A Haircut...and More...

My brakes screeched when I stopped in the parking lot. I thought, “This shop looks like it has promise.”  It couldn't have been more stereotypical. It was a white frame building, with the paint peeling.  I sat there with my pipe clenched in my jaw while I thought for a few minutes, trying to decide if I was going to really go through with this.  I tried to look through the windows, and see what the inside of the shop looked like.  I couldn’t see a damn thing because of the sun’s glare on the windows.  The only thing that said “barber shop” was the familiar red and white striped pole turning by the door and the sign that said, “George’s Barber Shop” that was hanging on the door. 

  I probably would’ve sat there for a long time, listening to Rational Me and Emotional Me argue, but the heat of a Texas summer made me open the door.  “OK, Wayne.  Stop being a pussy.  It’s time to do this, and anyway, no one is going to blame you for trying to get some relief from this heat!  Let’s hope the barber is as good as they say.” 

 I had woken up that morning with a raging hard-on.  I jacked off, and my hard-on hit again.  All I could think about was getting to a barbershop and getting my hair chopped off.

 This conversation in my head had been going on all morning.  It started when I looked in the mirror, and saw my bed-head self.  Rational Me started the conversation with, “Give that hippy in the mirror hell, Wayne!” Despite all the smoke coming out of the pipe I had in my mouth, I could see the man looking back at me didn’t look like he was enjoying what he was hearing

 “You’re about come to come out of the closet, and you think people are gonna be worried about what your hair looks like?  Nobody’s gonna give a shit if you have hair, or don’t, once you tell them you’re gay.  If you want a fucking short haircut, then get your ass in the truck and go to the barber shop.  It’s as simple as that.”

 I had to admit that Rational Me was right.  If I showed up at someone’s house with an extreme haircut, and told them I was gay, they probably wouldn’t think much about my haircut.  This was probably the best time to do it.  I thought, “Wayne, you might as well get it over with.”

 Emotional Me was quick to respond.   “Yeah, but what if it looks like shit?  Just because I like the look, it doesn’t mean I’m gonna look good in it.  I’m not going to find a guy who’s interested in me if I look like shit!”

 “Wayne, you’ve fantasized about going to be a barber and getting a really short haircut for years, just like you’ve fantasized about meeting a guy to love. You’ve let what others think about you stop you from fulfilling all your dreams.  Are you gonna grow a pair of balls, or are you going to let what other people think about you keep you from doing what you want for more years?  How many more years are you willing to waste, worshipping at the altar of other people’s opinions?”

 I knew Rational Me was right.  Even though I loved the idea of sporting an extreme, I had never done anything about it.  I had dreamed about an extreme haircut for years, and I’d let fear keep me from acting on it.   I’d let what I thought other people would think of me keep me from acting on it, hiding behind the thought, “A short haircut is not the right look for me.  I have a great head of hair, and I don’t know if it would look good cut really short.”

 I started thinking about all the times I had planned on getting a short haircut (most of the time I would decide I was going to get a flattop, but once I planned on shaving my head.)  I would gear up, and head to the barbershop, but I always changed my mind at the last minute.  Sometimes it was because the barber didn’t meet my standards, but most of the time it was because I was afraid I’d look goofy.  Well, almost always.  

 Emotional Me stepped in and said, “Don’t forget that time I was sent to help start up a new store in southern Georgia, and I knew I would be gone for two months.  I went into an old-fashioned barber shop there, and got the worst haircut of my life.  The barber just plain fucked-up my hair.  That scarred me, and it was a long time before I thought about getting a short haircut again.  Do you really want me to go through that kind of trauma again?”

 Rational Me spoke up, and said, “After years of dreaming about getting a “real” haircut from a “real” barber, you’re going to do this, so just shut the fuck up, Emotional Me.”  

 Emotional Me went through all the reasons I had used before for not getting a short haircut.  “Wayne, you’ll probably look goofy, and no one will find you attractive.  Plus, you don’t want to catch any flack from your circle of friends, and you know the clowns you run around with will definitely give you seventeen kinds of shit if you showed up with a really short haircut.  They’re all still stuck in the Seventies, and you get enough shit from them about the occasional cigar or pipe you smoke—and you know you only smoked around them after got enough booze in you to make you not worry about what they think.”  

 I could only imagine the jokes they’d make at my expense if I showed up with a buzzed head.  Rational Me shut up Emotional Me when he said, “Wayne, why the hell are you still hanging out with the same idiots you ran around with in high school.  You’ve been out of school for fifteen years, it’s about time you grew up, and found some real friends.”

 That had settled it in my head.  I knew today was going to be the day—no matter what.

 I had researched barbers, and I had picked a barber with care.  His reviews seemed to make him the perfect barber for what I wanted, but I researched him again. I'd read about him on smokingbarberfetish.com, a haircut fetish site. I'd been disappointed by some of the referrals I’d got on this site before.  This barber had rave reviews, but he was about 100 miles away.  I decided it was worth the trip.  I mentally shot my friends a finger and started getting ready to go get a “real” haircut.

 I dressed carefully that day, wanting to make sure I presented the perfect image.  I knew I’d remember this day for years, and I didn’t want any thoughts of “I should’ve” to ruin the memory.  I put on a clean white (tight) t shirt, tight jeans that were faded perfectly, a pair of shit kicker cowboy boots and a great suede vest. Not too rustic, not too dressy. I put three big cigars in my pocket (that seemed like the right quantity. More would be ostentatious, but just one didn't say, ''I'm a serious cigar smoker'') and picked my favorite straight pipe.

