Good fences make good neighbors by Manny

---

That couldn't be him, I thought.

But, it was surely his voice, talking on the phone.

The confusion was caused by the disconnect between my eyes and ears. Instead of the floppy mane of thick dishwater-blond hair I often watched over the back fence, his head was clipped tight all over! Jarrod had been SHORN! As my eyes focused in on his look, I thought the little boy bangs were particularly ill-suited: ramrod straight across his forehead and very short!

As my neighbor chatted on the phone, unaware I was observing him, his hand moved up the back and over the top of his head. He was obviously trying to get used to a big change....the stimulating feel of bristles instead of silken, soft locks.

Much of his neck and ears were a creamy white, another sign he'd recently undergone a major shearing.

I decided to grab a rake and get as close to our property line as possible -- pretend to be doing some yard work to get a closer look.

As I got to the edge of the yard, Jarrod turned, still talking on the phone.

How different he looked without his lush moptop!! All that lovely, floppy hair had been dispatched to a trash bin by some barber.

Yet, he was still incredibly handsome with piercing green eyes, flashing white teeth and manly profile. His hair was clipped to probably a #1 on the sides and a #3 on top. The bangs were probably an inch or so long. He smiled and waved, but kept chatting on the phone. I noticed his forehead was white like his neck; the rest of his face was as tan as his arms and legs.

Finally, he was off the phone.

"I was wanting to talk to you, Chris," he said as he approached me. "These huge limbs that cast shade back here. I'll be planting a garden this year...."

"And you'd like me to trim them back a bit....or a lot?" I asked.

"Oh, I could do it myself. But I did want it cut back quite a lot," Jarrod admitted.

"First your hair, and now my tree!" I laughed. "What's come over you?"

Jarrod blushed a bit and rubbed his stubble. "Oh, this! I'm still trying to get used to it....it's so short."

"Well, what happened? Just got tired of long hair?" I asked.

"Sort of," Jarrod admitted. "But this very short length isn't what I had in mind, exactly. My wife has issued an ultimatum to grow it back asap. She hates it."

"That'll take time," I noted.

"And, it may not happen," Jarrod commented with an edge in his tone. "At least not to how long it was before. Hair constantly in my eyes and over my collar. I've been wanting to go a lot shorter. I mean, for a man who's crossed that threshold into middle age, the boyish tussled look was a bit much. I was getting teased at work for pulling a Robert Redford...holding onto the blond moptop for too long."

"So, then, that's that! You should keep it short!" I exclaimed. "I mean, it is a big change, but that length looks good on your."

Jarrod grinned. "But, these bangs look silly and I can't do anything with them!"

To illustrate, he pushed them to the side but, instantly, they fell down straight again.

"So, you told your barber to shave it all off?" I asked.

"Sort of. Well, it wasn't planned. No, not exactly," Jarrod struggled to explain. "I was sitting there, caped up by a new stylist. It occurred to me that she had no reference point, that this might be the moment for a bit change. She had brushed it all, and actually, it looked pretty good. I tend to get compliments on my hair. I should say, I used to! She was smoothing it with her hands and asked how I would like it cut. I was staring at all the hair in the mirror and felt the urge to go with the makeover. I said, 'it's way too long. I want it cut very, VERY short!' It was like an act of liberation!"

Suddenly, Jarrod blushed and stammered. "Oh, I'm sorry. This is probably TMI -- you don't want all those details."

"I do, actually! I'm fascinated," I insisted. "And, I like your new short look, a lot!"

"Even the bangs?" Jarrod asked.

"No, I agree. They have to go. It looks like the haircut I had when I was 8 years old!" I laughed. "But I could fix that for you. Take a clippers and buzz them off -- you'll end up with a tidy crewcut. I'm trained in cutting men's hair."

"Really?" Jarrod asked, interested in my proposal.

"Let me get you a cup of coffee," I said. "But, I want more details about your transformation. As an amateur barber, I find accounts like this very interesting."

"How about a beer?" he laughed.

Jarrod seemed eager to tell me his story. It was like he needed affirmation that he'd done the right thing, and he seemed open to letting me 'fix' the bangs.

As I opened the beer bottle, I got him back on track with telling his saga. "So, you told the stylist you wanted a change, that you wanted your hair cut short."

"Then, to make sure she knew I meant it, I pointed to a set of clippers and said 'use those.' Each time I said something that would doom my long hair even more, it felt exciting. In fact, it felt thrilling -- staring at the long locks in the mirror and them imagining them tumbling to the cape."

Jarrod rubbed his head as he recalled the lead-up haircut.

"Next thing you knew, she had your head pushed down and the clippers were running up the back of your head?" I asked, picturing the moment and feeling a stir of excitement in my pants.

"Close. She went up the side, super tight, and mounds of blond hair fell onto the black cape. I mean, just one push of that machine sealed my fate. Tons of hair came off! I sat there staring at it, sort of stunned. There was no turning back! I was on my way to this...." Jarrod felt his clipped head for the Nth time. "The feel of the vibrating teeth straight up through the nape, tight on my scalp, sent a jolt through my body. To make things even more nerve-wracking, the mound of cut hair in my lap kept growing and growing and growing. She buzzed me tighter and tighter, taking everything ultra-short, except the bangs. I felt a bit safe with that long forelock hanging down in my eyes."

