Male Haircut Stories

So, here I was again, setting up the Barber shop for another evening of haircutting, but the experiences I have been having have left me confused and disturbed. That one kiss from Peter was enough to win my lifelong devotion, but I couldn't get over the fact that he lied about sex for a living. I mean, he probably told half-a-dozen men that he loved them each week, and I was probably only one of many. Time to get back to the real world.

It was a slow night, and I was wondering if anything interesting was going to happen, and whether I wanted anything to happen, when the lobby doors flew open with a flourish, and the hotel was invaded by a troupe (gaggle? flock? gang?) of bespangled and bejewelled transvestites, all in glorious black and white. Among them was a friend of mine, William 'Beau Dean' Perkins, a guy who came in once and a while for a haircut that could pass as both male and female. We used to have long conversations as he tried to convince me to try drag for a while, while I tried to convince him that a short back and sides would suit him more.

Beau Dean, done up in full evening dress, pearls all over white satin, led the raucous group over to the door of the shop, and I started worrying about what they could possibly want. I had never heard of a mob of transvestites going around forcing makeup on helpless individuals, but it seemed they all had one thing in mind - forcing their way into my shop.

"Uh, Miss Beau Dean, what a surprise. I take it you're not here for your usual trim." She had on quite a large, blonde wig, interlaced with more pearls.

"You'll never believe what we've found walking the streets," she blurted, only to be interrupted by a chorus of voices, all claiming to be the one who found 'it'.

"I'm sure I won't," and by this time their gaiety was apparent, and I was sure they were all more than slightly drunk. I looked across through the window at Joe, and he just shrugged his shoulders. I was glad he cared enough to come running to my rescue. With friends like that...

"Anyway, it doesn't matter who found it, it's just that we did, and we want to take it with us, but we needed to make a few changes, and I knew you'd be here, and who better, so we agreed..." but once again Miss Beau Dean was interupted by various comments and shouts. There is something about being in the presence of more than one queen at a time that seems to take all the oxygen from the room and turn any conversation into a cat scene from Dynasty. But by now my curiosity was definitely aroused.

"Am I allowed to know what it is you've found, or is that a secret?"

Miss Beau Dean and the others then all gathered together to take advantage of the drama of the moment, and the small crowd parted to reveal a young man standing back in the doorway. The 'it' was about eighteen years old, with long curly black hair that I always associate with italian cherubs, or the art of Carravagio. He had big brown eyes, but a fairly square face and jaw.

I was then pelted with explanations as every overdecorated person in the room gave me their version of the story, one on top of each other. It sems they were on their way to the annual Drag Emporium Social Outing of the Year Ball (which had as its theme Black & White), when they happened upon this lonely stranger, whom they then kidnapped and convinced to accompany them as an authentic testosterone producing male. The only problem seemed to be that he wasn't dressed in black and/or white, but this was remedied by taking 'it' to the local costume shop and renting 'it' a sailor costume ('just like Gene Kelly - no, not Grace Kelly etc.) and now they wanted 'it' to have a cut to match. It seems the head of curls would have been fine for drag, but he was 'oh too handsome' to do a switch.

I moved forward and offered my hand to this young man afloat in a sea of organza. "Hi, I understand you want a haircut?"

He looked back at me with such a shy smile, that I immediately saw what these others had seen in him. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? They're not holding you at gunpoint or anything, are they?"

He just smiled, and said he really wanted to go, and he didn't mind getting his hair cut, as the curls were too hard to look after, anyway. I led him to the seat, and the entourage made themselves comfortable around the shop. With all the chatter and comments on make up and general bitchiness, it was almost like working at a women's beauty parlour. The first thing I did was to start combing out Damien's hair ("Damien, that's his name. Isn't it oh so darling!") and the feel of this beautiful thick hair made me forget the audience for a minute. He had few tangles, considering the length of his hair. As I combed it out, it was reaching well past his shoulders, before the curl pulled it back up.

"Now he has to look like a sailor from those old MGM musicals, so don't make it too short.," said Miss Beau Dean, to be answered immediately with "But it has to be short for a sailor, doesn't it" from someone who looked like a blurry photo of Marilyn.

"Just leave it to me," I said, "I think I know what we want."

I then started cutting off large locks of his hair, as he stared trustingly at me in the mirror. The 'girls' alled oohed and aahed, and began discussing the various merits of long hair versus short hair for today's TV. I tried to tune out the babble while I concentrated on cutting around young Damien's ears, when all of a sudden the room went totally quiet, and the silence was quite frightening.

I looked up, and understood the reason for the sudden lull in the conversation - Peter stood in the doorway, resplendent in his dark shirt and freshly oiled pompadour. (Just for those of you not up to speed, Peter is a gigolo that I did an Elvis cut for in very unusual circumstances, and who has so turned me on that I had to jerk off three times the other night just to get to sleep, only to be awoken for an encore performance after and incredibly erotic dream - so now you know.)

"I can see you're busy," he said, after a long look around the crowded shop. "I just wanted to thank you again for the other night, and what you did. I hope I can return the favour some time." With that he smiled, and turned toward the front desk. I was watching him walk over to Joe, and I am sure all eyes in the room were swinging back and forward between me and Peter's tight ass.