 I looked at myself in the mirror before heading out, and what I saw made me shake my head in disgust…and then I had to shake my head again when my hair fell in my eyes.  I grabbed a faded baseball cap, shoved my hair out of my eyes and settled the cap on on my head.  I had another conversation with myself.  “There, that took care of that problem for a little while, and you’re about to take care of it for a long time.   Wayne, you’re a damned fool for letting your hair get this long.  You know you’re constantly pushing the hair out of your eyes, and it’s getting on your nerves in a big way.  Go get rid of this mess.”

 I looked in the mirror again, and I definitely didn’t like what I saw.  My hair wasn't extremely long, but it was definitely six weeks past due for a cut. It was beginning to hang over my ears a bit, and I had a few curls sticking out, especially when wearing a hat.  “Wayne, you’ve just got to do something about that moustache.  You look like a hermit.  You’re way past due for a trim.  Don’t forget to have that barber straighten it up.  Maybe then you can chew your food, instead of your moustache when you’re eating.”  Thinking about eating and my moustache made me wonder for about the millionth time how men with those huge walrus mustaches ever ate anything. Mine was already driving me crazy, and it wasn't even that long. 

I stared at my goatee, and wondered if I should have it cut too.  I hadn’t cut it in more than a year, and it hung down to the middle of my chest. My sideburns were pretty long (I kept them long) but they were so bushy they reminded me of pictures of my dad from the Seventies. I had thought about growing some Dundrearies, but had never followed through with it. I didn't really like the look of them, but I was fascinated by them. Explain that one....

 While I was driving to the barbershop, I had done some reflecting on my life.  I've always known I was gay, but had struggled hard to admit it to myself, much less anyone else. I had tried to prove how straight I was by sleeping with as many girls as I could, and then bragging about it. I really didn't care if I ruined their reputations, as long as I enhanced mine with stories of my conquests.  I used my good looks (I'm really not being a braggart, but Mother Nature blessed me with looks that are much better than average) and my natural charm to worm my way into a lot of girl's beds.

 I finally grew up, and realized that I was hurting some good people with my actions.  I‘m really ashamed to admit that I've broke quite a few hearts. 

 Rational Me spoke up.  “A lot of good it did you to, isn’t it?  No matter how many beds you got into, you were never satisfied. You know it left you feeling dirty and pathetic. You knew you didn't care for the girls, and honestly, there were always at least three people in the bed: you, the girl and whatever fantasy man you had in your head. You always used the image of the man of the day to get hard... And stay hard.”

 I thought about that, and knew Rational Me was right.  I almost always imagined scenes where I was in a barber shop, and the barber was peeling the hair off my head with great gusto.  

 I might as well just say it; I’ve had a fetish about barbers and short haircuts since I was very young.  In addition, I’ve got a serious thing about a man smoking a pipe or cigar.  The sight of a man with a pipe or cigar will immediately bring my cock to attention, and Mr. Cock will stay at attention until I can do something to relieve the pressure.  If the man happens to have a beard or a moustache, you can bet that I’m going to be jacking off to that image as soon as I can.

 “Enough stalling, Wayne.  Get your ass in the barbershop, now!”

 I mentally stuck my tongue out at Rational Me, but I hopped out of my truck, adjusted my hat and headed to the door.  The bells on the door jingled when I turned then knob, and I stepped into what felt like a refrigerator.  Damn, it was cold in there.   I blinked several times, while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the lower light level inside the shop.  I was halfway in before I thought.  I addressed the dim image of the barber and said, ''Oh, I forgot to leave my pipe in the truck. I'll be right back.''

 I was welcomed with, ''Come on in, this is one of the few places in town where you can still smoke and not have people talk shit about you.''  For just a split second, I thought the radio was talking to me.  The voice was deep and soothing, almost like a DJ talking.

 I looked at the man who had spoke to me, or more realistically, I looked at the chest of the man who spoke to me.  I had to tilt my head to a 45-degree angle before I could look at his face.  His smile made one side of his mustache go up, and I was intrigued…and aroused.  I said, “Oh, you’re a pipe smoker too, huh?  Damn, that’s one more gorgeous pipe.  Whoever carved that face really knew what they were doing.”  Privately, I thought, “Holy shit!  He looks gorgeous with that pipe hanging out of his mouth.  That pipe would look ridiculous in anyone else’s mouth, but it’s scaled just right for this behemoth.  I wonder how much tobacco that pipe will hold?  I’ll bet he could put half a cup in it.”  

 Lust overwhelmed me.  My racing heart, and shortness of breath told me that this barber was better than any fantasy I’d ever concocted.  I've never seen a barber who looked as good as he did—hell, I’ve never seen any man who looked this good.  I don't think he could've been more gorgeous. I went through my mental checklist of things I looked for.  Muscular without being muscle-bound—check.  Thick head of greying hair—check.  Hairy—double check.  (There was a lot of hair showing in the V of his shirt, his arms were so hairy that at first glance I thought his arms were covered in dark tattoos. He had a gorgeous handlebar mustache, and he could've grown one of the thickest beards on the planet. I would be willing to bet he had five o'clock shadow at ten in the morning.)

