Carl's Triple-Treat Sunday by Manny

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I stood nervously in line, waiting to shake the pastor's hand outside the church. I watched his sparkling blue eyes dart back toward me every few seconds. I knew he recognized me from the moment his gaze locked onto me at the beginning of the sermon. It seemed like every time he made an important point, those pools of blue were staring right at me! Although I was just visiting, I was certain Rev. Rodney remembered me from the day before at the military academy. He had chatted me up amiably while giving my nephew the standard induction buzzcut in the academy's barbershop.

"You can take home the big jug of shampoo he carted down here, sir," the barber laughed as he plowed the clippers through my nephew's dense mane of shiny chestnut.

I got some excellent shots of the transformation. All that hair on the cape and at the barber's feet. My brother was called away on an unexpected business trip at the last moment, so he had me see to it that his son got settled in at the academy.

"Get some good shots of the haircut," my brother told me. "I've been pestering him forever about all that hair in his face....and soon it'll be history."

The jam in the line outside the church began to move again. The next thing I knew, Pastor Rodney was shaking my hand vigorously with both of his clamped around mine. He wasn't going to let it be a quick "hello and thank you for that sermon...."

"You were right about my nephew not needing much shampoo," I laughed. "Those clippers took it all off, TIGHT! Down to the wood."

Rev. Rodney gave me and my hair a once over.

"Looks like you're not the barbershop type," he noted as his gaze remained on the thick forelock that swept back from my face in an elegant pomp. "Which is a shame. I'd really like to have you sitting in my barber's chair tomorrow. I mean, it was a delight to see you in the pew today, sir, uh, your name again....?"

"Ellis, Carl Ellis," I said, feeling his warm squeeze on my hand intensify.

His charismatic persona held me to him even more tightly.

"Well, I am staying in town another day," I mentioned casually, hoping it might lead to another encounter.

"Then, you'll be my guest for lunch!" the reverend said with a finality in his voice. "I'm no culinary genius, but I am adept when it comes to Chinese carry-out."

"Or, let me invite you as my guest to the restaurant," I replied.

"I'd really like that!" the minister exclaimed. "It'll only be another 15 minutes or so. Shall I meet you at Chen Li's on East Elm Street?"

While I waited in the parking lot of the Chinese Restaurant, I worked a brush through my thick locks -- the same wonderful chestnut color that my nephew had sported until the moment Rev. Rodney plunged the clippers straight down the top of his head.

I squirmed in the driver's seat, recalling the haircut I had documented the day before. In a way, I felt curiously drawn to experience the clippers myself. Nothing so drastic, of course...but the desire for a good barbershop shearing had been gaining strength by the hour. Clippers, head pushed low, clumps of hair falling to the cape! I would be putty in Rev. Rodney's hands and leave his chair shorn, even scalped! The idea excited me to no end! But, he would have to pursue my lush locks. They would not be his with a bit of effort....

It was I who brought up his double persona as the egg rolls were being served. "So, what is your main line of work? Pastor or barber?"

"It's like this. My calling is to preach! I just love spreading the good news of salvation. But the barbershop helps pay the bills. One is a vocation and one is respectable employment," he explained.

"The church doesn't pay a salary?" I asked.

"Oh, a bit. And, the barbershop doesn't pay much more. It's a little hole in the wall -- a one chair joint behind a gas station. Haircuts only $13 and $11 for seniors. Not your type of place, I would imagine," he replied, glancing at my showy executive coif. "But the two incomes together help me get by decently."

We ate in a bit of awkward silence.

Then Rodney suggested, "I could show you my barber shop after lunch. We could hang out there a bit. It's a man's joint. I'm trying to get a bit of a vintage car theme going. I've got this 1952 Chevy BelAir parked in front by the sign."

"You cut hair on Sundays?" I asked, running my fingers through my thick mane.

"Not for money. It's the Lord's Day around here. 'The Day is worth more that the dollar!' Good words to live by. But the Lord would like to see you sporting a proper haircut, I think," Rodney commented with a smile, his eyes sparkling. "That pretty boy look....well, I think I could do you better, Carl."

I gulped. I had nibbled at the bait and he was getting ready to hook me.

