Sport by Almost

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We sit and watch. He watches the guy in the barber’s chair getting a butchâ€" a nice buzz cut one length all around. I don’t know why he watches. Maybe to check technique, maybe he enjoys it, maybe he has nothing better to do. He sits next to me in the shop. His hair is clippershaved, brown hair drained of color and made to look grey with how short it is. I watched him peel away the growth this morning before we came. Maybe he did it to hide the gray hairs that are creeping in, but I don’t think so. He also trimmed his beard to keep it close to his face. It’s the same deep brown his hair would be if he let it grow. He’s handsome, with a strong jawline and deep blue eyes. Wrinkles don’t ruin the image.
His body is a sturdy one, filled out chest and arms hugged tight by a white shirt and a fall jacket. Worn, tanned hands rest patiently on knees coated in blue jeans. His face is blank and patient, waiting for an opportunity to awaken, watching.
I watch because I can’t look away. It’s a look into my future, how couldn’t I? I try to look down but tennis shoes and slacks aren’t very interesting so my head goes up again. And I keep watching.
The barber is middle-aged. He’s bald, perfectly smooth, not even the shadow of hair on his head. Glasses are perched on his nose, aiding the eyes that are dead set on his work. His hands do the work, the deft little things. They are thin like him and move the clippers with precision, scraping away the excess hair the guy in the chair doesn’t need. The guy in the chair is cute. He looks a little like me, but taller. His hair is the same shade of blonde, but his eyes are a darker brown. His face is more compact than mine, and his nose a little wider. He’s handsome. He’s also done with his haircut.
The barber lets the cape loose, almost unveiling the new look to the young man, though he watched his change the whole time. He smiles, rubs his head, thanks the barber and gets up to go, walking off.
The barber looks at us expectantly. Sir stands up and taps my back.
"Up you go, sport," he says.
I stand shakily, walk to the chair, and take a seat. The barber quickly capes me up, clasps around my neck closing with a metallic snap. The cape is entirely white. Some of the last guy’s blonde hair still sticks to it, but it’s pristine otherwise.
Sir walks up with me, following close behind.
"What’s it gonna be today, Dad?" the barber asks.
"He wants it just like that last guy who was in your chair," Sir says in a friendly voice as he arrives next to me. "Isn’t that right, sport?"
I look up at the barber and nod. I can’t speak. I’m too embarrassed to string together words.
"That’d be a number two butch all around, sir. That sound okay to you?" the barber says, seeking confirmation.
"Number two butch? Oh he’ll love that. He loves short cuts, don’t you, bud?"
"Yes, sir," I manage to stammer out, looking back down at the cape, but still listening.
"It’s best if I keep it short for him, so it works out well. He got into some trouble and this is supposed to help with behavior. I’m sure he’ll be well behaved with you, he knows the consequences if he doesn’t."
I feel shame wash over me. The "trouble" was back talk and an unkempt appearance. He got on me about having some stubble on my face and didn’t like me saying that no stubble would mean shaving daily.
The barber chuckles, "Trouble, huh? So this cut’s for discipline?"
"Oh yeah, big time," Sir says, stressing the magnitude of my errors. "Little trouble maker needs it. If starts squirming and acting up, call me over and I’ll give him a talking to. Or you can just bring him down a guard, your choice."
The barber laughed heartily, making me grit my teeth. "That won’t be necessary. If you’re lookin’ to get him acting right, this is the way. I’ll peel off this blonde mess and leave you an obedient boy."
He ruffled my hair as he said the last bit, causing my cheeks to sting and flare red. My blonde hair was barely visible to me, and I could feel it brush the tops of my ears. Sir said it was too long.
"This really works then?" Sir asked with a twinge of relief in his voice.
"Yeah. Well if you keep it up anyway. I’ve seen it time and time again with guys of all ages. Dads, wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, you name it; bring their fella in, get him butched and it works. He starts behaving way better, but then they let it grow out again and the guys slip up, so they come back in and back to butch it is."
"Makes sense," Sir noted. "They gotta keep it butched, huh? How often though?"
"I mean most don’t wanna keep it butched, but they gotta. Most are good sports about it though, and sit still through it. As for time, well, once you go that short, you gotta keep on top of it to keep it nice and neat. Every 10 days I say."
"Every 10 days? Damn you’re strict," Sir said with a laugh. "But if it’s what you prescribe, then I’ll give it a shot. It is a lot of money, though. Maybe home haircuts could help?"
"Well I’m sure not trying to take money out of my pockets, but butches are pretty simple. Most butches have a bumper or are tapered like a crewcut, but this cut is pretty simpleâ€" one length all over. You could do it at home with him for sure."
"Home haircuts it is then!" Sir said triumphantly. "How about it, Sport? What do you think about keeping a butch all the time?"
I felt my face get even hotter somehow. That short? All the time? Getting it cut at home?
"I… well… not really…" I stammered, barely able to speak, but starting to pull it together.
"Too bad, Sport. I’m not sure you get a say," Sir said solemnly. "I hope you like the butch after all, Sport, it’s not growing back."
