Blake's Transformation by Manny

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AUGUST

It was his first visit to the shop, a man approaching 40 with a thick mane of blond hair that was streaked with natural highlights. From both his demeanor and dress, he appeared to be a businessman, although his businesscut was quite overgrown. The thick, floppy forelock hung down across his forehead and over one eye. Likewise, the hair on the sides and back lapped over his ears and collar by at least an inch.

After he removed his jacket, I invited him to take a seat in my chair.

"First visit here?" I asked as he eased into the deep brown leather upholstery of my 1962 Koken Presidential barber chair which faced away from the mirror.

"Yes, I’ve just moved into town," he replied.

I caped him up and brushed his thick locks into place. His hair felt wonderfully soft.

"It seems like it’s been a while since you’ve visited the barber shop," I noted, combing the fringe straight down so that it covered his blue eyes. "Any particular instructions?"

"Nope, just tidy it up," he replied.

My first instinct was to whack off the bangs, nice and short. But, I decided to take a slower road to blondie’s ultimate new look. Plus, I wanted to bag a new, regular client.

I began with scissors, lifting each glossy lock and snipping off an inch. The shower of cut golden strands floated down with striking beauty to the white cape. I worked back, across the entire top, and then trimmed his bangs so that they hung to just beneath his brow.

Blondie did not seem very focused on his haircut. Most of the time, his eyes were glued to the ball game on the TV that was perched over the chairs in the waiting area.

The only time he showed any interest was when I snapped on the clippers and began to gently clear the overgrowth from around his ears. My approach was very careful and timid, lifting lock after lock with the comb and buzzing off an inch or so.

The final result left the sides full. Same with the back. I took the length off the collar, and Blondie ended up with a classic executive cut.

I finished his haircut with some action with the thinning shears, removing a bit of the bulk all over.

"You have very nice hair," I commented. "What’s your name?"

"Blake," he replied. "It surely looks better now than when I came in!"

I applied a bit of product, swept the forelock and sides back….and voila! I swiveled the chair towards the mirror, and Blake seemed pleased with the classic, professional look he saw in the mirror.

"So, do you approve?" I asked. "I can take it a bit shorter, if you’d like."

"No, that’s fine. Looks good," Blake answered.

Then, he asked, "How frequently should I come in for a trim?"

"Monthly," I answered, admiring the exec coif I’d given him.

"Perfect! I’ll reserve the first Saturday of each month for my trim," Blake replied as I unfastened the cape.

Despite removing basically only an inch, cut blond hair virtually carpeted the linoleum floor around my prized 1962 Koken Presidential Barber chair.

"I like the vintage look of this place," Blake noted as he handed me a $20 and told me to keep the change.

"My father opened the shop in 1962, and it’s frozen in time," I laughed. "Saves on expenses."

"See you in September," he said, as he put on his jacket and left the shop.


SEPTEMBER


I was thrilled that Blake returned as he said he would. His hair had grown a fair amount over the past month and he looked a bit shabby.

"So glad you came back," I said as he took a seat.

Blake smiled and pointed to the ash trays in the 1962 Koken Presidential chair.

"These date back to the time when people could smoke inside commercial establishments," he chuckled.

I caped him up and brushed his hair.

"Your hair grows very quickly," I noted.

"Like sunflowers, my mother used to say," he admitted. "I was quite a towhead as a boy."

"Most men your age that were blond have transitioned to brown, but your hair is still very light in color," I noted. "Especially all these highlights, quite a sun kissed look."

"When I was a kid, my friends called me Whitie on account of the platinum-colored hair," Blake replied.

"Any particular instructions this morning?" I asked, shifting gears from chit-chat to haircut.

"Nope, just tidy it up," Blake replied.

As before, I started with the shears. I grasped the forelock, combing it straight up and quickly lopped off two inches! Clumps of golden hair fell past Blake’s eyes that were again focused on the ball game. I worked slowly across the top, removing a significant bit of length -- much more than on his first visit.

Combing the fringe straight down, it was hovering around the eyebrow. I snipped off half an inch so that it rested well above the brow and then thinned a good amount of bulk from it. What was left was a far cry from that sexy silken swoop of hair that covered his eye a month ago!

Once again, snapping on the clippers seemed to startle Blake a bit, at least enough to momentarily distract his attention from the ball game.

This time, instead of gently lifting his locks and removing a bit of length with clipper over comb, I decided he was going to get a low and tight taper at the nape.

