The Docent's Instruction by Manny

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He had spent over 20 minutes examining the noted masterpiece painting of St. Sebastian heading towards his martyrdom, taking notes and making small sketches. The young man's focus was intense.

As a museum docent, it made me feel good to see a young person so interested in one of the classics. I wanted to engage him, but didn't want to interrupt his concentration or focus.

Besides, I was content to examine, with equal interest, another masterpiece in the room -- the young man's mane of gorgeous blond hair that fell in shimmering silken layers past his shoulders. It was a classic surfer's shag, although his mane was completely undamaged by the sun. The highlights appeared natural -- not the result of too much time at the beach.

Periodically, the handsome blond would lean over to examine some detail on the painting. His copious forelock would slip forward and dangle with tantalizing allurement until being hastily mopped back and tucked behind his ear.

I watched him retrieve a phone from his pocket in a semi-clandestine way. It seemed like he was about to take a picture.

The young man hesitated and looked around. His quick maneuver caught me staring at him.

He unraveled into awkward stammers.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry. Is photographing the paintings allowed?" he asked.

I sauntered over. He obviously had mistaken me for some sort of museum guard with my docent's jacket and name tag.

"Yes, of course!" I replied cheerfully. "We like it when patrons are interested in the art work. Just, no flash please. And, also, you need to maintain at least a six-foot distance from the art. I can hold your things for you -- your book and bag -- if you'd like."

He was extremely grateful and proceeded to take multiple photos.

"Thank you so much," the young man said when he'd finished. "This is one of my favorite paintings. I'm including it in my dissertation."

"Are you a student?" I asked. "What's the theme of your dissertation?"

"It's on the portrayal of martyred saints in late Renaissance masterpieces," he replied. "And, once it's finished, I'll be a penniless PhD in Art History, severely in debt and unemployable."

"Your own, engineered self-martyrdom!" I laughed. "But, think of the cause! Beauty! Genius! Culture! All the things STEM majors can't provide."

"I'm totally with you there," he agreed. "I just wish my parents were too. All my father can see resulting from my self-indulgence and folly is debt and unemployment."

I steered the conversation to my main interest -- his mane!

"Did you notice that you and St. Sebastian are sporting the same hairstyle?" I asked. "Is that on purpose, to feel more connection to the object you're studying?"

He laughed and pawed at his silken locks.

"I didn't notice! But, now that you mention it, we do!" he laughed.

"Both, very impressive manes, I might add. And see how the artist has brought out the highlights in the sun streaming down on his lovely hair as they mingle with the piercing wounds from the darts, triggering streaks of carmine on his torso?" I asked.

"I had NOT noticed that either! But, it is an interesting point. The golden hair streaming down from above meeting the crimson flow -- an echo of Christ's emptying himself of heavenly splendors to embrace a degrading martyr's death," the young man said, quite impressed. "You have an artist's eye!"

"And, also a PhD in Art History," I laughed. "I'm a docent here, not a guard!"

The blond blushed with embarrassment.

"That's awesome!" he stammered.

Then, he chuckled, "I'm afraid my shag is no heavenly symbol. It's just an overgrown mop! But it was kind of you to make the comparison."

"There is an establishment known as a barber shop," I joked.

"Which costs real money," he replied quickly. "Of which I have precious little. I need to save my pennies for the museum entrance fee I must pay from time-to-time, like today."

"Gee," I said, "I can help you with that. A docent can bring in up to five guests free per month. I never use my quota. Just let me know, and I'll sign you in. I'm Duke, by the way."

"Duke! You are too generous. Yes, I'd love to take you up on your offer," he replied. "I'm Cecil."

We shook hands warmly. I handed him my card with contact information.

"Send me a text when you want to visit the museum and I'll have your name put on the list. It's a bit complicated, at first. Until you learn the ropes for guest passes, I can meet you and help you navigate the bit of bureaucracy," I explained.

"That's so thoughtful of you!" Cecil gushed.

"But, wait! There's more!" I laughed, imitating the game host famous for the phrase. "Another freebie to consider. I'm an amateur barber and am quite good. I don't mean to blow my own horn, but if you want a trim, drop me a line."