 “Have a seat, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

 I glanced at the two customers sitting in the chairs that were lined up in front of the window, and although my eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dimmer light inside, it didn’t look like either of them needed a haircut. One of them, a man who looked like he was in his early forties.  He looked like most of the other men in rural east Texas.  He had a big biker ‘stache and was wearing a cowboy hat and boots.  I didn’t need to see the Coke bottle sitting beside him to know he was a tobacco chewer. His jaw was distended by the huge chew he had in his mouth. He tipped his big cowboy hat to me, and when he lifted the hat I could see he had a freshly cut high and tight. The light coming in from outside made the sides of his head shine line chrome in sunlight.  The brief glimpse I got off his hair made me think, “I wonder if I’d looked that damned good with a haircut like that?” He unscrewed the Coke bottle, spit in it and said, ''Howdy'' when I walked in.

 My pulse took off when I saw the man sitting next to the cowboy, and I got light-headed.  I probably stared.  He nodded, but didn't say anything.  He just sat there smoking his cigar, which was burned down to a nub.

 I watch a lot of old black and white movies, and I’ve never seen a man who looked more like a movie star than this guy did.  He could’ve easily walked onto the set of “Casablanca” and fit in perfectly.  He was even dressed in an old-fashioned suit, and had a fedora sitting on the chair beside him.  I thought it looked kinda strange on a man who was probably in his thirties, or at the most, early forties.  I was used to seeing old men wear suits that were thirty or forty years out of style, but I had never seen a man this young wearing this type of suit.

 The nub of a big cigar he had in his mouth just made him look even more vintage—and more attractive.  

 His haircut completed the illusion of something from another time era.  I thought, “If this is the type of work this barber does, you’ve finally found the right barbershop, Wayne.  That’s the best flattop you’ve ever seen.  It’s so classic.”

 He was sporting a horseshoe flattop: it was boxy, bristly and perfectly even.  Something about his haircut made me think of H. R. Haldeman, even though he didn’t really look like H. R. Haldeman.  This haircut was a lot shorter, in fact, the sides were completely shaved, and there was a big landing strip shaved down the center of the man’s head.  In addition to having an old-fashioned suit and haircut, he had an old-fashioned pencil-thin moustache.  I couldn’t help it.  I stared.  “Damn, Wayne, you should be lucky enough to have a picture of this guy to jack off to.  You could delete every picture on your computer if you could just get a picture of him.”

 (I have thousands of pictures of pipe smokers, cigar smokers, beards, moustaches and men with pencil-thin moustaches on my computer).  

 I thought, “I can see this man on the set of a movie, directing some starlet in a love scene…and probably luring her onto the casting couch as well.”

 All the smoke he was generating just increased the image of an old movie. I had to stare again.  The way he was smoking his cigar was so intriguing.  He’d inhale, open the side of his mouth that was away from the cigar, let the smoke out and then take another draw on the cigar. I thought, ''Boss, you're going to burn the shit out of your fingers when you try to take that cigar out of your mouth.''  

 I didn’t care if he looked like a vintage ad in Life magazine, he was sexy as hell.  Just looking at him made me horny.  I wanted to taste the cigar on his moustache.  To be perfectly honest, I wanted to beg him to fuck me, right there on the spot.

 I realized I was being rude, so I started looking around the shop.  The barber grinned at me when I glimpsed at him, and I was fascinated again by the way his handlebar moustache lifted when he smiled.  He sat his pipe on the counter (which made me sad.  I’d been looking forward to watching him smoke it) and said, ''Welcome in. I won’t be long. I don't have much left to do on old J. C. here.''

 J. C. piped up and said, ''That because I don't have much hair left on my head for you to do anything with. Between Mother Nature and your clippers, there ain't a whole lot to work with.''

I tore my eyes away from the barber (damn, he was hot!), and took my first look at the man in the chair.  He looked like he had never smiled a day in his life.  I felt like he was pissed at the world…and he was right about his hair. Although he couldn’t have been any older than his late twenties, I could see he didn't have much more than a fringe of hair around the sides, and that what hair he did have had all been buzzed down to nothing. I was guessing that the barber had used a zero blade on the sides. I got rude again, and stared at him.  I imagine I turned a little green with envy. I had always wanted a big beard like he was sporting.  The starkness of his haircut made his big beard stand out even more. His beard made mine look puny.  It was more than halfway down his chest.  I thought, “Sir, I wouldn’t be complaining about having no hair on my head if I had a beard like that.  A little MPB is a small price to pay for the privilege of having such a phenomenal beard.”

 He kept talking.  “Bastards like this barber are proof to me that God doesn’t love me.  If God loved me, why did He make me bald and short, and then turn around and give this son of a bitch a thick head of hair, and make him bigger than a mountain?  Did you see his eyes?  I’d kill to have eyes like that.  Don’t you think if God loved me he would’ve saved some of those goodies for me?”

 I wasn’t sure who the man was talking to, so I nodded my head, just in case he was talking to me.

 The businessman took the cigar out of his mouth and said, ''Sir, you've got a nice head of hair there. If you wanna keep it, you'd better run out that door before that old coot of a barber gets ahold of your head. He purely hates hair, and I can promise you this, he'll take ten times more off than you ask for!''  He then rubbed the top of his head (God, how I wanted to know how that felt!) and put the cigar back in his mouth.  The cigar was so short by then that I don’t know how he kept from burning his fingers, his lips or both.

 The barber shot the cowboy a finger and said, ''Russell, do you ever shut up?''

 He turned to me and said, ''Ignore that mouthy old bastard. If you wanna know if Russell is talking shit, just look to see if his mouth is moving. If he's talking, he's talking shit!''

“I ain’t talking shit!  That sign behind you says it all.”

