Date: Fri, 2 Sep 2016 01:31:37 +0000 (UTC)
From: - - <mike.99999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Barber Boy 2

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Barber Boy Part 2

I really liked getting my hair cut. It turned me on just thinking about it,
waiting for our next meeting. If I saw or heard anything about barbers or
haircuts of clippers, I immediately got hard.

After years of getting turned on by my barber, we finally acted on it.

My friends would get their hair cut at a fancy salon or at home and not
really think about it. Some preferred going to a barber shop. I had a
standing monthly private appointment the first Monday of the month.

You ever wonder why barbers are always closed on Mondays? They need an
empty shop for their private appointments.

Taking your shirt off before you get in the chair is a great way to keep
from having that itchy neck, and why not go ahead and take off more. If
you're lucky like me, your barber will do the same and you can fool around
in the chair.

The hottest part though, for me, is that we don't even talk about it. It's
like a game where I'm just getting a regular haircut and any body contact
or nudity or anything sexual is all just happening and no big deal.

The conversation stays about the haircut or regular small-talk. There's
usually a ball game on the TV.

My barber will have his hard dick out of the fly of his pants, poking me in
the ribs from the side and under the cape, but we'll be talking about the
game or the weather.

If I walked in and he said he was going to suck my cock, it would almost
ruin the experience. It's so hot to play coy and let stuff happen. It's as
if we're in public and keeping it a secret.

Actually, we've done that a few times. If my hair's a little shaggy between
appointments, I'll surprise him and come in like any other customer. With a
line of other guys waiting their turn in the front room, able to see to the
back where the chairs are, I'll sit and get my hair cut.

I'd normally always take off my shirt when it was just me there on a
Monday, but I'd leave it on when other guys were there on a normal day. The
barber's fingers would feel the inside of the collar around my neck,
securing a cloth and wrapping the drape and tying it. On those occasions,
he'd do a lot more knee-to-knee touching and pressing his belly and crotch
against my arms.

It got me hot to know that I was rock-hard under the cape, unseen by the
guys sitting ten feet away. They could be my friends' dads or high school
athletes or older men. One time, my teacher was there; I had seen him go to
that barber before.

Part of me wanted to be bare-ass and on view. Part of me wanted us all to
be naked and sitting hip-to-hip on that big bench in the waiting room.

But it was all just in my head while I sat there, side-eyeing the other men
and getting subtle signals from the barber. I always wore tight white
briefs, but I made sure that I positioned my dick beforehand so my hardon
wouldn't show when my haircut was over.

I wondered who else liked the touching that comes from a haircut.



It was my normal private appointment, the first Monday of the month. This
time, I showed up around noon, because I had the day off. On the way there,
I realized that the barber might not be there until our usual time. I
figured I'd just come back later if he wasn't there.

I knocked on the door a couple times but just walked in because I saw the
light on. To my surprise, my barber had somebody else in the chair.

"Hey there! Come on in! Have you met Vito before?" My barber introduced me
to the older, Italian man with gray hair at the temples. His hand came out
from under the drape, and we did a polite shake. He was also a barber and
sometimes was there earlier on weekdays or if a Saturday morning was going
to be really busy. He had been my barber's barber years before and they'd
still sometimes cut each other's hair.

Hair was all over the floor. My barber said, " I had a couple other private
appointments and didn't have a chance to sweep up yet. You can go have a
seat in the front room and get undressed."

I did as instructed and heard the word "undressed" murmured a few times. I
listened to them discuss how I get my hair cut with my shirt off to keep
the hairs out of my collar and for how long and that I was a real good
kid. I sat on the long bench, which I preferred to the chairs.

The sign was turned to Closed, but the shades weren't completely drawn, so
I looked out at the street. It wasn't very busy, but I saw some people go
by. I realized I'd be sitting there and people could maybe see in. That
kind of worried me and kind of excited me. I slowly pulled my shirt off and
hung it up on usually unused coat hangers. Then I heard a noise, some young
guys rode by on their bikes, and a couple of them didn't have shirts on
either.

I thought about how I always stripped off to just my tighty-whities, but
that it was usually just the two of us. Bravely, I peeked my head through
the door to the back and asked, "Is it alright if I take these off too
...sir?" I pointed down towards my khakis. Vito looked, but my barber just
glanced over and said it was fine before continuing mid-sentence about
sports.

