Andy’s Haircut

The summer heat is close to being unbearable. I am wearing a skimpy white shirt – once just about right for me, but now, cut so that it ends above my waist. My pants are blue and baggy. My hair is black, and sits atop my head in a giant bun, held together by a claw clip borrowed from Mom. 

I look like any girl in her twenties in this city. But I am not a girl. 

I am a boy of twenty, and I am on my way to Dan’s barbershop for the first time since the pandemic. The first time in six years. 

Before entering the tiny shop that lies on the corner of the street, I touch my bun. I wonder if Dan would recognize me. 

I breathe, mostly to keep myself calm, and enter the shop. 

Dan is inside, attending to some clients. Oh, good old Dan. I have a look around the shop and see that there has been little change in the demography of Dan’s clients. All men, and no less the kind who’d judge me for the way I look upon finding out that I’m a dude. 

“Welcome to my shop, miss. What are you looking for?” 

Dan has the same grin on his face that he has always had when he greets his clients. 

“Uhm, I am a guy.” 

A few heads turn. They were looking at me as I entered, and no doubt assumed that I am a woman. 

“Okay. What are you looking for… sir?” 

A few laughs. Dan would never seriously call his clients ‘sir’, unless he was attending to the mayor himself. 

“A buzzcut.” 

More heads turn. This time, I can feel my face becoming red. 

“Whoop,” exclaims Dan. “Alright, sit down, and let us see what we are working with.” 

I sit on the empty chair that Dan beckoned to. I look at myself in the mirror. Mom insisted on the makeup, saying it would charm Dan and all the other guys in the shop. I cannot tell whether she was only joking. 

Dan comes back with a brush in his hand and stands behind me. 

“May I?” asks Dan. I nod. 

He takes out the clip, and my hair comes tumbling down. What also comes down is Dan’s jaw. 

“Good lord.” 

Dan circles me, staring at my hair from every angle, as if the ordeal wasn’t embarrassing enough for me. I cannot blame him, really, because he has surely never cut hair this long, even in his long career. 

Hair that I can see in the mirror, below the chair, ends sweeping the floor. 

Dan starts making a few passes through my hair with the brush. The strokes are smooth, as my hair is for the most part tangle-free. Mom’s hair care treatment is legendary. 

“Son, when was your last haircut?” 

“Uhm, six years.” 

“Six years,” repeats Dan, testing the words for himself. “You’re telling me all this hair, all of it, is your COVID hair?” 

“Yes.” 

“For fuck’s sake.” 

Dan’s posture and voice indicate little surprise, but his eyes betray him. 

“Actually, my last haircut was here. I’m Andy, Rob and Emily’s son.” 

Dan stops brushing my hair. 

“Andy? Young Andy, who Rob would always bring here to get a crew cut? You’re kidding me.” 

But it is clear that he now sees it. Though my hair and clothes make me unrecognizable, my face has changed little. 

“Andy, I have so many questions. How’s Rob? Where does he get his haircuts from now, because I’m certain as hell that he did not also grow his hair? And, how on Earth did Rob, of all people, let you go this long without a haircut?” 

This is a sensitive matter, but one that I’ve been dealing with for a couple of years now. 

“Dad went to the city, and, well, he and Mom divorced.” 

“Oh. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“Uhm, it is alright. As for your other question, he does not. Approve of my hair, I mean. I’m getting it buzzed as I will be visiting him soon.” 

There is silence. Of course, my hair was also part of the reason why the divorce happened in the first place, but Dan does not need to know that. 

“So, Andy. What do you plan on doing with the hair?” 

“Hmm? What do you mean?” 

“You know, the hair, after we cut it. Do you plan to donate it, keep it, what is the plan?” 

I have obviously thought about this. My friends have always urged me to donate it, saying that any girl would be lucky to receive my marvelous hair. 

But I’m not ready to part with my hair, just yet. It may be cut, but it is still my hair. 

“I would like to keep it.” 

Dan is amused. “Keep it? You mean, like keep it in storage, with yourself?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Interesting. Okay then, I guess we could, as if we were donating it, tie it into a ponytail, cut it, and then work with what is left. Cool?” 