As Joe spoke to Peter, and sent him toward the elevator, the noise once again erupted in the shop, as if the volume knob was suddenly twisted into its highest position. There was no way I could follow every conversation, or even keep up with the questions, so I studiously ignored them and went back to cutting Damien's hair.

I think they soon realised that I wasn't about to 'give', so they all trooped out to descend on Joe. With them all gone, the shop felt several acres bigger, and I concentrated on my client, and did everything possible to block Peter out of my mind (and pants). Damien was new to the city, and was without friends. He had always known that he was gay, and hadn't done much about it, and had just been out wandering when the Queens had found him. He really enjoyed being with them, as he had never seen anything like it before, and he was looking forward to this Ball.

Without the continuous gay conversation, Damien opened up and started telling me more about himself, while I took his curls down to the bare minimum. I left the hair longish on to, but used the clippers on the side to come down to about a quarter of an inch. The dark black hair stood out against the white skin beneath. He had no sideburns to speak of, so I took the sides straight out in a line from the top of his ears.

The I tapered the back, from about an inch above the collar to an inch below the crown. His hair was thicker here, but I shaved the hair above the hairline, so as it grew back it would leve stubble. I was sorry that his neck had been hidden by the sun, because the sight of a white line of scalp above a suntanne neck announces a fresh haircut better than anything, and I must say is a *big* turn on.

I wanted to really give him that 1940's musical look, so I got out my reserve bottle of Mister Whittakers Patented Hair Tonic For Men, and applied a liberal dose to his hair. I didn't want to plaster his curls down, just make sure they were all running in the same direction and staying there. I parted his hair about three quarters of an inch off centre to the right, and rubbed the tonic into his temples to get the shorter hairs to lie down flat.

As I slid the comb through the waves at the top and across the skin of his temples, I couldn't help but think of Peter, and why he was here, and what he was doing upstairs. I was half horny, half jealous. This was not a problem that was going to go away anytime soon.

Damien was finished, and as always I was amazed at the transformation. He went into my little back room with his newly rented sailors suit, while I cleaned up the mass of curls that now lay on the floor (except for the obligatory lock for my collection). When he emerged in full get up, he looked so much like a recruit from a World War II poster that it was all I could do to stop my dick coming to full attention and saluting him. The small cap he held in his hands, not sure about putting it on, but I helped him arrange it in the mirror so the crisp whiteness stood out wonderfully against the sleek black waves on his head.

We then walked out into the lobby, where Joe was still entertaining the crowd of 'ladies' with obviously filthy (but true) stories about the antics of the patrons. I cleared my throat with a load 'ahem', and Damien became the centre of attention for anyone, as he stood in full glory in the middle of the marble foyer. Instantly he was surrounded by a crowd of admiring semi-womanhood, and I got a few good compliments as well. Joe came out from behind the counter with a Polaroid camera one of the recent guests had left behind and never claimed (or so says Joe), and gathered everyone together for a few commemorative shots. I was quite eager to get a snapshot of Damien, for purely indulgent and perverted reasons, but also because he was a nice kid, and I wanted to remember that.

Finally, they gathered together Damien's discarded street clothes, and assorted handbags and chiffon wraps, and the whole parade went chattering off into the night, and to be the prize attraction at the Ball, no doubt. I was sure Damien was in good hands, and I returned to the now deathly quiet shop to think about closing up and what I had to do tomorrow - anything except what I wanted.

After about another half hour, I was still cleaning up, when the elevator opened to reveal Peter, whatever job he had had over for the night. He made his way to the desk to say something to Joe, and Joe was obviously filling him in on the downstairs antics and showing him some of the photos. Peter looked across at me, but I immediately found something else to occupy my attention. When I risked a glance back, both he and Joe were gone, and I felt a bit panicked. Then I saw them emerge from the staff entrance, chatting like old friends.

Peter waved to me as he went toward the front door, and the smile he gave me was enough to make me almost run out and catch him ... almost. As his DA disappeared down the front steps, Joe came over with his 'sincere' expression, which made me very suspicious.

"What were you up to back there?"

"Oh, nothing, it's just that Pete wanted to give you a present, something to remember him by, and he asked my opinion."

"Yeah, right. What did you suggest, seeing as how you know me oh so well?"

"Well, it took some convincing, but I thought you might like this."

With that he produced another polaroid, but this one was of Peter. He had his shirt off, and was standing against the pantry door. His head was in profile, and the sleek curve of his quiff stood out in profile like some glorious black wave about to crash on the shore of his forehead. The kitchen lights picked out highlights along the sides where it was slicked down behind his ears, and the long line of his hairless neck added to the eroticism. I looked up at Joe, and his smirk made me blush. So now everyone would know.

But who cares, huh? I had two pictures for my scrapbook an innocent boy dressed as a sailor who was just starting out to discover the joy and pain of being gay, and my gloriously coiffed gigolo. Now who can ever get any sleep with a life like mine? C'mon, Dickie, we've got a long night ahead of us.

Labels: LNHB