Maik and Torben - 3: To perfection again by GermanCut

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Ever since Torben had told me about the haircuts we were each supposed to get, I was very excited. It was clear to me that I too would be sitting in the barber’s chair, and all eyes would be on me.

Actually, I knew already a situation like that: When I had a head shave together with my son Tim before the vacation, we had attracted all the attention in the barbershop. But now, this would be much more extreme: I would be shaved live on stage in the spotlight, in front of a demanding audience that would follow every of Hans' move and every of my reactions. For days I had wished to get rid of my hair, and now it would be done in the most dramatic way.

Hans, the barber, stepped next to the barber's chair, holding the transparent cloak in his hand.
"And now we continue in the program 'Haircuts for a good cause', where everyone gets your money's worth!" shouted Hans in the manner of a barker. "Haircuts that leave nothing to be desired! Don't be so shy, boys!"

Torben nudged me. I gave him an uncertain look.
"Coward!" he said. "Then I'll start first. But right after that, it's your turn!" He punched me on the biceps and made his way forward.

Applause came up when Torben sat down on the chair. Some were already shouting: "Shave him bald! Shave him bald!" Hans looked at him with amorous eyes, stroked the dark short fur on Torben's head and put the transparent cloak around him. His head and muscular, hairy calves, boots and white socks were now the only things that were clearly visible.

Hans spoke to the audience: "Bald? I don't know... I think our customer here used to shave his head for many years. Am I right?" Torben nodded.
"That's why you’re not going bald today, as you probably wished, but I have something else in mind with you: You’ll become the poster boy of street fighting!"

Hans grabbed the clipper and began to shave Torben's sides on the lowest setting. He left on the middle of the head a broad strip that reached deep into the neck. It became clear how Hans imagined a "poster boy of street fighting": with a mohawk.

"Shave his mohawk narrower!" shouted someone in the crowd. Hans obeyed, or it was his plan anyway. Nothing remained on Torben's head but a strip no more than 5 centimeters wide with very clear contours. Thanks to Torben's thick dark hair, the scalp was not visible despite its shortness. The mohawk looked as if it had been applied with a brush.

Hans took the electric razor and thoroughly removed all the hair on the sides. Torben sat there with his eyes half-closed. I looked at him, with his mohawk, which was in completion, and which made him look even more dangerous. But this man, despite his martial appearance, was one of the friendliest, best and dearest people I knew. "Torben, my friend..." said my lips silently. And suddenly it seemed as if Torben was turning his gaze towards me; his eyes closed completely for a moment, as if in affirmation, as if they were speaking, "Yes, I am your friend, and I will stay it."

To applause, Torben left the barber's chair. I hugged him, drove over the mohawk. But he just laughed and said, "So it’s your turn!" and pushed me towards the chair. In order not to fall, I made a big step and stood almost nose to nose with Hans.

"Hello, hello! You're in a hurry!" he laughed. "So, I'm going to take a lot of time with you. I don't think I need to ask you how you would like your hair."
"Shave him bald! Shave him bald!" roared the crowd, as expected.
"Coming right up!" warbled Hans. "But first you probably need to cool down a bit."
Hans pulled the zipper of my tracksuit jacket almost all the way down and threw it back in front of my chest.
"Undress! Undressing" could be heard. As if on command, I took off my jacket and threw it into the audience. I stood shirtless in front of the applauding and whistling crowd, what doesn’t really cool me down.
"Maybe our customer will throw other clothes off the stage later," Hans said with a grin.

Then he led me to the chair, put the cape around me, grabbed the clipper and said: "Then we want to shave off your pubes... Those you have on your head, I mean! I guess I probably wouldn't have to shave anything below."
I blushed; the audience laughed a little silly.

The clippers were put on and slowly ran over my head. Very slowly. Hans had said that he would take a lot of time for me, and he did. Again and again Hans gently brushed the shaved hair off my head. And with each of these gentle touches, I felt a little lighter.