A ponytail will no doubt draw even more stares. But it has to be done. 

“Okay.” 

“We do not have any ties over here. Lemme go and fetch one quick. The lady’s salon is just down the lane.” 

I sit in the chair, like the obedient boy I am, waiting for Dan to come back. There is no air conditioning in the shop, so this isn’t really an ideal condition for my hair to stay loose. Sweat gathers beneath my hair, on my nape. 

I look into the mirror. My hair is neatly parted down the middle, almost with surgical precision. By all measures, it looks to have been brushed quite smoothly, with no stray strands popping out upwards or sideways. 

At the bottom, my hair sways a little along the floor, moving with the slight flow of air coming from a nearby vacuum cleaner. The ends are already collecting dust, no doubt. I will have to attend to that when it is chopped off and I return home. 

When it is chopped off. 

Oh my god, my hair is being chopped. 

Not someone else’s hair. My own hair. 

I am about to watch my own hair being chopped, and I will be only one of many watching. 

My cheeks turn redder. 

What on earth is going on in my head? This is not right. 

It was fine when it was someone else. But to feel the same way about my own haircut? 

I am not having it. 

Dan returns. In his hands is a box, and a cape. 

A pink cape. Bright pink. 

My goodness, it is only becoming worse. 

Dan gathers my hair up, and puts the cape on. The cape appears to have a motif of some kind on the front. 

The mark of a kiss. 

“Apologies, it was the only one I could find.” 

No, it is not. I can see Dan hiding a smile. 

Dan holds out the box for me. Inside it is an assortment of rubber ties, scrunchies, and even ribbons. Each in a variety of colors. 

I look for the least feminine-looking accessory. Scrunchies and ribbons are, obviously, ruled out. The ties are mostly bright colors, which, in my opinion, rule them out too. 

“This one, please.” 

Dan takes out the white tie, and with some effort, makes one round of putting my hair through it. He continues the process until the ponytail is secure enough. 

This is normal. Just a boy with long hair, getting it buzzed off. There are no undertones. 

“How’s Emily?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Emily, your mother. How is she?” 

The question startles me. I did not think that Rob knows her. 

“Oh, she is fine, I suppose. Why do you ask?” 

“Divorce can be tough,” he replies. “I hope she is doing well, she is an incredible woman, your mother.” 

I do not know what to say to that. 

“She had such long, beautiful hair. I always loved cutting her hair, your mother’s. She wouldn’t come for an ordinary trim, no, she always came for big haircuts.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I worked in the salon too, earlier. To make enough money to save. It was hectic, but my work in the salon has helped me meet many… clients.” 

There was something odd about the way he said clients. 

“Anyway, Andy, you have such wonderful hair yourself. Quite thick, and clearly, grows quite fast. Why did you decide to grow it?” 

Dan is doing something with my hair. I turn. 

He is braiding it. 

“Dan, why are you braiding my hair?” 

“It is standard practice to do so, when donating it, and I figured that since you’d like to keep it, you’d prefer to have it secured.” 

My braid is drawing attention. I do not like where this is headed. 

“Remove it.” 

Dan shrugs. “As you wish.” 

I am sweating more than I was before. This is real. My hair, which is super long, is being chopped, and I’m watching it being braided for the cut. While sat with a pink cape over me. And others are also watching. 

I should be sad. I should not be feeling the way I feel when watching long-haired women get big haircuts on YouTube. 

I can only hope that my makeup is thick enough to cover how red my cheeks have turned. If Dan notices it, he will ask. Worse, he will comment. 

“Actually,” Dan perks up. “Andy, your hair is too thick. Cutting it, with it tied in a single ponytail, would be a hassle. Two ponytails should do the job.” 

There is no way I heard what I just heard. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“Uhm, I mean… sure.” 

“Great.” 

There is no turning back now. Under my pants, my cock struggles against the fabric. 

Dan takes his time and maintains the surgical precision with which he operates on my hair. My eyes remain closed, though while it is going on, I already begin to imagine how I’d look. The problem isn’t that the image is unflattering, but in fact the very opposite. 

