Male Haircut Stories

There are times in your life when everything changes - where you cross a line into another world. Everything around you stays the same, but you have changed completely. The first time I had sex, I was sure everyone would know, just by looking at me. I had become such a profoundly different person that I couldn't wait to look in the mirror, and was amazed that I looked exactly the same.

This is what happened on January 25th, a cool, Wednesday night. I was working at the Barber Shop, thinking I had my life pretty much under control, when into the lobby strides this guy whose mere presence shoots electricity up my spine. I couldn't even see his face as he walked toward the front desk, but something about his energy or the way he held himself seemed to bring up memories or feelings I couldn't quite place.

After I got over the initial shock, I walked over to the door of the shop to get a closer look. He was talking to Joe at the desk, and I could see by his profile that he must be very good looking. Even his long hair wasn't the usual turn off for me. If he wanted to wear it long, that was okay with me. I felt such electricity, I was almost ready to throw in my Psychology studies and take up this New Age belief in past lives and twin souls. I had never known anyone who had had such an effect on me before.

As he walked toward the lift, he noticed me staring, and half turned to give me a smile. I guiltily smiled back and resisted the urge to wave madly. There was something about his face that was half boy-next-door and half unpredictable mad poet. There was no doubt that this guy was dangerous in an exciting kind of way, but as the lift doors closed, sanity returned, and I knew that nothing was going to happen. He was just another guy walking past my life, in and out of a hotel lobby.

I met Joe's eye, and I sighed theatrically, and then went back to tidying up the shelves of expensive, brand name shampoos. I was just finishing wiping the bottom of the 49th bottle of identical creme rinse, when I looked up to see Joe waving me over to the desk, the phone held against his ear. I thought he might be eavesdropping again, and was ready to ignore him, but something in the way he was smiling had me intrigued, so I went over to join him.

"What's up?" I asked.

"You're not going to believe this," he says. "You know the guy who was just here? The one that you couldn't keep your eyes off?"

So who cares what Joe thinks, anyway? "Yeah, I think I remember someone walking through" I reply, sounding cool and uninterested.

"Well," he says, "it seems he is actually a male pro, and he's upstairs right now with a couple of Japanese gentlemen." He nodded toward the phone in his hand, and I blankly stared at it, trying to get my mind around this new piece of information. Escort girls occasionally came into the hotel, and I didn't doubt that some of them worked hard for their money. I hadn't really thought about male prostitutes, let alone how fatally I would be attracted to one.

I came back to reality and said, "What's that got to do with me?"

"It seems," continued Joe, "that these gentlemen had a specific idea in mind that calls for the services of a 'head stylist'. Seeing you are the closest thing around, I thought you might be interested in making a few bucks." He was grinning widely, and I wanted to walk away and ignore the thoughts I was sure were dirtying his mind.

However, I was enthralled by the idea that this guy who had turned me on just by walking past was now upstairs, ready to sell his favours to businessmen, and I could be part of the whole disgusting and perverted deal. I turned to Joe's smirking face and said "Tell them I'll be right up. I'll just go grab some things."

It didn't take me long to grab my case with the extra set of cutting gear, and as I grabbed the room number off Joe, he gave me the strangest look. I couldn't afford to stop and think, though. I was about to go on an adventure, and I couldn't allow logic or rationality to interfere. What was that bit from Dead Poets? Carpe Diem? Seize the day?

The lift stopped at the third floor, and I made my way down to the room. I don't know what I was expecting, but the Japanese man who answered the door seemed to be quite normal from what I could see. He was an average looking man, dressed in white shirt, dark pants and dark socks (no shoes. I don't know whether this was because of custom or comfort). He waved me into the room, where a similar looking gentleman was seated on the edge of the bed. Both must have been late thirties, but both looked nice enough. A little shorter than average, but neat and trim. They apologised for calling me away from my business and assured me they would pay me enough to compensate.

They also seemed to worry about my discretion, and I assured them that a barber was like a lawyer or doctor - anything said while under the comb was entirely confidential. This seemed to reassure them. I was just wondering what was going to happen next, when I felt another jolt of this strange electricity, and turned around to see my gigolo emerging from the bathroom. He had one towel wrapped around his hips, and with the other, he was dabbing at his damp hair. His chest was everything I could have hoped for, and I was willing to drop everything there and then, and let him go down on me for all he was worth. Hell, I would probably even pay him to get to touch the source of all these strange feelings in my stomach.

The first gentleman called me back to Earth by explaining what they wanted. Apparently, they both had this thing for American pop singers, especially 'Erivis Preserey'. They had ordered a male escort, assuming all western men looked the same, and could pass for Elvis. They liked the guy they got for the most part, but his hair wasn't what they wanted. They tended to giggle and say he looked more like a girl. I turned to him and smiled my sympathy, and he just shrugged and smiled back. I don't know how he felt, standing there being discussed like a piece of meat. It didn't seem to bother him.

The Japanese then pulled out some pictures of an early Elvis Presley, and explained that this was what they wanted, and their escort had agreed to oblige. I turned to him, and he still had that uninvolved look in his eyes.

"It must have taken you a while to grow your hair that long. Are you sure you want to cut it just for a nights' work?" As soon as I said it, I felt that it sounded pompous and judgemental, and I almost kicked myself.

"Sure," he said, "most guys like it short anyway. It's only hair, and it'll grow back."