"So you'd take a clippers to this?" I asked, again pawing at my locks. "I haven't had a clipper haircut in ages. Not since I was a boy!"

"Shoot, I can't cut hair without electric clippers. And, I only do two lengths: short and shorter," he laughed. "We could start with short, and if you don't like that, we'll go shorter."

I was about ready to explode with excitement, but I played it cool.

"Short or shorter?! That's not a lot of options. But, will I like the haircut as much as I liked the sermon?" I asked coyly.

"I noticed you were paying attention, Carl," the Reverend said.

"You have such a melodic voice, and you bring the Scriptures to life. Not like the boring preachers that drove me away from the church ages ago," I said, stoking his ego a bit. "Plus, you had your eye on me. I couldn't exactly nod off to sleep."

"So, you strayed from clipper haircuts at the barber and from church! My, my. It's time you come back into the fold. Why did you visit my church this morning, Carl?" Rodney asked, shifting into a more serious tone.

My eyes darted away. I gulped.

"Don't really know.... Maybe, uh, I...." I just couldn't explain.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you did," Rodney said, touching my hand lightly.

Rodney continued studying me, especially my hair. Then, he dropped a bomb shell.

"You know what? Your hair is so dense and the way it sweeps back from your hairline, it's perfect for a flattop," he chirped.

"OMG!" I almost spit out my beef and broccoli. "A flattop! You can't be serious. I mean is that 'short' or 'shorter'?"

"Well, a long plush top would be short and a very minimal top with a landing strip and skinned sides would be shorter. It's up to you," he replied.

"I was thinking about a medium taper," I stammered.

Rodney smiled broadly and gave me a "know it all" type smile.

I felt almost giddy riding with Rodney to his barber shop after lunch. He hadn't been exaggerating. Rod's Barber Shop really was a hole in the wall!!

He unlocked and pushed the door open to reveal the one-chair establishment. On a dull gray linoleum floor sat the main item: a traditional barber chair with a sturdy yellow enamel base, lots of chrome, and deep olive vinyl upholstery. Apart from the chair, the rest of the place seemed dingy. There was no proper counter -- just some simulated wood paneling covered, in part, by a large mirror topped with a neon light fixture. To the left of the mirror were some built-in shelves covered with an assortment of dusty cards, soccer balls, paint cans, binders and other bric-a-brac. The only thing that looked like it had been touched in the last ten years was a large, open Bible.

There were lots of Bible verses and other inspirational quotes around the shop. 'If I were humble, I'd be perfect!' the one taped to the top of the mirror proclaimed.

I pointed to the humorous sign.

"Funny, I like that," I chuckled.

Rodney stared at me awkwardly, like he was waiting for me to do or say something else.

I glanced around some more. There were some framed photos of vintage cars hanging behind the couple of chairs in the waiting area.

"I could make you a cup of coffee," Rodney offered.

"Nah, do you have any beer squirreled away? Perhaps behind that door there?" I asked.

"Shoot, no! This is Baptist country!" he laughed. "Take a seat -- the big chair there is the most comfortable."

I decided to tease him a bit and sallied up to the mirror. I examined my hair and held up the forelock. It was a good 5-6 inches in length.

"This is quite overgrown and thick," I noted. "Flattop you said.... The thought never crossed my mind before."

"But, you're warming to the idea? Go ahead, hop up in the chair there. We'll have some fun watching that whole wad of hair your holding fall into your lap! Love to administer first-time flats and I always start by sending the forelock to the cape with one sweep of the clippers. No chance for cold feet. It's zip....and off it comes. No return!"

"Actually, watching you shave those lads yesterday, one after the other, I got the feeling that you enjoy all sorts of makeovers. Perhaps barbering is your vocation and preaching is your sideline," I remarked.

Rodney walked up and stood very close, right behind me, effectively trapping me by the mirror. There was a lot of energy and tension...yes, just a tinge of sexual tension too. But, Mr. Preacher Man in Baptist country was probably too straight-laced for any contortions or intimacy on the barber chair.

"Perhaps you're right," he stated, examining my plush hair in back that hung to the base of my collar. "I do feel empowered with a huge set of clippers in my hand."

