Baldhead Hill: Chapter 1 by TheBaldestOfThemAll

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The mid-September sun started to set below the horizon of the ten-thousand-acre ranch they’d been calling home for almost half a year. The two cowboys Colt and Carlos were finishing up the last of their work for the day. They’d been out patrolling and doing repairs all around the ranch all afternoon. Ranching isn’t nearly as romantic as Hallmark movies make it out to be, but it’s got its moments. Now that the day was coming to an end, they stopped at an old oak tree by the lake they’d always gone fishing at. The vista looked like something straight out of one of those postcards you’d get at a mom-and-pop gas station on a road trip. It wasn’t a half-bad spot to stop at for the evening.

"Here’s good a place as any ta set up camp I’d reckon," Colt drawled to the vaquero. Carlos nodded. They dismounted their horses and ground tied them. Colt had a bay Quarter Horse he’d taken to calling Big Boy, and Carlos a black Mustang he called Cass. Short for Cazador, or ‘hunter’ in Spanish.

Colt swept off his hat to reveal a tousled mane of golden-brown hair that had gone damp with the day’s sweat. He wiped the sweat off his brow, then his forehead with the handkerchief from his back pocket. He ran a hand through his hair then over his beardstache. Carlos took his own hat off now. He had a black barely-a-crewcut that was closer to being a buzzcut. He ran his hands through the thickness of his pelt. He usually buzzed it down to a zero or a one every couple of days, but they’d been so busy he hadn’t had the opportunity to since Sunday. He brushed the hairs of his manly mustache with his fingers, then ran them over the stubble on his face. He hadn’t shaved since that last Sunday either.

They figured they could set a campfire by the edge of the lake, by a log so they’d have somewhere to sit. Colt gathered some deadwood for the fire while Carlos opened up a couple of cans of beef stew and peeled a potato with his hunting knife. He threw the stew into a Dutch oven and let it simmer over the fire. In fifteen minutes, the cowboys demolished a hearty dinner of two bowls of beef stew each, two bread rolls and peanut butter, a can of peaches for dessert, and a few bottles of beer Colt smuggled in. It was warm and tasted like pisswater, but loosened the boys up as good as any.

They sat around the campfire. Took their boots off and let their dogs howl. Carlos saw Colt wasn’t wearing socks. They were used to each other’s scent, but he still couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the cowboy’s manliness. Colt unbuttoned his work shirt and showed off that big, burly bear chest of his. They talked about anything and everything while they smoked some Marlboros and passed around a bottle of whiskey. The Cowboys winning the start of the season. Hunting. Horses. All sorts of stories Colt had from his rodeoing days. The story about how he’d met Jessa in Fort Worth. The right way to smoke a beef brisket. The stories Carlos had from working in construction. Why the hell a carton of eggs was so goddamn expensive nowadays. War. How the world was going to s**t. Their hopes even if the world probably wouldn’t last another fifty years. Family. The sacrifices they’d made for family. Colt’s youngest brother graduated from A&M back in May. Kept going on and on about how smart the boy was and how he’d make a goddamn good engineer. First in their family to go to college. He was happy one of the McMullens was making something out of their lives. Colt asked Carlos about his tío. How he’d been doing after the infarction he had last month. Carlos said he’d been doing better. Been sending some of the money he’d been making to his tío to help pay his hospital bills. ‘La familia es lo primero’ is what his tío always told him. It was hard with a family of his own to support now, but he’d do anything for the man who took him in as his own. Sacrifice was something Colt and Carlos knew all too well, but it was also something that brought them together.

After an hour of drinking and their half-drunken ramblings, Colt got up to take a piss over by the tree. Unzipped his Wranglers. He must’ve been pissing for a minute, minute and a half. He scratched his balls.

"If you shake it more than once, you’re just playing with yourself!" Carlos called out to Colt and laughed.

"Yeah you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?" Colt drawled thicker than usual. "C’mere…" He walked toward the vaquero, jacking off his uncut king cobra of a cock. Carlos could get a whiff of the whiskey and beer in his breath.

