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The Greaser Challenge - Chapters 5 & 6 by HairF***er


Chapter 5 - Collar and Leash


Tyler had gambled everything, all his hopes pinned on giving the right answer to save his hair from a potentially terrible fate. He'd buzzed in with a guess, the words escaping in a rush of anxiety and adrenaline. But it was the wrong answer.

After a moment's astonished silence, the audience had erupted into cheers and applause. They had come to see a dramatic transformation and that's exactly what they were going to get.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it seems poor Mr Goldenhead will be the first of our contestants to brave the Stylist's chair tonight," the announcer declared.

"Will his slicked-back locks be shorn to the merest shadow of their former glory? Or perhaps the Stylist has more inventive plans in mind, ready to unleash his full creative powers upon Tyler's unsuspecting head!".

Tyler inwardly groaned and closed his eyes.

The Stylist stood up, collected some items from the counter and walked over to where Tyler was still standing behind his podium. To Tyler's horror, he saw that the Stylist was clutching what looked like a thick leather dog's collar and a short leather leash.

"It's time for your transformation, Mr Goldenhead," the Stylist announced as he dramatically buckled the collar around Tyler's neck before attaching the leash with a metallic 'click'.

Tyler's cheeks burned with shame. Here he was, a senior accountant with Witter, Witter & Grabb, dressed in his white shirt and tie, with his immaculate blond hair Brylcreem'd and styled to perfection, stood in a television studio wearing a leather collar like he was someone's pet!

His humiliation only increased as the Stylist yanked on the leash and started to lead Tyler over to the dreaded Forfeit Station.

As they made their way across the studio floor, the audience started a slow, rhythmical clap that got louder and louder and louder. And then, to Tyler's dismay, he realized they were also chanting, actually chanting in unison!

A single word.

"Bald".

"Bald!" they cried.

"Bald. Bald. Bald! Bald!! Bald!! BALD! BALD!! BALD!!!"

Quiet at first, little more than a whisper, the volume increased until it was a defeaning roar, a single word hammering in Tyler's head.
"Bald!".

"Bald! Bald! Bald!".

The Stylist and Tyler arrived at the Forfeit Station and Tyler was forcibly pushed towards the first of the three barber's chairs.

With a feeling of impending doom, and with the thunderous chant still ringing in his ears, Tyler took a seat. He placed his hands on the armrests and his shoes on the rubber footrest. He looked out into the crowd which was baying for his beloved hair, demanding that it be delivered up to them on a plate!

"Bald!".

The Stylist raised his hand to silence the raucous spectators.

"As much as I appreciate the advice," he said in a deep voice, "our friend Tyler is most certainly not going to leave the chair 'bald'. No, no - I think it's only fair that we leave him with at least some of his very beautiful hair".

There were a few mutterings of discontent from the more rebellious elements of the crowd but most of them seemed happy to settle back into their seats and see what transpired.

The Stylist removed the collar and leash. He then pulled the white cape out from the back of the barber's chair, shook it and theatrically floated it around Tyler's shoulders. The cape was fastened securely at the back of Tyler's head, a couple of inches below his precisely-barbered blond taper.

Tyler felt the weight of the cape pressing down on him, almost like he was imprisoned by it. With his chest, arms and lap fully concealed beneath the cape, and with just his head sticking out for everyone to see, his slicked hair felt acutely exposed and vulnerable.

The barber's chair was then swiveled around, away from the audience, so that Tyler was facing his own reflection in the mirror.

The Stylist walked to the counter, picked up a comb and went to stand directly behind the chair.

He made eye contact with Tyler in the mirror, winked and placed the comb at front of Tyler's thick hairline. He paused for a moment and then very slowly pulled the comb back through Tyler's Brylcreem'd locks, over the crown and down the back of his head.

And then he did it again and again. Front to back. Front to back.

"Mmm...", the Stylist growled, so quietly that only Tyler heard. "Such a beautiful color."

The Stylist then parted Tyler's greasy locks in the center, and then on the right, and then on the left, as if trying to decide what Tyler's best look would be.

Tyler watched everything in the the mirror, wincing as the comb was dragged through his thick hair, the sensation of his hair being pulled around adding to his mounting unease.

He usually enjoyed having his hair played with. But this was different. He got the distinctly unpleasant feeling that the Stylist was toying with his hair, like a cat with a mouse.

The Stylist then placed the comb at the nape of Tyler's neck and dragged every single hair forward, in the opposite direction of growth, enveloping his face in a curtain of oily yellow strands.

Tyler knew he must look ridiculous, sat there with a sheet of hair falling over his face, an absurd inversion of his regular slicked-back style.

The hair cascaded down over his forehead, almost caressing his lips. He was acutely aware of the unmistakeable scent of Brylcreem as the hair hung down past his nose.


It had been ten years since he'd first put the white cream in his hair and there hadn't been a single day when he'd not stood in front of the mirror and admired the way it accentuated the golden glory of his blond mane.

Just the smell of it caused an intense physiological response that almost bordered on arousal.