"So, when did you start feeling like you'd made a mistake?" I asked.

"When she brought a set of shears to the fringe, right near the end. I realized how short she intended to snip it off, but my tongue froze. Before I could say, 'not that short,' she had delivered the first snip. Then another and another. And then the little-boy bangs were born! Looking at the new me in the mirror, my stomach couldn't stop churning."

"So, should I fetch the clippers and put an end to them?" I asked, feeling my woody flourishing in size and hardness.

"OMG! I'm tempted, really! It's like when I was in the barber chair....the shorter I told the gal to go, the more exciting it became," Jarrod said, brimming with enthusiasm.

"Let the excitement continue!" I urge.

He tugged at his short bangs. "Sure! Buzz this off. Give me a crewcut!"

"Fantastic! And, if you really want to experiment with something even shorter, I could give you a very tight butch cut. It seems you enjoy feeling that very short stubble at the nape. I could take it all down to that lenght -- a simple, uniform length all over. A classic butch," I offered.

Without waiting for a reply, I rushed to get my barber kit.

When I returned to the kitchen, Jarrod was still feeling his tidy pelt.

"What about a butch for you too, Chris?" he asked. "Both of us, down to the wood!"

"Me?!" I stammered. "A butch...?"

"Your hair is looking so overgrown. Even mangy, I'd say," Jarrod commented.

He took the liberty of grasping a lock and feeling it a bit before letting it go. It was an act of intimacy that unleashed a strong desire in me to have him barber me.

"Ever since I started teleworking, I've been letting it get longer," I admitted, pawing at the hair that hung down almost to my shoulders.

Again, Jarrod was handsy with my hair. He pressed up against me.

"That settles it! I'm clipping this all off," he teased, threatening my copious forelock with an authoritative grasp. "First your hair gets pruned back, then your tree!"

He was very close to me, and his musty, manly scent added to my woozy sensation.

I stifled a groan of delight at the thought of a sexy home barber butchering my pampered hair.

"How long is this?" he asked, playfully grabbing my hair. "Six inches? Eight inches?"

"You wouldn't take it all?" I asked rhetorically, knowing the answer.

"I most certainly would! It's all coming off! Down to stubble! I mean, you admired my short makeover. Now, it's time you got one yourself." Jarrod replied with a tone of determination.

Then he began unbuttoning my shirt. I was submissive and allowed him to take off my shirt.

My legs felt weak at the thought of Jarrod totally undressing me. I imagined him stripping me of my clothes, then my hair, then....

He maneuvered me toward the kitchen chair and gently, but firmly, eased me into a sitting position. Then, he opened my barber kit. Out came a brush.

"Shall we enjoy this lush hair one last time?" he asked rhetorically as he began plying the brush through my abundant locks.

He was slow and deliberate as he brushed pampered mane. His gentle caresses felt seductive.

"I've always admired your hair over the back fence," Jarrod murmured as he worked the brush through my chestnut-colored locks repeatedly. "And, up close, I can see these unique fiery auburn highlights so well!"

"Then, perhaps it shouldn't be cut," I whimpered lamely.

"This pretty-boy hair will look even more stunning in strewn about your kitchen floor and in the waste bin!" he said, mocking me, as he reached for the clippers.

Jarrod plugged them in, snapped them on and then brandished them in a menacing thrust toward my hair.

My eyes were glued onto the determined metal teeth that chattered incessantly. The #1 blade was on. It would be a very short butch! More than anything else, at that moment, I wanted to feel huge clumps of my soft hair sliding down my bare torso.

Jarrod, however, did not move. He continued eyeing me and smiling mischievously. I took it he wanted me to plead with him to not shave it all off. Then, he began toying with my hair with the clippers chattering nearby, but still not advancing to the mark.

So, I took the bull by the horns. "I'm ready," I announced firmly.

"Ready for a baldy look?" Jarrod grinned.

He yanked back my forelock with a firm grip.

"Let's get rid of this girly hair," he smirked.

In a flash, he thrust the clippers right into the hair line and pushed forcefully, pulling off an enormous wad of my hair. He held the shorn off forelock like a trophy in front of my face. Then, he dropped the mass of cut hair into my lap.

I swooned. Jarrod was so sexy with the clippers in hand, so masterful, so in control. I wanted to surrender all my hair to him, as a gift of love.

He fondled the first patch of stubble.

"Ahhhh, this feels so good," he said. "I can't wait to see you butched! Nothing but stubble up here."

I was submissive in the chair. Silent and grateful to be under Jarrod's dominion. The clumps of cut hair that fell all around me each proclaimed my submission.

"I want to be your permanent barber, Chris. I'll keep your hair close to the wood!" Jarrod whispered in my ear. "Would you like that?"

"More than anything in the world," I murmured back.

"All this pretty, silken hair coming off. Look at the pile on the floor!" he exclaimed. "Do you feel excited?"

I watched it tumble to the floor. "I wouldn't want things any other way!"

Another drive with the clippers told me that's the way it would be. I was getting my first butch, and had fallen head over heals for my new barber!

---