"OMG! That would be great," Cecil remarked. "I am so tired of this! Really, what I want takes little skill -- a simple butch cut. I've been itching to have the whole lot mowed off! It's been on my nerves of late, always in my face."

"Well, that would be simple enough, but the butch isn't exactly a work of art," I remarked. "Like I said, text me and let me know when."

"Today? What about now?!" Cecil asked, his eyes twinkling with delight at the thought of surrendering his thick, golden tresses to my clippers.

"Sure! I'm a volunteer here -- not on the clock. I can leave now," I replied, trying to restrain the glee I felt.

The afternoon was breezy, and it was a five-block walk to my apartment. Cecil babbled away about his dissertation, all the while struggling to keep his beautiful hair out of his face.

"Listen, Duke," Cecil said as we neared my place, "If you want to give me something that requires a bit more skill than a butch, I'm open to that. I'm going home for Thanksgiving, and my parents would be pleased to see me looking tidier than with this shag and more professional than a butch might convey. I'm going to trust your artistic instincts. Barber's choice!"

I paused and studied his beautiful mane. Then, I reached over and caressed it lightly, pushing it back from his face. Cecil seemed to enjoy the gesture that carried a slight nuance of affection and intimacy.

"Well, this flow is perfectly stunning, but I understand it's on your nerves. I'm thinking of something quite short and practical. I know you're okay with clippers," I said.

"Clippers, of course!" Cecil exclaimed. "I'd like to feel them sailing down the top of my head after the holidays."

"Have you ever gone full bald?" I asked, suddenly curious.

"You mean, chromedome?" he laughed. "No, have you?"

"Suppose I were to razor you clean at some point?" I pressed, curious about how he would react.

"Hmmmm, that's a thought," Cecil replied. "Maybe it can be reciprocal. Both of us, bald-to-the-bone? Think how fun that would be! Two brand new chromedomes bonding together through baldness-by-choice."

He reached over and toyed my fussy businesscut. He pushed the copious forelock straight back and sized up how I might look without my soft, chestnut-colored hair.

"I'd like to shave you smooth," he purred. "Why not? And, why wait? Is this your building?"

My legs turned to jelly. Cecil shaving me! My groin surged at the thought. What had I unleashed? He seemed quite excited about me being the one in the barber chair enduring a dramatic makeover.

"Well, let me think about that while I'm cutting your hair," I said.

I was non-committal. But, I did leave the door open a crack regarding the chromedome which left me surging with anxious excitement.

We entered my apartment and Cecil gasped with delight.

"I love this! So beautiful, so artistically decorated," he said as he immediately began checking out my place. "And, all this with an art history degree. I'm beginning to feel much more optimistic about my prospects!"

"Not to burst your bubble, Cecil. But, this is the result of a 25-year career as an investment banker. The art history stuff got put to the side when I realized I wanted a certain level of luxury. Volunteering as a museum docent is a way for me to reconnect, a bit," I explained.

"Oh," Cecil sighed in a deflated tone, "that explains the business cut. And, I suppose that almost means that I will be the only one getting a haircut today."

"Yes, today, that will be the case," I said, putting an end to my fantasy about dispatching my businesscut to the kitchen floor.

I steered him to the kitchen where I would cut his flowing mane. How short to take it?! Visions of his golden locks at my feet danced in my head.

"Have a seat on that chair while I go get my barber kit," I instructed.

Cecil was happy to do whatever I told him.

After laying out all instruments for effect his transformation, I began brushing his thick, heavy tresses, examining them with both my eyes and hands.

"Oh, that feels wonderful!" Cecil purred. "If I had you to care for my hair on a daily basis, I'm sure it wouldn't seem like such a burden."

"It really is a shame to cut this all off," I remarked, imaging eight-inch locks falling away as I scissored off his mane.

"And, yet, you said that one day you'd like to razor me full bald," Cecil replied.