 I looked to see what he was talking about, and sure enough, there was a sign on the counter behind the barber that said, ''We specialize in traditional haircuts: military cuts, flattops, crew cuts and burrs''.  

 “Well”, I thought, “If you’re wanting a short haircut, it looks like you came to the right place, Wayne.”  I breathed deeply—trying to relax. Even with the mellow smell of the barber’s pipe and the sharp scent of Russell’s cigar, I could smell the traditional scent of hair tonic, powder and the oil barbers used on their clippers.   This place smelled like a barbershop should, and it brought back memories of sitting in a barbershop with Dad on Saturday mornings.  

 ''Russell, it's closing time. Instead of talking shit, why don't you make yourself useful and close the blinds and put up the closed sign. ''

 I followed Russell with my eyes, and for the first time, I noticed more about the shop.  It looked like something out of a time warp. The black and white tile floors were littered with big piles of hair (All that hair on the floor told me that told me this barber wasn't afraid to cut hair.  I got excited, and I got scared.)  

 Several hats and baseball caps hung on a coat rack by the door. I could smell the ashtrays that sat between the chairs, and saw several cigar butts in one. I saw all the decorations that it seems the universe has declared is acceptable for an old-fashioned barber shop when I looked around:  stuffed deer heads and mounted fish hung on the back wall.  The TV that sat on top of a Coke machine had a baseball game on it. 

Russell came back and sat by me.  He smiled when he sat down, but didn’t say anything.  We just sat there, smoking and watching the barber finish up the haircut he was working on.

 The barber turned to the counter behind him and laid down his clippers.  I noticed all the clippers that he had laying out there and it made me think, “Why do barbers need so many different types of clippers?”  Then I saw the jars filled with the blue stuff (what the hell is that blue stuff anyway?).  

 He picked up a straight razor, and started sharpening it on his leather strap.  Seeing that strap made me think of stories I’d read about people having that strap used to discipline them—whether that discipline was voluntary or involuntary varied according to who was telling the story.  I was glad my folks had never believed in corporal punishment.  I knew I didn’t want to feel that thing hitting me on the ass.  I thought, not for the first time, “What is it about pain that turns some guys on so much?” 

 The barber shaved around the man’s ears, and then his neck.  Just about that time, I heard my pipe gurgling.  I hated that sound.  It meant I had burned all the tobacco in it up.  I thought, “Damn, I’m out of tobacco.  That sucks!  I would’ve loved sitting in that chair smoking my pipe while getting a haircut.”

 The barber took the cape off the client in the chair, and said, ''Well, J. C., that's the best I can do for you. At least you don't have fuzz sticking out all over the top of your head. Now, if you'd just let me do something with that ridiculous beard of yours.''

 J. C. shot the barber a finger.  

 “Come on, J. C.  You know I was right when I finally talked into letting me cut off that ridiculous comb-over that you had.  Now you need to listen to me and let me do something with that stupid-looking beard of yours.”

 J. C. gave the barber another one-finger salute.  He pointed at me and said, “If you can make my goatee look as good as that man’s, I might let you talk me into…some day, but it ain’t gonna happen today.  Then he turned to me, and said, “That’s a mighty nice goatee you’ve got there.  It sorta reminds me of a mink pelt.”   

I didn’t realize he was talking to me first, and when I realized he was talking to me, I blushed.  Damn, I hate the way I blush all the time.  Anyway, I tried to pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I have to admit:  I was honored that he had noticed, and commented on it.  I said, “Thank ya, sir.  I guess I am a little proud of my beard, but I’m ashamed to be in the same room with someone who’s got a beard as great as yours is.”  

I have to admit that I lied to J. C.  when I said, “I guess I’m a little proud of my beard”.  That was a huge fucking lie.  I was very proud of it. He was right:  it was thick as an animal pelt and a thing of great beauty, as far as I was concerned. I honestly thought my goatee was my best feature... Well, besides my eyes. I loved all the compliments I got on my green eyes, and was glad I had extra thick eyelashes to frame my eyes and draw more attention to them.  

 J. C.  must’ve been holding a pipe in his hand the whole time he was getting his hair cut.  As soon as the cape cleared his body he stuck a straight apple-shaped pipe in his mouth, and I noticed that his arm had a huge dragon tattooed on it.  The dragon seemed to be winding itself around his arm.  There was something about the tattoo that made me wonder if J. C. was into martial arts.  He stood up and pulled a tobacco pouch out of his pocket, and started packing the pipe.  I wondered if I was dreaming.  I thought, “Surely this can’t be real!  Am I dreaming, or have I died and gone to my version of heaven?  How can this be happening?  Sometimes I’ll go months between spotting just one pipe or cigar smoker, and I’ve got two pipe smokers and a cigar smoker in one room…and they’re all handsome as hell too.  I’d think I was reading about someone’s fantasy if I wasn’t experiencing it.”

 The barber gave me another of his grins, and I thought, “Holy sheep shit, Batman.  J. C.  was right.  He does have incredible eyes!”

 "It looks like you're not going to follow Russell’s advice and run, so you're next.  You can get in the chair as soon as J. C. quits fucking around with his pipe and pays me.''

 Honestly, J. C. literally growled before he said, “Fuck off, you greedy old bastard.  You’ll get your goddamned money when I’m ready to give you your goddamned money.”

 The barber just laughed, and said, “Go back to your cave, you cantankerous old grizzly.”  He then turned to me and said, “''We have a saying around here. Every month J. C.'s beard gets longer and he and his temper gets shorter.  Pretty soon his temper is gonna be about as short as J. C.  is.  Don’t worry though.  He growls a lot, but I’ve never known him to bite anyone.”

