Barber Crush by Wasted1234

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I had walked past that storefront forty-two times in the last three months. I knew the number because I counted. Every time I passed, I felt the pull of the glass, the scent of talcum powder and expensive pomade leaking through the doorframe, and the sight of him. Ben. He was a masterpiece of precision. His own hair was a statement of intenta high, white-walled skin fade that looked like it had been carved out of marble, topped with a sharp French crop. He looked like he owned every inch of the air he breathed.
My own hair was a coward's shield. Long, blonde curtains parted down the middle, hanging in heavy waves that veiled my eyes and brushed my shoulders. It was a 90s throwback, a safety blanket I used to hide the fact that I was vibrating with a desperate, shameful need to be stripped bare. I didn't just want a haircut. I wanted him to take the choice away from me. I wanted to feel the weight of his authority and the cold bite of steel against my scalp.
Today, the air felt heavy, electric. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as I stopped in front of the door. I didn't look away. I pushed.
The bell chimed, a sharp, clear sound that announced my surrender. The shop was small, lit by warm Edison bulbs and smelling of bay rum and electric ozone. Ben was leaning against the back counter, cleaning a pair of shears. He looked up, and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocked me backward.
You finally decided to stop window shopping, Owen.
His voice was a low rumble, smooth and knowing. I froze, my hands shaking at my sides.
You know my name?
Ben let out a short, huffed laugh and tossed the shears onto a magnetic strip.
Hard not to notice the guy who spends ten minutes every morning staring at my reflection in the window before turning around and running away. I was starting to think you were a ghost.
I felt the heat flood my neck, turning my skin a vivid crimson. I stepped further into the shop, the linoleum clicking under my boots.
I just... I wasn't sure.
Ben stepped toward me, his presence filling the space. He was taller than I imagined, his shoulders broad under a fitted black t-shirt. He stopped just inches away, and I could smell the faint, spicy scent of his cologne.
Not sure about the haircut, or not sure about me?
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
Both.
Ben smiled, and it wasn't a gentle smile. It was predatory, confident. He reached out, his fingers grazing the long strands of my curtains, tucking a lock behind my ear. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.
Sit, Owen.
He didn't ask. He commanded. I obeyed instantly, my legs feeling like lead as I climbed into the heavy leather chair. The leather groaned under my weight. Before I could even settle, Ben snapped a nylon cape around my neck. He pulled it tighttighter than necessarycinching the collar so that I felt a slight, thrilling pressure against my windpipe. He tucked the cape firmly into the neckline, sealing me in.
I was a captive. The nylon felt cool and slippery against my skin, trapping the heat of my body.
Ben stood behind me, his hands disappearing into the depths of my hair. He raked his fingers from my forehead to the nape of my neck, massaging my scalp with a firm, rhythmic pressure. I let out a shaky breath, my head lolling back.
God, this is a jungle, Ben murmured, his voice vibrating near my ear. It is about time you came in here. You've been hiding behind this for way too long.
I melted into the chair, the sensory overload beginning to peak. The feeling of his strong fingers digging into my scalp, the tightness of the cape, the scent of himit was too much. I felt my pants grow tight. My cock stirred, thickening and pressing hard against the denim of my jeans. I shifted awkwardly, trying to pull the nylon cape lower to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only made me more aware of it.
Ben stopped massaging. He leaned down, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
You're fidgeting, Owen.
I... I'm just nervous, I whispered.
Ben chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. He stepped around to the front, his eyes dropping momentarily to my lap. He didn't look away quickly. He lingered, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across his face.
Nervous, huh? Or maybe you just like being told what to do.
I gasped, my heart leaping. I couldn't look him in the eye, so I looked at his hair. That fade... it's so tight. I've always loved your style.
Ben stepped closer, his thigh brushing against the side of the chair.
Thank you. I take pride in my work. Which brings me to the question. Do you want a trim, Owen? Or do you want me to take you on a journey?
I looked up at him, my pupils dilated. A journey?
