Spring Break 2 by M DeMarlo

---

Spring Break (continued)
By M DeMarlo
This story is fiction, completely made up. We all know this scenario would never happen in the real world. The protagonist in this story accepts his fate being for the better. So, hold back on the unbelievable comments, it's fiction.
Please read Spring Break, the first part to get a better understanding of the story

Spring Break (2)
Paul was released from the barber's chair; his long hair was no more. It was scattered all around the floor of the small barbershop. The correctional officer/ barber, or sheriff’s deputy who kept referring to himself as Paul’s daddy, told Paul to sweep up the mess while he was straightening his tools.
The room was awkwardly silent. As Paul swept his shorn, lifeless hair into a dustpan, he kept looking at his reflection in the mirror, trying not to make it obvious. Each time he got a good look at himself, his knees felt weak. The haircut was serious, extremely short. Brutal, but a quality cut. The density of his hair made for a nice, tight shadow fade, dark bristles showing through white skin, all the way up to his crown, skin was still visible on top of the crown, but not as severe, fading to an inch and a half waxed, brushed straight up and sharply cut flat. There were no gashes or mistakes; the haircut was a work of clean-cut art. He looked like one of the young men in a magazine from 10 or 15 years ago. Advertisements for crew-cut butch-wax, or crew comb. Such a drastic change, his long hair, his identity was now an extremely clean-cut military haircut, and it excited him.
The officer caught Paul looking in the mirror and broke the silence. "It doesn’t matter if you agree with me or not, but the crewcut looks good. Get used to it, because that’s how it's going to be. I will be making sure it stays that way". The barber stood behind Paul in front of the mirror and said to him. "Go ahead, touch it, rub your hand up the back of your head". Paul did so, feeling an almost electrifying charge; he also felt it in his crotch, which confused him. "Son, now that’s a good-looking haircut, and I think you know it. Deep down, you like this new clean-cut look I gave you. Make no mistake. I take a special interest in keeping the men here well barbered. You will be working mainly as my assistant, which means you will be on the receiving end of many haircuts. If you're unhappy with the haircuts I choose for you, well, I will shave you bald and keep you bald. Then you will be more accepting of a nice haircut. Grateful was allowed to have a haircut instead of a shaved head. I’m giving you the chance to avoid a straight razor and shave cream. Be grateful and show motivation. I rarely show mercy, as with you today. Haircuts are a form of discipline. Any questions? "No, Sir, (looking in the mirror) changing attitude. Paul says, "it looks good, sir. I can’t thank you enough, and I want to keep it short" "Don’t you patronize me, Boy. Because I am looking for a reason to shave your head bald, shiny bald. The barber made the sign with his two fingers from his eyes saying "Im watching you."
" It’s a good thing you got yourself arrested, otherwise you would still be looking ridiculous, and being just as stupid as you looked smoking that wacky tobacco, wasting your life.
Paul was still sweeping up the huge amount of his raven hair off the floor. Long strands and shorter strands it was all around the barber's chair. He was thinking of how long it took to grow and how fast it fell, under the barber's clippers.
"Come on now, Paul, "the sheriff’s deputy/barber said loudly. "I want to get you back over to the courthouse while the judge is still there, and show him the new, cleaned-up you. That’s where you and I will be working, in and around the courthouse, mainly for the judge.
Play your cards right, and the judge will probably reduce or even dismiss your sentence to hire you. We are in desperate need of real help. We have two guys who took the deal and now work for the sheriff’s department, in uniform. Something for you to think about. Your charges are misdemeanors, and he likes to see a young man who came in here with long hair transformed with a short haircut. You must be willing to make a complete change in every way. "Paul heard himself say, Sir, I hope he makes me that offer. His stomach immediately had butterflies, and he was getting an erection.

Judge Holbert was pleased with Paul’s haircut. But did not make any offer to reduce his sentence or dismiss the charges.

After several days had passed by, the sheriff’s deputies had worked Paul hard. There was no doubt that this place was understaffed. He mopped the floors, took out trash, and washed police cruisers. Most of the time, he was doing paperwork, filing, and typing. No matter how hard he worked, the Judge did not offer him anything. Paul even had a heart-to-heart talk with the judge. Telling the Judge that he had lied, that he had already graduated from his college courses. That he was equivalent to a paralegal. Well, the judge said. "When your sentence is finished, we will talk about working here for me, not before. Four more months. Son.

