The Coif Gets Canned by Manny

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When I answered the door, I almost did not recognize Pedro, one of the fellows who serviced my lawn.

Instead of the thick lustrous mane of wavy hair that was so black it almost looked blue, he stood there sporting a simple butch cut. By my estimation a #2 all over. Buzzed down to the wood!

He grinned nervously and shuffled a bit on his feet.

"Uh, Mister, it’s the quarterly payment," he said meekly as he handed me an invoice.

"Oh, right. Let me get my checkbook," I replied. "Step inside. It’s too hot out there."

I quickly rifled through my desk, got a check and hurriedly filled it out.

"There you go," I said, handing it too him.

Then, I couldn’t resist commenting on his new look.

"You cut your hair," I said in a cheerful tone.

Pedro blushed, embarrassed.

"Yes, this morning," he answered, rubbing the bristles. "It’s very short."

"More practical in this summer weather," I noted.

"Yes, that’s what my business partner Jorge said. And free, too," he laughed, again nervously.

"Jorge gave you the buzzcut?" I asked.

"Yes. And, I gave him one. The two haircuts paid for the clippers," Pedro explained.

"Perhaps I should I get a buzzcut," I laughed, running my fingers through my soft, plush executive coif.

Of course, that was intended as a joke.

My hair was my crowning glory. A badge of my authority in the office and a prime contributor to my GQ handsomeness. The shiny chestnut locks with fiery auburn highlights had always been lavishly cared for by an exclusive stylist.

The thought of Pedro, plunging a clippers into the showy mane, mowing it all off with an authoritative thrust….

Suddenly, my cock swelled. Oh, to be clipped down to the wood! To be made to watch my proud locks fall to my kitchen floor! It was an enduring fantasy….periodically imagined, but never acted on.

"You? No, I can’t imagine it," said Pedro, this time flashing a genuine smile. "But if you want…."

"No, no!" I cut him off quickly. "I was just joking, just playing around."

Pedro eyed my showy mane. Perhaps he was thinking that I really needed a butch!

"If you change your mind," he laughed. "Next time we come, I’ll bring the clippers."

"Change that slogan on your truck to, ‘We cut grass and hair!’ Mowers and clippers in tow," I joked.

As soon as Pedro left, I ran upstairs and took a long look at myself in the mirror. Just once! Be brave enough to go through with it. A simple butch cut like Pedro’s. Shed the fancy locks and sport a plain, simple butch!

I imagined myself walking into the office, feeling so nervous and vulnerable with my shorn head. Stealth giggles as people eyed me, but no direct comments. Perhaps only from my bold personal assistant Jesse who felt free to opine on my clothes, my glasses and even my hair.

What would Jesse say? ‘What did you do to your hair, boss? You sure got scalped!’

And my face would glow rose-color with embarrassment.

I took a brush and worked it through the dense, silken locks. The slight wave gave it the body it needed to stay perfectly in place, swept straight back a la Governor Gavin Newsome.

I lifted one lock and made an eye measurement - probably six inches long! And it would be the first lock to fall to Pedro and Jorge’s clippers. To feel a clipped pate for the first time….

A few hours later my phone rang. ‘Gonzales Gardeners’ was calling.

"I’m sorry, Mister, but the check. You forgot to sign it," Pedro said.

"Oh, I’m sorry!" I exclaimed.

"Can we come by tomorrow?" he asked.

"No, I’m leaving on a business trip very early," I explained.

"Then it can wait," said Pedro, with a tone of disappointment.

"No, I can come to your place right now and sign it. It was my fault. I was already delinquent in paying. I feel so bad," I said.

"That would be very nice," replied Pedro. "The address is on the invoice."
"I’m on my way. Be there in 20 minutes," I said.

When I pulled up to the small warehouse-type structure with Gonzalez Gardeners painted on the side, I saw that the door was open.

I called out, "Pedro, I’m here to sign the check."

"Come in, Mister," he called back.

Just inside, I was confronted with a pile of black wavy hair on the floor, next to a bar stool. A set of clippers, still plugged in, was on the makeshift counter. The shorn locks glistened in the bright lighting of the warehouse.

Pedro emerged from a small office and saw me staring at the hair on the floor.

"That was all on my head this morning," he laughed.

"Seems like you’ve gotten used to your new look," I replied.

"Why not?" he said, rubbing his clipped pelt. "One less thing to worry about."

Then I heard Pedro shout out something in Spanish of his business partner.

"El senor esta esperando su rapada," he called, giggling.

As I signed the check, Jorge came out.

"Okay, take a seat on the stool," he said, pointing at it.

"What?" I stammered.

"Take off your shirt too. I didn’t buy a cape," he said in a clipped, businesslike tone.

I looked desperately at Pedro.

He suppressed a laughed and pointed at the stool.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt myself beginning to unbutton my shirt!

My fingers were clumsy, at first, struggling with the top buttons. All the while, my eyes were locked onto the clippers. Those metal teeth! They would relieve me of my executive coif. I decided that my moment was now. My first butch cut was imminent! I would bid farewell to my pampered locks.

My fingers flew through the remaining buttons, and I stripped off my shirt.

By the time I perched myself atop the tall stool, Jorge had the machine whirling. Its metal teeth chattered incessantly.

"Here it goes!" he announced as he brought the clippers up past my blinking eyes right to my silken mane.

