There’s a New Barber in Town…
(A true story)
As I was saying in my comments a few stories ago, I had been a little neglectful of my hair over the last few months. It had been almost eight months since my last cut. It was getting so long, in fact, that anyone looking at me might never have guessed that I had a fetish for haircutting.
I looked at myself in the mirror a week ago Saturday, and I was disappointed, to say the least. The blonde crop that I had been so keen to get, had grown into a mop. My ears were completely covered, and it was beginning to creep down my neck, to the point where I had to pull it out of my shirt.
To say it was time for a trip to the barber was a bit of an understatement. I had finished breakfast and was just about to hop in the Mini for Main Street, when my partner pulled in behind me.
“Hey!” She shouted, thinking that I might not have seen her car, and back into her. I closed the door and walked back to grab a bag of groceries from her arms. “Where’re you off too?” She asked.
“I need a haircut.” I declared.
“Claire, honey, I’ve been telling you that for months.” Terry chided. (Not her real name. Mine you can have, but I draw the line there.)
“Well, today’s the day.” I had decided.
Terry yanked on the mullet-style tail I had in the back, making her point. “About time. Give me a minute to put these away, and I’ll come with you.”
Now, I had had it all planned out. I was just going to run down to Burns Barbershop in town, and have them pare it down short. I hadn’t planned on company. “Are you sure you want to come? It’s Saturday, and it’s bound to be busy.” I warned, hopefully.
“I’m coming, and that’s that, Claire.” She smirked, popping the fridge to start on the cold stuff. “You get the boxed goods into the pantry, and it’ll go that much faster.”
Three full bags of groceries later, we were finally on the road to the village. It was a good ten minutes before we hit Main Street, and it was a typical Saturday. Almost all the free parking was used up, and the sidewalks were crowded with people enjoying the weekend.
I pulled into the small parking lot that was located behind Burn’s Barbershop, managing to snag the last space. “It must be karma.” I laughed, hoping that the shop would be at least doable. As we rounded the corner and I saw a few youngsters sitting on the bench outside the shop with numbers in their hands, I knew that the place was mobbed.
Wanting to have a look anyway, I popped my head in the door, and every single seat was taken. “Well, this is a no-go,” I complained to Terry.
“There is that new place, just outside of the village. I bet they’re not nearly as crowded.” Terry suggested.
I knew the place she was speaking of. It was a new shop that was set up in the downstairs of a house, after the town re-zoned the street. I’d never been there, and never heard anything good or bad.
I was game. We drove just past the last light in the village and pulled into the extended driveway that had been enlarged into the yard in back. Again, I was able to park in the last spot available.
“It’s got to be better, right?” Terry asked.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” We walked up to the front porch, seeming to double as an outdoor shop. A couple of racks full of product sat on either side of the entrance. I held the door for my partner, and we stepped inside.
I tried not to imagine it was once a living room, but it was difficult. Although the décor was certainly barbershop, the styling of the downstairs was typical for many of the houses in the area.
“Take a number, and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” The older gentleman smiled. There were a couple of people ahead of me, but it was way better than Burn’s place. I imagined that this was probably a retirement project for the guy, who seemed about that age. A curtain separated the upstairs and the downstairs, and I assumed that he lived above the shop.
Terry handed me a number, and we sat down in some rather fancy wooden chairs that looked as though they might have been antiques.
We watched as the barber efficiently cut the hair of the two young men ahead of us. He seemed proficient, and I could tell that he was no stranger to cutting hair.
He shook out the cape and collected his fee along with what looked like a healthy tip. So, it was that kind of place. Okay, I thought. “I believe you’re next, young lady.” Winking in my direction, which I didn’t feel all that comfortable with.
He tucked the self-adhesive paper stripping around my neck, followed by the cape which clipped nicely around my neck. Folding the paper over the top of the cape, he finished the seal. This was definitely not his first rodeo.
“So, what are we doing today?” He asked, politely.
“Well, it’s been about eight months since my last cut, so you can go from there.” I returned, looking over at Terry, who seemed interested but distracted by the young mother and her son who had just walked through the door.
“You like it short then?” He asked.
“Yeah, scissors on top, and tapered on the sides and back,” I instructed.
“Are you okay if I use the clippers?” He asked, reticently.
Allowing a little of my fetish to show through. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He chuckled with my candor and started removing the bulk in back. I smiled as the clippers crept up my neck and just a bit onto the back of my head, rounding out at the occipital. I immediately thought back to all of my stories and my descriptions of the feeling, the cool clippers, growing warmer as they cut.