Finally, Hans took the electric razor and, starting at the nape of my neck, began to shave my head smooth. He also took a lot of time for this. As much as I would have preferred a wet shave, the feeling of the electric razor on my skin and the crackling sound had their effect on me. It was so comfortable that I wished I could sit in this chair forever.

But finally, Hans switched off the razor. I was about to get up, but Hans said: "Just a moment!" A cooling lotion was generously spread on my head and face and massaged in with gentle and at the same time strong hands. It felt incredibly good.
"Thank you!" I said to Hans as I stood up to applause. I realized that I hadn't spoken a word during the whole time until now.

We saw many other hot haircuts that evening, even a head shave. But in the end, Hans declared the event over and named the amount of donations that had been received, which should go to an NGO-project for queer refugees.

The music was turned up louder. Torben was taken over by a few younger men, whom he probably knew from somewhere, but who I didn't particularly like. "I'll go to get two beers for us!" I said.

Near the counter I saw the lumberjack with his friend. I went to them and learned that Lumberjack's name was Florian and that he worked in the city administration. His friend with the ginger beard was called Nils and worked as an IT manager. Real lumberjacks...
We were in the middle of the conversation when Hans, the barber, grabbed my shoulder. "Excuse me, my dear! I hope I wasn't too disrespectful to you. ‘The show must go on’, you know, and sometimes I'm a bit too vulgar then. I hope you weren't uncomfortable."
"No, Hans, thank you!" I replied, "I know, I won't forget this evening. Above all, I am now sure that I will keep my bald head. During the last two weeks without a head shave, I almost felt uncomfortable. You have redeemed me!" For fun, I spread my arms towards the ceiling.
"I'd like to spend three vodka shots for you... four vodka shots!" Hans corrected himself, because meanwhile Torben had joined us. "Hans, please, the vodka is on us!" I said.
"For he’s a good barber!" we cried, the glasses in our hands. "For they’re great customers!" cried Hans.

The music played a slow old hit. Couples had formed and danced. Torben put his arm around my waist and led me onto the dance floor. We danced closely together, stroked each other's necks. Unbelievable! His face was very close to me. "How do you feel?" Torben asked me. "Just great", I answered. "And all because of the haircut?" Torben asked further. "No, Torben, not only because of the haircut..." I looked deep into his eyes. And then our lips touched.

I'm silent about everything else that happened that night, because it's only Nina, Torben's and my business.

Epilogue:

Then came the next day, a Sunday. Torben and I had been on the television tower and now sat under a tree on the Marx-Engels Forum and smoked a cigarette.
I stroked Torben’s head lovingly several times, which had been completely bald again since this morning. With the words "Enough is enough!" he had grabbed the razor without further ado.
I directed Torben’s gaze to the monument in the middle of the square: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels side by side, almost hand in hand.
An absurd thought came to me: "Imagine Marx and Engels in the bar yesterday! Which kind of haircut would they have gotten?" Torben giggled: "Friedrich Engels would certainly have looked good with a bald head. But I wouldn't have wanted anything different about Karl Marx's hair. Because it’s perfect. I would make him compliments on his hair and invited him for a beer. I have a bald fetish, but even that fetish has its limits!" I laughed.

"Come on, let's take a selfie as a souvenir of our weekend!" I said.
Torben rolled his eyes slightly because in the short time we were already sitting there, five people took selfies in front of the monument. Now we also lined up in front of the well-coiffed Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx with his characteristic lion's mane.
"Baldies of all countries, unite!" cried Torben.
"What for? For free head shaves in the barbershop?" I asked.
"Haw, haw," Torben said and then he continued: "Haven't you noticed the invisible bond that connects us baldies? That allows some of us to find each other, as if by gravity? Would we, dear Maik, ever have become friends at the campsite if you hadn't seen me shaving my head in the common washroom in the morning? Don't you think there's something fateful going on between us?"
"That's very philosophical, Torben", I said.
We kissed, stroked each other's heads and felt in harmony with all and everything.
Then I sent the photo to Nina with the subtitle:
"Philosophical Conversations with Marx, Engels and Torben. I'm home around 11 p.m. today. I have a lot to tell you. I love you more than anything!"

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