Male Haircut Stories

A good haircut is like good sex. Or good sex is like a good haircut. Maybe it's just me.

FLIRTING

The guy comes into the shop and sits down on one of the waiting chairs. I say hello and tell him I'll be with him in a minute, and continue with the cut I'm doing. So of course I didn't notice the tight muscles under his T-shirt, or the length of light brown hair brushed up and back on his head. If pressed, I would probably have to say his eyes were dark brown and his jeans were too tight in the crotch, but that was just my first impression. Now I am never one to ignore a good looking guy with a head of good looking hair, but sometimes it is important to play a little bit hard to get - at least until you're sure of the ground.

As I worked on trimming the hair of some boring delegate from a conference on the manufacture and distribution of pork products, I kept an eye on my next customer through quick glances in the mirror, and decided that innuendo was the best approach.

"Meat today isn't what it was. I remember when a big piece of red meat would just melt in your mouth, juices dribbling down your chin. Nowadays, it all tastes like plastic or rubber." How's that for subtlety? Of course, Mr. Delegate thought I was really talking about steak - how slow can you be? The Waiting Guy joins in the conversation, just to let me know he knows.

"I remember growing up on a farm, and the things some of the older boys did with pork. It left my mouth drooling, but I couldn't shit properly for days." Now we know where he's coming from.

Mr. Delegate: "I've never had that problem with pork - maybe they were doing something wrong. Did they rub anything on it first?"

Waiting Guy: "Sometimes. Sometimes they just used it raw."

Mr. Delegate: (shocked) "Raw? Well, there's your problem..."

The conversation went on like this for at least fifteen minutes, with enough double-entendre to make several British comedy shows. I felt sorry for our Mr. Delegate at the end, especially when he tipped me as he was leaving and added that it was the best cut he had ever had.

As soon as he was out of sight, Waiting Guy and I just burst out laughing. He made his way to the chair, and like most men he ran his hand through his hair as he sat down. That brought me back to the business at hand. The flirting was done, and now it was time to get a bit more serious.

FOREPLAY

The next step was to get him used to my touch, so he didn't flinch when things got heavy. I turned the chair and dropped it back into position for a shampoo. As he lay there on the chair, I kept up some soothing smalltalk while I used the shower nozzle to wet him down. (Handy Hint: Lubrication is essential at the early stages to make sure nothing gets stuck before the main juices come into play.)

The process of wet, shampoo, rinse, shampoo, rinse, condition, wait, rinse is one that I've done several times, but it's not something that should be rushed. I take my time and add lots of stroking to make sure he is relaxed, but still maintaining some level of excitement. I always finish with a cold rinse, to close up the strands of hair, but also as a little shock to remind the other person that there is someone else in the room.

Then the chair goes back into position, and I bring out a towel to deal with any little spills that have occurred up to this point. (Handy Hint: If you do manage to spill something in another man's crotch, don't ask him if you can clean it up. He'll usually say no and do it himself. Always jump in with whatever is at hand to clean up the mess.)

The next step, of course, is to use protection. This is always an awkward moment, as I cover up some of the bits that really turn me on, but most clients prefer not to have bits of hair stuck under their collar. (Okay, I know some of you are going to suggest cutting a guy's hair while he's completely naked. Only a real pervert would come up with an idea like that. Call me. We'll talk.)

So I bring out the cape, and wrap it around his upper body, fastening it around his neck, and tucking a little paper towel in between to make it more comfortable. The cut is now ready to begin.

GETTING HIM EXCITED...

Some of this excess hair had to go. He wants it gentle, I want to start off hard. He's hesitant, I want to go for it. Have you ever tried arguing with your Barber? And who wins? There you go.

I bring out the clippers, and make sure the cord goes between his legs. That way, every time I move them, the cord is going to tickle his basket. That sort of feather touch can drive a man mad after a while - just gently rubbing against the denim, O so lightly, up and down.

I start work with a number three to taper in the back. Okay, so I don't want to scare him off. Who's writing this, anyway?

Here you go, Mr. Waiting Guy, just some off the back here, nice and short and smooth. No, it's not too much. Trust me. That's it. Just relax, while I just take off a few inches...I mean just a bit. It'll look great.

I compliment him on how thick his hair is, I act surprised when he tells me how old he is, I take an extra bit off when he tells me he's in a relationship.

GETTING ME EXCITED...

I'm not kidding about his thick hair. It's falling down around my thumb and fingers as they grip the clippers. Some of it lands on my leather shoes, and I imagine I can feel the silky, slightly damp locks between my toes. I get out the scissors and start working on the top.

"That's it, boy, just relax while Daddy snips a bit here. Snip, snip, snip. Now, that didn't hurt, did it?" Sorry, lost it a bit there.

THE MESSY PART

Like good sex, a haircut is all in the build-up and expectation. When it comes down to it, it's over much too soon.

I bring out the mousse, and squeeze the white foam into my hand, then rub it gently through his hair. It smells faintly of lemon and lime. Little hairs that clung to his head come off on my sticky hands, and I have to clean them up. There is hair all over the floor of the shop, scattered by my frenzied maypole dance around my chair of worship.

Unfortunately, Mr Waiting Guy's hair has been mixed with Mr. Delegate's, but I suppose they can go together in the scrapbook. Part of the same experience.

I hold up the mirror in the obligatory way. (Why? It's not as if I can put the hair back on if he doesn't like it. And who's gonna tell you that the back of your head looks like shit? Besides you-know-who.)

GUILT, GRIEF AND GOODBYE

We move to the counter. I put the cape away while he reaches for his wallet. This part makes me feel cheap.

He pays me while we swap compliments, and he says he'll be back, but I don't know. Maybe I was too much for a first cut, you know. Came on too strong, took too much off the top.

But I refuse to cling. Let the bastard go and let someone else cut his hair - he'll miss me, you'll see. He'll come crawling back to a guy who really knows his way around a set of clippers...

I have *really* got to change my medication. I am sure the doctor has me on some weird experimental dose. Maybe I should call Mulder and Scully.

"Next..."

Labels: LNHB