Ben's eyes glittered.
A transformation. I want to see what's under all this. I want to take you super short. I want to strip away the shield and see the man underneath. It would be the highlight of my week to see those ears of yours. I bet they're magnificent.
The word magnificent sent a shiver down my spine. The flirting was blatant now, a taut wire stretched between us. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to scream yes. But the fear of the permanent change fought with the desire for his dominance.
I... I don't know what would look good, I stammered.
Ben leaned in, his face inches from mine. His voice dropped to a commanding whisper.
Stop thinking. Just give me the control. Just say the words, Owen. Say barbers choice, and we begin the transformation.
I looked at himreally looked at him. I saw the hunger in his eyes, the desire to mold me into something he liked. I felt the throb of my cock against my zipper, the desperate need to be owned by this man.
I can't say no to you, I breathed.
Ben didn't smile this time. He reached for a strip of absorbent white papera neck strip. He wrapped it around my neck, fastening it with a precision that felt like a collar. He pulled it tight, ensuring there was no gap between the strip and the cape.
Right then, Owen. What do you think?
I closed my eyes, my chest heaving.
Okay. Let's do it. A barbers choice, please. Something... something like yours.
Ben's voice was triumphant.
Sounds great. How's that neck strip feel?
A little tight, I admitted, my voice trembling.
That's good, Ben replied. A haircut to match. Something tight and a little white.
Suddenly, the world spun. Ben grabbed the arms of the chair and whipped me away from the mirror. I was now facing the wall, blind to my own reflection, a captive to the sound of his movements. I heard the spray bottle click, and then I felt the cool mist of water hitting my hair. Ben combed my curtains straight back, pulling the hair away from my forehead with a firm, aggressive stroke.
This is going to be awesome, Ben said, his voice coming from behind me. Relax. Just feel this.
I felt something cold and smooth press against the back of my neck.
Feel the sides of my cut, Owen. Freshly razored this morning.
I hesitated, then slid my hand out from under the nylon cape. I reached back, my fingertips grazing the skin at the nape of Ben's neck. I gasped. It was like touching polished stone. There wasn't a single follicle of hair it was a seamless, velvet-smooth expanse of skin. The sensation sent a wave of heat crashing through me, and my boner surged, straining violently against my pants.
Wow, I whispered. So smooth. It looks so good on you, Ben. It's awesome.
Don't worry, Owen, Ben murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. I'll have you looking smooth too. A skin fade, razored smooth with a brush-back top. You're going to look hot.
The silence of the shop was shattered by a sudden, motorized whur. The sound was aggressive, a high-pitched mechanical scream that signaled the end of my long hair. I recognized the soundthe Oster 76. The gold standard of clippers.
I closed my eyes tight, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Let's do it, I whispered. I trust you.
The first pass was a shock. I felt the heavy metal blade press firmly against my sideburns. There was a sudden, visceral sensation of weight leaving my head. In one long, sweeping motion, Ben sheared away two inches of hair. I heard the soft shirr of the blades and then the sound of a heavy clump of blonde hair hitting the nylon cape.
It landed right in my lap, the severed locks pooling over the bulge of my cock. The warmth of the hair against my arousal made me moan softly.
Wow, Ben whispered, his voice sounding genuinely impressed. Those ears of yours are amazing. We've got to see some more of those.
Another pass of the clippers. This one went higher, slicing through the hair above my left ear. I felt the cool air hit my skin for the first time in years. The weight continued to fall, clump after clump, raining down on my lap. Ben moved to the back, the clippers humming against my skull, obliterating the nape of my neck. I felt the vibrations rattling my teeth, a rhythmic, hypnotic pulsing that made my head swim.
He moved to the right side, debunking the rest of my mane with ruthless efficiency. I could feel the shape of my head changing, the silhouette narrowing. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and incredibly aroused.
As the clippers continued their work, Ben's voice drifted over the noise.
So, Owen, are you in a relationship?
I jumped slightly, the question catching me off guard. I... no. No, I'm not.