I walked back to the front room where I had seen so many guys sit so many
times in the past. I undid the button, looked at my waistband, pulled the
zipper down, and let them let go of me, sliding down my bare legs. I folded
them neatly on a hanger and sat back down on the bench, noticing that Vito
was pointed in my direction and watching. Then his face was covered by a
hand-mirror as my barber moved him into place and showed him the back. Vito
asked for it to be a little shorter, so my barber went back to his
clippers. Vito looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I looked around the room, feeling my near-nakedness, and again glanced out
the windows and out the glass door. I saw somebody walk by but not bother
to look in. Then, quickly, my barber walked to the door, unlatched it,
threw it open with me sitting next to it, held the door wide open with his
foot, and pulled his mail out of the mailbox hanging next to the door.

He came in again and latched it, and nobody was standing there staring in
at me, but it was definitely a thrill. I didn't know what was happening for
a second. I found myself then daydreaming about him pushing me out the
front door and locking me out there on Main Street in my undies. What would
I have done? Would I have hammered to be let back in? Would I have run
around the block to the back door?

Then my attention got pulled back in again, because my barber was talking a
little louder. "Vito! Why is it that your hair always goes all over the
place! Look at this, I'm covered in your hair." Then he got a brush and
started brushing off his shirt (no smock or anything) around the chest and
on his arms, down to the dress slacks he was wearing.

Vito and I watched as my barber started unbuttoning his shirt, opening it
wide to reveal his strong chest and biceps, and pulling it off. Vito
glanced over at me for a second. My barber threw his shirt onto the other
barber chair, grabbed a broom and swept some of the hair off to one side,
and kicked his shoes off nonchalantly. He unfastened his pants and slid
them off quickly, tossing them onto his shirt. He stood there showing off
while acting like it was nothing, sweeping his brush over his forearms.

"That's better," he said, continuing his work in nothing at all. His dick
draped over his balls, and his muscular butt flexed as he cut Vito's
hair. I looked over to the front door and tried to see if anybody was
looking in. The front room was dark, but with sun beaming through the
half-open blinds.

I watched my barber's butt and dick and arms, all out on display. I was
wondering what Vito thought, when suddenly they were done. Off came the
cape, and Vito was wearing nice pants and a shirt and tie that he
adjusted. Vito stood up, and they shook hands.

Vito leaned over and waved at me, "Nice meeting you, son. Hope to see more
of you some time." I stood up and stepped in. We exchanged some
pleasantries, and my barber explained that Vito would be on the second
chair more often and had a bunch of private appointments for Mondays. I was
still in just briefs, and my barber was still nude, and it felt like a
locker room with a barber shop in it.

I said, "Maybe I'll see you next month then." Then we talked about how I
come the first Monday of the month, and they decided that's too long
between haircuts. They said I should stop by every other week and one of
them should be there, either cleaning up or with these private appointments
they do.

Then Vito left, and my barber motioned for me to have a seat and draped the
cape over my body. He rested his hand on my bare shoulder and confirmed
that I could come by more often and that it'd keep me looking nice and
neat, just like him. I asked him how often he gets a haircut, and he said
he'll either trim his own or have Vito take care of him every week.

Sitting there, talking about how the weather was warming up or about how
they'd start road construction soon or about how our favorite players were
doing, made me feel like a real man. I felt like I was on a throne. Of
course, the whole time I was staring at my barber's body.

I started on some long-winded explanation about something, and in the
middle of it I boldly shucked my briefs off and peeled them down my legs,
holding them out to him and revealing that I was now fully naked
underneath.

With the sensation of cool plastic and padding under my bare butt, I
watched as my barber smiled, received what I gave him, and smelled it
before gingerly hanging it on a hook on the wall.

We played out the usual routine of acting like we were doing a normal
haircut, only his hardening cock slid across my arm and into my hand while
I brazenly tugged on my own stiffy, bouncing the drape up with each stroke.

As he finished buzzing around my ears and the back of my neck, I jerked us
both to a slow completion and felt our jizz spurt and ooze into my hands
and across my chest and lap, shooting under the crinkly fabric of the cape
that covered my naked body. Afterwards, he wiped my body clean while taking
about a foul ball.