When I opened my eyes, what I saw staring back at me was prettier than anything my mind could have conjured up. 

The pigtails were long, tied loose, and started at the sides. They had a certain bounce to them, if you will. As I moved my head around to examine my new do in the mirror, they danced about me. 

My cock was growing firm in the grip of my hand. 

“Andy, you look beautiful.” 

“Uhm, thanks.” 

“You know what, I think this calls for a photo shoot.” 

“A what?” 

“A photo shoot. A fun little series of photos, since this will be your last day with your beautiful locks. I generally do this with female clients only, but your gorgeous hair is good enough reason to make an exception.” 

The situation just keeps getting better. 

“Don’t be ashamed! It will be fun. Follow me.” 

“Alright.” 

My hand leaves the inside of my undergarments, and I leave the confines of my chair. 

A photo shoot. Some of the YouTube videos I watched had them. 

And now, I’ll be the subject of one. Wow. 

I follow Dan into a room. A very small one. On one end is a stool, and on the other is empty space. Just enough room for I to sit and Dan to take his shots. 

I take my seat, and Dan takes his spot. I thought that the photos would be taken on Dan’s phone, but I underestimated Dan. He has a proper camera. 

“Okay, I think we can get started with a standard front-facing shot. Sit straight and give a subtle smile.” 

I do as Dan instructs. 

“Your pigtails are not in view.” 

I bring my pigtails forward. Prior to today, I had never worn my hair in pigtails. Today, I wear my long hair for the very last time as pigtails, and they’re set to be preserved on Dan’s camera forever. 

The actual physical pigtails, will be with me, though. An exciting thought, but also a scary one, given how exciting I find it. 

Dan takes his picture. 

“Good! Now, just your pigtails. Turn around, please.” 

I hesitate a bit. The nakedness of a backwards pose for an exhibition-style photo is uncharted territory to me. Then again, so is posing for an exhibition-style photo shoot in the first place. 

“Brilliant! Though, maybe they’d look even better if they were tied looser. May I?” 

I nod. I feel Dan’s hands on either side of my neck, working on his adjustments. 

“You know, I once did a photo shoot with your mother too.” 

I flinch. 

“She gave me some incredible pictures. Actually, the right word for her pictures would be… tantalizing. A real good sport, she was.” 

“What?” 

“I would have showed you the pictures, but I’ve sold them long ago. Anyway, I brought it up only to say that you remind me a lot about your mother.” 

A chill goes down the length of my spine. It was first only suspicion, but it is now merely suspicion no longer. 

I think Dan has it. 

And oh god, he sees me the way I see them. The way I see women getting haircuts on YouTube. 

“Andy. You do know how much your hair cut costs, don’t you?” 

I quickly mask my thoughts about the unfolding situation. “Uhm, yes. I saw it on the way in.” 

“What do you think? Reasonable price?” 

I nod. I hate where this is going. 

“I’ll do you one, Andy. Since I like you, or rather, your hair, so much, how about I knock off 50%?” 

“Okay.” 

“If some conditions are met, that is.” 

“Go on.” 

“I’ve noticed the way your hands move about your cock.” 

I’m speechless. 

“It is okay. I have it too. The thing. Most of us have gotten into the profession because of it.” 

Dan sure has a way of making his clients feel comfortable. 

“It is why I worked at the salon, Andy. Not just the money, but also… the hair. The hair that I got to cut. Hair like Emily’s. I left because of the guilt.” 

I feel one of his hands resting on my shoulder. This was followed by the sound of unzipping and the sliding down of pants. 

“You’re a good kid, Andy. I’m sorry, but your hair is simply extraordinary, and it would be a shame to not enjoy it before it goes and becomes a thing of the past.” 

I close my eyes in anticipation. Dan’s rapid breaths begin to hit my ears. 

A minute later, I feel something hit the back of my head. A splash. 

Dan did not moan. He does not seem like the kind of man to. 

“Andy, is it the reason why you grew your hair?” 

I shake my head. “It started with COVID.” 