And what's your preference?
I knew Ben was gayit was written in the way he carried himself, the way he looked at mebut hearing him ask made my heart race. I felt choked up with excitement.
Men, I managed to say, my voice cracking. Definitely men.
Ben paused. I could feel him standing close, the heat of his body radiating against my shoulder. He changed clippers, swapping the heavy Oster for the smaller, sharper outliner detail trimmer. The sound changed to a higher, more precise buzz.
That's interesting, Ben said softly. Because I've got my eye on someone, but I'm too shy to ask.
I let out a breathless laugh, my head tilting naturally toward him.
Well... you'll never know unless you ask. You should just go for it. They can only say no.
I felt Ben's hand move. He didn't just cut he gripped. He pushed my head firmly to the side, exposing the skin around my ear. He began stripping the hair away, moving the trimmer in short, surgical strokes, taking the hair down to the absolute skin.
I sighed, a long, shuddering sound of release. Ben pushed my ear forward, his thumb pressing firmly against my earlobe. The sensation was electric. He wasn't just cutting hair he was exploring me. The pressure on my lobe was a turn-on so intense I thought I might lose control right there in the chair.
The boldness of the moment took hold of me. I had nothing left to hide. My hair was gone, my secrets were bare, and the man of my dreams was touching me.
So, Ben... do I have a chance? Do you want to meet up for a drink sometime?
The clippers stopped instantly. The silence that followed was deafening. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had done it. I had asked him. I waited, terrified that I had pushed too far.
Ben moved. He stepped around to the front of the chair, his face inches from mine. He looked at mereally looked at mewith a gaze that could have melted steel.
Are you asking me out, Owen?
Yes, I am, I whispered, my face burning. I hope I'm not being too forward.
Ben's expression softened, and for the first time, he blushed. A faint, beautiful pink crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
I thought you'd never ask, he said, his voice barely a whisper. I'd love to.
The weight that lifted from my shoulders was physical. I felt light, almost floating. I had done it. I had asked out the man I obsessed over, and he had said yes. We both smiled, a shared moment of pure, unadulterated connection. Then, Ben leaned in.
He didn't go for the lips. He pressed a lingering, warm kiss to my cheek. As he did, his hand brushed down, his fingers grazing the hard ridge of my boner through the denim. He didn't pull away. He squeezed, just once, a firm promise of what was to come.
Right then, young man, Ben said, his voice returning to that commanding, playful tone. How tight do you want the sides?
I looked at him, my eyes dark with desire.
As tight as you are, please.
Ben paused, a mischievous glint in his eye.
What do you mean? Your hair... or your pants?
We both burst out laughing, the tension breaking into a fit of giggles that left me breathless.
Okay, okay, Ben said, regaining his composure. I need to get you date-ready as I see fit. Your ears are amazing, Owen. I'm so glad I can finally see them.
I looked in the mirror. A white rim of skin now bordered the sides and back of my head. The transformation was jarring. I looked leaner, sharper, more masculine. I looked like I belonged to him.
Ben reached for a bowl of warm shaving cream and a brush. He lathered the border of the fade, the thick, menthol-scented foam covering the lower half of my head. Then, he grabbed the cut-throat razor.
The sound of the blade stroking against the leather strop was a rhythmic, metallic hiss. Ben leaned in, his fingers gently manipulating my ear again.
These are magnificent, he whispered. And lookyou've got piercings no one can see.
He was right. My small hoop studs were buried under the curtains, now revealed by the short hair. I felt like I was in heaven. Every fantasy I had ever harbored was manifesting in real-time.
The razor touched my skin. I shivered as Ben scraped the sides clean. The sound was a crisp, satisfying scritch-scritch-scritch. He worked with an intensity that was almost religious, ensuring every single stray hair was annihilated. He carved a clean, sharp line around the base of my skull, creating a high, white wall of skin that blended perfectly into the short hair above.
Wow, Owen, Ben whispered, stepping back to admire his work. You look so handsome. Look at all this hair on the cape.
