Male Haircut Stories

Most of the time, I get my kicks out of normal guys getting normal (and not so normal) cuts. Actually, before I started on the Internet, I thought that there were only one or two fetishists in the world.

Now, of course, I’m older (a whole year since I started telling you this stuff!) and wiser, and I realize there are plenty of men out there who find the idea of getting a haircut incredibly erotic. I am no longer alone.

And as much as Joe now appreciates the sensual possibilities of hair, I don’t think he can ever truly now what it does for me. Unless you have the fetish, all you can do is develop a taste for the thing.

So here I was, thinking these profound and deep thoughts, when I looked up to see this guy walking toward the shop, and my gaydar kicked in immediately. For any readers out there who are still straight, gaydar is that ability that homosexual men have that enables us to spot another homosexual at fifty paces. There is stuff in the scientific literature if you don’t believe me.

As this guy walked toward me, I knew that he was gay, that he was extremely nervous, and he was as handsome as hell. I don’t just mean good-looking. He was the kind of guy that immediately makes your cock sit up and take notice, and every eye in the vicinity was focused on him.

He looked like he had just come from work, as he was still in tan slacks, blue shirt (Country Road, maybe) and a tie. Button down collar. His hair was that blond kind that always makes me envious and that certain Hollywood actresses would kill for. It had natural highlights, making it look like he spent a lot of time outdoors. It was thick and heavy and parted in the middle, but after about an inch it divided into a mass of solid and springy curls.

Although it looked well cut, it hadn’t been trimmed for over a month, and the front curls were falling over the eyebrows and gave him a shaggy surfer look. His smile was brilliant white and stood out against his tanned skin.

I looked over to where Joe usually stood, but tonight was his night off, and he was in a poker game on the other side of the city. What a night he picked to miss. I turned back to my approaching customer, and tried not to lick my lips in anticipation.

He got to the door of the shop, and I walked over to greet him.

"Hi. Here for a cut?" That’s me, master of stating the obvious. How come when I’m thinking with my balls, they always stuff it up and make me look like an idiot?

"Yeah, listen, I don’t know if I’m in the right place. Do you know a guy called S**** M******?" (Some of you may know him as well, but in order to protect his privacy, let’s just call him you-know-who).

"I might. Did he suggest you come here?"

"Look, this is a bit strange." He looked around, but the lobby was deserted. However, he also rubbed his hand through that mass of sandy curls, and I thought, if that is a nervous gesture, then I want this guy to be as nervous as possible.

"He said that you sometimes...give...like, well...special haircuts."

Now, I am not against sex, and this guy was stud enough for me to be ready for anything, anytime, anywhere. But I am not to be passed around like a bathroom wall number.

"Just exactly what do you want?"

Then it slowly came out. He had always had a ‘bit of a thing’ about getting his hair cut. It turned him on, but he had never done anything about it. Then he had met you-know-who in a bar, and under the influence of a few beers and some gentle prodding, had revealed his fantasy. Then you-know-who had suggested he come to see me, and get his hair cut properly.

Since then, he had been so nervous just thinking about it, he had jerked off three times last night before finally getting to sleep. (Okay, he didn’t tell me that’s what he had done, but that’s what I would have done. Actually, I can remember one time... Let’s keep that for another story, huh?) He had finally decided to see me, but had been walking around the city for two hours getting up the nerve.

Now, this was the first true fetisher that I had had in my chair, and I wanted to make the most of it.

I started off by giving him a shampoo - both to calm him down a bit and to prolong the experience. Plus it’s a necessary part of the ritual. As the warm water flowed over his thick hair, it darkened and became straighter at the same time. The weight of the water made his hair seem longer without the pull of the curl. I rubbed the shampoo through the long strands, and felt the weight of all that soon-to-be-gone hair.

I then set him back up in the barber chair facing the mirror. By the look on his face he was excited and nervous, and I couldn’t decide whether he was ready to pee or cum.

I combed his hair with my fingers, and spoke soothing words. Well, not so soothing, I suppose.

"There, look at all that hair. I’m going to have to cut it off, you know. That’s right. I’m going to take the scissors and snip through all those little boy curls. You’re going to walk out of here totally different."

I picked up the comb and began combing his fringe down so that the wet hair covered his eyes.

"That’s it, boy, just relax while I take care of all this hair of yours. It’s way too long. You’ve been a bad boy and now it’s all long and tangled. I’m going to have to get it all cut off. I may even have to shave your head to get it right."

He was squirming a bit, and made little involuntary grunting sounds.

The comb glided easily through his dark wet hair, and I took the scissors and snipped across his fringe. The curls fell down on the cape, and sprang back into tight circles.

"Nope, that’s not short enough. I’ll have to take some more off."

Once again the scissors sliced through his fringe, releasing more of the curls to fall softly like dark snowflakes on the light coloured cape. He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror, and I think he lost his initial hesitation. Now it was too late to turn back, so he could only go for it.

"My hair is way too long. Do you think you could give me a flat top?"

He was obviously pretty brave for his first time, but I just smiled back at him. "I think you’d look great in a flat top. But how short do you want to go?"

"I’ve still got to go to work, so I don’t want anything that makes me look like I just escaped from prison. Just sort of short."

So I set to work with the scissors some more, just to have the pleasure of cutting through individual locks and having them roll down off his shoulders and onto the floor. During the first few cuts, I tried to chat to him, but he seemed more focussed on the experience, and had trouble paying attention to what I was saying.

His hair was starting to dry out quickly now that it was getting so short, so I just dampened it down with a spray bottle. I ruffled my hand through it, but what started out as a set of spikes quickly retreated into a flat set of curls that hugged his skull.

I got out the clippers and then proceeded to trim the hair around his ears. I don’t think he had had clippers used before, and this was another thrill for him. I actually stopped and let him hold them so he could feel the power and weight of them.

I tipped his head forward, and started running the clippers up the back of his head in smooth, long strokes. I figured if he hadn’t stained his pants by now, this should do it. I rubbed my palm slowly over the back of his head, massaging the short and soft stubble. Actually, he probably wasn’t the only one with sticky underwear at that stage.

The top was a little more troublesome, as the curling hair wanted to go in every direction. But eventually, using a flat comb and lots of gel, I got it all firm and standing. Of course, there was a softness to the cut, as there was no way the hairs were going to be entirely straight. It looked more like a field of wheat where the tops were slightly curled over under a stiff breeze.

It really suited him, though, and he looked a lot younger, but more mature at the same time. When I took the cape off him and he got the whole effect with the blue shirt and tie, I figured he was in for another long night of five-finger romance. Shit, so was I!

He paid me, and we said a few words to each other. I said he should come back in a week or so to let me trim it up, and he agreed. I told him that I knew what it was like, this thing about men and their hair, and if he ever wanted to talk, he knew where to find me. It was a very intimate moment, but we left it there. He said good-bye, and I said see ya, and we went our own way.

But, if there is one thing I know, it’s that you can’t fight the fetish. Once you give in to the thing once, it’s got you for the rest of your life.

He’d be back.

Labels: LNHB