Male Haircut Stories

It was still early on a Wednesday evening, when I noticed this good looking young guy walk across the hotel lobby floor. I work here evenings in my father’s barber shop, and normally it’s quiet and I can study, but tonight I felt a little restless. That was how I came to be looking up when he strolled in from the street.

He walked up to the front desk, and after a hurried but hushed discussion, it looked like he passed some money over to Joseph, and Joseph reluctantly imparted some information. With a purposeful stride, the young guy headed toward the elevator, and I hurried toward Joseph. "What was that about?" I asked, partaking in the universal hobby of hotel employees - gossip about the guests.

Joseph told me that some powerful Hollywood producer was in town for a few nights (strictly incognito) and the stud was a young actor who had bribed him to give out the room number. This was another universal trait of hotel clerks. The ability to accept bribes.

I went back to my shop, and made a determined effort to read my chapter on anti-social behaviour, wishing for a little social behaviour of my own. The ding of the elevator made me look up, and the young actor stormed out. By the look on his face, I didn’t think the impromptu audition had been entirely successful.

He stalked across the lobby, but stopped halfway and seemed to be swearing to himself. He threw what must have been his portfolio to the floor, and spun around to wave his fist in the air, probably in the direction of the redoubtable producer. I was admiring his extreme overacting, when he turned and caught sight of me. It was too late to pretend to be doing anything else but staring at his tantrum, so I smiled encouragingly. He gave me a half-embarrassed look, and then as he noticed the sign painted on the window, his expression changed to that of someone having a brilliant idea. You know, the kind that in the cartoons has a light bulb going off over their heads.

He walked purposefully over to my door, and for a minute I had these fantasies of a whirlwind romance and Tom Cruise, all at once. "Listen, I’ve got a problem," he said, "and I think you can help." So much for dreams.

His name was Eric, and he had some fairly specific requests. It seems that this Hollywood producer was making a film about the life of some little known 1920’s actor, and Eric wanted the part, and assured me he was perfect for it. He wanted me to give him a Valentino haircut, and then he would go back to the producer’s room and read him some lines. I thought his plan was a little thin, but, then again, my text book wasn’t thrilling me either. In the true tradition of Lucy fans all over the world, I decided that I would help him out, but I said we could elaborate his plan somewhat.

I called Joseph over from the desk, and then laid out my foolproof scheme. Yes, I would give him the makeover, but what he should do is dress up as a waiter, and when this big shot ordered room service, Eric could go up and ‘be discovered’. I hear that producers love doing that. Joseph then went one better. He mentioned that one of the guests, about Eric’s size, had left his tuxedo to be cleaned. Eric could borrow it, therefore looking like a very posh waiter, but also giving him a more twenties ‘look’. This was to be done for a small fee on his part, though, as he would have to square it with the regular staff and all. Eric didn’t seem to mind, but I thought it was a little bit against the spirit of spontaneous insanity.

Joseph went to arrange things and get the tux, while I sat Eric down in the chair to do my usual magic. I ran my fingers through his hair - it felt very fine, but strong. It was a dark, chestnut brown, and he wore it just over the collar at the back, and in a nice sweep across his forehead. By stroking my hands through it, I could tell it would be long enough to pull back, and all I really had to do was trim the back. The comb ran smoothly through his hair, as I checked to see which way it would curl, and the best direction to cut.

I combed his fringe straight down over his forehead, and without the wave it almost reached the end of his nose. (You know, there is one thing I will never understand. Why is it that combing a guys’ hair forward so it covers his eyes and lightly touches his face is such a turn on. I mean, you run the comb from the crown of his head, across his skull, and then let the fringe just fall forward, and I think its incredibly sexy. I don’t know. Just wondered.) After a quick tidy up, I wet his hair down so I could shape it without have the brylcream clog up the comb.

The first thing was to establish a really strong and straight part, so I chose a line about an inch and a half off centre. The tricky bit was to get all the hairs on their correct side, but when I was finished he had a white line of clean, virgin scalp running from forehead to crown. The next step was to go around the edges and trim everything up properly so that when it was combed back, there would be shape and not bulk. This meant that when he went ‘greaseless’ his fringe would probably have a strong angle to it, but it was important to have the length tapered so it didn’t stick out behind his ears.

