6.10.06
ST: LN 03 My First Real Cut
If you’ve read this far, you probably know that I work the night shift in my father’s hotel lobby barber shop, and that I have this thing about male hair. You’re probably also wondering what I look like, and what sort of haircut I have, and how all this hair fetish stuff started. Aren’t you? Well, aren’t you? I’m going to tell you anyway.
This story is about the first real haircut I got from someone other than my father, and it actually happens before the hotel was built, and we still had the shop in the market. I was halfway through high school, and I used to work afternoons sweeping up the hair and giving shampoos to those customers who wanted it. I was also doing the occasional cut, more to keep my Dad happy than anything else. After all, I had grown up in this barber shop, and I had my sights set on a different career.
Then one day, I’m staying late in the shop, sweeping the floor and polishing the chrome seat, when Mr. Pennington turns up. He was the new local distributor for a range of hair care products, and he had been stopping by every month for about the past five months, to top us up on combs and creams. He was a nice guy, about forty, with nicely blow-dried hair, and he always had a smile and wink for me. I know - all salesmen are slimy and pretend to like you just to make a sale. But I felt that this guy really liked me, and I had only recently turned sixteen, and so what - I liked him. I opened the door to tell him that my Dad had already gone home, and he said he had left some samples here, and could he come in and get them. I said "sure", and that was the start of it.
He only asked a few questions about "how was I doing in school?" and did "a nice boy like you have a steady girl?". You know, just general things, but I felt myself opening up to him, and telling him things that I hadn’t told anyone else. He took me seriously, and listened as I talked about my dream of going to University, and how I couldn’t understand my friends’ obsession with girls, and all the things important to a sixteen year old boy. I didn’t realise it, but I must have rambled on for over an hour, and it was actually starting to get dark outside. All the other shops in the area had closed, and the city crowds had dwindled away as people went home to dinner and T.V. Mr. Pennington (call me Dave) said how he would like to talk some more, and would I like to come and have dinner with him. He was staying in a hotel, and he spent most evenings alone. I said okay, and then called my Dad from the shop to tell him I was going to be out late. I didn’t give him any details, and he didn’t ask. I think he hoped I’d found a girlfriend and was finally going to ‘make him proud’.
Anyway, Mr. Pennington, sorry, Dave, and I went back to his hotel room to drop off the samples and for him to freshen up and check his messages. On the drive there, the wind from the open window kept blowing my hair into my face. This was because it was very long, partly because my Dad was usually too busy cutting other people’s hair to cut mine, and partly it was teen rebellion against having a father who cut hair for a living. The problem was my hair was mousy brown and fine, and was definitely unsuited to the long and shaggy look. This hadn’t been a problem until this moment, when for some reason I wanted to impress this guy driving the car. His hair always looked brushed and perfectly in place - not too long and not too short - and for the first time I think I really started thinking of hair as something more than a way to make a living.
Dave commented on what a nuisance long hair was, and I blurted out about how I had thought of getting it cut, but had never gotten around to it. "In my line of work," he said,"My hair has to look great. I couldn’t sell my products if I didn’t look like I used them. I thought it would be the same in the barber shop." I explained about how busy my father was, and let off some teen angst at the same time. Then I was brave enough to say that I really liked his hair, and that I wouldn’t mind getting my hair styled like that sometime.
He smiled over at me and said, "Well, before I became a sales rep, I used to cut hair myself. If you like, when we get back to the hotel room, I could give you a trim and show you a few styling techniques before we head off to the restaurant." This produced a twitch in my groin that I would later come to love, but at that moment I was extremely embarrassed that my cock had decided to awaken and make a nuisance of itself. My hands dropped to my lap to cover the evil betrayer, but I calmly said, "That sounds great. If you don’t mind, I think it is a bit long and scruffy."
We got to his hotel, a clean place on the outskirts, and I helped him carry his samples up to his room. He suggested that we wash my hair first, to give a good cut, and I agreed. I suggested doing it myself over the sink, but he said he had some new shampoo products he wanted to try, so we set the only chair up, leaning back against the basin. He suggested I take off my shirt, so we wouldn’t get the collar wet or covered with hair, and that way it would look all right when we went out. It seemed reasonable, but I felt a bit nervous taking my shirt off in front of a stranger. No-one had seen my body naked since I’d turned ten, and it wasn’t that I was ashamed of my body (in fact, I thought it looked kind of nice), it’s just that the occasion had never arisen.
