The History Of Egghead

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As a child, my parents took me to visit relatives in India. We spent the whole summer there. On our last day, we all went to the temple at Tirupati. It wasn’t until we were in line that I realized that we were all there to shave our heads. It didn’t matter that my thick black hair, my pride and joy, was down to my butt. When I started crying over the thought of starting school bald the next week and begged my parents not to shave my head along with the rest of the family, my mother crouched down so we were eye to eye and told me that I had no choice. Then she marched me over to the waiting barber. With her looking on sternly, just daring me to misbehave, he wet down my hair and used a straight razor to shave me smooth.

My boy cousins spent the rest of our week there rubbing MY bald head and calling me Egghead. They were also shaved bald that day, but, distraught over losing my hair, I didn’t have the strenght to tease them back.

Besides, deep down, I liked the attention from them. I liked the humiliation that they were dealing out. It felt right.

By the time that we returned to America, my head was covered in very short black stubble. I thought,looking in the mirror the night before school started, well, at least, I’m not totally bald. Well, my mother, as if she could read my mind, called me into the bathroom.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the toliet.

Confused, I sat down the toliet. Much to my horror, she took a can of shaving can from the cabinet. As she lathered up my scalp, she told me that she was doing this to teach me about humility. She then shaved me smooth again. I would not be starting school with even that centimeter of hair. My classmates, of course, included one of my cousins who spread the nickname “Egghead” the moment that I walked into the building. Even as my hair grew back, I never lived it down. I mean, there was so many pictures of me bald, with downcast eyes as people commented on exposed scalp, paler than the rest of my brown body and with a little pointy peak.

Thank God that they never, ever learned that, sometimes, after an especially bad day of teasing, I’d masturbate under my covers, aroused by the humiliation. By the time that I left for college, my hair reached my waist again. Never again will I shave my head, I thought each night as I oiled it, never again will I be called “Egghead”. Even though I enjoyed the humiliation, I thought that enjoyment was unhealthy.

Then I saw the barbershop on the corner of Main and Summer. It was my first week at university, and I was needing a job. There was a “PT Help Wanted, Students Welcome To Apply” sign in the window. Needing a job, I walked it. The barber, a tall white woman with a severe blonde bob with, stood at the counter. When I asked her about the job, she lit up with joy.

“Yes, I love hiring students. I pay very well! 20 dollars a hours. The only catch is that you must do something about that unruly mane first. If you work in a barbershop, then you will need a barbershop haircut. Honestly, if I am to be frank, you would benefit greatly from a headshave. Get in my chair. I’ll do it now between clients.”

Before I could react, she had caped and sitting in her chair. As I watched, frozen and unable to object, she used large shears to crop my hair close to my head. Unlike the barbers at Tirupati, she didn’t care about preserving it. She just let the locks fall to the floor. Rivers of long black hair. Once she took my hair down to a manageable length, she used clippers. Great big metal ones that torn through what was left of my hair. When she buzzed the last of it off, I moved to get up, only to have her push me back down.

“I said ‘headshave’. You’re getting the works,” she said, “I sometimes have apprentice barbers in here, and they need a bald head to practice shaving on.”

Clutching the arms of the chair, I watched her lather me up smooth and use a straight razor to shave me smooth. Then she patted my head with a stinging aftershave that made me tear up. Especially when confronted with the ugly bald girl in the mirror.

“Good God,” she said, slipping a hand under my cape and finding my wet and waiting pussy, “Look at that egghead.”

3 responses to “The History Of Egghead

  1. Very nice story! It’s always interesting to read a story about someone who gets a surprise haircut or head shave and ends up having a haircut fetish as a result. I am looking forward to reading the sequel to this story. Thank you very much for sharing this wonderful story!

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