I nudged his head forward and quickly scooped off the base of his executive coif! Whoa! I took off a lot more than expected. Good thing it was not in sight, I thought. I began shortening the back about a third of the way up and then moved to the sides where he got a light taper around the ears. With my thinning shears and continued to blend the sides and back, nicely transitioning the shorter tapered part with the longer top.

Then, with the edger, I gave him a very discreet arches, offsetting the ears on either side. In back, I took the length above the natural hairline with the clipper. It was significantly shorter, especially in back where I had transitioned him away from a full executive look into the beginning of a ‘short back and sides.’

I applied some pomade with my hands and brushed his hair into a very tidy look. While distinctly shorter, it still looked professional.

My 1962 Koken Presidential chair swiveled in a smooth, sweeping motion to reveal his new, shorter crop.

"I cut it a bit shorter, since your hair grows fairly fast," I noted, as I held up the mirror for him to see his tape with it’s new low-and-tight taper. "Of course, we could always switch to a bi-weekly, instead of monthly schedule."

"No, that’s fine. Looks good," Blake answered. "We’ll stick with monthly."

Off came the cape. There was quite a bit of cut hair at my feet.

This time Blake handed me $22 and thanked me for the haircut.

I watched him discreetly feel his clipped nape as he walked to his car. I was fairly confident he was okay with the shorter haircut because of the extra tip he threw in. I was already planning his October crop. There would be a lot more clipper action!


OCTOBER


When Blake entered the shop for his monthly haircut, I thought to myself that it was time he got a proper barber shop experience. I’d take off the kid gloves and let him leave looking quite barbered!

"Ah, good morning, Blake," I said as he hung up his jacket. "The chair is waiting for you!"

I patted the rich brown leather upholstery of my prized 1962 Koken Presidential barber chair.

Blake climbed up onto the sturdy footrest with a spring in his step.

"I real enjoy my visits here," he said as he settled in.

"Then, maybe you should come more often," I noted.

The huge white cape billowed through the air and floated into place.

"Any particular instructions this morning?" I asked.

"Nope, just tidy it up," Blake replied.

I thought back to Blake’s first visit, when his thick mane of sun-streaked blond hair absolutely glistened in the neon with vitality.

I pulled the cape extra-snug around his neck and fastened it into place with a huge metal clip.

"Sports on TV okay?" I asked perfunctorily, knowing that he was more than happy to be glued to anything on the screen with a ball that moved.

"Sure," Blake replied, as expected.

I quickly clamped a hand atop Blake’s head and forced his head to low bow. The Oster’s roared to life. There would be no watching the boob tube as I clipped off his shag!

The chatter of hungry metal clipper teeth filled the shop. Blake was going to get his first very SHORT back and sides!

With the screaming machine pressed tightly to the skin, I drove the clippers tightly up through the nape, a third of the way up and the back and past the occipital bone before finally easing away into a short taper.

It was wonderful to see the creamy scalp of his nape after the first drive. Nothing but the length of fine sandpaper at the nape.

Then, I conducted a second drive up the back, tightly tapering the hair up the back of his head.

Oh, it was going to be short! My barbering juices were flowing.

Blake tried to say something, but I was too caught up with the final drive in back.

When the short taper in back had been fully crafted, I let Blake sit up straight.

"Yes, you were saying….?" I commented.

But, without waiting for a reply, I cocked his head to the side and took the screaming clippers tightly up through the modest sideburn, watching the chattering teeth emerge above the temple and depositing a fair chunk of blondish-brown hair onto the cape.

"A good fall pruning," I commented in a satisfactory tone. "You’ll get your money’s worth today!"

Blake’s eyes landed on the large chunks of cut hair that graced the cape.

"Yes, I suppose I will," he said without much emotion.

I quickly combed the fringe down and began to slice it off midway down his forehead.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!!

Oh, how short his bangs had been cut!

The executive coif with the sweeping forelock was a thing of the past! Now, there was a lot of snowy scalp showing and very little length to speak of.

Then, I carved larges arches around both ears.

For the grand finale, and a very barbered look, I slathered on the greasy pomade and slicked his hair to the side.

"I think the classic short back ‘n sides works well for you," I announced as I swiveled the chair around.

I watched Blake’s eyes bug out a bit.

Then, I held up the hand mirror.

"Well, what do you think? I can go shorter if you want," I said mechanically.