He wrapped a towel around my neck to act as a cape, and then he proceeded to wash my hair. As many times as I had done this for other men, I had never realised how sensuous it could be to have another man run his fingers through your wet hair. After some conditioning and a few rinses, while I prayed to God that my cock would either go away or stop nagging me, we set the chair upright, and he proceeded to give me a real haircut. He explained that the latest fashion was a sort of bowl cut, where it was left thick at the top, and then tapered in sharply at the back and sides to make it look as if someone had set a bowl on my head and trimmed around it. Of course, it looked better than that, but at this stage I was beyond caring. If he had suggested that I shave it all off and look like Yul Brynner, I would have said "Sure, that’s what I’ve always wanted!"
At one stage, he was standing in front of me, lifting up my fringe and cutting about an inch off the length, when I noticed he had a second comb in his shirt pocket. As he moved his arms up and down, this comb moved up and down in front of my face, and I suddenly thought how this must feel, rubbing up and down against his nipple. Then I was obsessed with this thought, and was mesmerised by this slow motion, and my nipples began to ache in sympathy. My mind was filled with the image of a bare chest, with someone slowly rubbing a comb against a rock hard nipple, letting the teeth flick over it, one at a time, like a card being flicked by the spokes of a bicycle wheel.
By this time, Dave was almost finished with the cut part, and had gotten out the dryer. He was brushing my hair back, and the warm air against the top of my ears was a new sensation. I could feel that he wasn’t leaving a part, just brushing all the top and sides back, but I had no idea what I looked like. The only mirror in the room was above the sink, and that was now behind me. But like I said, who cares! I can honestly say I had never known what horny was until this very moment. Dave took the towel away and brushed me down.
I stood up nervously, trying to secretly rearrange the bulge in my pants that threatened to take all the blood away from my head and make me faint. Dave came up behind me and led me toward the mirror. This is an image that will stay in my mind forever - looking in the mirror at myself, with this beautiful, soft hair that made me look young and kinda pretty almost, with no shirt on and this good looking guy standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t help it. I creamed in my pants, and without looking, I knew that the stain was going to be there for all to see. I turned a bright red, but Dave just looked down at my groin in the mirror, and smiled. He turned me around to face him, and I then experienced my first ever sexual kiss. I felt his lips open wide on mine, and one hand rubbing the now naked back of my neck, while the other hand gently palmed my nipple. I had never really thought about sex so much before, whether gay or straight, but at that moment I knew without doubt where my interests lay.
"We’d better get those pants off and dry them before we leave", he said, as he gave me a very dirty smile. He stooped down to undo the button and fly, and I did nothing to stop him. I stepped out of my jeans, and then out of my underwear. My cock rejoiced at finally being set free, and jumped up so hard it actually bounced off my stomach, and stood waving back and forth for what seemed forever.
Anyway, you can probably guess what we did while waiting for my pants to dry. We did eventually go out to eat, but most of that was a blur. We ended up going back to his hotel so he could introduce me to the wonders of hairspray and mousse (one was for the hair, and one was for sex. You figure it out.) I stayed there until about four thirty in the morning, and then he drove me back to my house, where I climbed in the bedroom window. Needless to say, I saw Dave every month for just over a year, when he was transferred to a different area. I couldn’t have wished for a better way to discover my own sexuality.
Dad asked me where I had gotten my hair cut, and I explained that because he was so busy, I had asked a girlfriend who was studying to be a hairdresser to do it. He felt happy that I was seeing a girl, and he was amazed at how I had suddenly become so interested in the business. I couldn’t wait to start cutting men’s hair, and some customers even commented on my own style, saying how well it suited me.
Okay, so now you know why I love working in the hotel, and cutting men’s hair. I don’t know whether I would have ended up here without the help of Mr. Pennington, but I do know that I am happy where I am. That’s the important thing. So now, I wear my hair thick, but cut around the ears and off the collar. It is blow-dried, and I do enjoy spraying on the hairspray, and one day I may get it cut differently.