"He probably won’t like it," the barber chimed in. "But it’s for his own good."
"Yeah, that’s true," Sir relented. "Do yourself a favor and at least be well behaved," he said to me.
"You’ll look good," the barber reassured me. "Nice and clean cut. I think you’ll end up looking just like that last fellow, actually."
"That’s good. I think he’s got a crush on that other guy," Sir said, ruffling my hair. "Hear that, Sport, you’ll end up just like that other guy we saw before."
"Let’s get started then, boy," the barber said, eagerly.
"Call him ‘Sport,’ he really likes it," Sir said with a laugh.
"Alright," the barber said with a chuckle. "Well, Sport? How about it? Ready for your butch?"
"Um, I guess so, sir," I answered quietly, trying to hide my arousal.
"Good, cause it’s what your dad wants and he’s in charge."
"Call me when he’s done, will you?" Sir asked.
"Of course. This will go quick," the barber answered.
He picked up a pair of clippers as Dad walked away and took a seat. That’s right. Dad. Not really, but it’s what he wanted me to call him. I had been sticking to the more familiar "sir" so far. On the other hand, he took to calling me Sport immediately. It embarrassed me immensely and he liked that. It wasn’t just him, every time someone drew the logical conclusion, my cheeks went bright red. I couldn’t blame them. He looked to be in his late forties, and I looked like I was in my early twenties. It was an easy trap to fall into, and I don’t think him calling me Sport helped either.
But I hadn’t called him Dad yet, and I think that confused him. I think the other guys must have fallen into it faster, but not me.
The barber clicked on the clippers, startling me with the noise. He used a comb to brush the hair away from my forehead and hold it there, then prime the clippers with the other hand. He quickly pushed the clippers through, clearing away my thick blonde hair. He swiped over the top of my head again and again, sending my hair onto the cape as my head was reduced to bristles.
I stayed quiet and still. The barber often grabbed my head and I tried to relax and let him manipulate it.
"Your dad must have been mistaken," the barber commented as his clippers buzzed up my right sideburn. "You’re behaving plenty well for me."
"Thank you, sir," I answered politely. I wasn’t a fan of the butch, but the man was just doing his job, even if we did encourage Sir a bit.
I watched intently as the cut went on, him slowly bringing me to even bristles all over.
"Your dad just wants what’s best for you, Sport," he said as he pushed his clipper up the back of my head and deposited a blonde chunk of hair onto my lap.
"I know, sir," I said.
"Then why are you fighting him?" the barber asked bluntly.
"I-" I tried to answer, but he cut me off.
"And don’t say you aren’t," he said calmly. "If you weren’t then he wouldn’t have had to urge you up here and you wouldn’t have talked back about keeping the butch."
That stung. He was right. I hadn’t realized it. I was fighting him. I was rebelling. I didn’t want to, hadn’t meant to, but I had. More shame washed over me.
"I… how do I apologize?" I asked after a bit.
"Well first let me finish this butch, and then maybe try calling him Dad. You keep calling him Sir, and I might be wrong, but he seems like the type to like Dad."
The barber’s answer surprised me. I knew I would still have to apologize for real, but this would help too.
"He is… and I will, sir."
The barber seemed to smile in the mirror as he finished buzzing away my left side.
"That’s a start, Sport. Now, here’s your chance."
He spoke up now. "All finished, Sport."
Dad walked up behind me and looked me over. I did too. My scalp barely peaked through the even blonde bristles. It made me look… handsome, highlighted my eyes and face. I sort of liked it, and Dad seemed to too.
"Wow! That really took you no time at all. And you weren’t kidding about looking like that other guy, you’re lookin’ great, Sport," he said and tried to mess up my hair. His fingers met soft but firm bristles and I felt my dick perk up a little as he rubbed my head.
"Feelin’ great, too, Sport!" he said enthusiastically.
"Thanks… Dad," I said, my face hot.
He seemed a bit caught off guard but kept it together and smiled.
"Wow, he’s like a brand new boy. What’d you do with him?"
"Gave him a butch," the barber joked, causing them both to erupt with laughter.
"Guess I better go get a cape and some clippers," Dad commented.
"Cape isn’t necessary. For easy cleanup just have them strip all the way."
"Well alright then," Dad said with a laugh. "That sounds fun, huh, Sport?" he said, rubbing my head again.
"Yeah, sounds fun," I said, a little out of it with the aroused I was.
"Don’t skimp on clippers," the barber warned. "Get a nice strong pair so you can give him an even cut quickly."
"Will do for sure," Dad promised with a smile.
The barber uncaped me, sending blonde hair onto the floor.
"Thank you for the butch and the advice," Dad said as he shook hands with the barber.
"No, thank you for bringing him in for a butch," the barber answered. "It’s gone out of style but it’s still very much in need."
"I can see that," Dad said, looking at me. "Thank the barber, Sport."
"Thank you very much for the butch, sir."
"You’re very welcome," he said with a smile. "Make sure to be well behaved for Dad, Sport!"

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