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Bet with Adrian - part 3. by Domko
Before you start reading the continuation of this story, I recommend reading the first two parts of "A Bet with Adrian."
I got my last short haircut when my grandfather took me to his barber, Mr. Johnson. At school, I didn't escape ridicule and Adrian, with whom I bet and in the end we both got a haircut at Sergeant Schmidt's barbershop, and he laughed at me about who I bet my hair with again. He didn't want to believe that now it wasn't a bet but an order from my grandfather.
I confessed to my classmate Herris that I would now be one of the boys with a regular short haircut and told how my grandfather had taken me to his barber shop and introduced me as a new customer. He smiled and said that in the class we will be like 4 musketeers, more precisely 4 short-haired boys.
About 7 to 10 days after my first haircut with Grandpa, Adrian came to school with a new haircut. His hair was only 1/8 inch long on the top of his head and he was clean shaven on the sides and back of his head. Were you at Sergeant Schmidt's barber shop? I asked him. Then Adrian admitted that when he came home with a haircut, his father asked him which barbershop he went to. Now he took him again to Sergeant Schmidt's barber shop. The barber remembered him and asked about his brother, meaning me. Adrian's father asked Sergeant Schmidt to cut his hair like the last time and said that the next time I come alone, he should give me the same haircut. After returning home, the father flipped through the calendar and marked the date of Adrian's next haircut, which should be in 2 months.
Well, now there were 5 boys in the class with short haircuts. Adrian had the shortest hair and I had the most visits to Mr. Johnson's barber shop. Every few days after a new haircut, I used my palms to rub the stubble on the back of my head and it was pleasant and exciting.
And just as grandfather said, so it happened. I traveled to him every 3rd Saturday in the morning. Grandpa always waited for me at the station and we went together to Mr. Johnson's barbershop, which was full every Saturday. Older guys were sitting on a wooden waiting bench, and we boys were standing against the wall. I was glad that there were more boys standing by the wall when I arrived, because I still enjoyed scalping them.
I also wanted to ask Grandpa if I could go with him to Johnson's Barber every 6 or 9 weeks, for example, to avoid ridicule in class, but in the end I didn't tell him because I wanted to enjoy the irritating stubble again while stroking the tulle parts of the head.
The weather was already very warm and we children were looking forward to the start of the holidays in 5-6 days. Not only the hair on my head but also the cross in the calendar reminded me that I was traveling to see my grandfather on Saturday. As before, he was waiting for me at the station and on the way to the Johnson barber shop, we talked about school and plans for the holidays. The barber shop, like every Saturday, was full of old men and 2 boys were waiting by the wall.
After waiting for over an hour, I was invited by Mr. Johnson to sit in his barber chair. The barber wrapped me in a white sheet and, as before and now, tied it tightly around my neck. Grandpa got up from his chair and told the barber that it's already warm weather for my haircut. I didn't understand why grandfather came to tell the barber, because everyone knew what the weather was like.
The barber took a clipper with very fine teeth from the hook. To my surprise, he didn't tilt my head forward like I was used to, but he tilted my head back sharply. I felt the cold metal teeth of the clipper in the middle of my forehead and an exciting tingling sensation on the top of my head. He ran the clipper over the top of my head and again brought the clipper to my forehead and ran it over the top of my head, he did this until he turned my head to one side and I could feel the metal teeth of the clipper under my temple bone, then he bent the ear and continued cutting my hair. Mr. Johnson shook my head and kept chasing me.
After 5 minutes, the clipper turned off and I had the opportunity to look at myself in the mirror. I remained sitting motionless in the barber's chair. I couldn't guess from a distance what kind of hair was left on my head because the blond hair blended in with the white scalp. The barber dusted off the sheet from my blonde cut short hair and asked grandfather. Do I leave it machine cut #0000 or scrape it to the skin? Grandfather replied that it is enough, because I will repeat it in 3 weeks. The barber freed me from under the sheet. My grandfather taught me that it is polite to thank the barber after the haircut. That's why I said: thank you Mr. Johnson for the haircut. I put my palms on the top of my head. I could only feel about 1/100th of an inch of short stubble. There was a big riot in the crotch, so I put my hands down to prevent an erection.
I put my jacket against the wall to wait for grandpa to get his hair cut. The boys who were waiting for their haircuts were looking at my bald head. I felt naked and humiliated. I looked like a poor little boy. I didn't know how my classmates would react to it at school.
I was angry that my grandfather didn't point this out to me. On the way from the barber shop, I asked him why he didn't tell me I was going to be bald today. And why did he let me get a haircut like that right at the end of the school year, why didn't we go to the barber a week later, when the holidays were already here. He smiled and said: You'd be pestering me all the way that you don't want such a hairstyle and stroked my head. Patrick, with your parents' consent, I will decide on your hairstyle, whether you like it or not. Until you make real money, you will have to submit to my decision. Remember that. Even your father had to obey me like this.
After arriving at my grandfather, I ran to the mirror and started stroking the stubble with the palms of my hands. I was very excited and within seconds I had an erection.
I went to my grandfather to apologize for being rude and promised him that I would respect his decision about my hairstyle in the future. Thank you, grandpa, for being strict with my hair and I'm glad to have you.
At school I got a new nickname "Recruit". It was very humiliating, but the feeling of running your hands over the stubble was irreplaceable.
The warm weather was still pleasant at the beginning of the new school year. To my surprise, the first two visits to Mr. Johnson's barbershop of the new school year, I was cut with clipper #0000. It wasn't until the next visit to the barber that I got only 1 and 3/4 inches of big white arches shaved and the back of my head was bare up to 5/4 of the back of my head. He adjusted my bangs and the barber applied greasy cream to the top of my head and combed them.
At the end of the year, Mr. Johnson retired and was replaced by a new younger barber, Mr. Thompson, about 50 years old.
During my first visit to Mr. Thompson's barber, while I was in the barber's chair, Grandpa came to us and started showing the barber on my head how he envisions his 15-year-old grandson Patrick's haircut.
When we were leaving the barbershop, I realized that we had a new barber, but the haircut remained the same.