The Barbershop Experience

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The Barbershop Experience

By JimB      ©opyright August 2018

 

 

“Come on James, we haven’t got all day.” his mother called to him.

 

Today was my monthly lunchtime get together with the girls. A tradition we only dared miss for very good reason.

 

However, with David away so much with the new job, including weekends, some necessary chores fell to me.

 

Today’s was taking James to get his hair cut, a task David had always undertaken.

We let James wear his hair rather long. He preferred it that way.

 

But, he knew he had to keep it tidy.

 

At the moment it had grown almost to his shoulders. Although it looked rather nice, it was a little shaggy.

 

Hence a tiding up was in order, provided it didn’t interfere with my lunch!

 

So, after getting James tidied up we would be off to my sister’s where he would be fed and watered and I could pick them up later.

 

I had got up rather early to get ready.

 

There was always a little friendly rivalry between us “THIRTY” – something’s to outdo each other.

 

I had a new white linen suit whose short skirt left little to the imagination and whose tight jacket showed my excellent figure.

 

I was taking out the heated rollers and my hair fell in dark, loose, glossy waves nearly to my waist, contrasting dramatically with the suit in color.

 

Long hair was a pain.

 

Many times I had considered cutting it, often egged on by the gang.

 

It could save hours a week in time.

 

But, I liked it, so did David. So it stayed.

 

So, as I removed the last roller, I stood up and, running my fingers through my hair I thought to myself, “Not bad for a nearly-forty something!”

 

“Ready mom!” James was looking rather fresh and cool in clean denims and t-shirt.

 

His hair was sticking up a little. I gave a playful pull and pulled a comb through it.

 

“Mommmm, leave it. It’ll be sorted later won’t it.” he escaped and ran outside to the car.

 

David always took James to a barbershop in a small arcade just outside town. I knew vaguely where it was but had never really taken any notice of it thinking, it was one of those sordid places where men talk about football and Saturday nights!

 

It was simply even called “The Barbershop”.

 

“No appointments required,” it said outside which was just as well as he usually ended up being taken when it was needed. Not when it was planned!

 

As we approached I looked in through the glass doors and noticed it was quite busy.

 

There were four barber chairs, all full, and a number of people waiting.

 

It may take a short while I suppose, but not as long as if I was to ask for my usual regime of wash, lowlights, trim and finish.

 

Three hours minimum!

 

I could imagine men’s hair takes a lot less than that.

 

As I opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised.

 

It was not quite what I expected. In fact, not too dissimilar to my usual salon!

 

The chrome barber chairs had red leather seat, which seemed to fill the place.

 

Perhaps a bit garish compared to the chairs at “The Hair Garden” where I went

 

I walked up to the reception desk and said, “Young James here would like a trim.

 

“We are in rather a hurry so as soon as possible please.”

 

The receptionist, a young girl of sixteen, or seventeen, looked up from her magazine and stated, “You have to wait your turn.”

 

“Mom!” James whispered. “We have to sit over here.

 

“Come on.”

 

I was obviously embarrassing poor James who had to put up with the stares of most of the people in the shop.

 

As well as an unnecessarily pitying look, from the receptionist.

 

We sat down on the long bench along the back of the shop.

 

I sat back, crossed my legs and surveyed the scene.

 

Directly in front of me was a guy in his mid-twenties with a rather conservative cut just covering his ears and collar had just sat down.

 

A cape had been pinned around his neck.

 

A few words were exchanged with the barber who then picked up a large set of electric clippers, turned them on, pushed his client’s head forward.

 

Without delay proceeded to pass the clippers repeatedly over the back.

 

He then pushed his head to one side and repeated the operation and then shortly after the other side.

With the back and sides virtually shaved the barber seemed to then be intent on blending the top.

 

Within a few short minutes a new cut emerged which was certainly much shorter, neater and in some indefinable way, well, sexier.

 

The guy was shown the cut with a hand mirror, made a joke with the barber as he rubbed his hand over the buzzed areas and was on his way after paying the receptionist.

 

I let out a totally involuntary “gasp”, which was certainly audible to James.

 

Even the barber looked around, when he caught my eye, smiled.

 

I realized throughout the next fifteen or so minutes of the cut I had barely breathed.

 

I was taken in by the scene as I was.

 

How peculiar!

 

I took a deep breath and looked along the bench to see a few more people were still waiting before James.

 

I tried not to look ahead but I was drawn to a cut in progress.

 

Long layers were being cut off leaving a short bristle effect on the crown of the head.

 

Then, out came the clippers once again and all the remaining hair at the back and sides was buzzed away.

 

The customer looked in the mirror and like his predecessor ran his hand over the cut and exclaimed, “Now that’s what I call a flat-top. Thanks.”

 

“Next!”

 

“Flat-top!”

