, short butch. Fifth grade started with a short butch. Summer came and it was another very short butch. Sixth grade started with a short butch then mowed down with a very short butch, before school even got out. All summer, very short butch. These summer cuts were like a burr with a very short bump. Seventh grade came starting with a short butch, then very short summer butch. Eighth grade started with a short butch. Half way into the year Bill got carried away and butched me down good. I went to school. The girl in the desk in front of me turned around and rubbed my short stubble, smiling at me. Then she laughed. I decided then and there I would not get another butch. I'd had 100 butches, hair to comb for a short while, then 100 more butches. That's sitting in Bill's chair getting skinned 200 times. Imagine walking out of that shop with a greased up, short butch, two hundred times. Those times were over.

CONTINUES WITH "A HUNDRED MORE BUTCHES" PART TWO. -- Trials of growing out a butch haircut by Butchme.







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