"No, that’s fine. Looks good," Blake answered with the same type of mechanical reply.

"Good," I concluded. "But, if you want it shorter, just say so."

I unfastened the cape and scattered the shorn locks to the floor.

Blake touched the brittle strands across the top gingerly.

"The short back 'n sides looks good," he noted without much conviction.

"It’s quite a tidy, neat look in back," I said to elicit a bit more praise.

Blake handed me $25 and felt his tapered nape bashfully.

"Yes, this feels quite right," he demurred.

"Then, I’ll see you in November," I replied.

"Wouldn’t miss it," Blake remarked with a smile.

He left the shop, exploring the short taper, gingerly running his hand up the back.


NOVEMBER


Blake was right on time for his November date with my Oster clippers.

"A month passes by quickly," I noted as he entered.

Frankly, Blake’s hair still appeared quite short and not really in need of a haircut. But, he was going to get one! Oh, yes!

He climbed up the footrest with his typical zest and settled into the comfortable leather upholstery of my 1962 Koken Presidential chair.

The cape billowed through the air, and I pulled it securely into place with a big metal clip.

Today, Blake was saying goodbye to his fringe! I thought back to that lustrous lock that swept across his face. It had been long gone, but remnants remained. Today the forelock was getting snipped off short, near the hairline!

In fact, all the length on top was coming off. I would be introducing Blake to my clipper-over-comb technique.

"Any big plans for Thanksgiving, this year?" I asked, as I reached for the clippers.

"Big family gathering," he replied. "My mother said it’s the last one she’s hosting. Our matriarch is finally running out of steam, poor lady."

"Then, we want to make sure you look trim and tidy!" I announced, snapping on the Oster's.

Before Blake could say a word, I snagged his forelock and took it right off!

ZIP!

And there it lay, in his lap.

Of course, Blake was glued to the TV.

I started going to town, on top, removing the length, clipper-over-comb. Wouldn’t Blake be surprised with his spiffy crewcut!

The shorter I cut his hair, the darker it became. Those golden, nicely streaked locks were a distant memory. All that I was leaving was a medium brown pelt of soft fur.

And, for the sides and back he was going to get clipped down to a uniform #2.

The stubby remains for his forelock measured about half an inch. He was looking positively military-like with his shorn head! No more suave, sophisticated executive coif.

I took my shears and snipped away at fictitious strands that had eluded the clippers.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP.

My shears were all over his short hair.

Blake was looking absolutely boyish with his standard crewcut.

I took the duster and loaded it with some talcum powder. Then, with big billows, I whisked away the snippets around his ears and off his face.

"I think this is your best look yet, Blake," I said as I swiveled the 1962 Koken Presidential chair around.

He stared at the short crewcut in the mirror, almost speechless.

"I hope your mother likes your haircut," I said as I held up the mirror.

"It’s just the length I wore as a very young boy," he replied, in a more upbeat tone than I expected.

"I can go shorter if you want," I said.

"No, that’s fine. Looks good," Blake answered.

He glanced apprehensively at all the cut hair on the cape while I carefully removed the white expanse of cloth.

As he stood, Blake could not help but run his hand over the short pelt on top.

He cracked a weird, restrained smile.

"Here," he said, shoving $25 into my hand. "I’ll let you know what Mom said about my new barber’s handiwork."

As he walked to his car, it looked as if Blake could not get enough of his crewcut!


DECEMBER -- Part A


After one month’s growth of Blake’s crewcut, it had grown out nicely, looking full and shiny. It was long enough to brush to the side.

"Any special plans this week?" I asked as Blake took off his jacket.

"Not much. Oh, the office holiday party," he said as he sank into the comfort of the supple leather that made by 1962 Koken Presidential barber chair so comfortable.

"Well, then I need to give you a nice, sharp haircut so you can impress all the ladyfolk," I said.

The cape fluttered into place and I drew it tightly about Blake’s neck, fastening it with a big metal clip.

I smoothed his soft hair down with my hands and noted, "Your hair certainly grows fast. I might have to put you on a bi-weekly schedule instead of a monthly one."

I fitted a #1 blade on the Oster’s and fired them up. Oh, that wonderful hum! Blake’s shiny blondish-brown locks did not stand a chance.

Then, I clamped my hand on his head and pushed it forward. I was anxious to strip the back of Blake’s head down to heavy stubble. How would he react to the planned flattop I had in mind for him?!

