Russell in training. Part 2 by strictsir

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This part of the story follows on from the first part, entitled Russell in training. Please read the first part first. I would be happy if you would write to me and tell me how you liked the story.
In 1973, when I was 13 years old, I got a short haircut for the first time in my life at the Marschall barbershop. A month had passed since the haircut and we couldn't wait for the end of the school year and the start of the summer holidays.
The last day of school, each of us takes home our end-of-year report card. My friends and I agreed that at 3 pm we would go to a nearby lake. When my parents came home from work, I showed them my end-of-year school results. At that moment, the bell rang and my friends told my father to let me go to the lake. But my father told them: I'm going to the Marschall barbershop with Dario now, then he can come to you at the lake. I heard some of the boys start laughing that I was going to that old-fashioned barbershop with my dad.
I was excited that my dad wanted to take me to that barbershop, but I was afraid of being teased by the other kids, that I had a short haircut again. So I started to negotiate with my dad, that my hair is very short. At the back of my head it is no longer than 15 millimeters and at the top of my head it is a maximum of 35 millimeters. My dad reminded me of the note from the barber, where he asked my dad not to let me have long hair anymore.
We didn't say a word the whole way in the car. When my dad parked in front of the Marschall barbershop, I noticed that my friend from training, Russel, had also entered the barbershop with his dad and his younger brother.
After entering the barbershop, I sat down on the waiting chair next to Russel and my dad sat down next to his dad. My parents started talking as if they were long-time friends. I greeted Russell, but he didn't really want to talk.
There were several boys in the barbershop today and they all left with short haircuts. When Russell was called to the barber's chair, the boy started to blush and it was clear that he was not comfortable with my presence. When the barber wrapped Russell in a white sheet, he asked his father: how do we cut this child? The father said that all the hair had to go. I couldn't believe my ears and I felt excitement in my crotch. I now understood why Russell was so sad. Then his father explained that his sons were fighting and hurting each other. That's why he decided to punish them by going hairless during the holidays. After about 5 minutes, the barber asked his father if he should shave his head to remove the small stubble. The father replied that not today. When Russell was cut, his younger brother took his place, who also got his cut in about 5 minutes. Both boys who had their hair cut stayed sitting on the waiting chairs and our fathers were still talking.
Another boy called the barber. I knew it was my turn. I got up and went to sit in the barber's chair. I was proud to show Russell that although I would get my hair cut at Marschall's, I would still have some short hair on my head.
The barber wrapped me in a white sheet and asked my father. How are we going to cut this child. The word child humiliated me very much, because I am already 13 years old, I am not a little child anymore. My father told the barber to cut me like the boys who were before me. Dad, please no, I shouted. Mr. Marschall smiled, tilted my head back, placed the clipper under the short bangs on my forehead, and started cutting the hair on the top of my head. He continued to cut on both sides of my head and finally on the back of my head. He made a few small adjustments before turning off the clipper. As the barber cleaned the clipper, I noticed that it had a five-0 mark.
Our fathers were still talking and we hairless sons were sitting in the waiting chairs as if we were in a shop window as punishment. Before we left the barbershop, Russell's father said that his sons would be going to Marschall's barbershop every 3 weeks. My father said that was the optimal time between boys' haircuts. The idea of me going to Marschall's barbershop every 3 weeks terrified me.
I rubbed my whole head, it was a pleasant tingling sensation on my palms. It was like walking on fine sandpaper. Just meeting my friends was unbearable. Everyone laughed at me and I had a hard time explaining to them how innocently I had gotten my hair cut.
A few days had passed since my visit to Marschall's. My stubble was about 3 millimeters long. It was a Saturday night and my father ordered me to undress and wait for him in the bathtub. My father then soaked my head and started applying the white foam that he used to shave his face. He took a new razor and started scraping off the foam. When he was done with his work, I took a bath. My head was as smooth as a baby's bottom. I looked in the mirror as my father applied oil to my shaved head. My head was like a new shiny football with 2 ears on either side. The head shaving was repeated regularly every Saturday night throughout the holidays.
When Russell first saw me with my head shaved, he forbade me from going near their house, lest his father should see me, because he was convinced that his father would start shaving his and his brother's heads too. It was enough for him to lose 9 millimeters of stubble every 3 weeks during the holidays.
And how did we continue in the new school year? My father and Russel's father agreed that we would go to the Marschall barbershop every 3 weeks. I would go to the Marschall barbershop with their father 2 times and then they would come to our place once so that my father would take us for a haircut. The agreement was that all three of us would get the same haircut. Every time we went to the Marschall barbershop with Russel's father, our haircut depended on how angry Russel's father was with his sons. It also happened that we were cut with the number #2 on the top of our heads, and only 6 millimeters of hair were left on the top of our heads and the rest of our heads were shaved.
After each haircut or shave, I would fan myself in the bathroom in front of the mirror. I would tease one hand by rubbing my head and the other I would tease my crotch.
We went to Marschall's barbershop regularly for several years until Mr. Marschall retired.

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