Male Haircut Stories

This story is about one young guy (namely me) and the times I’ve given in to temptation. I don’t expect anyone to condone what I did, but the fact is, I enjoyed every minute, and now I want to share these stories with others out there who may also get the urge every now and then to mess with another guys’ hair.

My father used to own a little barber shop in the central market of the city. He spent his life trimming and clipping, and, of course, I grew up learning how to sweep the floor and do some cuts of my own. However, as much as I loved working with men's hair, I felt I needed something more than working in a small shop for the rest of my life. That’s when I decided I was going to University and study Psychology. Most hairdressers are amateur psychologists anyway - they listen to people pour out their problems, and give them vague and encouraging solutions. I just wanted to formalise what I was doing. After all, standing behind a barber’s chair is the best way to see that there is no such thing as a ‘normal’ person. I was intrigued by my own fetishes and sexual preferences, but more than that, I had a need to understand human nature.

Anyway, so I go off to school, and move out into my own little flat. The market lot is bought by a multinational hotel chain, and my Dad, instead of selling up and retiring on the profits, makes a deal to open his little shop in the lobby of the new building. The management think this is a great idea, and the next thing I know, my father has his own little barbershop in the front lobby of this massive new hotel. Anyone who has ever been a student knows how tight money gets, so I make this arrangement with my father - I take over the shop from 6 p.m. till midnight, as well as Saturday and Sunday mornings, and I get to keep whatever I make. I mean, very few guys want their hair cut at that time, but this way I get cash in my hand, a place to study without distractions, help out the PR of the hotel, and get to run my hands over some beautiful male hair.

So here I am on a Sunday morning at 7 a.m., tidying up the shop and thinking about the essay I have to write for Mr Bates’ experimental psych class, when the front doors of the lobby are pushed open by these drunk and laughing guys. They stagger in after what must have been quite a night of drinking, and weave across the main floor. I can’t help notice how good they look, even crumpled and bleary-eyed. The group seems to be centred around one guy who seems to be worse off than the others. A taller, blond one, who seems slightly more sober than the others, looks over their heads, and notices me watching. I immediately drop my eyes and return to wiping the counter, but I can’t help but notice they are walking over toward me.

They reach the door, and after some struggle as they all try to get through the entrance at the same time, they finally fall through and collapse on the various chairs. The blond one introduces himself as Greg as he manhandles the drunkest one into the barber chair. "As you may have guessed, we’ve all had a bit to drink. But how often does your best mate get married?" I looked at the guy now slouched down in my chair, and after a quick perusal I decide that I wouldn’t mind getting involved with him myself. Or with the best man. "Look, the wedding is in a couple of hours. Do you think you could give him a shave and trim while we go up to the rooms and get freshened up ourselves? We’ll come back and pick him up once I’ve helped sober up the rest of these bastards." What was I going to say? "Sure thing. You just want him prettied up for the wedding."

That was when one of the other drunks piped up with a suggestion for a bachelor party prank. Through his slurred words, he was going on about shaving the poor groom’s eyebrows, or giving him a Mohawk. I looked back at Greg, who hesitated, and then shook his head. "As much as I would love to give Peter a good trim, we had better not ruin it for him. Anyway, Debbie would kill us. Just give him the shave and trim" I didn’t let my disappointment show, anymore than the bulge in my pants. The customer is always right. Greg managed to herd his remaining friends out the door and across the lobby, and I turned to have a closer look at my comatose client. He was probably in his early twenties, good looking, probably from an Italian background. He had longish hair, combed up and back that fell down a few inches over his collar at the back. He had a small moustache and long sideburns, although these were covered by the hair brushed down the sides. This hair also hid his ears, but after lifting some of the thick black hair, I could see that the ears were good looking too. I stood there thinking for a minute, just rubbing my hand through his strong, wavy locks, and noticed that he wasn’t even stirring. My customer was sound asleep, and after a few cautious tugs on his hair, I realised that very little was going to wake him.

Okay, so I can resist anything but temptation. I got out the comb and clippers, and decided to take Peters’ tonsorial arrangements into my own hands. I had about half an hour or so before his friends came back to pick him up, so I let the hum of the electric clippers carry me over into the dark side of the force. As the teeth bit into the hair on the side of his head, I knew it was too late to turn back now. I proceeded to bring the sides down to a very short length, revealing the white scalp beneath. I will say this, Peter kept his scalp very clean. He even washed behind his ears. Once or twice I thought he might wake, but he was so far gone, I don’t think he would have noticed if he were on fire. The next part was to get rid of the length at the back. It was beautiful to see the long locks of black hair slide down along the cape and onto the floor. I was getting quite horny by this time, but there would be time enough to relive the scene in my memory.