"You wanna f*** around and find out with a man like me, cabrón?" Carlos spat. He grabbed the half-drunk cowboy’s shirt, hit him in the chest, then tackled him into the grass. After a thirty-second struggle, the cowboy was the one holding the vaquero’s head in a vise between his thighs. The vaquero was face to face with the cobra now. Got a good whiff of his raw masculinity. They wrestled with each other and struggled like it was life and death.

"That all ya got in ya?" Colt grunted. "You’ll end up with my cock in yer mouth if ya don’t try harder." The tip of his half-hard cock would’ve touched Carlos’s lips, but Colt let him go before it could. Winded and out of breath, they laid there in the grass laughing and looking up at the sky. Rough horseplay was a tradition between these two cowboys, men being men and all. That’s all there was to it. Nothing more, nothing less. No hard feelings.

Afterwards, the men hoisted each other up and walked back to the campfire with their arms around each others backs. Their bodies were tender from all the bruises they’d given each other from all their roughhousing. They’d gotten hot and sweaty from their altercation. Hotter and sweatier than they’d already been. Colt took his work shirt off to relieve himself from the heat. Showed off those six-pack abs of his. They were as hard as the rocks they’d step on to cross the river whenever they’d gone fishing. Then Carlos took off his white wifebeater which he’d tucked into his Wranglers. It had gone half see-through with sweat and showed off that he was just as big and burly as the cowboy. The two men were two-hundred-forty-plus pounds of prime Texan beef each, with ruggedly good looks and physiques that could’ve put either one of them on the cover of a bodybuilding magazine. Because of that, shows of hot-blooded machismo between the two men were commonplace. Sometimes it was like pitting a bull against another bull. Bloodsports and all.

Colt got a bucket off his pack and walked over to the lake to fill it up with water that felt cool against his fingertips. He got a washcloth and a bar of Irish Spring soap too. He’d been wanting to get himself cleaned up while it was warm and there was still some daylight left. Colt called out to Carlos and beckoned him to come on over. The vaquero looked up from the piece of oakwood he’d been carving away at with his hunting knife and nodded.

Colt wet his washcloth in the bucket, scrubbed the bar of soap against it, and made a lather. The men got right down to it and cleaned themselves up good. They’d seen every inch of each other’s bodies living in close quarters these last couple of months, so they weren’t at all shy about showing off in front of each other. The men worked their way down their big, burly, country-boy bodies. Washed whatever they could reach. Colt took his Wranglers off to wash his balls. He had nothing on but his wedding band now. Not even underwear. There wasn’t a day of the week he wouldn’t do that and go commando. The cowboy liked it a lot that way. Said he liked the freedom it made his manhood feel.

There were some parts of themselves the cowboys had a hard time reaching with a washcloth alone. Being as big as they were, they needed a helping hand sometimes. Nothing wrong with that. Colt saw Carlos struggling, so he took his washcloth and scrubbed it against his back. With a working man’s hands, the cowboy rubbed the vaquero’s stiff muscles to relieve the tension that had built up over the course of the day. He scrubbed him clean. Then the vaquero did the same for the cowboy. He knew his body the same way he knew the lay of the land. He made every muscle of his ripple like river water as he scrubbed. This wasn’t anything either man hadn’t done for the other before, but it also wasn’t something they needed to talk about either. It was just a man helping his fellow man in need, after all. What was there to talk about?

They toweled themselves off with whatever they had on hand since they hadn’t brought much in the way of actual towels. Colt used his shirt and Carlos his briefs. They put their pants back on and headed back to the campfire. Somehow, they felt hotter now than they did before. Colt especially. He ran his hands through his six or so inches of hair and scowled from the thickness of it. He had the sort of hair any man would kill for. A beast’s mane that was the embodiment of manliness. As kill-worthy as it was, his hair got straight-up suffocating come summer to where he’d do anything to relieve himself of his manly burdens. The beast of a man had an itch that needed scratching. Now…

"You alright, cabrón?" Carlos asked, seeing the intensity in the cowboy’s eyes. He went and got something out from his pack. A pair of cordless Oster clippers.