I started coming every other Monday. Sometimes, it'd be in the afternoon
and just the two of us. If I could go a little earlier, Vito would be there
too, but not always. It was pretty tame when Vito was there, but I liked
him watching me. Sometimes, my barber would really brush off my whole body
and even use the hairdryer, and my briefs would be tented up while Vito
tidied up or just sat there chatting.

I'm walking down the street on a Saturday morning and headed to the barber
when it's at its busiest and I realize I'm walking down the street in just
my white briefs but I'm not scared or ashamed it's as if this was perfectly
fine and walking toward me with a fresh haircut is that guy from the soccer
team and he's wearing just a jock strap walking down Main Street and he
nods at me like he knows where I'm headed and the barber shop has a line of
guys out the door and some have their shirts off or nothing on at all or
peeling off clothes and I walk past them through the front door and into
the waiting room and they're all lined up next to each other on that long
bench and there's my friend Dan and his dad and they're both in just
underwear and his dad still has a tie on and those black dress socks and
those plain light-blue boxer shorts and they wave at me and the back room
has Vito cutting my principal's hair and there's somebody under the cape
with his naked butt sticking out and he pulls the drape off his head and
it's my barber with a stiff dick in his mouth and he lets it pop out with a
slurp and he says "it's your turn." And I wake up.

I had other stuff going on, but this situation with the barber was always
there too, maybe like a second life, a secret hobby.

So then one time, I'm sitting there under the cape in just briefs but my
barber is dressed, and nothing's going on, and there's a knock on the back
door. I figure it's Vito, but why is he knocking? In comes the mailman.

He's in his uniform and has a stack of mail. I've seen him before. I've
thought about him before. He's a little younger than the barber and in
equally good shape. They're talking about mail going to the wrong address,
and I'm wondering how much of my skin is visible. I feel totally covered up
but also totally uncovered.

I'm turned around, but my bare feet are on the footrest. As they're
talking, my barber returns to cutting my hair and offers the mailman some
water. He helps himself to a few cups and leans against the wall after
taking off his bag.

"Okay, that should do it," my barber says, and I'm a little nervous but
excited about him flourishing the cape off and revealing me. I ask him to
take the sideburns up a little, and he picks up his clippers again.

The mailman goes back to what he was saying, because he got
interrupted. He's telling some long story. It feels like a game again that
it's a secret. Then, before I know it, off comes the drape, and the barber
is brushing me off like any customer; well, not exactly like any other
customer.

The mailman looks shocked, "What's this? You caught a streaker?"

"Nah, he takes his shirt off so the hairs don't get in there. Some guys do
that, and then why get nice trousers messed up if it's just us here?"
explained the barber.

The mailman, surprisingly, isn't too thrown by me sitting there on view,
and I watch him as he ponders. "That's a great idea! I've always thought
that the real problem is that it gets all stuck to the shirt."

My barber says, "That's right. Why don't you try it right now? I'll give
you a quick cut before you go back out into that heat."

And it works. I can't believe it. I'm just standing around in my briefs at
the barber's watching this hot mailman unbutton his sweaty uniform
shirt. His arm muscles flex as he wipes his stomach and lower back.

My barber tells me to go in the back and grab a roll of paper towels. Still
nearly naked, I walk back to hand the mailman a sheet and watch him wipe
his sweaty body.

My barber says, "Have a seat, son. We'll find something else for you to
do." I sit in the empty barber chair and watch as the mailman shares the
chair and the drape and everything else with me. I look at a pump bottle of
gel, and one bead slowly drips down.

The barber does a quick fade around the back and sides, and hair slips down
the front of the cape to the floor. I'm instructed to sweep the hair into a
pile while my barber wets his hands, opens the cape, and swipes his hands
around the mailman's ears and neck. The drape sweeps to one side so the
mailman can check how it feels.

Still sitting, shirtless, in the chair, the mailman tells me I had a great
idea.

My barber says, "just pop in any time for an itch-free clean-up." Then they
joke about the heat outside and I'm instructed to grab a bottle of water
from the fridge in the back.

I overhear this discussion: "You know what'll really cool you off is
getting rid of that chest hair."

As I come back, the mailman takes a swig of water, and they talk about how,
as long as he's already in the chair with his shirt off, why not just get
it buzzed off? And it works.

I watch and get to play assistant. Clippers buzz a ball of fluffy hair off,
and I catch it in some paper towels. He's told to put his hands behind his
head, to get the armpit hair too. It falls to the floor. Then a closer
shaver goes over the stubble on the chest, inching around the nipples to
remove some longer hairs.