 J. C. got his pipe going, and then yanked his wallet out.  He growled again when he said, “Here’s your goddamned money, now quit fucking with me about it!”

 I said, ''They were here before me.''

 He said, ''I've already dealt with those two ne'er-do-wells. We're going to head out for a few drinks after I get done cutting your hair. You're welcome to tag along. Now, have a seat and tell me what can I do for you, or are you just going to let me decide for you?''

 I stood up, and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and convince myself to go through with my plan.  Hearing what the barber said shocked my mind, and I didn’t know what to think—or say.  My cock liked the idea.  It jerked, as if showing its approval. ''Ummm...what did you have in mind?''

 He gave Russell a smirk that I didn't understand. Russell just nodded and smiled back.  I noticed that he had dimples when he smiled, and thought, “Damn! That smile of his lit up the room like a thousand-watt bulb.”  I instantly had dreams of the two of us in a romantic setting, and was dreaming about what I'd do to him... And what he'd do to me. I've never wanted anything more than I wanted to get my hands on his head, and to feel his mustache on my cock. I ached to have him rub my balls with the velvety smoothness of his horseshoe flattop.

 ''Before we get into that, do me a favor. Pull your pipe back out and light up for me. I need a smoke, and I can't if my customers don't. Do you mind?''

 I reached in my pocket and pulled my pipe out. I said, ''I’ll have to run back out to the truck to grab my pouch.  Do you mind?  In the meantime, grab your pipe and fill it up. By the way, thanks for allowing it. So many people won't let you smoke anywhere around them nowadays. ''

He picked up the cape, and said, '' Don’t go back to your truck.  Have some of my tobacco…and you’re right about that.  Fortunately, the smoking police haven't invaded here yet. I can still tell folks to fuck off if they don't like people smoking in here. ''

 I packed my pipe and then handed him his pouch, and waited patiently while he packed his.  He generously lit my pipe before he lit his own. He swirled the cape like he was a magician doing a show, and soon I had the cape around my neck.

 I continued, ''It just seems wrong that a man can't be a man, especially in a barber shop. The old-fashioned barber shop is about the only place left that a man can go into without having to worry about being politically correct.''

 ''You're right, and it's a goddamned shame too. I'll tell you this, as long as I have a say in it, this here shop will never be reduced to political correctness. I don't care. You can call it a four-legged mammal of the canine persuasion if you want to, but it's still a goddamned dog in my book. Calling it something fancy ain't gonna change nothing.''

 A big, beefy hand came my way, and he said, ''Oh, by the way, I'm James, the proprietor of this here shop. Forgive me for being rude and not introducing myself.''

 ''Oh, you're James? I assumed you were George. ''

''George was my dad. He opened this school in 1946, right after he got through fighting the Nazis. I grew up in this shop and was giving haircuts by the time I was thirteen. Dad died standing right here. Poor Mr. Williams had half a haircut for the rest of the day. I wasn't able to finish his haircut until the next morning. “

 “How'd you find out about my shop?'' he inquired, as he was putting the cape on me.

''I'm thinking about moving over here, and was just out driving around,'' I lied.

 “Well, I hope you like it around here.  It’s a good little town, and there’s some good folks around here.  I know most of the people in town.  If you need help finding a place to live, or anything else, just let me know.  If I don’t know the answer, I’ll know who to get in contact with to find out what you need to know.  Now, back to my original question. What kind of haircut did you want today?''

 I drew a deep breath in, trying to decide whether to go for it.  ''I think I just want a trim. Keep it like it is, just shorter.''

 ''Well, I’d prefer to do more than a trim, but one trim coming up. Relax. I'll have you fixed up in no time.''

He combed my hair, straightened my part and then pumped the chair up, so I was at the height he wanted me.  I saw him as he reached back for clippers. The sound of the clippers, coupled with the sight of this hairy, handsome barber made my hard cock quiver. I felt drops of pre-cum hit my belly.

 He walked around to my side, put the clippers at the base of my sideburn and then went halfway up my head. A HUGE clump of hair fell in my lap. I looked in the mirror, and saw a completely bald spot going halfway up the side of my head.

 ''WHAT THE FUCK? I said a goddamned trim, not a fucking shave!''

''Bull shit! I'm calling that a goddamned lie. I knew what you wanted when you marched in here with that pipe in your mouth. I’m disappointed that you didn't have the balls to say it. That bulge in your jeans tells me that you're turned on by getting a haircut, and I'd be willing to bet you've fantasized about a real short haircut, maybe even a forced haircut, from a real, old-fashioned barber for years. Furthermore, you want that barber to be smoking a pipe or cigar while he's peeling all that thick hair off your head. Let me tell you, we're all gay, and everyone in this shop knew what you wanted when you walked in the door. It couldn't have been plainer if it was tattooed on your head. You're trying to fulfill a fantasy. You've got some serious fetishes, and you're not alone. All of us have the same fetishes. In fact, the four of us get together once a month to fulfill our fetishes and act out our fantasies. You came in the right day. We're going make that fantasy you're trying to fulfill better than you ever dreamed. You're gonna leave here with a real haircut, reeking of smoke and a sore ass!''

 Gay!? These macho men? I couldn't believe my good luck. This was more than I could've ever dreamed about... And I knew it was what I wanted. It was time.  Hell, it was past time!