"Oh, could you please...oh, hold off?" Blake stammered.

My heart leapt. It was the first resistance Blake had ever put up to any of my moves against his striking mane!

"What is it?" I asked, turning off the Oster’s.

"I just wanted to watch this play," he said, pointing toward the TV. "That’s all."

Oh, yes. His precious ball games. I was happy that he was so distracted by the TV while caped up and getting clipped.

I took the opportunity to swap out the #1 or a #0. Blake’s delaying tactic would mean his heavy stubble would be reduced to fine stubble.

"Is that it, sir?" I asked. "Can I proceed with the haircut?"

"Of course, yes. So sorry about that," he murmured apologetically.

In a flash, I had his head bowing extra low. Then I watched the #0 blade plow up the back of his head, stripping off his hair down to bare stubble, from the nape to the crown. I flicked the shorn off padding with gusto. Blake was going to get his first flattop! Sandpaper sides and a plush top.

"By the way, my mother praised my haircut at Thanksgiving," Blake commented while I still had him staring down directly into his lap. "She said it brought back good memories of me as a boy."

"Were you her little pet, attached to Momma’s apron strings?" I teased.

Blake blushed.

"I suppose so," he chuckled.

"Well, if you go home again for Christmas, she’ll be in for a real surprise. Blake, you're getting a flattop!" I announced.

"What?!" he stammered. "A flattop?"

I could tell Blake was nervous and gripped the arms of the chair under the cape as I stripped away his silken blond locks.

It was the first time I had stripped the sides of Blake's head virtually clean. Nothing was left but fine stubble. His ears were nicely shaped. The cape was covered with his blondish brown locks.

"Time to take down your top, Blake. Sit up straight! I need you cooperating and sitting very still when I flatten you out up here. Is that understood?" I asked sternly.

"Yes, sir. Very still, sir," he replied submissively.

I blasted his hair with a blow dryer for a few minutes until the patch on top was totally erect.

Then, slowly and methodically, I started taking him down. He had a wonderfully strong hair line. But that massive forelock he had sported when he first pranced into my shop was a distant memory. No more silken tress streaming across his blue eyes.

"How’s it coming?" Blake asked nervously.

"Fine, very fine. You’ll be a real heartthrob at your office party, I’m sure," I laughed. "You do have perfect hair for a flattop -- thick and quite eager to stay erect when cut short."

I loved the contrast between the darker patch of hair and the creamy white sides where the virgin scalp was exposed for the first time.

I worked in some butch wax and used my comb to get everything stiff and standing straight up.

Finally, it was time for Blake to see his new, manly look. The 1962 Koken Presidential chair turned slowly, and I watched carefully for a reaction as he saw his flattop for the first time.

He swallowed nervously and fidgeted under the cape.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked. "I can take it down shorter if you prefer a tougher look."

"No, that’s fine. Looks good," Blake answered.

"So, I’ve got good news and bad news, Blake," I said as I began unfastening his cape.

"Oh?" he murmured.

"The good news is that you’ll be seeing me more often. Every two weeks to keep the flattop in its finest condition. The bad news is that flattops cost more to cut. See the chart there?" I remarked as I pointed to the price list above the small cash register.

"Fortunately, I have a good job, so the extra expense won’t break the bank," Blake laughed. "Here’s $30. Keep the change."

This time, Blake explored his new length right in the shop. He got close to the mirror for a better look at the sandpaper sides.

"Not much left here," he chuckled nervously, as he ran his hand over the shorn scalp.

"Less is more, sometimes," I replied. "You have a nice, strong hairline. And the flattop showcases it.

Blake fondled the brittle strands that arose from his widow’s peak.

"The product that’s in here?" he asked.

"Oh, here’s a jar of butch wax. Compliments of the house. Consider it an early Christmas present," I said.


DECEMBER -- Part B


When Blake returned after two weeks, his hair did not look that good. It had grown a bit too long on top and the butch wax was in irregular, goopy clumps.

"How did your new look go over at the party?" I asked as Blake hung up his jacket.

"Lots of people commented," he replied, without specifying whether positive or negative. "But, I have to say, I don’t think this is the right length for me. After a few days, I couldn’t get it to look even and sharp, the way you had it right after the haircut."

"Perhaps I left it too long for a first-timer’s flattop. A much shorter top will make it easier for you," I replied.

"Shorter?! My idea was to grow it out a bit," Blake murmured.