 

I looked around to see eyes of several of the waiting customers, as well as my two, looking at me questioningly.

 

It was me who had said that.

 

As involuntary as the gasp!

 

How peculiar.

 

I coughed in an attempt to cover up but probably only made matters worse.

 

And, I guess I did stand out rather.

 

I wasn’t the only woman waiting for their son, boyfriend or whatever.

 

But, I can unashamehly say I was the most attractive.

 

My appearance did seem somewhat at odds with the surroundings and I was tempted to take Amy outside and wait for James nearby.

 

“Next!”

 

“I want the same as my Carl, please!” as I looked down to the end of the shop the young girl who had said that was stepping from the bench and making a beeline for the chair.

 

She was a quite attractive young girl and “her” Carl, turned out to be the flat-topped boy who was now standing next to her and exchanging glances in the mirror in front of them.

 

The barber was a rather kindly looking man in his early-fifties.

 

The girl had very attractive thick hair cascading past her shoulders.

 

I expected some consultation with this grandpa figure saying something along the lines, ‘this was a big step’.

 

What would your parents say and perhaps just a trim this time.

No.

 

The barber rummaged over his shelf and found an old rubber band, which he crudely pulled back the hair.

 

Picking up an enormous pair of scissors, with no ceremony what so ever chopping off the pony tail at the scalp and tossed it in the girls lap.

 

Just like that.

 

The back looked rather bristly and the longer lengths framed the girls face.

 

But, not for long!

 

A section was pinned up on top and the barber quickly removed the rest with smaller scissors.

 

Well, at least some length on the back and sides for a girl.

 

The top was trimmed to resemble the boyfriend’s look.

 

Then, out came the clippers and within a minute or two the back and sides had been buzzed away quite literally without even a hint of shadow.

 

The poor girl.

 

Poor girl said nothing.

 

She and her boyfriend were smiling and feeling each other’s head. When her cut finished, they both walked off looking very happy indeed.

 

“Girls too, unbelievable,” I commented under my breath this time, admittedly a highly strained breath.

 

I couldn’t make sense of my feelings.

 

I had seen women and indeed men with short, or very short, hair cuts before.

 

But, never really noticed it as such.

 

Clearly the act of cutting it, or perhaps seeing the transformation, was an extremely powerful emotion for me.

 

But, now just looking at those bare necks, thinking of those bare temples was having a rather strange affect on me. A feeling that was almost sexual in its intensity.

 

I had never before felt this out of control and I needed to leave this place quickly, whether I wanted to was irrelevant.

 

Thankfully James was now next.

 

“Next!”

 

A young guy next to James went over and sat down.

 

He said one word, I couldn’t hear what.

 

Sitting back as the cape was pulled tight. I expected this guy to have his already well cut hair trimmed and was already anticipating the result.

 

But, nothing prepared me for the shock of seeing the barber pick up the clippers, turn them on, position on the guy’s forehead and suddenly haul them back so the curls collected in front of the clippers and a wide, white stripe was left behind.

 

He repositioned the clippers and repeated the action.

 

Again and again until the guy’s head was smooth or nearly.

 

The guy looked in wonder and proceeded to slowly get up, cradling the back of his head.

 

The barber shook his head and gently pulled the guy back into the seat, gently lowering him back.

 

The barber picked up a can of shaving foam, squirted a quantity over the guy’s head and used a safety razor to shave him smooth.

 

“Next!”

 

I heard the call but it failed to register while all this was happening.

 

Once I realised it meant James’ turn.

 

He had already left the bench and was sitting in the chair, cape pulled with the barber pulling out the hair caught around the collar, and combing it through.

 

James was explaining how he just wanted a trim.

 

My mind was reeling.

 

All these previous inexperienced emotions!

 

All these men looked so attractive with their new smart haircuts.

 

We had been wrong to insist James keep his hair so long, hadn’t we?

 

Looking at James from behind he could so easily be mistaken for a girl.

 

How could we be so selfish?

 

I quickly went over to the barber and said, “I think James has reached the age where he should have a more appropriate hair cut.

 

“I would like you to cut it short please.

 

“Quite short in fact.”

 

“Mom?” James spoke. “I would love to have it shorter but you know how dad is.”

 

“Yes, I know,” I told him. “But, you have to have it like you want.

 

“The barber will you cut James’ hair now.”

 

“Very well,” he replied.

 

Okay, James,” the barber told him. “When you’re ready we’ll start.”

 

Slowly James’ head went downward.

 

The barber picked up the clippers, placed his hand on James’ head, without further ado, started to shear the back of James neck.

 

I realized we hadn’t discussed his hair cut and was about to say something I just got engrossed in what was happening.

 

I was wondering how James was feeling.

 

How does it feel to have your neck, covered by hair for so long, suddenly denuded!

 

I watched almost hypnotized by the progress of the clippers.