As the weeks and months went by, Paul’s hair continued to grow. The sheriff’s deputy barber had allowed him to skip haircuts, and after several months of light trimming, he now sported a side part—a classic man’s haircut. This style was permitted in exchange for the hard labor he was providing.

In his mind, Paul often recalled Creedence Clearwater Revival, the feeling of being high, and the notion of being "hip." These thoughts filled him with regret—regret for having wasted several years trying to fit in with a crowd of long-haired, pot-smoking, pill-popping individuals. He wondered if he had been brainwashed. Regardless, Paul knew that he would never let his hair grow long again; he felt more comfortable with a short haircut.

Paul no longer had his job in Philadelphia and found himself broke, needing to pay for certain items that were not provided by the jail. While cleaning and working in the judge's office, he learned that the older judge had fought in World War II and the Korean War, serving 15 years in the United States Marine Corps. Surprisingly, the judge informed Paul that he only had about a week before his release. If he wanted a job afterward, he would be held to the highest standards.

"You’ll wear a uniform and follow very strict grooming standards—a military dress code. You will look sharp," the judge stated. "You’re to wear a tie with your uniform and spit-shine your shoes." The judge also emphasized that Paul needed to maintain a short military haircut, saying, "I want your hair cut like a Marine, just like the other men who work here in uniform. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir," Paul replied. However, he also learned that he would need to be fitted for his uniforms, which were expensive at $250 each and required six in total. A small weekly payment would be deducted from his paycheck.

The salary was low, but he would have room and board, as well as daily meals, the same as the deputy sheriffs. Although Paul had to pay for his uniforms, a laundry service provided by the county kept them cleaned, starched, and pressed. Paul thought to himself, "So that’s why these guys always look so crisp."

The judge was serious. He told Paul he should get his haircut today, stating, "The barbershop is open; take a break from your work and get a haircut." Paul felt a flurry of nerves and excitement; he was even nervous about his growing attraction to the situation. "Yes, sir, Your Honor. Right away, sir," he responded, pushing his now longer bangs out of his face. The judge looked up from his desk and specified, "I want it cut like a Marine—high and tight, flat on top, but short." With Paul standing in front of him, the judge picked up the phone and called the barbershop, relaying that he wished for Paul to show some change, starting with a Marine-style haircut. After hanging up, the judge sent Paul on his way, reminding him to return for an inspection.

The short walk to the barbershop was filled with a mix of anticipation and urgency for Paul. He awkwardly held the files of paperwork over his lap to conceal his excitement as he approached the barbershop, fighting against the unexpected sensations he was experiencing.

At the barbershop, his barber, affectionately called "Daddy," was waiting, cape in hand, next to the chair. "There’s my boy!" the barber exclaimed. Paul smiled and took a seat. The cape was fastened around him, a neck strip was placed, and as the barber pushed Paul’s head down, the clippers roared to life at his nape, moving up and over his crown before coming to a stop just before his hairline. Dark strands of hair began to fall away. As the clippers continued to cut, Paul felt an involuntary tension in his body. He was climaxing, he was a sticky mess. And very embarrassed.

"Good boy," the barber said reassuringly as he worked. Nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed over, your human, and a young man. What that means is I have been successful, bringing you into the real world where men get haircuts on a regular basis
It didn’t take long for Paul to feel overwhelmed again by a mix of sensations, and the smell of the butch wax brought him unexpected feelings, aroused for the second time. As the barber worked the wax into the half-inch horseshoe, brushing the hairs straight to attention. Paul climaxed again. The barber commented, "Wow," as he finished the cut. Twice, there is no looking back now. Im predicting short haircuts from her on . Real proud of you son. The horseshoe flat top was now no longer than half an inch, and the barber told Paul that his haircut would need to be maintained weekly.

The following week, Paul returned in a crisp uniform, wearing a tie and spit-shined shoes. He looked like a different young man sitting in that barber’s chair, the cape flying over him again as he prepared for another haircut. The haircut was powerful to Paul; anything that made him climax without touching himself had to be respected and embraced.

Over the next six months, Paul made a significant commitment by enlisting in the United States Marine Corps. The judge, who had never had any children of his own, had become the father figure Paul desperately needed in his life. Judge Holdum beamed with pride as he watched Paul graduate from boot camp, dressed in his dress blues. The memories of his hippy days now filled Paul with nausea—a clear of the new beginning he had embraced. End
By M DeMarlo
A

---