“Surely Rob was prepared to give you a buzz.” 

“He was. But I stood my ground.” 

“You still haven’t answered my question. Was COVID the main reason, or an excuse?” 

God, all he has is a suspicion of a shared fetish, and he is making wild and correct guesses about my inner psychology. 

“An excuse.” 

“Thanks for clarifying. Though, I couldn’t help but notice that you do not seem as forthright in your anticipation of the event as one would expect. I sense… hesitation.” 

Was it not enough to prove how good he was at reading me by simply observing the fetish? 

“Thinking about yourself with respect to the fetish… not easy work, is it?” 

Dan steps closer. Lifts the flap of my cape in the front. My cock and hand, sitting right above the hem of my pant, are now exposed. 

“May I?” 

My face is burning pink. A fantasy that I was too scared to confront, now acknowledged, and if I’m lucky, about to be experienced. 

“Yes.” 

Dan unwraps my hand and wraps his own. And just as he was with the brushing, he is gentle with the strokes. 

“My hypothesis is that you stopped exploring the fetish ever since you had begun to grow out your own hair, correct?” 

I have to keep my mouth closed to stifle my moans of excitement. 

“You did not masturbate anymore to maintain an illusion. To make yourself believe, against evidence, that you do not have the fetish, and that you do not find the thought of growing out your hair and having it sheared arousing.” 

Dan does not miss one bit. 

“Andy, do not ever find yourself thinking that merely having such thoughts is wrong. Or acting on them in a manner that is safe. Unlike what I did.” 

I do not believe that Dan is a man who’s changed from his claimed early days of notoriety at the salon. But I’m not sure I’d like a reformed Dan more. 

Dan’s hand is covered with his own cum, and it sure is meaty. But I’ve either forgotten how to ejaculate, or my mind is of a stronger fortitude than I think it to be. 

But it is for certain that I am enjoying this. In fact, I think I’m getting closer to climaxing. 

Dan stops after a while. 

“Intriguing. It is clear that you have it – your cock is rock hard. But you’ve somehow managed to hold off for so long. Saving it for the big event, are we?” 

I gulp. I’ve completely forgotten about the haircut. 

“Come on. It is time to shear your beautiful tresses away.” 

Dan pulls his pants back up, I do mine, although, leaving my zip over to give my dick some breathing space. He then takes my hand and leads us back to the main room of the shop, and back onto my seat. 

It is then that I realize something. 

Dan’s cum is still on the back of my head. He has not cleaned it. 

I panic, but it is too late. Everyone is staring now. I wonder if it is a common event for Dan to lead long-haired people into this little booth and bring them back out with ejaculate on the back of their heads. 

“Everyone,” Dan speaks up. Oh no. 

“This is Andy. Andy has been growing his hair for the past six years. He has such beautiful hair, doesn’t he?” 

Murmurs and nods from the men in the waiting area. 

“He is Rob and Emily’s son. Buzzcut Rob, remember him? If not Rob, surely you all remember Emily, don’t you? It is where Andy gets his wonderful hair, after all.” 

Excited muttering. I hate myself for not feeling one bit indignant at these men for speaking of Mom this way. 

“Andy here is going to get his haircut. Now, how often do we get hair this long in the shop?” 

“Basically never!” 

“Indeed. So, let’s make full use of the opportunity. Come and gather around.” 

My eyes were closed from the embarrassment, but I open them a tad to see the newly-gathered crowd behind me. There must be at least 8 to 10 men. Their faces bear eager smiles. 

“I will be cutting off only one of Andy’s ponytails. I need someone to cut the other. I know that you’re hungry. So, if you’re interested, place your bids.” 

Oh god. My hair is being treated like a trophy. 

“10.” 

“12.” 

“18.” 

“30.” 

“100.” 

A man who looks to be in his thirties emerges forward. He is wearing a nice shirt. He looks to belong to the upper class of people who come to the shop. 

“Okay, Richard. You win. Come here.” 

Dan opens the drawer. Two new pairs of scissors, still packeted, lay inside. He takes them, rips open the packeting and keeps one for himself and hands the other to Richard, who now stands to the other side of me. 