But every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, standing a certain way, and with a comb in my top pocket, and I smile and remember where it all started, and I dream of a day when another Mr. Pennington will turn up at the shop and invite me back to his place for a trim.
This story is about the first real haircut I got from someone other than my father, and it actually happens before the hotel was built, and we still had the shop in the market. I was halfway through high school, and I used to work afternoons sweeping up the hair and giving shampoos to those customers who wanted it. I was also doing the occasional cut, more to keep my Dad happy than anything else. After all, I had grown up in this barber shop, and I had my sights set on a different career.
Then one day, I’m staying late in the shop, sweeping the floor and polishing the chrome seat, when Mr. Pennington turns up. He was the new local distributor for a range of hair care products, and he had been stopping by every month for about the past five months, to top us up on combs and creams. He was a nice guy, about forty, with nicely blow-dried hair, and he always had a smile and wink for me. I know - all salesmen are slimy and pretend to like you just to make a sale. But I felt that this guy really liked me, and I had only recently turned sixteen, and so what - I liked him. I opened the door to tell him that my Dad had already gone home, and he said he had left some samples here, and could he come in and get them. I said "sure", and that was the start of it.
He only asked a few questions about "how was I doing in school?" and did "a nice boy like you have a steady girl?". You know, just general things, but I felt myself opening up to him, and telling him things that I hadn’t told anyone else. He took me seriously, and listened as I talked about my dream of going to University, and how I couldn’t understand my friends’ obsession with girls, and all the things important to a sixteen year old boy. I didn’t realise it, but I must have rambled on for over an hour, and it was actually starting to get dark outside. All the other shops in the area had closed, and the city crowds had dwindled away as people went home to dinner and T.V. Mr. Pennington (call me Dave) said how he would like to talk some more, and would I like to come and have dinner with him. He was staying in a hotel, and he spent most evenings alone. I said okay, and then called my Dad from the shop to tell him I was going to be out late. I didn’t give him any details, and he didn’t ask. I think he hoped I’d found a girlfriend and was finally going to ‘make him proud’.
Anyway, Mr. Pennington, sorry, Dave, and I went back to his hotel room to drop off the samples and for him to freshen up and check his messages. On the drive there, the wind from the open window kept blowing my hair into my face. This was because it was very long, partly because my Dad was usually too busy cutting other people’s hair to cut mine, and partly it was teen rebellion against having a father who cut hair for a living. The problem was my hair was mousy brown and fine, and was definitely unsuited to the long and shaggy look. This hadn’t been a problem until this moment, when for some reason I wanted to impress this guy driving the car. His hair always looked brushed and perfectly in place - not too long and not too short - and for the first time I think I really started thinking of hair as something more than a way to make a living.
Dave commented on what a nuisance long hair was, and I blurted out about how I had thought of getting it cut, but had never gotten around to it. "In my line of work," he said,"My hair has to look great. I couldn’t sell my products if I didn’t look like I used them. I thought it would be the same in the barber shop." I explained about how busy my father was, and let off some teen angst at the same time. Then I was brave enough to say that I really liked his hair, and that I wouldn’t mind getting my hair styled like that sometime.
He smiled over at me and said, "Well, before I became a sales rep, I used to cut hair myself. If you like, when we get back to the hotel room, I could give you a trim and show you a few styling techniques before we head off to the restaurant." This produced a twitch in my groin that I would later come to love, but at that moment I was extremely embarrassed that my cock had decided to awaken and make a nuisance of itself. My hands dropped to my lap to cover the evil betrayer, but I calmly said, "That sounds great. If you don’t mind, I think it is a bit long and scruffy."
We got to his hotel, a clean place on the outskirts, and I helped him carry his samples up to his room. He suggested that we wash my hair first, to give a good cut, and I agreed. I suggested doing it myself over the sink, but he said he had some new shampoo products he wanted to try, so we set the only chair up, leaning back against the basin. He suggested I take off my shirt, so we wouldn’t get the collar wet or covered with hair, and that way it would look all right when we went out. It seemed reasonable, but I felt a bit nervous taking my shirt off in front of a stranger. No-one had seen my body naked since I’d turned ten, and it wasn’t that I was ashamed of my body (in fact, I thought it looked kind of nice), it’s just that the occasion had never arisen.