"Come, hop up here. The barber knows best," I replied confidently.

Dear Blake was getting a landing strip and that was that!

He shuffled over, submissively, to the chair. For the first time, Blake did not have the usual spring in his step as he mounted the footrest of my prized 1962 Koken Presidential barber chair.

I could tell he was about to speak his mind, so I snapped the cape open; the menacing shriek made Blake jump in the deep brown leather upholstery and he remained silent.

"TV channel okay for you?" I asked rhetorically.

"Oh, yes, the Pacers are doing great this year," Blake replied, firmly distracted from what he had intended to say to me.

He went on at length about each of the starting players and was still babbling when I took the balding clippers straight up the back of his head.

Besides a landing strip, Blake would be experiencing his first lather shaved scalp today. The sides and back smooth and shiny! No more glossy blond locks dangling over his collar and ears! No sir! Blake was cleaning up nicely. By the end of today’s cut, he’d be more skin than pelt.

"Sit up straight, now," I admonished Blake as I prepared to tackle the top.

"I was thinking…." Blake began.

In a flash, I thrust the metal teeth deep into the pelt and with one firm drive, grazed the top of his head!

Blake jolted in his seat.

"There, your first landing strip!" I exclaimed, examining the swath of virgin white on top.

"Oh," Blake murmured. "A landing strip?"

"Yes, with a very short flattop, the care will be much easier because the hair will naturally stand up straight. You might not even have to fuss with butch wax at all, it will be so short," I replied cheerfully.

Blake gulped nervously.

"So short?" he stammered.

"And I have another treat for you," I said nonchalantly as I finished tidying up what turned out to be a very, very SHORT flattop.

"What’s that?" he asked, with a bit of dread in his tone.

I draped his head with a warm, moist towel.

"Like the way that feels?" I asked.

Blake smiled and nodded.

After a few minutes I took off the towel and began massaging in thick warm foam. I also rubbed a small dollop into his new landing strip.

"You are going to look like one clean machine when I’m finished lather shaving these bald parts," I said.

The word ‘bald’ startled Blake.

"When I would get my summer butch cuts in Jr. High, everyone would call me Baldy," Blake said as I began scraping away the lather with a straight edge razor.

"Baldy Blake! Sounds cute," I chuckled.

"It was my oldest brother who first clipped me down to the wood. I was sporting a massive blond bowlcut that was well into my eyes by the time school ended. One afternoon my father remarked that I needed a haircut. He handed my brother some money and said he was to take me to the barber. Instead, Barry dragged me into the garage, perched me on a stool and mowed off my bowl; he used a home haircut set my mother had purchased once upon a time when she thought she might save the family some money. Everything was clipped down to stubble. I got my first summer butch cut at age 13 from the hand of my brother! I ran back into the house, in tears, but got no consolation from either parent. ‘It suits you,’ my mother said dismissively. And my father just growled, ‘Grow up, you little sissy.’ My brother was in the hallway, howling with laughter and pointing at my butch and mouthing ‘baldy boy’ between giggles."

"I’m sure you did look like a little sissy with that big droopy bowl of pretty blond hair, shimmering with sun kissed streaks," I piled on as I took the final scrapes of lather off his landing strip.

"No one will dare call you a sissy when they see you sporting this manly haircut!" I announced.

After cleaning his head off with a moist towel and arranging his short bristles, I slowly swiveled the chair around.

Blake’s eyes locked on the Spartan flattop.

"No, indeed! This is a very manly look," he stammered, taking in the severity of his new length (or lack thereof).

This time I held the mirror up high so he could get a bird’s eye view of his landing strip.

"We need to put some flashing lights up here and paint some stripes so that the planes can land," I teased.

I stroked the clean-shaven back of his head.

"Feels softer and more satin-like than those blond locks you sported when you first visited the shop," I said casually.

Blake reached his hand out from under the cape and gingerly felt his naked scalp.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked. "You could opt for something even shorter, called a recon. How about it?"

"No, this is fine. Feels mighty good back here," Blake answered, half-embarrassed by his positive reaction to the clean-shaven scalp.

"Now, your next visit," I began as I unfastened the large metal clip. "Your normal day is the New Year holiday. Why don’t you come the 31st instead?"

"Sure, I’ll get freshly shaved before the party I’m attending with some of my mates from college. It'll be a black-tie affair on the roof of the Ritz-Carlton downtown," Blake said.