Descriptions try to describe the actual combination; the knowledge that my hair was being peeled away from my head, and the vibration of the clippers as they worked their magic. It’s hard to put into words, but I do my best.
I smiled as he started the sides, my ears finally coming into view for the first time in months. I didn’t have petite ears by any means, but Terry never seemed to mind that they poked out a little.
As I watched, I figured he was using a number one, and my blonde stubble did little to hide my scalp as it was rapidly exposed. We went back and forth with a little small talk; the usual conversations one might have with your barber. He switched to a longer blade and worked higher up the sides of my head, and a lot farther up the back.
For the first time since sitting down, I began to grow aroused, and I knew that Terry could see it in my face. It always flushes when my juices begin to flow. This barber, who I later learned went by Hebb, was not bashful with the clippers, something I could appreciate better than most.
By the time Hebb started with the scissors, the back and sides of my head were pretty much buzzed. Around my ears was a distinct border of white where my scalp was nearly shaved, and I assumed the back was the same. This was turning into one of the shortest haircuts I’d had in a long time.
I looked over to Terry, whose attention seemed undivided now, the young boy having fallen asleep. She had a curious look on her face, as though she wanted to ask a question. With me facing the mirror, I could only see her reflection.
As the barber began shaping the top into the shorter sides, I noticed my partner had slipped out of her chair and was now standing next to me.
“Why are you making him do all that?” She asked, quietly, not wanting to wake the boy. “You should just buzz the top as well.” More to the barber than to me. Hebb stopped snipping, and looked at me in the mirror, as though asking the question.
“Give the lady what she wants, Hebb,” I said, nervously.
He looked to Terry, his eyebrows raised. “I can start with a number six, and we can see if that’s short enough,” He suggested.
Terry wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “I’m thinking a four. What do you say, Claire?”
Now, anyone who knows anything about good clippers, knows that a number four-blade cuts considerably closer than a number four guard. I turned to her and met her eyes with mine. “A four is really short, babe. Are you sure you’re good with that?”
“The question is, are you good with it. You could shave your head, and I’d be alright with it.” She joked. Terry knew exactly what it did to me when she said things like that.
I looked at Hebb, shrugging my shoulders beneath the cape, some blonde ringlets falling to the floor as I did. “A four it is.”
Terry giggled, one of her most endearing gestures, and went back to her chair to watch. All the question in her eyes had vanished, and I wondered if this had been her plan all along. Now she seemed to content to take in the aftermath of her suggestion.
The barber brushed off the Osters and clipped on what seemed like a number four-blade. He looked down at me as if confirming that this was what I wanted. I’m sure he didn’t give buzzcuts to women very often. But without too much ado, he plunged the clippers into the hairline at the top of my forehead.
Rivers of blonde curls tumbled over the cape as the clippers continued their assault on my hair. God, I felt just like one of the girls from my stories, I swear. And, just like those girls, I began to worry that my arousal was going to grow increasingly difficult to hide.
I could see a smile spreading over Terry’s face as the shape of my head became all too evident. Now, my hair is light blonde, and a number four buzz looks a lot shorter on me than on someone with darker hair. As the clippers were switched off and I saw how close the top had been cut, I knew that more work was going to need to be done on the sides and back.
Just as surmised, Hebb changed blades on the clippers. “I’m just going to shorten up the back and sides to go along with the top.” Surprised that he was speaking to my partner rather than to me. It seemed that my opinion had been taken out of the conversation.
“That’s fine,” Terry said, sotto voce.
And so, the sides got considerably shorter, and judging by the breeze on my scalp, so did the back. Satisfied with the cut, Hebb spread a little warm lather around my ears and along the length of my longish neck. I hadn’t been shaved with a straight razor for years, and the sensation was not lost on me one bit.
Around the ears was nice, but the long strokes Hebb took down my neck were almost too much. I really did have to stifle my emotions, to be honest.
Hebb shook out the cape, sending what remained of my hair onto the wooden planked floor, my blonde curls in stark contrast to the rich brown of the wood. Reflexively, I ran a hand up the back of my head, pleasantly surprised by how drastic the cut really was. There wasn’t much left.
Terry certainly seemed pleased, and couldn’t keep her hands away as we drove back home. Needless to say, it was a very pleasant rest of the day, and that’s as far as I’m willing to go with that.
So, as I sit here, putting the events of that day to paper, as they say, I am still enjoying the luxury of that very short buzz. The question remains, however, do I keep it this way. Terry doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, so perhaps I’ll leave it up to you.