"Yeah I’m alright, mano. It’s just… it’s this goddamned hair a mine." Colt said with a scowl. "I was fixin ta get a trim at the barber's last week with the heat n all, but y’know how it’s been."

"A trim, huh?" Carlos brandished the brutal-looking pair of clippers. "I was just about to give myself a trim too. I’d do you myself, but best I could do is a buzzcut."

"Y’know what, mano?" Colt smirked. "I reckon I might could take you up on that offer a yers…"

"Is that right?" Carlos asked, cocking a brow. "Pretty boy like you finally wants to have a man’s haircut? A real man’s? Heh. I never thought I’d see the day." The vaquero ran his hands through the cowboy’s mane, then gripped him by his chin and moved his head around like he was checking out a hunk of prime beef at the butcher’s. He stroked the cleft of his chin through his beard with his thumb. They looked each other in the eyes intently.

"Oh, so yer sayin I’m pretty?" Colt smirked and looked at Carlos like they were about to f***.

"Shut those pretty, cock-sucking lips of yours up before I do it for you," Carlos chuckled, manhandling Colt and sitting him down onto the log in front of them.

Carlos flicked the comb off the pair of clippers with his thumb and bared its teeth before turning it on and making it growl. He took the clippers to the base of the cowboy’s hairline, and in one unhesitating swipe to the top of his head, his thick, golden-brown hair fell onto his broad shoulders, then to the floor at his feet. The clippers struggled at first with how unruly his hair was, but after a struggle, the vaquero tamed it into submission. Colt was no stranger to a summer buzzcut, but not like this. Not this short, and not at the hands of a man like Carlos. This made him feel something he’d never felt before.

By the end of it, Colt was covered in sweat and what used to be the hair on his head. Carlos clicked the clippers off and handed him a mirror. The cowboy scowled at the new man in the mirror and ran his hands over the rugged, sixty-grit sandpaper. In the span of three minutes, he’d gone from having six inches of manly glory to having no more than a sixteenth of an inch of that glory left. That wasn’t to say this wasn’t a goddamn good look on him. He could hardly keep his hands off his perfectly-round dome and the sandpaper that covered it. Carlos was right. Now this… this was a real man’s haircut.

"Here. Why don’t you give me a hand with mine?" Carlos smiled, handing the pair of clippers to Colt. The cowboy seemed all too eager to give him more than a hand.

Colt gripped the back of Carlos’s head, ran his hands through his pelt, and clicked the clippers back on. The cowboy was methodical in how he went about his shearing. Pass after pass, the vaquero became balder and balder by the second. Carlos had always been in charge of his own buzzcuts, so giving that sort of power to another man over his hair, especially to a man like Colt, wasn’t something he was all that used to. Not in a bad way. He could’ve gotten used to it. In all but a minute and a half, the barely-a-crewcut he used to have was barely even a buzzcut anymore. He checked the cowboy’s handiwork with his eager hands and smiled with a satisfaction.

"How’d I do? Ya likin yer cut well enough?" Colt asked, stroking Carlos’s head to check his own handiwork himself. He brushed off a shred of black hair that had gotten caught in the vaquero’s mustache.

"You did a damn fine job," Carlos smiled. "How about you? You like your cut, pretty boy? I know it’s more of a trim than what you’re used to."

"Y’know… I like it so much I reckon I might could keep it this way," Colt said with something of mischief in his eyes. "I’ve had hair thirty-one or so years a my life. Gotta try it out at least a year fer a fair tryout."

"Heh. I’ll hold you to your word." Carlos chuckled.

"And if I don’t keep it? What’re you gonna do? You gonna shave my head yerself?" Colt got closer and closer until he was up in Carlos’s face. They could get a whiff of the whiskey in each other’s breath.

"Is that what you want, cabrón?" Carlos got behind Colt, put him into a headlock with a boa constrictor of an arm, and scraped his cut-up knuckles against the sandpaper until it burned for the both of them. The two cowboys laughing half-drunkenly, the vaquero let the cowboy out of his sweaty vise. They looked each other in the eyes with more intent than before.