“I save these for special occasions.” 

The scissors are big. They’re nothing like the scissors that Dan would use to cut my hair when I was younger. These scissors look like they’re closer in size to gardening shears than they are to the average scissors. 

“Andy, what is your type?” 

“My type?” 

“What kind of men are you into?” 

“I am not into men.” A lie. 

“James, over here.” 

The sweeping boy stops sweeping. He looks close to me in age. He is lean, quite fit, and has wavy brown hair that sweeps his shoulders. 

Exactly my type of man. 

“Pull down Andy’s pants please.” 

James awkwardly walks over to the front of my chair. His face displays hesitancy, but he looks into my eyes the whole time. He is unknowingly adding to the intensity. 

Meanwhile, Dan and Richard begin to braid my hair. Oh great. 

If I wanted to, I could put a stop to this, right now. But the part of me that wishes to see this unfold takes over. I stay quiet. 

For the second time today, my pants are pulled down. My cock is now fully exposed. James shifts his attention from my face to my cock. 

“Would you like to be tied during the haircut?” 

I meet Dan’s eyes in the mirror. 

“You seem like the sort of guy who’d be into it,” he shrugs. 

The women in the videos sure did look even hotter when they were tied. 

I nod. 

“Good.” 

My hands are pulled from the front, and held together at the back of the chair. I feel the two ponytails brushing against my bare arms. A cloth of some sort is brandished and tied over my hands. 

There is no turning back now. 

I hear the eager sound of scissors snipping the air. 

I feel my two ponytails pulled back, taut like a harness rope. 

James does not put his hand. 

James leans over, and encloses his mouth over my dick. 

In the back, the onlookers are split between filming this and slipping their hands into their own pants. A split between instant gratification and gratification back home in the comfort of their own bathroom. 

I have become one of the women of the videos. A victim of my own desire. 

Almost on cue, James starts moving on my dick, to and fro, as the sound of hair being snipped cuts through the silent anticipating atmosphere of the room. 

I look up. I cannot bring myself to look at what’s unfolding in front of me. 

This time, I do not, or rather, cannot, mute my moans. I let go of myself. 

Dan is shrieking with excitement as he rips through my floor-sweeping hair. A huge upgrade in experience, no doubt, from his daily ritual of monthly trims and fades. 

Richard works in silence. A silence that appears methodological, but is no doubt more a result of confusion over experience something for the first time that he’s only ever fantasized about. 

Maybe a fantasy that he tried not to think about, as he feared what thinking such things would say about him as a person. 

In that respect, he isn’t so different from I. 

And then, a sudden feeling of lightness on one side of my head. 

Half of my beautiful hair, last measured to be 55 inches, held up in the air, in Dan’s hands. 

Braided neatly, with a gleam and shimmer to it. 

I let go, and feel the cum launching from my cock into James’ throat. 

Like a dam breaking down, no change at first, but then, a visceral outburst. 

I shriek with the sudden pouring of excitement through my body. 

Six years of my hair cut, and with it, six years of abstinence coming to an end. 

It is only shortly after that the second ponytail comes off. 

In the mirror, where there should be hair pulled back into ponytails, there is a shoulder-length bob gathered around my neck. 

I look more like a girl than now than I did before. 

Dan hoists my two thick braids up in the air, prances around the circle of witnesses to give them a better look, and to get a feel. 

Of my gorgeous hair, that is mine no longer. 

I do not ask Dan to buzz the bob, as was originally the plan. If I’m starting again, I’d like to have a headstart, and I do not think that I’ll be visiting Dad anymore. 

This time, however, there will be no drastic haircuts. 

I do ask Dan to clean his cum, which still lays on the back of my head. 

I do not go home with the braids, no, because I do not think that I can ever look at them the same way. I’m content with the hair that I still have, longer even now than most guys. 

At home, Mom was in the kitchen when I entered. 

I was afraid that I’d no longer look at her the same way, just as with my now shorn braids. 

I give her a hug. I give her the three thousand in my pocket. 

She does not ask where I got it from. She understood.