Male Haircut Stories

"I think you should go shorter."

"Well, I don’t know."

It gets so frustrating at times. I mean, I know he wants to get his hair cut short, he knows he really wants it short, and everyone knows he’ll look better with short hair, but we go through this little drama. I looked through the window over at Joe and gave him one of my ‘why did I ever become a barber’ shrugs.

The client was Derrin, a middle aged man who had been coming to my Dad’s shop for years. He had then somehow become my client, and over the past twelve months, we played this game where I would suggest he go shorter, and he would argue, and then I would end up taking a bit more off than last time.

The thing was, he was thinning out fairly quickly on top, and the short buzzed cut would make him look a lot better than the straggly few hairs that were left. I know it’s a big thing to lose your hair (and God forbid it should ever happen to me), but if it’s going to go, make the best of it. Announce it to the world with pride - don’t hide your head in the closet.

So here we were again, and I was determined to take the last of his hair down to a fine buzz all over. But it was like landing a fish - lots of pulling here, backing off there, and waiting for him to tire himself out and just give in.

"It would look so much better short. And you wouldn’t have any trouble drying it after you’ve been swimming, either."

As we continued to dance around the subject, I looked up to see this young guy walking towards the shop. He had dark blond hair, parted in the middle and falling in two waves across his forehead and back behind his ears. It was the kind of haircut that makes a guy look ‘cute’ and young. Of course, I was immediately jealous of how thick and wavy it was - especially after I had just finished thinking about going bald.

(For those of you who don’t know, my hair is baby fine and the only body it has is what the shampoo and gel give it. If it’s not styled, it falls over my face and makes me look like the Beaver. The last thing I need is to look younger. But my fine hair could start disappearing like my Dad’s, and as any fetisher knows, there is nothing worse than hair on the pillow. Unless I’ve cut it off of a helpless Joe, of course.)

Anyway, this young guy is walking toward the shop and he’s working his tie off as he approaches, and undoes the top button of his blue business shirt. He comes through the door, and he can see there’s only one chair and it’s occupied at the moment. I’m afraid he’ll leave and take all that hair with him, and I wonder what Derrin would think if I kicked him off the chair and hustled him out of the shop...

But, miracles happen.

"Ah, I was in a bit of a hurry. How long will I have to wait for a cut?"

"Well, we’ve just started here..."

Then Derrin says, "That’s okay. I’m not in any hurry. And I have to think about what sort of cut I want, anyway." I could have kissed the guy’s bald head at that moment.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

The blond guy then changes places with Derrin, and I cape him up and start running my hands through his hair. Nope, there’s nothing in there. Those waves are natural. That colour is natural. That thickness is natural. What a pain. I hope my boner is not showing too much.

"So, what can I do for you. Just a trim?"

"Nope. I need it really short."

"How short is ‘short’?"

"I’m meeting this girl for the first time tonight, and I told her on the Internet I was a marine. I need a haircut like that."

Now, the mention of a girl is depressing, but the idea of this guy going military is a sort of compensation.

"Do you want it really high and tight like a new recruit, or do you want something you can wear to work on Monday?"

"Maybe a flat top, like they have in the movies."

"Okay. I can do that."

So thick-haired blond guy wants to go short. I hope Derrin is paying attention.

I start out by using the scissors to get rid of some of the bulk. This leaves a whole pile of curled locks on the floor around my feet. Some of the length I cut off the back was at least three inches. As more hair fell, I could start to get a feel for his head shape, and I could plan what I was going to do with the clippers.

I was like a sculptor, chipping away the outer stone to reveal the inner flat top. A good barber is an artist, and I had to visualize the best lines for the hair on his head. Not every skull can handle a strong diagonal, and some foreheads cope well with a high fringe.

I don’t know whether Derrin was a real hair fetishist, but I noticed him looking on with avid interest. So was Joe. So was I, for that matter.

Once the bulk of the hair was gone, I got out the clippers and tightened the head. I started off with a big comb to set the maximum length for the top. Then I put down the comb and ran a bit of gel through the top hair, just to get it standing straight.

Then onto the back. This is a serious step, because it is here that the little blemishes can reveal themselves. Scars that you got as a kid and forgot about. Moles. Bald patches. Birthmarks. All things that can spoil the look of the buzz. However, our blond would-be marine had a clear, clean scalp, and so I took it in a little tighter.

I started off around the ears with a basic short buzz, and then used the clippers to sort of grade the sides up, giving them a taper. Because his hair was so thick, the strands kept clogging the blades though. I went back to the scissors and did the rest by hand.

There were lots of stray hairs that need to be clipped. There was a lot of work to be done on the top. I used the flat top comb to give me a level, and there was plenty of running my hands through his short hair to make sure it was all standing up. Hey, it’s my job! Someone’s got to do it.

At one stage, I almost slipped on some of the hair on the floor. There seemed a hell of a lot of it, and I kicked a pile of it off to the side before I ended up sliding and putting a permanent part in the guy’s skull.

Finally, it was finished. A nice crisp cut. Not too high, but definitely tight. I stood back and admired the transformation. The hair didn’t make him look older, but it definitely made him look more mature, if that makes sense.

When he stood up, the white scalp and blond hair looked good against the blue shirt. He thanked Derrin, and paid me. I was sorry to see him go, and suggested he came back soon for maintenance.

Then I got Derrin back in the chair. I was still on a bit of a high from the flat top, but I had to get back to business. I was just about to start the process of convincing Derrin to go short, when he said,

"I’ll have what he’s having."

So, I couldn’t give him the flat top, but I got stuck into taking the sides down a bit before he changed his mind. Okay, I probably made it a bit too short, but I was on a roll. Anyway, he seemed to like it. And it suited him. I ran my hand over the short, soft hairs, and I think he got a kick out of the feel himself.

"That’s much better," I said.

"Yeah, I think that’s great." By the time he paid and left, I was feeling a little ‘buzzed’ out. It must be easier to be a barber when you don’t have to spend half your day with an erection.

When I went to sweep up, I found that the blond curls were mixed with the salt and pepper ends from Derrin. I kept one of these ‘peppered’ locks for my scrapbook, and wondered whether I would see the blond guy again. If he was that willing to change his hair, maybe I could interest him in experimenting in other areas. Who knows.

Anyway, I hope to see all you long-haired hippies in here soon for the same treatment.

Labels: LNHB

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

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