Then it was a matter of organising a chair and getting out my cutting tools. The Japanese men arranged themselves on the edge of the bed, as if we were about to enact a play. I wasn't used to having an audience and felt a bit nervous, but my client was obviously used to this sort of behaviour. I started combing out his damp hair. It was a dark brown, and the water had made it seem darker. It also had a nice wave to it. As I was combing, I was also looking at the pictures, deciding my cutting strategy. The whole scene was becoming quite surreal, and I drifted with it, getting into the mood.

Luckily, when I am cutting hair, I go off into this altered state of consciousness, where I forget about the surroundings and just concentrate on the hair and the cut. I forgot about our audience and the strange circumstances, and just proceeded to cut away some long hanks of hair. I started with some innocuous small talk, just to fill in the silence. After a while, he opened up a little, and we relaxed and started getting into the whole thing.

His name was Peter, and he was originally from some small town that I'd never heard of. We swapped general life stories, without getting into 'how did a nice guy like you...' sort of cliche. After a while, to me his job was just like any other job, and I stopped letting it be an issue. I was getting to really like him, and he seemed to like me. We were becoming friends, and I was so involved in him as a person, I didn't realise how erotic the scene was. This was my favourite fantasy - taking long hair down to a sculpted fifties cut - and here I was, living it. Only to find that the fantasy was nothing compared to the reality.

After cutting off all the extra length, his hair became quite springy as the natural wave asserted itself. It would respond quite well to combing and sculpting, and that's when I realised...there was nothing to put on his hair to finish the look. I came to a stop, and then explained the problem to the Japanese gentlemen, who had obviously sat there enthralled by the whole process. I said I would have to go down and get something, when they jumped up with a flourish of garbled english and japanese instructions not to worry, and produced from their bag a small red jar, filled with what I took to be some sort of pomade.

"Well, Pete, should we give this a go?" I said, looking at the label and realising it was probably an American brand anyway.

"Sure, why not? We've come this far." He grinned, and I smiled back. The pomade eased into his hair easily, and I took the time to rub my fingers through his shorter but luxurious hair. The stuff made his hair darker, enough to pass as 'Erivis' black in this light. As I worked on the front wave, I looked into Peters' eyes, and I saw that he was watching me intently. I blushed, and he smiled, and the knowing passed between us with an ease I had never felt. I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me. If our two employers weren't standing there, I would have taken off his towel and dropped to my knees in front of him there and then. But I couldn't shed all my inhibitions that quickly.

I was finally finished, and stood back to admire my handiwork. Although I had thought before that I could be happy with Peter, even with his long hair, there was something about the shine of greased hair, and a 1955 pompadour that really turned me on, and to look at him half naked with his gleaming hair was almost more than I could stand. He turned to the bathroom to put his clothes on, and, I realised, to get a first look at his new 'do. I had been so involved in the process that I forgot he couldn't see what I was doing. I waited to hear a scream of anguish, but when it didn't come, I figured he must be at least not too disappointed.

The Japanese gentlemen started praising my work, and putting money into my hands. I realised I was getting well paid for one haircut. They wanted me to join them at a local restaurant for dinner, and although I would have loved to spend more time with Peter, I replied that I had a shop to run and couldn't possibly. They then assured me there would be no sex involved, it was just that they liked me and this was a way of saying thank you. As tempted as I was, I refused again, and took the combs and scissors into the bathroom to rinse them off.

I had forgotten that Peter was already in there, and although he had had time to put his pants on, his chest was still bare, and in the close quarters of the hotel bathroom, the tension was extreme. He backed me up against the wall where we couldn't be seen from the other room.

"How do you like the hairstyle? Too much?" I asked, my back pressed against the wall, but my crotch pressed against his.

He didn't say anything, just looked into my eyes. He then leaned forward, and our mouths met in a deep and extremely meaningful kiss. He finally pulled back, and there was a twinkle in his eye. I don't know whether he was laughing at me or the situation, but I was too breathless to care.

"It's great. Thank you." he said.

He went back out into the main room, while I rinsed off my equipment, and splashed some cold water on my face. When I came out of the bathroom, he and the two men were fully dressed, ready to leave as well. We chatted as we walked to the lift, and I couldn't help staring at Peter, and the easy way he carried himself and talked to the others. Although I had just spent all that time shaping and coaxing his hair into the perfect pompadour, all I felt like doing at the moment was messing it up and getting as close to him as we were moments before.

As we entered the lobby, Joe looked up and gave Peter an admiring look, before turning to me with a smirk that said more than I liked. The Japanese men bowed to me in front of my shop, and again offered their thanks, and finally they walked away. It was a real let down to go back to the real world of the shop, and I just sat down to think about what had happened, the shelf cleaning forgotten.

Why hadn't I gone out with them? The shop was quiet, and I could have missed a few hours without any hassles. And how did I feel about Peter? And how did I feel about his job? I was confused and I felt my life changing in ways I didn't understand. I felt on the edge of a cliff, and if I stepped forward, I could be lost forever. Up until this point, I had dabbled in sex, and haircutting. I kept aloof, and let my psychologist persona keep me apart from what I was doing. It also kept me apart from life as well. From experiencing, not just observing.

As I was packing up to leave, still aroused and still confused, Peter returned with an arm around each of the Japanese men. He gave me a sort of half smile as they moved across to the lift. As they disappeared behind the closing doors, I felt a moment of panic, almost as if I was being left behind. I knew that I wanted something, but I wasn't sure what. I wished I had someone to talk to, but Joe was the only one around who knew what was going on, and although we were in some ways friends, I wasn't sure I wanted to discuss this with him.

I went home that night re-evaluating my life. Things were about to change. Would I be lost or found? Damned or released? I'll let you know.

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