Male Haircut Stories

I was on my way home the other night after a slow time in the shop, when I spotted a familiar car full of friends, who were waving frantically for me to stop. I pulled over and they piled out and crossed the road to meet me.

"Jerry, hey, what’s up?"

Jerry was a local volunteer for the Safe Sex campaign, and worked the beats handing out condoms. We had met over a weekend class, and got to be friends. He was usually the nicest of guys, but the look on his face made me step back a bit and do a quick revision of every word I had ever said about the guy in public. He was furious.

"Listen, we need a favour. I don’t want to get you involved, so I understand if you don’t want to know. We just need to borrow some equipment."

"What’s up? If you’re all going to shave yourselves for a prank, you can’t do it without me! No way am I missing that."

"Nah, it’s nothing like that," said Jay, one of Jerry’s slow but steady helpers.

"We just caught a guy and figured we’d teach him a lesson, that’s all."

I looked back at Jerry, and he looked away.

"Hey, Jerry, what’s going on?"

"Okay, it’s like this..." Jerry then explained the situation (with an occasional ad lib by his impromptu chorus.

It seems he was patrolling the beat, giving out the condoms, lube and clinic telephone number, when he and the others heard some screaming off in the bushes. Now, screaming is nothing new in that area, but this was different enough to send a group of them over to see what’s up.

When they got there, they found a huge bikie doing a job on a poor young kid. The kid was homeless, and decided to walk the streets looking for an overnight, when the drunk and dirty bear had decided to do a bit of chicken snatching.

The pink brigade were straight to the rescue, though, and took the villain in hand. Apparently they had carried him off to a deserted underground car park, and had tied him down to be dealt with.

"And that’s where I come in?"

"That’s right," said Jerry. "This guy is filthy and absolutely covered in hair. We decided that we would handle the incident on our own. A little shave..."

At this the other guys broke into a series of bad jokes dealing with shaving cream and various positions. I asked a few more questions (mainly about the mental state of the young boy, the needs of the ‘posse’ and the ultimate legality of the situation).

"Don’t worry. You don’t have to get involved. Just give us some scissors or clippers or something, and we’ll take it from there."

Now, as any true hair fetishist would realize, you don’t loan your clippers to no-one, no-how. And who would pass up an opportunity like this anyway?

"You wouldn’t do it right, and would probably end up cutting him to shreds. I’ll come along and see that the dirty deed is done right."

I climbed back in the car, and we headed off to find where they’d left their prize catch.

When we got close, I could see what they meant by him being a dirty bear. They'd stripped him of his leathers and denim, and had tied him with ropes and handcuffs (and I didn’t ask who had handcuffs handy at that time of night). He was dirty, though, and stank of alcohol and stale sweat. But the most amazing thing was the amount of hair on him.

It grew in thick black strands from his feet to his head, with massive bushes under his arms and between his legs. His face was hidden behind his fringe, moustache and beard, so all you could see were his blurry eyes. He was well muscled though, so he probably did a lot of hard work during the week ( I couldn’t imagine him joining a gym and doing aerobics).

"There’s no way I’m letting any of my equipment near him until you clean him up a bit. Otherwise we won’t get an inch before the clippers clog up."

Then there were suggestions about how to clean him. Most of them were impossible at that time of night in an underground car park, but some seemed strangely well informed. One posse member in particular seemed quite the expert in washing down bound bikers.

In the end, they got a hose from the back wall and a bar of soap from the local men’s room, and started lathering him up. It was either the cold water or the unexpected places they used the soap, but our prisoner started sobering up very quickly, and his bellowing soon had us backing off and looking over our shoulders.

Then one of the pink brigade produced a fairly awesome looking rubber ball gag from somewhere (probably the same place the handcuffs came from) and soon our bear was quiet again.

Then I became foreman, and we set to work. I had a couple of the guys start with the scissors, cutting off hairs wherever they could, being careful not to damage the skin beneath. We figured as long as we didn’t actually cut him, we couldn’t be had up for assault. Yeah, right.

Then I moved into a cleared area with the clippers, and took it closer to the skin. Then another set of guys would follow with soap lather and some disposable razors I had in my glove box. (Okay, so some guys carry handcuffs, I carry disposable razors. Leave me alone - it’s my fetish.)

Pretty soon he was smooth skin from the chest down. The cold water rinses were making him shiver a bit, but it wasn’t a cold enough night for him to catch so much as a cold. He had actually stopped struggling after a while - I think it was when they were working around his dick and were making jokes about Bobbit.

Anyway, we then started on his head, cutting off great hanks of his beard and head hair. By this time there seemed to be a massive pile of hair on the ground, and we were kicking it aside to get in close. Some of the guys were really getting into it, and would have made good barbers. I was sure some of the others had taken turns going behind one of the pillars to ‘relieve’ themselves. Me? I was so into it I don’t think I could have stopped if the entire militia turned up at the garage entrance.

So, we had his face bared, and he didn’t look half that bad. I mean, he wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but there was nothing to suggest he needed to hide his face from human sight. I ran the clippers over his chin and then up and across his head. We had to do some manoeuvring around the gag straps, but for the most part, it wasn’t that difficult.

In the end, I stepped back, and what once had been a bear now stood entirely naked before us, with only his eyelashes left to suggest he had ever had any hair on his body at all. He just stood there, tied to the cement pillar with an angry look on his face, but he made no attempt to struggle.

We all just stood there. No-one wanted to say it, but we were all wondering ‘What do we do now?’

I mean, we couldn’t just leave him tied up, but if we released him, we weren’t sure he wouldn’t go for one of us. Jerry opened his mouth to say something, when we all jumped at the sound of someone walking up out of the shadows.

"I’ll take it from here, boys."

We all turned to stare at what we had to believe was a real policeman. No-one recognized him as one of us in uniform drag, and he looked like he could be a real cop. Seems he had come to investigate the original bear shouts, and had picked up the story from our conversation.

"Just leave him here with me. I’ll have a little chat with him, and see that he doesn’t bother you again. I’m sure he will be reasonable."

What could we do? Either he was a real cop and would give the offender a talking to and let him go, or he was a pervert ready to act out some scene of depraved sadism on our bound and helpless captive. Whatever happened, we had done what we could, and were now all feeling a bit ashamed.

We all left quietly - some to the pub to debrief, others back to the beat to release some pent up sexual energy. I just went on home and debated about telling Joe what happened.

Of course, I did tell him, but I don’t think he would have understood it the way I did. But that’s him.

Anyway, if you see this shaved guy in dirty leathers cruising one of the beats, let me know so I can believe it all turned out all right.

Labels: LNHB