"Sometime, hair can be so stunningly beautiful that it hogs all the attention. As I pull it all back away from your face, I notice your other remarkable features...the crystal-clear eyes, straight teeth, dramatic brows, pronounced cheek bones, dimpled chin. You are so blessed!"

"And you have an eye for beauty, Duke," he said returning the compliment.

He squirmed a bit in the chair and suddenly crossed his leg.

"I'm glad you find me attractive," he added in a soft, sultry voice.

"Let me douse these locks in the sink," I said, playfully tugging him by the long hair.

He was so submissive as I leaned him over to submerge his hair in the tepid stream. I pressed close and hovered over his submissive body, dousing the dense mane. He was still and cooperative to my guiding hands.

Finally, I let him stand and toweled off the mane. His damp locks dangled in a sexy way around his head.

As I dried his hair, his hand reached into mine.

"Why not cut my hair just like yours?" he asked, lightly stroking my groomed hair. "A boring, beautiful businesscut."

I moved closer to him and kissed his lips. He responded with intensity.

I imagined him wresting me into the chair, fastening the cape around me, and shaving my head. My heart beat wildly at the thought

"Do you want me bald?" I asked.

He looked at me and played with my hair. His eyes began to twinkle with delight.

"Yes!" he finally exclaimed. "Let's take this all off."

My groin surged with delight. I swooned, and he caught me in his muscular arms.

"My hair cut to your length...and you, a cueball! In fact, let's start with your makeover," he purred.

Cecil's arms were gentle but authoritative as he overcame my timid, uncooperative feet and firmly guided me toward the chair.

"But the office." I stammered as I was made to sit.

"They will all love your new, clean look," Cecil replied, fondling my soft chestnut color hair that gleamed with fiery auburn highlights.

He put the cape around me and fastened it with a big metal clip. I was locked in!

Cecil held my face by the chin with a firm grip of his hand.

"Oh, look at you! So nervous about trying something new," he said with a soft, warm laugh.

Then he smoothed down my businesscut one last time before reaching for the clippers.

He clicked them on without ceremony. Was this it?! My heart pounded.

Without hesitation, Cecil thrust the clipper teeth into my chestnut-colored hair and drove them down the top of my head. Clumps of cut hair fell to the cape. My stomach churned.

Cecil kept clipping and humming softly, all the while giving me reassuring pats and caresses.

"How's it looking?" I asked.

"Fantastic," Cecil replied. "Oh, and I love the feel!"

He gave my clipped stubble a vigorous rub.

"But, this is coming off," he reminded me. "I want you shaved smooth. Nothing left up on top but creamy white scalp. Nothing to hide behind, no power helmet hair. Just you! Bald and smooth. Creamy, naked scalp...for me to caress."

I blinked. It was secretly what I had desired, but, at the same time, it was so frightening.

"Yes, bald and smooth for you, Cecil," I murmured.

Cecil returned to clipping off the remnants of my businesscut. He chirped and hummed with delight.

"You know, Duke," he said as he mowed off the vestiges of my business look. "This place seems too large for just one person. Perhaps you need someone here to keep you shaved smooth. Someone with beautiful long blond hair that catches your eye. A marvelous mane you can delight in -- washing, brushing and styling."

"But, your hair's going to be cut short, Cecil," I stammered.

"Well, that's what I thought too, at first," he remarked coyly. "But, now...well, I've been re-thinking the matter. You'll be in charge of my mane upkeep and I'll be in charge of your head shave. How about it?"

"You mean, just trim the tips and keep the flow looking healthy and spectacular?" I stammered.

"Exactly, something to plunge your fingers into as we recover from our activities," he giggled. "While I kiss and stroke your smooth scalp. I want my boy feeling vulnerable and submissive."

"Your boy?" I gasped.

"Yes, obedient and wanting to please me," Cecil declared as he snapped off the machine.

"Now, come to the sink! I see you have the razor and shaving cream ready," Cecil said, pulling off the cape with a flourish.

I meekly followed him and let him bend me over. The water hadn't time to warm up and I was forced beneath a frigid flow.

I winced, and Cecil chided me for acting like a baby.

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