Jack and Eric by Dwane.Perry9909@yahoo.com

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Jack and Eric

Eighteen-year-old Jack Carter arrived in the United States with his characteristic British charm and a head of meticulously slicked-back black hair that had always been his pride. His piercing green eyes and chiseled jawline turned heads wherever he went, and his muscular build carried the confidence of a young man eager to make his mark.

Jack had been sent to Virginia on a special exchange assignment to strengthen relations between the British and U.S. armies. He was thrilled by the opportunity to experience a new culture and share training with his American counterparts. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was how quickly his beloved hairstyle would get him into trouble.

"Cadet Carter," barked an American sergeant during roll call, "this isn’t a fashion show. That hair isn’t regulation. Get it sorted at the barber shop—immediately."

Jack tried to argue, but the sergeant cut him off with a pointed glare. Resigned, he headed toward the base’s barber shop, where he was about to experience more than just a haircut.

Meeting the Barber

The barber shop was unassuming on the outside but smelled faintly of antiseptic and leather inside. Jack stepped in to find a single barber chair bolted to the floor, surrounded by shelves lined with combs, clippers, and jars of mysterious powders.

Behind the chair stood Eric —a tall, solidly built man in his late 50s with a buzz cut so tight it looked like his scalp was polished. His grey stubble and thick mustache framed a face that was all sharp angles and no nonsense. His large, rough hands worked the clippers with practiced precision, and his eyes carried the weight of years of service.

"British, huh?" Eric muttered as Jack sat in the chair. "Figures. That hair of yours wouldn’t last a minute here."

"Let’s get on with it," Jack replied, folding his arms.

Eric smirked. "Oh, you’ll love this."

The clippers roared to life, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat as Eric pushed them against his scalp. The sensation was both foreign and exhilarating, the vibration of the clippers sending a strange thrill through him as his long locks peeled away. Eric worked methodically, carving an extreme skin fade that left Jack’s sides and back bare while forming a sharp, flat plateau on top.

When Eric finished, Jack stared at himself in the mirror, running his hand over the smooth skin above his ears. He was unexpectedly in love with the severe look.

"Not bad, huh?" Eric said with a chuckle.

"Better than I thought," Jack admitted, unable to hide a grin.


Jack returned to Eric’s chair every few weeks to maintain the flattop. Each visit became more than just a haircut—it was an excuse to spend time with the older barber. They talked about everything: their military experiences, their families, their dreams. Jack couldn’t help but notice Eric’s powerful hands as they guided the clippers or the way his deep voice resonated in the small shop.

One day, Jack spotted another cadet sporting a horseshoe recon haircut—a style even more extreme than his flattop. Intrigued, Jack knew he had to visit Frank.

When he asked Eric for his advice.

his grey eyes locked onto Jack’s. "absolutely, its the most extreme, but best army haircut in my opinion " and if you don't like it I can shave it all off.



Eric was amoused by his latest request, his expression softened. As the clippers roared to life again, Jack leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as Eric’s expert hands worked. The clippers pressed firmly against his scalp, peeling away every trace of hair until only a stark, bare ring remained on top. The sensation was intoxicating, and Jack couldn’t help but smile.

When Eric finished, Jack admired the brutal precision of the cut. "You’ve outdone yourself."

Eric chuckled, a rare warmth in his voice. "Told you I’m the best."


As the weeks went on, Jack and Eric’s connection deepened. Their conversations turned more personal, their glances lingered longer, and the air between them grew charged. Late one night, after locking up the shop, Jack stayed behind to help Eric clean.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, they found themselves standing close, their breaths mingling. Jack reached out tentatively, his hand brushing against Eric’s arm. Eric hesitated for only a moment before pulling Jack into a firm, heated kiss. Jack felt Eric's bristle mustache against his lips and Eric pulled in for a longer kiss while his hands glided up the back of jacks shaven head. If felt amazing , strong and powerful. The age gap between was daring and thrilling to both of them.

Their relationship was risky under the military’s "Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell" policy, but they couldn’t deny their feelings for eachother. They stole moments where they could—late-night rendezvous in the shop, quiet weekends away from the base and secret naked haircuts late at night at Eric's apartment became a magical place for Jack.


When Jack’s assignment finally ended 2 years later he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Eric behind. They decided to take a leap together, moving to Washington, D.C., where they could start fresh. Eric and Jack opened a private barber shop catering to military personnel, and Jack, inspired by his time in Eric’s chair, trained to become a barber himself.

For Jack, the horseshoe recon haircut became more than just a style—it was a symbol of transformation, of love found in an unlikely place, and of a bond that defied all odds in place, gender, age and life.

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