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Marcelo's Toy: Are the Haircut Games ove by Julian


After years of being Marcelo's haircut toy, David was finally free. Marcelo had disappeared almost a year ago, and David was finally able to choose his own haircut style.

He found an amazing barbershop in downtown Madrid. Just one barber, one chair—a skilled craftsman who wouldn't go too short and took his time with each haircut, at least 45 minutes.

The end result was spectacular. David relished the experience of having his hair cut in a refined business style, neatly tapered on the sides and longish on top. The precision and care of the barber's work left him feeling almost content, a rare emotion for David when it came to haircuts.

He had become something of a celebrity in the haircut fetish world since Marcelo had been making videos of his haircuts for years and publishing them on a YouTube channel. At first, it wasn't too bad. The haircuts weren't extreme, just unpleasant enough to be an exciting yet uncomfortable experience.

Over time, however, Marcelo grew bolder, and the haircuts became more radical. David found himself with his hair cut very short on several occasions, which were deeply traumatic experiences for him. The sensation of the clippers buzzing ruthlessly close to his scalp, reducing his hair to a mere fraction of an inch, haunted him. The humiliation was unbearable, and the sensation of cool air on his nearly exposed scalp was a stark, humiliating reminder of his ordeal. Yet, paradoxically, these were the most popular videos on the channel, garnering thousands of views and comments.

Nowadays, David's computer wallpaper was a random set of pictures from his Google Photos account. He loved seeing different photos of his loved ones and himself changing every couple of minutes while he worked.

He especially cherished his pics from the past year; he looked so handsome and confident with his preferred hairstyle. But when older photos appeared, he saw himself with various styles—all short, too short. Some had shaved sides and back, while others had a decent length that never lasted long due to Marcelo's constant games. The ones with his hair cut too short on top were the worst. He loathed that look, a reminder of the control Marcelo had over him, reducing his self-esteem with each humiliating cut.

Every time one of those fresh haircuts appeared on his screen, David felt a surge of determination. He promised himself never to be subjected to those short haircuts again. Each image was a stark reminder of the humiliation and loss of control he had endured. The overly short styles, the shaved sides and back, the too-short top—all symbols of Marcelo's dominance. David vowed to protect his newfound freedom and never let anyone dictate his appearance again.

Mr. Andres Deval was one of the biggest fans of the channel. He had seen every video several times and could identify each emotion, each game, each subtle nuance.

In the couple of years before Marcelo's disappearance, he managed to set up a few games as Marcelo's accomplice.

The first one was at Christmas time. Andres had discovered a tradition from David's country of origin called "aguinaldos." Each December, family and friends played a peculiar game where one player could not say the word "no" while the other could not say "yes." The idea was to have conversations and try to make the other say the forbidden word.

Marcelo arranged a meeting between David and Andres. They would have a couple of beers together, chatting and playing aguinaldos. If David won, he could keep his hair for Christmas and New Year's Eve. If Andres won, he would take David to a barbershop and request the haircut he wanted. As always, head shaving or ridiculous styles were not allowed, but the prospect still filled David with dread.

Andres won, and that Christmas, David was embarrassed by his look.

Andres scheduled an appointment at a neighborhood barbershop. The place had an old-world charm, with vintage chairs and a faint scent of aftershave lingering in the air. As David sat down, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. The barber draped a heavy, dark cape around him, fastening it tightly at the neck. David felt the familiar constriction, a reminder of his loss of control.

"Este es David," Andres told the barber, a grin spreading across his face. "Perdió un juego, así que quiero que le dejes el pelo corto, pero no demasiado extremo."

The barber nodded, picking up a pair of clippers and comb. He combed through David's hair, which was just beginning to grow into a style David liked. The first pass of the clippers was agonizing. The buzzing sound filled David's ears as the clippers moved up the sides of his head, hair falling in tufts onto the cape and the floor.

Each stroke of the clippers felt like a personal defeat. The barber worked methodically, reducing the sides and back to a much shorter length. He left the top a bit longer, but it was still far shorter than David preferred. The cool air hitting his exposed neck and sides felt like a humiliating reminder of the game he had lost. He watched in the mirror as the pile of hair grew, each snip and buzz stripping away more of his dignity.

By the end, David had lost half of his hair. It wasn't an extreme cut, but it was short enough to make him feel exposed and self-conscious. The barber had done a good job with the style, but it wasn't what David wanted. As he left the barbershop, he caught sight of his reflection in a window and cringed. This Christmas would be yet another reminder of the control Marcelo, and now Andres, had over his appearance.

Later that day, Andres contacted David again. He told him to meet downtown, at one of the oldest and most traditional barbershops in the city.

David panicked. He had done his part. He told Andres the game was over and hung up. But then Marcelo called him and said that since the day wasn't over, Andres still had the right to make him cut his hair.

David wanted to cry. Reluctantly, he went to the appointment. The barbershop was empty, well-lit, with huge windows. Since it was nighttime, it felt like a fishbowl. Madrid was full of people passing by, seeing David, with his short hair, seated and caped once again.

Andres repeated the story to the barber and requested that David's hair be cut short.

The barber started with a number two clipper guard, running it up the back of David's head to the crown. Each pass of the clippers sent shivers down David's spine. The vibration against his scalp felt invasive, and the sensation of hair falling away was both terrifying and humiliating. He could see the crowd outside, some stopping to watch, making him feel even more exposed.

Next, the barber moved to the sides, continuing with the number two. David watched helplessly as more hair tumbled down, the sides of his head becoming starkly short. Andres watched intently, a satisfied look on his face. "Más corto," he demanded, pushing the barber to use a number one guard.

The barber hesitated but complied. The shorter length made David feel even more vulnerable. The number one clipper hummed ominously, reducing his hair to mere millimeters. But Andres wasn’t satisfied yet. "Más corto aún," he insisted.

The barber's uncertainty was evident, but Andres was relentless. Finally, the barber switched to a zero guard. The clippers buzzed louder, and the cold metal teeth against David's nape made him wince. The sensation of the clippers shaving the back of his head to the skin was overwhelming. The humiliation intensified as the clippers traveled higher and higher, stopping midway up the back of his head and around his ears.

The sides were next, the clippers gliding up to just above his ears, leaving only a shadow of stubble. The barber then took scissors to the top, cutting away half of the remaining length. Each snip felt like a blow to David's dignity.

By the end, David felt utterly defeated. His hair was drastically short, the nape and sides shaved to the skin, the top uneven and much shorter than he had ever wanted. The cool air on his nearly bare scalp was a cruel reminder of his loss, and the stares from passersby felt like salt in the wound. This night, more than any other he felt helpless and humiliated and at the worse time of the year, full of family gatherings and friends going out, and all of them will notice how bad he look now.

END OF PART ONE





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