"You know… there’s something I’ve been wanting to try. Want to try it with you too, if you’re open to it." Carlos smiled and got some things out from his pack. Two safety razors, then a can of Barbasol shaving cream. He looked at the tools with a longing. "I’ve always wanted to shave my head to the wood. I think it’s something every man has to try at least once in his life."

"Well, why haven’t you?"

"You’ve got a wife, cabrón. You know how it is." The two men laughed. "Valentina already hates the buzzcut as it is. Hated it since the day we started seeing each other. She’s gone on and on about how much of a shame it is I buzz my head and how much more ‘guapo’ I’d be with hair. If I go home looking like a Mexican Mr. Clean, I’m sure she’d leave my ass."

"Ha! Jessa’s the same way. She’s always hated it whenever I’d go n give myself a buzzcut fer the summer. I’m talkin, her-screamin-so-loud-outta-shock-one-time-that-one-a-our-neighbors-called-the-cops-on-my ass hated it. Haven’t had a buzzcut in a while cause a that. Hell, I reckon she’d shoot me at the front door if I came home ta her lookin like this."

"Heh. The things we do for our girls, right?" Carlos chuckled.

"Right," Colt chuckled back.

"You know, I made a promise to Valentina the night before I left…"

"Oh yeah? What’d’ya promise?"

"I promised her I’d have a nice head of hair she could run her fingers through by the time I get back for Christmas before we get married in January."

"Oh yeah, she’s leavin yer ass for sure."

"Heh. I love my girl, but I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t love having the freedom to be a man on my own every once in a while too. Having the freedom to do this without her getting on my ass about it all the damn time," Carlos said, stroking his shorn head. "I’ve been doing some thinking tonight... I’m thinking, we’re two men out here, out in the middle of assf*** nowhere, hundreds of miles away from our girls. Ain’t nothing or no one to get in the way of us doing whatever we want. What do you say, pretty boy?" Carlos smiled slyly. "Me, you, and a razor."

"What’re ya sayin? We the sorta men ta hide things from our women now?"

"Maybe…" Carlos smiled. "We’ve got a good month to try it out before we’d have to grow it back out. Month and a half if we’re ballsy about it. We’d have to shave our heads everyday to really get a feel for it too. At least twice a day at that. Maybe even thrice... So what do you say? You in, Colt?" He offered one of the two safety razors to the cowboy, who took it from him all too eagerly. Their hearts were throbbing at the prospect of being bald for the first time in their lives. At the prospect of a sort of… infidelity.

"Course I’m in," Colt smirked with a hell of a mischief in his eyes. "I’m in this balls-f***in-deep with you, mano."

Colt took the can of shaving cream, put some into the palm of his hand, and lathered up his scalp in a show of machismo against the vaquero. Carlos did the same for himself too and took it further than the cowboy did, lathering up the stubble on his face around the thickness of his mustache. In about a minute, they’d covered their shorn heads with a stark whiteness like a snowstorm in the middle of a Montana winter. With the way the shaving cream followed their hairlines closely, now they looked like they had white crewcuts where their hair used to be.

The two men took their first strokes together. As short as Colt’s hair was now, it still put up a hell of a fight with its thickness, but the cowboy fought back harder. He worked his way from the top of his head, down to the base of his hairline with assertive strokes that were almost straight-up aggressive. Carlos too. The vaquero shaved his face around his mustache to be as bald as his head. Each stroke left them balder and balder as the stubble and shaving cream were scraped away, leaving only scalps that were all too sensual to the cowboys’ manly-men touch.

"You alright?" Colt grunted while he stroked away at his head.

"Yeah, I’m alright," Carlos said between hot, heavy breaths. "Why?"

"Ya look like yer really enjoyin yerself… Ya like what ya see?"

"Heh. You know… I could ask you the same damn thing, pretty boy."

Removing their hair together felt a hell of a lot more carnal than stripping down ass-naked in front of each other. It made the two men feel something neither one of them had felt in their lives as the steel of their razors scraped away the sandpaper. An arousal of sorts. It wasn’t long until they’d scraped off the last of the shaving cream, and with it, the last of their stubble. The last of their hair. Now, the two men felt more naked than they would’ve if they had their cocks out for each other to see. Hell, it took all the restraint they had left in their bodies to not do just that.