With his vision almost totally obscured by his own thick hair, Tyler heard more than saw the Stylist move to the counter and select a pair of sharp barbering scissors.

Suddenly his heart was in his mouth.

Having his hair combed, styled, well that was one thing. But now it seemed like his prized hair was actually going to be cut and that would herald the true beginning of his transformation. Although he'd been expecting it, the realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

With an almost overwhelming sense of shock, Tyler was aware of the pointed blades of the scissors slowly entering the curtain of golden hair that hung over his face, about an inch below his hairline, high up on his forehead. 

His heart raced and his pulse pounded in his ears. And then *snip* he simultaneously heard and felt the hair being cut off.

And again *snip*.

Tyler groaned so loudly that every single person in the studio heard.

A four-inch-long lock of his hair, made heavy with its coating of Brylcreem, fell onto his chest, slide down the cape and came to rest in his lap where it shone gold against the white fabric.

Another *snip* then another *snip* and another *snip*

Tyler instinctively shut his eyes tightly as the scissors slowly moved across his forehead.

Working from the right side to the left, the Stylist snipped off all of Tyler's long oily bangs, one after the other, gradually freeing his face from its Brylcreem'd curtain of golden hair one inch at a time.

A ripple of applause passed through the audience as Tyler felt the scissors free the last of his bangs from his head. He slowly, hesitatingly, opened his eyes and looked in the mirror. 

His bangs had been decimated, reduced to a mere inch in length and leaving him with an absurdly high fringe that even a child would've been ashamed to wear, let alone a 31-year-old grown man.

Tyler felt crushed. He'd appeared on the show as an act of self-validation but not only had he fallen at the very first hurdle but his cherished hair, one of his most attractive attributes, was now being systematically destroyed before his very eyes.

"Such beautiful hair too" the Stylist remarked. He reached over Tyler's shoulder and casually scooped up a handful of the trashed fringe from where it lay in his lap.

The Stylist bought the severed hair up to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Ah, the sweet smell of defeat," he declared.

Suddenly, placing one hand on the back of Tyler's head, the Stylist reached around and rubbed the long, greasy strands directly into Tyler's face, over his eyes, his nose, his mouth!

Tyler spluttered in shock and surprise. He could even taste Brylcreem on his lips.

A chorus of boos echoed throughout the studio as the audience voiced its disapproval of the Stylist's cruel antics. The Stylist just shrugged and threw the handful of hair back into Tyler's lap.


Working quickly, the Stylist selected an elastic band from the counter and deftly created a Mongol topknot directly on top of Tyler's head using the long, slick hair that had remained untouched.

The oily topknot consisted of a perfect circle of hair sprouting from Tyler's scalp, about two inches in diameter at the base, the actual topknot itself being maybe five inches long.

The Stylist wasted no time in selecting a pair of Wahl clippers from the counter. He flicked them on, immediately filling the studio with the sound of the powerful motor. 

Tyler stiffened. He hadn't had hair clippers used on his head since he was a 12-year-old kid. They just reminded him of botched home haircuts, merciless teasing from his school pals and jarheads in the military with white-walls and jutting ears.

Tyler grunted in surprise as the Stylist grabbed hold of the Brylcreem-y topknot and used it as a handle to roughly pull Tyler's head forward so he was looking down at his chest.

The Stylist then placed the chattering clippers at the nape of Tyler's neck and drove them slowly all the way up to the top of his crown, only lifting them away once he arrived at the newly-formed topknot.

Maneuvering Tyler's head with the topknot, dragging it left, then right, then forward again, the Stylist buzzed down the slick blond hair until the back and the sides were sand-papery bald.

Then, pulling back on the topknot so Tyler was staring directly up into the studio lights, the Stylist placed the clippers at the childishly short bangs.

He paused for a second, looked down into Tyler's handsome face and then slowly buzzed off all the hair from the front of his head, decimating the once-thick hairline.

A golden shower of greasy fragments of hair sprayed into the air and rained down onto the cape.

The Stylist then carefully edged around the circle that formed the base of the topknot. Once finished, it was the only hair of any significant length left anywhere on Tyler's clipper-shaved head.



Chapter 6 - A Unique Look Revealed


By the time the clippers were turned off, Tyler was almost bald. His shoulders, his chest, his lap, and the floor around the barber's chair itself, were littered with the shorn ruins of his treasured, blond haircut. Only the topknot itself remained as evidence of his former glory.

Most of the hair was gone and it was going to take months and months for it to grow back.

Tyler thought of the hours he'd spent styling his hair both at home and at work, of the dozens of tubes of Brylcreem that had passed through his hands and into his hair. And he thought of the numerous bi-weekly visits he'd made to the exclusive barbershop on the corner of Melrose and Fairfax where they'd snipped his locks into tonsorial perfection.

The sheer investment of time, effort and money, and now his hair was gone.

He was acutely aware of himself and how he must appear to the watching audience and to the television cameras: the striped cape, his shorn head with its ludicrous topknot, his adored hair scattered on the floor, now being carelessly trodden beneath the Stylist's patent leather shoes.