I tried to brazen it out though. Part of me was scared stiff, but another part of me was so stiff I knew I was going to see where this led. ''What the hell are you talking about? I'm telling you this. No one is touching my ass. I guess I have no choice now but to get a short haircut, but there ain't gonna be no hanky-panky going on with me. I don't know what kind of fucked-up bullshit you guys are into, but leave me out of it!''

 He just grinned at me, and then looked at his friends sitting in the chairs. ''Boys, it looks like we've got a goddamned, red-hot cherry here that's begging to be popped tonight. I've got dibs on being first. Y'all can fight over sloppy seconds and messy thirds... If he's not too sore to handle you after I get done with his cherry little ass.''

 Suddenly, I really was scared.  The barber sounded like he meant it.  It felt like these guys were going to rape me.  Even though I was in good physical shape, I didn’t think I could win in a fight with four guys.  Then I thought, “Who are you kidding, Wayne?  You’re not going to be fighting anyone!  Just because you’ve never dreamed about having sex with multiple guys, and have definitely not dreamed about multiple partners for your first time doesn’t mean you’re not going to follow this through.  This is too good to be true, and you know it.  This won’t be rape; it’ll be you freely giving them what you all want.” 

 I guess James could tell I was really scared.  ''I will stop if this isn't what you want. Just let me know. Your body language is telling me it's what you want, but I want you to tell me it's ok. I didn’t realize this would be your first time.  I can teach you how to enjoy your body in new ways. I like being in charge, I love the idea of bravely going where no man has ever gone before, but know this. I'm not into rape. What's the verdict?''

 I thought a second, and before I knew I had made a decision, I heard myself saying, ''You wanna know what I really want? I'll tell you what I want.  I want you to drop your pants and stuff your dick in my mouth. Then I want see how it feels to have your cock deep in my ass. That's what I want.''

 “Well, you just hold that thought.  I’m gonna go so deep up your ass that you’re gonna feel my cock touching your vocal chords.”  He suddenly tilted the chair back to a partially reclining position.  He said, “I’ll give you a hint of what’s to come.”

He took my pipe out of my mouth, and then the pipe out of his mouth.  He put my pipe in his mouth and took a deep lungful of smoke.  I mean, he really filled his lungs up.  The he bent over and kissed me.  He teased my mouth open, and blew the smoke into my mouth.  I thought, “Holy shit!  It feels so different kissing a man than kissing a girl!”  After kissing me brutally hard for just a bit he stepped back and unbuttoned several buttons on my shirt.  He sucked on my pipe again, and then blew the smoke across my chest, seemingly mesmerized by the way the smoke moved the hair on my chest.  He pinched one of my nipples and said, “You're a hairy little bastard, but I'm going to take care of that. ''

 He then took another draw on my pipe, and gave me another thorough kissing, and released all the smoke into my mouth.  Without warning, he stopped the kiss, put his pipe in my mouth and put my pipe back in his mouth.  Then he said, “Enough of that.  First things first.  Let’s get you a real haircut.”

 I was so dazed that it took me a second for his words to make sense.  Then I wondered.  What did he mean by that?  Did he want to shave my chest? I had always hated the way guys look who shave their chest, but suddenly I was completely turned on by the idea. I wanted to be the hairless wonder amongst all these hairy men. 

Quicker than a wink he had the chair back in an upright position, and the clippers in his hand.  He said, “You came in here all dressed up like a pretty boy, so I’m going to make you a pretty boy.  One little boy’s haircut coming up.”  He started peeling the the hair off the sides of my head.

 After he had got most of the sides peeled off, he turned the clippers off and said, “J. C., I know how much you love the taste of cum, and I’d be willing to bet there’s a string of pre-cum dripping off this pretty boy’s dick.  You oughta come see if it tastes any good!”

J. C.’s face lit up like an octogenarian’s birthday cake, and he was standing next to me in a heartbeat.  He looked at me, and said, “Boy, I’m like James here.  I ain’t into rape.  Is this what you want?”

 My mouth was so dry I couldn’t have yelled, “Fire” in there had been fifty-foot flames all around me.  All I could do was nod my head.  He said, “Are you sure?”  I nodded more vigorously, and started fumbling with my belt buckle.  He reached over, brushed my hands out of the way, lifted the cape up and unzipped my pants.  With a few more moves he had my belt unbuckled and then my cock sprang free.  “I guess I oughta warn you that I live up to my nick name.  They don’t call me “Hoover” for no reason.  I’ll suck every last drop of cum in your body out of you if you’ll let me.  Last chance, is this what you want?”

 Somehow I managed to whisper, “Please” and that’s all he needed.  He said, “James, you’ll probably fuck his hair up if you try to cut it now.  I don’t think this boy will be able to sit still while I’m taking his cock in my mouth.  Sit back and watch an expert.”

 He very delicately licked the pre-cum off the tip of my cock, ran his tongue from my balls all the way to the top of my dick, and then insert my whole cock in his mouth.  I shuddered uncontrollably.

 I don’t know how long he sucked, licked and coddled my balls and dick, but it seemed like forever.  He created sensations in me that I didn’t know existed…and this was not my first blow job.  The sensations got even stronger when I looked up saw that Russell was fucking J. C. in the ass, while J. C. was sucking my cock.  I almost lost it then.

I was building up to the biggest explosion of cum I’d ever produced when I heard James say, “Careful, J. C.  You don’t want him to blow his wad too early.  We’ve still got a long time to go, and I have a lot more fun planned for this young man.  You and Russell go over there and keep fucking, so we can watch while I finish this young man’s haircut.  By the way, I never did get your name.”