He wrapped a towel around my neck to act as a cape, and then he proceeded to wash my hair. As many times as I had done this for other men, I had never realised how sensuous it could be to have another man run his fingers through your wet hair. After some conditioning and a few rinses, while I prayed to God that my cock would either go away or stop nagging me, we set the chair upright, and he proceeded to give me a real haircut. He explained that the latest fashion was a sort of bowl cut, where it was left thick at the top, and then tapered in sharply at the back and sides to make it look as if someone had set a bowl on my head and trimmed around it. Of course, it looked better than that, but at this stage I was beyond caring. If he had suggested that I shave it all off and look like Yul Brynner, I would have said "Sure, that’s what I’ve always wanted!"
At one stage, he was standing in front of me, lifting up my fringe and cutting about an inch off the length, when I noticed he had a second comb in his shirt pocket. As he moved his arms up and down, this comb moved up and down in front of my face, and I suddenly thought how this must feel, rubbing up and down against his nipple. Then I was obsessed with this thought, and was mesmerised by this slow motion, and my nipples began to ache in sympathy. My mind was filled with the image of a bare chest, with someone slowly rubbing a comb against a rock hard nipple, letting the teeth flick over it, one at a time, like a card being flicked by the spokes of a bicycle wheel.
By this time, Dave was almost finished with the cut part, and had gotten out the dryer. He was brushing my hair back, and the warm air against the top of my ears was a new sensation. I could feel that he wasn’t leaving a part, just brushing all the top and sides back, but I had no idea what I looked like. The only mirror in the room was above the sink, and that was now behind me. But like I said, who cares! I can honestly say I had never known what horny was until this very moment. Dave took the towel away and brushed me down.
I stood up nervously, trying to secretly rearrange the bulge in my pants that threatened to take all the blood away from my head and make me faint. Dave came up behind me and led me toward the mirror. This is an image that will stay in my mind forever - looking in the mirror at myself, with this beautiful, soft hair that made me look young and kinda pretty almost, with no shirt on and this good looking guy standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t help it. I creamed in my pants, and without looking, I knew that the stain was going to be there for all to see. I turned a bright red, but Dave just looked down at my groin in the mirror, and smiled. He turned me around to face him, and I then experienced my first ever sexual kiss. I felt his lips open wide on mine, and one hand rubbing the now naked back of my neck, while the other hand gently palmed my nipple. I had never really thought about sex so much before, whether gay or straight, but at that moment I knew without doubt where my interests lay.
"We’d better get those pants off and dry them before we leave", he said, as he gave me a very dirty smile. He stooped down to undo the button and fly, and I did nothing to stop him. I stepped out of my jeans, and then out of my underwear. My cock rejoiced at finally being set free, and jumped up so hard it actually bounced off my stomach, and stood waving back and forth for what seemed forever.
Anyway, you can probably guess what we did while waiting for my pants to dry. We did eventually go out to eat, but most of that was a blur. We ended up going back to his hotel so he could introduce me to the wonders of hairspray and mousse (one was for the hair, and one was for sex. You figure it out.) I stayed there until about four thirty in the morning, and then he drove me back to my house, where I climbed in the bedroom window. Needless to say, I saw Dave every month for just over a year, when he was transferred to a different area. I couldn’t have wished for a better way to discover my own sexuality.
Dad asked me where I had gotten my hair cut, and I explained that because he was so busy, I had asked a girlfriend who was studying to be a hairdresser to do it. He felt happy that I was seeing a girl, and he was amazed at how I had suddenly become so interested in the business. I couldn’t wait to start cutting men’s hair, and some customers even commented on my own style, saying how well it suited me.
Okay, so now you know why I love working in the hotel, and cutting men’s hair. I don’t know whether I would have ended up here without the help of Mr. Pennington, but I do know that I am happy where I am. That’s the important thing. So now, I wear my hair thick, but cut around the ears and off the collar. It is blow-dried, and I do enjoy spraying on the hairspray, and one day I may get it cut differently.
But every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, standing a certain way, and with a comb in my top pocket, and I smile and remember where it all started, and I dream of a day when another Mr. Pennington will turn up at the shop and invite me back to his place for a trim.
Labels: LNHB
# posted @ 12:03 pm 