 

The barber released his grip allowing James head to rise slightly.

 

He was grinning widely.

 

His head was pushed to one side and the barber peeled off the hair at the temples.

 

This was quickly repeated on the other side.

 

He then began to tidy up the top layers.

 

I saw James looking in the mirror, as he caught my eye.

 

He uttered a single word, “Awesome!”

 

I had to agree.

 

It certainly looked it.

 

I could only imagine the experience of those cold metal clippers on his neck, all that hair falling around him. The cool air around his neck, over his head, might be equally awesome.

 

As the barber was finishing off I was vaguely aware of someone talking to me rather impatiently, “What?

 

“Sorry ….!”

 

I said, “’Next’, Madam.

 

“You appear to be the next in line so please would you come and sit over here so we can get on.

 

“There are other people waiting.”

 

The barber who had given the girl her flattop in the corner was staring straight at me, cape in one hand, comb and scissors in the other.

 

Panic hit me.

 

I couldn’t understand why.

 

Surely he realized I was just accompanying James.

 

My mouth went dry. I couldn’t talk.

 

For a split second I almost felt pressured to go forward.

 

I could almost imagine the clippers on my neck.

 

I could almost imagine all this troublesome hair falling around me!

 

But, only for a split second.

 

“Err, hardly. I’m with my son,” I told him.

 

The barber’s eyes away from me, to a young guy sitting next to me.

 

He got up and walked over.

“Thanks mom,” James commented and gave me a hug.

 

“This look is really awesome.”

 

I reached out and felt the back of his head a shiver ran down my spine as I thought that just ten minutes before it was covered by a lifetime of soft flowing hair.

 

“Well James couldn’t be happier for you.”

 

“Okay James, let’s go,” said as I sat down as he went over to the receptionist to pay.

 

I could see myself in the mirror on the opposite wall and, like earlier, thoughts I had not been considering.

 

In fact not bad full stop.

 

Attractive face, good figure, long sexy legs emerging from the short skirt.

 

And, great hair of course.

 

Perhaps a little overpowering!

 

Being very long and very thick, with perhaps a few layers around the face next time.

 

I reviewed the events of the last hour or so and still could make little sense of my feelings and emotions.

 

Was it all imagined?

 

I looked as James chatted to the receptionist.

 

It looked as though James had made a conquest with his new look with the receptionist examining James’s haircut.

 

She collected her moderately long curly blond hair and studied her profile in the nearby mirror.

 

James nodded and they both laughed as she let it go.

 

And, I heard those words again.

 

“Next!”

 

I looked up to see I was the only person on the bench.

 

“Er, no,” I explained I’m with my son.

 

“Yes, and we’ve cut his hair,” the barber who had cut his hair said.

 

“Now it’s your turn.

 

“Come along then or I’ll start thinking you don’t want all your hair cut off.”

 

I don’t, I thought. I recapped the last hour.

 

“Well, are you ready?” the barber aked.

 

I felt panic.

 

I felt trapped.

 

I needed to leave.

 

I got up.

 

I know I did.

 

I could see myself in the mirror.

 

Surprisingly I could see myself, not walking to the exit, rather towards the barber chair.

 

Even more surprisingly I sat down.

 

It was like watching someone else.

I sat back and crossed my legs, I looked almost relaxed.

 

It was like watching someone else, someone with long dark hair in a barber’s chair about to undergo some transformation.

 

My feelings of anticipation and excitement increased.

 

I would love to watch this.

 

I studied how my long, wavy hair cascaded around my shoulders, on my chest and could feel resting on the chair behind.

 

For hair so long, it really was immaculate.

 

So, I had to remind my self it was me who was sitting here.

 

So, the transformation wasn’t going to happen.

 

No way.

 

I started to get up.

 

“Please could you lift up your hair while I fix the cape,” the barber told me.

 

Inexplicably I sat down and did precisely as asked.

 

Why?

 

I now saw myself almost in the classic glamour pose.

 

I felt like pouting and realized if I stayed where I was I wouldn’t be able to look this sexy for much longer.

 

And, the cape floated down past my eyes and came to rest.

 

The barber pulled it tight around my neck and fastened it.

 

The presence of the cape felt like a straight jacket. I couldn’t move.

“Please could you release your hair now,” the barber told me.

 

I let it go and it looked even more full, more curly, and much longer as it covered the cape.

 

I suddenly realized this might happen and relaxed.

 

I realized we hadn’t even discussed the hair cut.

 

The barber picked up his clippers and fixed an attachment on the head.

 

I watched as if this was something remote, nothing to do with me.

 

Why was he sorting out his clippers’ attachments when we should be discussing possible cuts.

 

My plan was to discuss, pretend to consider a few and the excuse myself saying I’m not quite sure.

 

And, then run.

 

How did I get here?