 “I’m Wayne, sir.  It’s a pleasure to meet you—and thanks for what you’re doing.  You were right.  I’ve always dreamed about getting a real haircut from a real barber, but this goes way beyond anything I ever dreamed of.  I never dreamed I could get a goddamned blow job at the same time!”

 “Before this night is over we’re going to show you lots of things you’ve probably never dreamed of.  Now, let’s get your haircut done, so we can go on to the next phase of the entertainment.  Do you want to re-light your pipe before I get started again?”

After I lit my pipe, he started cutting my hair again.  He peeled the sides about halfway up, and then left the top longer.  He cut my bangs at a sharp angle, and I could tell I was going to have a Dennis the Menace rooster tail in the back.  There was one piece of hair that was sticking straight up.

 When he was satisfied with the way every hair looked, James poured a lot of hair tonic in his hands, and started rubbing it into what hair I had left.

 I sniffed, and said, “I love the smell of that tonic.”

 “Good,” he replied.  “You’re going to be smelling of it all night, and your shit will probably smell like it tomorrow.”

“Huh?  What the hell?  How is putting hair oil on my head going to make my shit smell like it?” I asked.

''This hair tonic makes a great lube. We’re going to use it on your sweet, tight little ass so we will all slide in and out of your ass like a piston in a well-oiled valve--and make no mistake, we will all be in that tight little ass of yours tonight. If you're lucky, and have enough stamina, you might get into some of our asses too. ''

 My dick jerked, and I shivered when I heard that.  James laughed and said, “It looks like you like the sound of that.  Hang on, we’ll get to that eventually.  I’ve gotta do something with that face of yours first—but before I get into that, I’m going to make you pay for your haircut.”

 I said, “Sure, no problem,” and reached for my wallet.  James laughed.

 “Son, that ain’t the kind of payment I’m talking about.  I’ve got something else in mind.”

 I must’ve looked as blank as my mind felt.  I had no idea what he was talking about until he reached down and rearranged his family jewels.  I instantly understood, and was more than willing to pay his price.  I smiled, and said, “I did say, ‘I want you to drop your pants and stuff your dick in my mouth,’ didn’t I?”

 He laughed, and said, “You’re a quick learner.  I’m not dropping my pants yet, but you’re about to get a taste of me.”  

 He picked up a new pipe (a straight one this time) and casually filled it, and then lit it.  Once he had the pipe going to his satisfaction, he said, “Are you ready?  God knows I am.” (The bulge in his pants proved he was right.) Then he dropped the back of the seat again, and then said, “Turn and face me.”  He unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out.  

 My mouth was right in front of his cock, and my mouth flew open when I saw his cock—in surprise, not readiness to take him into my mouth.  When I saw the size of his meat.  I had always been proud of my 7” cock, but the size of the thing in my face made me feel like a teeny-weinie.  It was HUGE!  I regretted my rash speech. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed.  “What the hell am I supposed to do with that goddamned thing.  Fuck!  I think horses would be jealous over something that big!  I don’t think that fucking thing will fit in my mouth, much less up my ass!”  

 James started laughing, and just kept laughing.  I thought he was going to fall down, he was laughing so hard.  He finally was able to gasp, “You really are a cherry, aren’t you?  Don’t worry, by the time we get to it, I’ll fit in your ass, just fine.  It stretches a lot.  I’ve got some tricks up my sleeves that will make you ready.  Before we get to that though, I want you to suck on my cock, just like you’d suck on on of those cigars of yours.”

I took the tip of his cock in my mouth, and shivered!  I couldn’t believe I had a man’s dick in my mouth.  I felt like I was in a dream world, and I hoped I never woke up.  This was better than anything my imagination had ever came up with.

 I was already in love with cock.  I loved the way it felt, and the musky man smell was as intoxicating to me as any drug out there.  I gagged a few times, but I eventually got to where I could take most of him in my mouth.  I sucked as hard as I could.  I played with his balls.  I loved the way texture of his balls, and the way they felt.  I loved the feel of his pubic hair brushing my face.

 As I was sucking his cock, I suddenly thought, “Damn, this tastes good, but I wonder what it would taste like with some smoke?”

 I pulled my head back, and let his dick fall out of my mouth.  He groaned.  I said, “I’m not done yet, but I wanna know what your balls will taste like with smoke on them.  Let me have your pipe.”

 “Hmm…that sounds interesting.  Here you go.”

I took some smoke in, and then gently blew the smoke on his balls…then I did it again.  I filled my mouth with smoke, and tried to keep the smoke in while I put his cock back in my mouth.  It didn’t work very well, but I saw the smoke surround his enormous cock, and the sight made my cock jump, and his too. (His balls tasted even better with the taste of the smoke on them.)

 I started sucking again, and wondered if I was doing it right.  I kept saying, ‘You know you’re doing it right.  Just keep sucking this piece of meat in your mouth.”  James grabbed my head and shoved his whole cock in my mouth, and then gave one of the most sensual moans I’d ever heard.  Then he started grunting, “Ugh, ugh, ugh…”  as I gave his dick all the attention I could.  Being able to make a man who was better than anything I’d ever fantasized about respond like this made me feel like the most powerful man in the world.  I renewed my attention to his cock with even more vigor.  I felt like I had won a grand prize when James started thrusting at my mouth, and grinding his hips in my face.  He was literally fucking my mouth, and I loved it!  