I looked up and saw that Joseph, the night clerk was watching me from behind his desk. My first reaction was panic - I was going to be arrested, thrown out of the hotel in shame, my whole career ruined... But then he smiled, a wicked gleam in his eye. He knew exactly what I was doing, and he approved. Will wonders never cease? Remind me to speak to Joseph later - maybe we had something in common. Back to business.

Peter looked quite denuded with the sides and back gone, and the black bristles were standing up at attention on the white parade ground of his scalp. The next step was to bring the top down a bit. I thought a bit about making it even all over, but then decided on a nice fifties flat top, keeping the top an inch or so long, and shaping it with some cream so it really shone. I left the sideburns the length they were, but trimmed out their thickness. Poor Peter wouldn’t recognise himself, especially after get rid of the moustache as well. (It’s not that I have anything against moustaches - but, you can see how I was getting a little bit carried away, and, well, it didn’t suit him. Really!)

So now I had this guy, sound asleep in my chair, and I had just cut off his beautiful long hair and given him a beautiful flattop, just in time for his wedding. All it needed now was a dressing to keep his newly liberated hair in line. My hand reached out for the regular gel, but at a sudden flash of inspiration I stopped. I wanted him to look his best, didn’t I? In my opinion, his hair should stand up and shine like a regular greaser. In my professional opinion, he needed a pomade that wouldn’t wash out for a couple of days, to let him get used to his new look. I went into the little back room and came out with a jar of grease that we kept for the very rare client. I scooped a generous amount onto what was left of his hair, and proceeded to smooth it up and back. By this time, I had probably come in my pants at least ten times, but this was going to be worth any trouble that came from it.

So what if he woke me up and beat me unconscious - I mean, how many times do you get to work out a fantasy? Anyway, I thought he looked a million times hotter than when he walked in. Have you ever noticed that the piece of skin between the collar and the hairline at the back is the most erotic part of the male body? (Well, maybe not *the* most erotic.) I finally finished, after ‘accidentally messing it up a few times so I could comb it out again, and stepped back to view the end result. Although he was slouched a bit in his chair, the hair on his head stood up in shiny defiance, and the white skin through the sides just made him look younger. Without the moustache and the long sideburns, he did look like a sleeping rocker.

Looking across the lobby, I saw Joseph grinning wildly and giving me the ‘thumbs up’. Just then, though, the lift doors opened, and my fantasy caught in my throat. It was Greg, come to pick up his wayward responsibility. I gulped, and held my breath as he walked over. Shit, what was I thinking, giving some guy a fifties flattop just before his wedding? Greg looked at his sleeping friend, a long, thoughtful look, and then up at me. I knew it, I thought, I’m gonna die! "I suppose I have to carry him upstairs and get him dressed now, eh?" I released my breath, and almost fainted. "Um, do you want a hand?" I stammered.

He wasn’t even going to mention it. This day was going better than I had ever dreamed. "No, I’ll manage. I’ve had to change his clothes before while he was like this." There seemed to be a half smile on his lips as he said that, which made me think changing clothes was not all he had in mind.

Greg gave me some money (I would have paid Peter to do that - I’m sure there are guys who do pay for this sort of fantasy), and lifted the sleeping beauty into his arms and headed for the door. "Ah," I called after him," That stuff in his hair won’t wash out for a while. It’s water resistant." I felt I had better say something. After all, it was partly my responsibility. "Don’t worry," called Greg over his shoulder,"I’m sure we’ll love it like this." With that he disappeared into the elevator, and I collapsed into the chair, feeling as if I had just run a marathon. I was so turned on, but I was afraid if I even thought about my cock, hours of accumulated cum would explode and flood the shop. So I set about sweeping up the remains of Peters’ shearing. It all went into the bin except for one long lock. I figured a souvenir was always useful.

A few hours later, I saw the now sober party walking across the lobby floor, Peter resplendent in his tuxedo and his black hair as shiny as his shoes. I don’t know what Greg had told him about his drunken adventures, but no-one looked across in my direction. Except Greg. With a very self satisfied expression. I guess we’d all got our rocks off at Peters’ expense. Let’s hope his wife would do the same.

Labels: LNHB