 

He raised the clippers for some reason as if he intended to use them.

 

He stood to my right side and with his left hand cradled the back of my head.

 

I could feel, lightly gripping my hair stopping me from moving easily.

 

Gulp!

 

In the mirror I saw me, surrounded by hair and standing next to me a man with the clippers and inclination to remove it all.

 

I looked up and rather tartly said, “I don’t know what you propose but we have yet to discuss styling options.

 

“So, would you stop.”

“I believe I said if you don’t sit down then I’ll believe you don’t want all your hair cut off,” the barber commented.

 

“Yes, you said that,” I told him.

 

“And, you sat down?” he replied.

 

“Yes, but …,” I replied.

 

The clippers started.

 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I saw the clippers approach, with the number two attachment on.

 

Closer, closer until it was resting on my forehead.

 

The reflection in the mirror still looked like someone else but the vibration was real.

 

The sense of excitement, anticipation, fear, were all very real.

 

Then, it started.

 

The clippers were slowly moving back through my hair, coughing and choking on its thickness until, like an engine racing out of gear, it completed the first pass of its journey.

 

In the mirror I saw the familiar sight of my long dark hair framing my face, except neatly bisecting it was a two-inch wide path resembling my hair brush.

 

The barber repeated this action several more times, then turned off the clippers.

 

My crown was now buzzed extremely short all over but the thickness of my hair meant the long lengths still looked reasonably full. The overall effect was quite striking in a punkish sort of way.

 

This guy certainly knew his stuff.

 

He stood back to admire his handiwork.

“I have chosen not to cut it all off as you requested,” he said.

 

He wouldn’t have interpreted that literally and shaved me bald, would he?

 

“You will have a short flat-top,” he told me.

 

“If you then decide you would like it all cut off then I would be happy to do it for no extra charge.”

 

I bet you would.

 

“No it’s fine as it is. Thanks.”

 

“OK. Will you lean forward please.”

 

No choice.

 

I was firmly pushed, the clippers were picked up and the guard flicked off.

 

And, it started again and again I could feel the clippers carry out their task.

 

Hair was everywhere.

 

Yes, the clippers felt cold on my neck. Each pass was like an electric shock and felt wonderful.

 

Yes, my neck felt cooler.

 

Yes, my head felt lighter.

 

And, my emotions were running out of control, quite literally.

 

A couple of stifled groans escaped, perhaps hidden from the kids but certainly not to the barber when he finally allowed me up was grinning broadly.

 

I blushed!

 

I then took in my appearance.

 

A minute before I had a brush-like crown surrounded by masses of hair.

 

The brush now remained but nothing else, the back and sides clipped to the skin. –

 

My emotions hit me once more and the barber waited while I composed myself.

 

I did then saw the long thick lengths of hair collected in my lap, resting on my shoulders and most of all covering the floor.

 

There was just so much and once again I gave into my strong feelings.

 

Was there no end to these wonderfully strange sensations?

 

“Okay, now the top needs a little trimming,” he told me.

 

He spent several minutes with comb and clippers.

 

Then, scissors to get a perfect flat top look.

 

“You have perfect hair for this look, each hair is standing to attention and will continue to do so.”

 

His hand passed over it several times and sure enough it stayed perfect and guess what this did to my emotions!

 

“And, finally I will shave hairline to give an overall smart effect.”

 

And, he did and I won’t try to describe how this felt.

 

Awesome perhaps!

 

The cape was whisked off, giving me a chance to take in the new look.

 

I had yet to see the extent of the cropping at the rear and when a mirror was held up I nearly fainted.

 

There was nothing and it looked so right.

So, perfect.

 

The overall effect was stunning.

 

It completed my new suit perfectly. Which was now not hidden by masses of hair.

 

So, engrossed was I in my own feelings I had failed to notice everyone else in the shop was looking and as I looked up there was a spontaneous round of applause.

 

James said, “Awesome”,

 

“we were ready to go.”

 

Or nearly, I had just had to pay.

 

The receptionist was dumbstruck.

 

She just stared. I couldn’t resist, “So, are you going to do it too?”

 

“I, er, think so,” was her replu.

 

“Then, it has to be now,” I told her. “Would you let me start it for you?”

 

A nod.

 

I led her to the chair I had just vacated and fitted the cape which the barber handed to me.

 

We exchanged looks in the mirror.

 

She smiled and nodded and once again the clippers started their work.

 

I was in heaven but decided I had James to look after so I left the receptionist in the capable hands of the barber and left with me contemplating how I would get new opportunities to exercise my newfound interest.

 

I dropped James off and set out for the restaurant.

 

As I approached the table my friends looked up with expressions ranging from shock to awe.

 

As I looked down at them, all I could see was hair that would look much better elsewhere.

 

Finished

By JimB      ©opyright August 2018

 

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