I looked down. I was covered in blonde fluff, the nylon cape littered with the remains of my old identity.
I have to confess something, Ben said, his voice low. I've wanted to transform you for months. Every time you walked past, I imagined exactly how this would look. I wanted to strip it all away.
The sides are now razored smooth, he continued, his hand gliding over the skin of my temple. Yep, so tight. Just what you needed. Now, let me work on the best fade ever. We need to get you date-ready.
I think the top should be left a little long and swept back, Ben mused, more to himself than to me.
You can do whatever you want to, I replied, my voice thick.
Ben smirked.
I already did.
He spent the next twenty minutes meticulously blending the fade. He used various guards, moving from the skin-smooth bottom to a slightly longer length on top, creating a seamless gradient of grey and blonde. He trimmed the top with scissors, shortening the length but leaving enough to style.
Finally, he picked up the blow-dryer. The warm air blasted my scalp, and Ben used a vent brush to pull the hair straight back, away from my forehead. He worked the hair into a sharp, masculine pompadour that emphasized my jawline and my newly exposed ears.
I think we're almost done, Ben said, squinting. No... not quite. A little more detail.
He pushed my head forward firmly, the pressure making me gasp. Then, with the detail trimmer, he carved two sharp, parallel scratches just behind my left ear. It was a bold, aggressive detailsomething I would never have had the courage to ask for, but something that looked incredibly hot.
Owen, you're transformed, Ben said.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of small, black stone studs. He held them up to the light.
May I?
Yeah, sure, I breathed.
Ben carefully removed my silver hoops and replaced them with the black studs. He stepped back, his eyes shining.
Wow. They just make your ears pop right off the blank canvas. Amazing. I really do love these ears of yours.
Ready to see the new you? Perfect. Date-ready.
Ben gripped the chair and spun me around to face the mirror. I gasped. My jaw literally dropped open. The man staring back at me wasn't the shy, veiled boy who had walked past the shop forty-two times. He was a new man. Sharp, aggressive, and strikingly handsome. The skin fade was blindingly white, the top swept back in a professional, sleek wave. I looked bold. I looked confident.
I... I love it, I stammered, turning my head every which way to catch sight of the crisp, white neckline.
Touch it, Ben encouraged.
I reached up, my fingers meeting the skin at the back of my head. I gasped. It was identical to Ben's. Smooth, tight, and devoid of any resistance.
Wow, so smooth. It's just like yours, Ben.
Actually, I did it a little tighter, Ben whispered, leaning over my shoulder. I hope you like it.
With a sudden motion, Ben released the cape and the neck strip. I felt the rush of air hit my skin, a cold, liberating sensation. I stood up, feeling lighter, my posture naturally straightening. The black studs were a perfect accent to the pale skin of my ears, which were now totally visible and bordered by fresh, razored skin.
Now, young man, Ben said, his voice dripping with anticipation. What time is our date?
He reached for some wet pomade, the scent of sandalwood filling the air. He rubbed a generous amount into his palms and then massaged it into my fresh brush-back. He used a wide-tooth comb to add the final detail, carving a sharp part and slicking the hair into a mirror-like finish.
I stood there, still coming to terms with the man in the mirror. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, placing it on the counter.
Thank you so much, Ben. For everything.
As I turned to leave, Ben moved. He didn't just say goodbye. He stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. He grabbed the cash from the counter and pushed it deep into my pocket, his hand lingering there.
His fingers clamped firmly around my boner, squeezing it through the denim. I let out a strangled moan, my head falling back against his shoulder. Ben pressed his own hardness into the small of my back, grinding slowly.
Pay me later, he whispered.
He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my new, razored neckline. The feeling of his lips against the freshly shaved skin sent a final, overwhelming surge of pleasure through me.
I walked out of the shop and back onto the sidewalk, but I didn't run this time. I walked with my head high, the wind hitting my smooth scalp, knowing that I had finally put myself out thereand that the reward was going to be exquisite

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