"Oh, very fancy," I murmured, a bit envious that dear Blake was going to perched in a very exclusive setting to watch the fireworks, while I would be quaffing a can of beer in my living room, trying not to feel annoyed by the cheap pops of the neighborhood firecrackers.


NEW YEAR’S EVE


I was very eager to tell Blake my New Year’s resolution for him when he entered the shop on the eve of the holiday.

"I can’t wait to feel the moist towels, warm foam, and razor scraping my scalp against the grain," Blake chattered as he took off his jacket.

"We are so on the same wavelength, Blake!" I exclaimed. "I have a special new look for your party tonight, and a look that you will keep throughout the new year. Come, my prized 1962 Koken Presidential chair awaits you!"

I patted the deep brown leather upholstery in an inviting way.

"Don’t tell me I’m going clean," Blake said as he eased into the chair.

"Oh, yes! Yes, you are! Clean as a whistle. Hair-free for the new year," I exclaimed.

"I’ve been dreaming of it all week," Blake confessed. "Nothing left on top but smooth, supple scalp. Who needs hair?"

"It will be ‘Baldy Blake’ on steroids," I laughed.

"I can’t wait!" he squealed with delight as the large white square of cloth drifted down.

The cape was pulled tight and fastened with the large metal clip.

I snapped on the balding clippers.

"No, the flattop wasn’t for you," I said, as I mowed through the patch of hair on top.

Small tufts and snippets of hair lightly darkened the cape.

"Remember that thick forelock that flopped over your eyes when you first waltzed in here?" I asked, admiring his bald head.

"It was so bothersome," Blake recalled derisively.

"Although, for a man your age, it was quite a full head of hair," I noted.

"Was…." Blake commented, in a slightly wistful tone.

"I’m ready for the brave, new look," Blake said with a tone of finality, shifting under the cape.

"Okay, let’s get started with a big dollop of steamy foam," I announced.

"Oh, that feels divine," he groaned as I massaged it into his scalp with my fingers.

"Let’s recline the chair so that you can get some real relaxation in while the lather does its miracle in prepping the scalp for the razor," I said, lying the seat back.

"Oh, I can really get into this!" Blake said. "Once I’m a cueball, I’ll have to come here more often."

"At least weekly," I said. "It’ll be nice to see your handsome face more often."

Blake blushed at the compliment.

Then, I began to sharpen my razor on the big leather strap that hung from the side of the chair.

"It will be so sharp, your stubble will give way with great ease," I reassured him.

"Let the shaving being!" Blake chimed in.

The first scrape made Blake groan with delight.

"Oh, that’s wonderful. Do it, again," he urged.

I scraped away another swath of foam, and Blake seemed to be in heaven.

"Such skill, such a touch! The sensation is astounding," Blake murmured.

I scraped, and scraped, and scraped.

Finally, I swabbed all the remnants of lather and stubble off with a moist towel. I stared down at Blake’s naked head. I had finally taken him smooth, after a months-long journey from a dense mane of lovely hair to the incredibly handsome hairless wonder he'd become.

"Okay, Baldy," I said restoring the chair to its upright position. "Ready to see your new spanking clean dome?"

I slowly swiveled the chair around so that Blake could see himself in the mirror.

"OMG!" he gasped. "Is that really me?"

"Yes, the new you! A new look for a new year!" I exclaimed, stroking his tender scalp with my fingers. "The fireworks will be reflecting brightly off this shiny dome tonight!"

Blake got up from the chair, for the first time with no hair. Not a single strand. He touched the bare scalp, as if to confirm he was not in dreamland.

"You know," he said, somewhat hesitatingly. "If you don’t have any other plans for this evening...the black-tie event on the roof of the Ritz-Carlton downtown is a ‘plus 1’ invitation. I was wondering if you’d like to be my date."

I swallowed hard as I felt excitement ricochet through my body.

"But, I don’t have the appropriate attire," I confessed.

"Close up the shop and we’ll run by the rental place where I’m picking up my tux. They're bound to have something," Blake said. "Oh, and I have a suite at the hotel for after the fireworks end. No designated driver needed."

"And, after the public fireworks, perhaps some private fireworks, Baldy?" I asked, caressing his virginal scalp.

"Explosive excitement for sure!" he laughed, eying my own mane of chestnut-colored hair with fiery auburn highlights.

Oh, my! I could tell what Blake was thinking...!

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