Quickly, he thrust the ravishing teeth into my hair. A yelp arouse and I shivered. My head jerked back instinctively, but Jorge steadied it with a firm grip as he drove the clippers straight down the top of my head.

Mounds of lovely soft, chestnut-colored hair tumbled down to my shoulders and further down my torso into my lap. Tufts clung to the patch of fur on my chest.

My head spun as if I were on a whirling ride at an amusement park. I sat numb, but totally fascinated by the experience. The hair piling up on my lap was testament to the transformation that was underway in the warehouse.

What was I doing?! It was insane! Insanely wonderful. To be stripped of my precious hair. To end up with a simple butch cut! I stared at the hair in my lap. Something flashed into my mind. ‘You will regret this!’ Large chunks shone without purpose. I sent them to the floor with a quick flick of my hand. Inside my pants, I was hard as a rock.

"You’re looking very different, Mister," Pedro quipped from the sidelines.

"How’s that?" I asked nervously.

"Boyish. Like an innocent student. Youthful," he laughed.

Then, Jorge forcefully bent my head down and he brought the clippers straight up the back.

The vibration on my neck and nape felt incredible.

"You won’t go back to your old look," Jorge predicted. "You are enjoying this haircut too much."

"You can clip me short on a regular basis," I replied. "Who needs all that hair?"

"Exactly what I told Pedro this morning. Oh, did he put up a fuss! ‘But, I like my wavy hair!’ he pouted like a little girl," Jorge mocked.

I turned to look at Pedro. He was blushing. I knew at once Jorge’s account was true.

"But, he’s not growing it back. No sir!" Jorge said emphatically.

Then he looked at me, "And neither are you, Mister!"

With that, Jorge snapped off the clippers.

Gingerly, eagerly, I began exploring my clipped head with my hand. It felt wonderful! The stubble on my palm stimulated me in a pleasing manner.

Pedro stepped over and gave my shorn pate a few brisk rubs, as well.

"Look at you! Baldy cut!" he laughed. "No more Mr. Executive!"

I stood and brushed away the cut hair from my body and pants with my hand. The amount of hair on the floor was staggering.

"Can I help you sweep up?" I asked, eager to stay in the warehouse a bit longer.

"Sure, there’s a broom and dustpan over there," Jorge said, pointing to the corner.

It was amazing, sweeping up all the cut hair - Jorge’s, Pedro’s and mine - into a massive pile. Four brimming pans full were dumped into the large trashcan. I saw the last of my lovely chestnut-colored locks looking pathetic inside the trashcan along with old brown bags from McDonald’s, orange peels and cigarette butts.

"There’s something else you can help with, Baldy," Jorge smirked. "You and Pedro, move all those bags of mulch to the bed of the truck."

He was treating me like one of the manual workers!!

I felt, in a strange way, grateful and submissive to Jorge. I complied readily. My soft manicured hands quickly got very dirty as one of the bags exploded and went all over.

"I’ll clean it up," I said apologetically.

"You certainly will," Jorge snapped.

By the time I left the warehouse, I was a sweaty, dirty mess. And I was sporting a baldy haircut!

In the car, I finally got a look at the new me in the rearview mirror.

The shock of my transformation suddenly hit me with full impact. I could hardly recognize myself!! Who was that fellow with a simple butch cut staring at me?

I touched the stubble and fondled it gently. Yes, it was me. And, I was finally sporting a simple butch cut. I could not suppress the smiles.

Then, I remembered that early in the morning I would be flying out for an international business trip. I needed to get home, packed, washed up and ready to go!

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Checking in at the airport, the agent looked at my passport photo and then at me. Her eyes went back and forth several times. Then, she called her supervisor over.
‘
He looked at me and then at the photo in the passport.

"Yes, it’s him. He just has a baldy cut now. Why he shaved off that nice hair, well it beats me," the supervisor shrugged before walking away.

"Sorry about that," the agent remarked apologetically.

I blushed with embarrassment.

"I just got tired of hair care," I said lamely.

"I see," she replied in a flat tone before handing me the boarding pass.

My next surprise came on the plane. I checked the boarding pass. An unexpected upgrade for my premium loyalty! I eased into 12B. How wonderful to be in business class on a long flight I thought to myself as I explored the amenity kit.

Once I was comfortable, a distinguished looking man with a nice business suit and executive coif stopped in front of me.

"You’re in my seat," he snapped.

I was slow to react, so he called over the flight attendant.

"Let me see your boarding pass," she demanded.

I handed it to her, and she smirked.

"Back of the plane," she announced loudly. "This is 12B and you are in 42B!"

I felt humiliated as she escorted me down the aisle. Then, I was shocked as she pointed at a middle seat right in front of the bathroom that didn’t recline!

"That is your place! Business class is for executives and other businessmen," she quipped in a derisive tone.

But my agony was not yet over.

Two huge overweight men, carrying large cokes and bags of pretzels wedged in on either side of me. It was going to be an awfully long flight!

I examined the dirt under my fingernails, still there from cleaning up the mulch the night before.

Then I felt my butch cut for the umpteenth time. The feel of the soft pelt was my only consolation.

I drifted off to sleep and dreamed….dreamed that I was on Jorge’s landscaping team. Cutting lawns and mulching gardens. Hard work. But content with my butch cut!

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