Colt stared down the bald man in the mirror. Half an hour ago, he still had the head of hair his wife loved. A mane that was the envy of any man. Now, he had nothing but a gray shadow of the hair that used to be. He could hardly recognize himself. And not in a bad way or anything. He had a great head of hair before, sure, but now there was nothing to distract from his ruggedly good looks. He handed the mirror to Carlos. The vaquero could hardly recognize the man he’d become either. Not a lick of hair on his head or handsome face aside from his mustache.

The cowboys couldn’t keep their hands off their domes. They were as smooth as polished wood when they rubbed them with the grain, but rough when they rubbed against them. There was something else they needed to do now. Colt took the can of shaving cream, lathered his scalp up again, handed the can to Carlos, and shaved against the grain now. While they shaved, drops of sweat dripped from their heads, to their foreheads, down to their brows. Dripping in sweat and scowling, the two men couldn’t deny how hot they’d gotten from shaving their heads.

"I ain’t no homo," Colt spat.

"I ain’t either," Carlos said with a scowl. "We’re men, cabrón. And men…"

"Men have needs…"

"Damn straight we do," Carlos nodded. "Besides… it ain’t nobody’s business but ours what we do."

Carlos unzipped his Wranglers, took all twelve inches of his erect cock out, and jacked off. Colt took his own cock out too, unbuckled the vaquero’s belt and undid his Wranglers all the way down, hauled him over the log onto all fours, and with the help of his slick and some spit, forced himself into the vaquero. All the while, the cowboy stroked the vaquero’s occipital ridge with his razor. Gave him a helping hand of sorts to help finish him off. It wasn’t anything he’d done before, but it came as natural to him as instinct. The two men went at it in silence with only the slapping of muscle against muscle, their grunting, and the scraping of their razors against their scalps to penetrate the silence.

"Balls… f***in… deep…" Colt grunted into Carlos’s ear while he branded his neck with his hot lips.

Between having his head shaved, jacking off, and Colt being balls-deep inside him, exploring every inch of his body with his lips and tongue, Carlos came closer and closer to cumming until finally, he came into the palm of his hand. He lathered his white-hot load into his bald head, only for the cowboy to lick it clean off. Licked it until the reek of Barbasol, salt, skin, sweat, and raw masculinity stuck into his beard. Colt put those pretty, cock-sucking lips of his to good use and gave Carlos a taste of his own masculinity. The two men made out with each other like it was a bloodsport. They ran their hands over each other’s bald heads and used their big, burly bodies in ways they’d never done before.

Carlos got behind Colt and gave the cowboy the same sort of roughing up he’d gotten from him just a few minutes prior. Bent him over onto the oak tree’s sturdy trunk and f***ed him until his ass was all red and raw and his own balls were sore from slapping back and forth into his muscles so forcefully. He licked the back of the cowboy’s bald head and his occipital ridge while he f***ed him mercilessly. The way the vaquero’s mustache teased his baldness drove the cowboy buck-f***ing-wild, and it wasn’t long until he had him cumming for the first time since he’d left his wife in Waxahachie. Colt coaxed the cum out of his cock and worked it into his bald head. Carlos could feel the heat coming off of it while he licked it as clean as could be. The vaquero wiped what was left of the cum and sweat off his bald head with his briefs. They were still damp with the sweat of his balls. The cowboy figured he’d just wash his head up first thing tomorrow morning when they’d shave.

The two men laid their bedrolls out a lot closer together than they usually were by the dying light of the campfire. They laid next to each other ass-naked with their half-hard cocks still out and their shaven heads cupped in their hands. They stared up at the milky stream of stars. They didn’t say so much as a word to each other, but they knew this was how it would be for the rest of their months at Baldhead Hill. Just men being men, hundreds of miles away from their women, free to do whatever the hell they wanted to do. They wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. The vaquero turned onto his side, and the cowboy put an arm around him. Pressed his burly body against his and spooned him.

"Get some sleep, mano," Colt drawled into Carlos’s ear and pressed his lips against the back of his head. "We’ve got a long f***in day tomorrow."

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