I watched him the mirror, eyeing my hair, perhaps even lusting over it a bit.

I so wanted to blurt out that I was ready -- ready for him and ready the clippers!

"When I was a boy, my barber wore a traditional white tunic that buttoned up on the shoulder. He was clad in white all the way down to the white loafers -- so angelic looking," I commented.

"Wait!" Rodney exclaimed.

He threw open the little door. From the linen-type closet, he pulled out a box.

"My father's stuff. His barber uniform," he announced, holding up the tunic.

"Put it on!" I told him.

As he did, I climbed up into the chair. Yes, the hook was in my mouth and he was reeling me in now.

Rodney was all smiles as pulled off his shirt and tie to reveal a very buff physique. It hadn't been noticeable under the baggy preacher suit he sported at church. The tunic was snug and showed off his rippling muscles.

"I'm an angel of mercy, ready to deliver you from all this burden you're carrying," he said while his fingers plunged into my thick chestnut locks.

He caressed my hair tenderly and massaged my scalp.

"Oh," I groaned with delight.

Then, he grasped my forelock and fondled it possessively. I could tell he was anxious to harvest it!

Rodney proceeded to brush my dense mane straight back, away from my face.

"Have you decided? Short or shorter?" he asked.

My tongue was decide. He could decide...

Then the cape flew through the air. He pulled it snug and fastened it so tightly about my neck with a huge metal clip. It was like the chain had been fastened with a lock. I would not leave that chair with my executive locks.

"But working on the Sabbath?" I argued, knowing that it would not derail things.

"This isn't work, this is pure pleasure," Rodney replied as reached for the clippers.

He snagged my forelock with the comb.

I knew where this was going!!

In an instant, the clippers sailed down the plastic teeth and my prime lock crashed into my lap.

"No return," I murmured with delight. "It's flattop time! My first ever."

He batted at the patch of short pelt where the forelock had once been anchored.

"Look at you! No more ostentatious pompadour!" he gloated. "You'll look like a real man yet!"

I blushed. Then I looked into my lap where the forelock lay, almost intact. I was rock hard.

Rodney pushed my head forward so that I was staring straight down at the cut lock. His grip was fierce and aggressive. He was asserting a lot of authority.

Then I felt the clippers coming up the neck, tight at the nape. He was going to start stripping off the fluffy coif. The strength of his muscular arms was concentrated into his command of the large set of Osters he held. There was no doubt my haircut was going to be shorter than short!

He whistled merrily as the first thick layer of padding was stripped from the back of my head. The clippers went up all the way through the crown.

"You can't tell me your not enjoying this more than preaching, Brother Rodney," I eked out as my chin remained almost plastered to my chest.

"They both bring me such delight. Burdens lifted at Calvary, burdens removed in Rod's Barber Shop," he almost sang.

"And turning a preening pretty boy from his wicked ways by sending that massive forelock to the cape," I chimed in.

"It's all for your good," he played along. "Another sinner redeemed by my trusty Osters."

Rodney turned off the clippers and motioned for me to sit up straight. Then he fingered the clipped back of my head.

I chuckled at the sight of the truncated fringe looking awfully out of place.

"So, really," Rodney began in a serious voice. "Why did you stay an extra day and come to church this morning? Most parents or guardians hit the road after dropping off their precious dear sons for the academy to deal with. This is a very small town with so little to see or do....."

He was wanting a confession! He wanted to hear the truth -- that I was smitten with his charisma!

I tossed out a red herring, "There are some battlefields in the county I was interested in..."

He smiled and gave me a knowing "like, if that's what you want me to think" look.

Then he snapped the clippers back on. I watched him peel away the first padded mass of hair from the side of my head -- again, straight up through the crown. A major clump fell to my shoulder and then slid down into my lap. OH! It was very tight on the side. He cleared off all the hair from that side, and paused again.

"So, the battlefields, you say.... I'm a history buff myself. Maybe after we finish up with your transformation here, I can drive us out there. My favorite spot is a bluff we can hike up from the least known of the battlefields." He was inviting me for an outing, to a secluded (romantic?) location!