His ears glowed red with embarrassment.


Extracting a bowl of hot white cream from the shaving foam machine, the Stylist quickly lathered up Tyler's head with a brush. He then removed all of the remaining blond stubble with a straight razor, leaving just the lank topknot as a sad reminder of what had been lost.

After wiping Tyler's scalp clean with a towel, the Stylist openly fondled the topknot, curling it and twisting it around the index finger of one hand while running his fingers lightly up and down the back of Tyler's smooth, white head with the other.

Now the stubble had been removed Tyler looked balder than ever, his sweaty, pale scalp shining white in the lights. Only the tanlines on his forehead, around the front of his ears and at the nape of his neck showed where his lush hair had once grown.

"Bald as an egg," mocked the Stylist. "Almost anyway. I told you that I'd leave you at least some of your hair, and I'm nothing if not a man of my word."

The audience snickered as the Stylist tugged hard on the blond topknot, making Tyler grimace as he felt the roots pulling at his otherwise naked scalp.

"One final addition,"  said the Stylist, "and then we're done!". He patted Tyler's shoulder and rotated the chair away from the mirror so he was once again facing the audience.

Tyler then felt the chair being reclined until his head was hanging over one of the three white porcelain sinks. He felt a jet of hot water wetting his topknot. The Stylist removed the elastic band and lathered up the hair with a big handful of clarifying shampoo.

As the last of Tyler's beloved Brylcreem swirled down the plughole, his mind turned to Witter, Witter & Grabb. How was he ever going to explain this to his employers?

It was 1958. Even a shaved head would've been utterly unacceptable in the staid world of accountancy, let alone the horror that was being dreamt up by the Stylist!

Of course, he'd known that his hair was potentially going to be forfeit should he lose one of the challenges. It was part of the game, and weren't the high stakes supposed to be make the eventual victory an even greater validation? That's what he'd told himself anyway.

But he'd expected a crewcut, a Princeton or even some sort of vulgar flat-top!, any of which would've been bad enough. He hadn't expected his hair to be ruined in such a humiliating manner.

Witter Jnr could probably be persuaded towards leniency, but he didn't think either Witter Snr or Grabb would show mercy, especially when the episode was broadcast and they saw one of their senior staff members getting their hair trashed on a TV game show.

He groaned again and closed his eyes as the Stylist righted the chair and roughly toweled the topknot until it was dry.

The Stylist disappeared behind the chair to prepare something on the counter. Tyler, still facing the audience, could hear boxes being opened, water being poured, and the sound of mixing in a metal bowl.

Then he felt something cold and wet being applied to the topknot... And there was a strong smell...like...

"I could hardly bleach your hair with all that Brylcreem in it, Mr Goldenhead," smiled the Stylist.

Tyler groaned again as the bleach was brushed into his surviving hair. So he wasn't going to have even a trace of his beautiful golden coloring!

The bleach was left to strip the natural color from Tyler's hair before it was thoroughly washed out. Tyler then heard more boxes being opened and then another mixture was plastered onto his head with a brush.

As this new substance was applied there were gasps and titters from the audience. He could see their faces. He could actually see them shaking their heads, almost in pity! Some of them were laughing too. Just blatantly laughing!

The topknot was washed again and the Stylist went to work with a hairdrier, repeatedly pulling the hair straight up from Tyler's scalp, making Tyler grimace with discomfort. 

Finally, what felt like a very heavy, thick grease was applied to the remnant of his hair and the topknot was carefully combed from the roots to its tip. By this point most of the audience was laughing, some even clapping their hands and applauding!

The Stylist wiped his slick hands on a towel and told the audience to count down from five.

"Five! Four! Three! Two! One!" they bellowed with barely contained excitement.

Once the count reached zero, the Stylist whirled the barber's chair back around so Tyler could see the completed makeover.

"Behold!", announced the Stylist. "The Unicorn!".


Tyler could only look at himself in slack-jawed amazement.

It was absurd.

It was grotesque. 

Yes, he'd expected to see his bald head. But now, standing stiff and erect, sprouting vigorously skywards from the very center of his shaven, hairless dome was a bright pink horn of greased hair.

The horn had been skillfully moulded so that all the strands of pink hair merged together about five inches from Tyler's scalp to form a sharp point.

It really did look like the horn of some exotic beast.

Tyler groan. The revelation of his new image was by the far the single most humiliating moment of his life.

"Well, Mr Pinkhead," he said. "What do you think?"

The Stylist untied the cape and shook it out over the studio floor, sending down a flurry of Tyler's blond hair.

Tyler had nothing to say.

He looked at his reflection, at his smart white shirt and tie, and at his once-handsome head now almot totally stripped of its dense covering of Brylcreem'd hair, shaved slick bald apart from that ridiculous five-inch pink 'horn'.

The Stylist turned Tyler's chair so he was facing the audience, then bowed deeply to the audience as they clapped in appreciation.

Luca, Tommy and Ryan could only watch and wonder, which of them would be next?





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