I cut his hair up off the collar, and just tapered it at the very ends, so the back of his head presented a nice, overall, smooth surface. Actually, the whole process turned out to be so fiddly, I had little time to get aroused, but I had an inkling of how I would be dropping off to sleep tonight.

The next step was to provide the goo that would keep everything in place, and add that extra shine. I mixed some California Poppy Oil with some Vaseline I kept for sticky scissors, and applied the compound to young Eric’s head. The feeling was wonderful as I worked the slippery oil all through his damp hair. I think he was more interested in getting into the part than the sensuousness of the process, which was a shame, but you can’t have it all. I decided that I would just have to be turned on enough for the both of us. I think it is amazing that a small amount of grease can totally transform a man. I mean, one minute this guy is a shaggy young 90’s actor, the next minute he is a suave gentleman from some earlier generation. One minute this other guy is yuppie executive, and with a few dollops of cream he’s a 1950’s rocker. The power of this little lubricant to change the personality of a man. I love it!

The final process was to sculpt the hair, so that it flowed across the top of his head, and back along the sides. Then it was a simple matter to trim a couple of unco-operative hairs. As I final touch, I brought one front lock down to make a kiss curl on his forehead. He laughed and said it made him look too much like a sissy, but I explained that Errol Flynn had let the occasional errant curl touch his forehead, and he was anything but gay. Joseph returned with the tuxedo, and Eric and I retired to my back room for him to change. I had to duck out at one stage to bully Joseph into letting us use his black shoes, but the rest of the time I was forced to watch this handsome young actor strip down to his y-fronts and try on his evening clothes. The sacrifices we have to make.

After a quick lesson in how to fix a bowtie, he was ready. He really did look the part with his brilliantined hair and elegant clothes. The shoes were a little loose, but as long as he didn’t try tap dancing, they should stay on. Joseph returned to see if everything was ready, and started giving Eric a rundown on how to serve food. Then it was a matter of sitting around waiting for this producer to order something (and lets hope it wasn’t breakfast). Just when I was beginning to think maybe the idea was crazy to begin with, one of the cooks waved from the service entrance, and we knew the plan was on. If this was the way Lucy and Ethel felt every time they cooked up one of their schemes, no wonder they kept doing it. It was thrilling to watch Eric walk across the marbled lobby floor, looking just like a star from those early talkies.

With the plan underway, there was little to do except get back to the homework, and await further developments. Joseph came over about an hour later. We sometimes sat around talking when it was a quiet night, usually about nothing important. Tonight we talked about what we had done, and how Joseph would be fired unless he got that tux to the cleaners by the end of his shift in the morning. I sympathised with him, and we actually had a good talk. He even asked me to call him Joe, and even though I liked the formal atmosphere of calling him ‘my friend, Joseph...’ in casual conversation, I said thanks, and he could call me Chris.

About half past eleven, as I was starting to pack up and cal it a night, Eric came out of the lift. This time his expression was one of self-satisfaction. I didn’t need to ask if he had gotten the part - his every move proclaimed him an up and coming star. Joseph came over and we stood in the doorway of my back room as Eric changed out of his evening wear. He was chatting away eagerly about how well the evening went, and how this producer didn’t even recognise him as the young actor that had been at his door a few hours earlier.

He was so engrossed in telling us how he had fooled the big shot, that it took him a few minutes to realise his underpants were missing, a fact that wasn’t lost on his admiring audience. At least he had the decency to blush, as he explained that the producer wanted him to model in some costumes he had just had handy. Yeah, right. Anyway, Joseph got his shoes back and the tux to the cleaners on time. I had a great thrill slicking back some hair (I kept a small, oiled lock, just as a reminder) and had a fantasy that would see me through a few sleepless nights. I don’t know if Eric really got the part, but his willingness to go to any lengths to be in the movies will probably see him on the big screen at some stage.

All in all, it was becoming a typical night at the Late Night Hotel Barber Shop.
‘Night, Lucy.

Labels: LNHB