"I'd like that very much," I replied.

"But, church. What made you go?" he persisted.

I paused, then said timidly, "I was curious about a barber-chaplain. I guess I wanted to know what sort of things my nephew might be hearing from his chaplain."

I knew it sounded lame and unconvincingly.

"You are a most concerned uncle!" Rod said, quite mocking the response.

There was an awkward silence.

"You know, besides leading the church services at the academy, I'm also the guidance counselor....as well as the academy's disciplinarian. This is one of the few states left where corporal punishment is still legal. And you might be surprised to find out that's why many parents choose the place. Their sons are in need of firm discipline. Of course, I use the paddle sparingly. It's mainly for the arrogant and the defiant. Not just for kids who do stupid or naughty stuff, like staying out past curfew or playing practical jokes on the teachers. The paddle is reserved for those with a steely will that needs to be broken," Rod stated firmly.

"Oh, my nephew's not that type at all. He won't give you any trouble," I answered quickly.

I squirmed at the thought of muscular Rod pulling down my trousers, paddle in hand.

He snapped on the clippers again and began shaving all the hair off the other side. I was becoming almost unrecognizable. I watched with resignation as the last vestiges of my stylized coif fell in the wake of the steely clipper teeth.

"Now for this overgrowth on top....some scissors action to reduce the length and then I'll start taking you down....shorter and shorter. Let's see how far we go today!" He was quite excited.

Before starting, the barber stroked my clipped back again. His fingers lingered a bit as he brushed against the grain on my denuded scalp. I shivered at his caresses.

I wondered why he told me about the paddle and disciplining the defiant lads. Then it occurred me to. He knew I was not telling the whole truth about staying and going to church....

"If one of the lads at the academy deliberately deceived you, how would you handle that?" I asked.

"Like, he wasn't forthcoming? Perhaps told me some half-truth...?" he asked with a gloating lilt to his voice.

He knew!!

"Well, I would give him a bit of a chance to come clean. When I work the lads, I have a way of getting them to spill their stories quickly and clear the air. Most seem so relieved to tell and feel very happy once the whole truth is known." There was a dramatic pause. Then, he asked me pointedly, "Is there something you want to tell me, Carl?"

The barber stared at me with his all-knowing blue eyes.

I blurted it out, "I stayed in town and came to church because I found myself attracted to you!"

There, it was out!

Rod cracked a celebratory grin and then began whacking off the length of my hair on top with near fury force.

CHOP....clumps fell. CHOP....more clumps fell. CHOP, CHOP, CHOP! He was very focused on his work and did not say a word.

Next came the clippers. He started buzzing the top down. Shorter and shorter and shorter.

And then, the clippers grazed the top of my scalp!

And again.

And AGAIN!

He was crafting an extremely short, military-length flattop. 95% of my hair was on the cape and floor of the shop.

"This is what you get for coming clean and telling the truth -- the best flattop in the county! Perhaps, in the country!" Rod finally said, proud of his work.

He held up a mirror so that I could see the back -- there was nothing there! Then, he adjusted it so that I could see the landing strip on top. The white patch of scalp blazed brightly amid the chestnut pelt.

Suddenly, without warning, he gave the strip a small peck.

"Well, how do you like it?" he asked anxiously.

"It's phenomenal. I don't recognize myself!" I said truthfully.

The metal clip came off. Then, Rodney pulled the hair-heavy cape away from me slowly. It was like a weighted blanket being removed from my torso.

"All that hair!" he exclaimed as much harvested locks were sent to the linoleum floor, mounding up at his feet.

I felt my bristles. So short. Whatever was I going to say at work when I got back?!

Rodney took me by the hand. "So, what did you like better? The sermon or the haircut?"

"Truthfully, I've already forgotten what the sermon was about....but I won't forget this haircut any time soon!" I laughed.

Rodney gently turned me toward the mirror. "One look there is all it will take for you to remember."

Then he added, "But, I have another special treat for you today. I think it will top both of these previous experiences...."

He led me out to his car.

We drove down a scenic country road. "When we're up on that bluff you won't be thinking about either the sermon or the haircut, Carl."

I imagined myself stripping off his barber's tunic....

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