 He groaned, and then said, “Uh…boy…uh…if you don’t want a…uh…mouthful of…uh…cum, you’d…uh…better stop…uh…now!”

 I sucked harder in response, and I was rewarded for my efforts.  James started shivering, and then shot a huge load of cum in my mouth.  He thrust into my mouth three more times, and then just stood there shivering, with his cock still in my mouth.  I swallowed his cum, and shivered in delight!  I loved the taste.  It was salty…and just manly tasting.  I wanted more, so I licked the last drop off the end of his cock, and James spasmed so hard that he fell across my chest.  He laid there gasping for air for a long time.

 I know I had a smug smile on my face, and I had no doubt that I had done it right.

 He began to stir, and then stood up.  He said, “Damn, boy.  Not many people have been able to make me cum that fast.  You’re a natural.  You just showed J. C. up, when it comes to cock-sucking.  I’m gonna have to start calling you Hoover 2.”

 James picked up my pipe (yes, my pipe) and then lit it.  He gave me another long, smoke-filled kiss.  When he was done kissing me, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, Russell, give J. C.’s ass a break, and come suck this boy’s cock.  He deserves a reward for what he just did to me.”

 I just about passed out when I heard that!  I had been wanting to find out what Russell’s mustache would feel like, and it looked like I was gonna find out!

 I rolled onto my back, and my cock proved that it was ready.  It was standing straight up.

 Russell didn’t say anything to me, he just walked over and straddled the footrest of the barber chair, and started stroking my dick.  He said, “Hey, Mr. Barber Man, can you raise this chair up some?  I don’t wanna have to bend over that far.”

 James didn’t say anything, he just pumped the chair up to it’s tallest point.

 Russell sat on the footrest, and then leaned forward.  The sight of him between my legs sent shivers through me.

 It was like Russell had been reading my mind.  He bent over and started rubbing the tip of my cock with his pencil-thin mustache.  I moaned, and he “Feels good, huh?”  Then he opened his mouth, and took all of me in his mouth.  I turned into a mass of sensation at that point.

James increased my sensory overload.  bent down and started kissing me again.  He’d take a draw on my pipe, and then blow the smoke in my mouth and explore my mouth with his tongue.

 He raised up to get some more smoke, and I vaguely heard James say, “What’s the matter, Cowboy?  Don’t you wanna play with us?  Get your ass over here.”

 I heard Cowboy say, “Whatcha got in mind, James?  It looks like you and Russell are taking care of everything.”

 “I wanna see all of our new boy toy.  Take those boots off of him, and let’s see what he really looks like.”

 Then James took the cape off me, and finished unbuttoning my shirt.

 I guess the cowboy saw my cigars just then, because he said, ''You don't need all these cigars. They'll stunt your growth. I'm going to relieve you of one of them.''

 Russell, who had his mouth full of my cock, choked when the cowboy said that. I was getting worried, because he couldn't seem to breathe. Suddenly, he started laughing, and laughed for a long time. Once he settled down, he said, “Ya'll are looking at me like a cow looks at a new gate. Sarge said the same exact thing to me when he gave me my first flattop. Let me tell you about it.''

 By then I was feeling comfortable with the group, and I said, ''To hell with your story. You've gotta finish what you were doing. Suck my cock!'' (My dick was seriously missing his attention... And that mustache felt every bit as good as I had imagined. I was still waiting to see what his horseshoe felt like on my balls.)

 ''Oh, the boy can bark. I wonder if he can bite?  Step out of the way, James.  I'm gonna stuff my dick in this boy’s smart-assed mouth and find out.  He looked at me, and said, “That wisecrack is going to cost you though. I'm going to take one of your cigars in payment. You can think about me smoking one of your cigars while you're smoking my cock. Open that smart-ass mouth of yours.''

 I said, ''Gladly'' before I obeyed.

I sucked for all I was worth, and I had him moaning before he could get his cigar (my?) lit.  I breathed deeply the whole time to.  The sharp smell of his cigar, mixed with the musky man smell that was coming off his balls was the best smelling thing I had ever experienced.

 I felt it when Cowboy took my boots off, and even raised my hips so he could slide my jeans down, but I never lost focus on the task at hand—and I kept one eye on Russell as I smoked his cock.  He was so damned handsome, and the idea that he was smoking one of my cigars just made everything that was going on more special.

 It didn’t take long for me to get my second taste of cum.  I was surprised that it tasted different than the first load.  It was similar, but different.  I knew I’d be able to pick out Russell’s cum in a taste line-up—and I hoped I’d get a chance to taste it again.

 I was still savoring the taste of Russell in my mouth, when I got another surprise.  Cowboy gave me a long, smoke-filled kiss.  It was weird feeling when he kissed me, because he still had the chew of tobacco in.  Once he stopped kissing me, he stuck his cigar back in mouth, and put his cock in my mouth, as he said, “Puff on this for a while, big boy.”  At the same time, J. C. said, “I think it’s about time to start getting this’s boy’s ass ready for some action.”  I felt one of my legs being lifted into the air, and then J. C.’s beard tickling my balls…and his tongue in my ass.  “It doesn’t get any better than this,” I thought…and then I found out I was wrong.  

 James said, “Russell, give me that cigar”.   I opened my eyes just in time to see James take a deep draw on the cigar, and then stoop and filled my mouth with smoke.  I almost lost it when I felt Russell’s flattop brushing my balls.  I wanted to enjoy each sensation, but my senses were overloaded.  All I could feel was one massive sensation, instead of multiple sensations.