"There, smooth as the kid's ass, right?" says my barber as the mailman
strokes his chest. They talk about how he shaved it only once before when
he had less to shave. He looks in the mirror.

"What do you think, son?" he asks me.I say, "I kind of liked it before,
with the hair."

They wrap it up, and I'll jump to what happens next 'cause it's the best
part. This is like a few months later.

The barber told me to come at a certain time but didn't say why. He tells
me to just sit in the front room on the bench and wait, so I do. Some time
goes by, and then with a quick knock the back door comes open. It's the
mailman again, stopping in during his route. The uniform really looks good
on him. He sets his bag down and then sees me.

The barber explains that I'm next, after him, that I was early for my
appointment but that the mailman was scheduled. I'm already undressed to my
briefs and just watching.

I watch as the mailman takes off his shirt, his new preference, and gets
his hair cut. Then they take off the cape and start talking about chest
hair and does he want to get it cut again.

My barber says, "I can do it so it makes you look even more muscular." They
talk about the planned procedure, and then the barber proceeds.

But before he starts, he says, "Let's do a before and after photo, so you
can compare!" He takes a couple photos of the mailman's hairy chest and
then gets started.

He leaves the chest hair a little long in certain places, and he leaves a
trail going down, but he trims the sides closer. They talk about how it's
just like cutting hair to suit the shape of somebody's face or head.

It doesn't take long, but it feels like I was at the movies. The mailman is
really impressed with the results. They take a couple after photos so they
can look back and forth. Then the discussion moves. They're talking about
how you can trim pubic hair too and change how things look. He talks about
how you can make a guy look taker, your belly look smaller, or make other
things look bigger.

The mailman is hesitant, and then I watch my barber step back and let his
jeans fall to the floor. No underwear, he's showing this guy his bush and
how he's trimmed it to make his dick look longer. After a bit more
discussion, the jeans are back up and on, and I'm disappointed, but I get
called over to the rally.

The barber says, "He's a little nervous. Go get him some water, and then
you can help me."

When I walk back in with the water, the mailman is standing with his shorts
around his ankles. I see the full view of his nude body. He has a good
amount of hair around a good amount of cock and balls, hanging down.

The barber is taking the before photos, and I'm jealous of him. I'm frozen
like a deer in headlights until the mailman looks over at me and reaches
for his water. I hand it to him and he thanks me and I stay standing there
and watching, nearly nude and starting to stiffen.

The mailman is reclined and raised up in the chair. The clippers glide
around his thighs, leaving fluffs of hair that fall slowly down. The barber
motions for me to step over. As the mailman puts his hands behind his head,
relaxing, I help clean up, brush hair aside, and watch as the rod in front
of us gets longer and harder.

The barber takes hold of the balls and clips the hair. He moves the
stiffening erection aside. Then he says, "hold that out of the way."

I thought he was talking to the mailman, but all eyes are on me. I gingerly
hold his cock to the left and then to the right and then out straight while
the barber trims at the base.

My barber says that it looks like we'll have to wait a bit to take the
after photo.

"And it's time for this young man to get his done. Maybe you can keep him
from squirming around so much if he sits on your lap."

I never squirmed, but we all got the idea. He patted his lap and said
"climb on." I crawled onto him, feeling his hardon behind me while the cape
was put around my neck and draped over both our bodies.

"Stop squirming now!" said the mailman as he tickled me under my armpits
and down my side.

The barber held my head steady with one hand while the other faded my
hair. Meanwhile, under the cape, our skin rubbed and stuck and grazed
over. His arms wrapped around my waist, and each flex of my butt cheeks
squeezed his dick. His flat palm on my chest, the other hand tickled my
armpit, my ribs, poked around my waistband and leg hole, drawing my briefs
away from my crack.

My underwear was sneakily crept off as I moved around his waist. My ass
pushed back against his hard cock as my briefs skid down my thighs and over
my knees, dropping to my ankles and in view of the barber. He kept about
his duties while leaning into our shared form.

I wondered what kinds of performances he's arranged for himself in this
shop, what other clients were like.

I unhooked one ankle and slid my briefs over my big toe, letting them slide
onto the chair's footrest, while I got lifted up and positioned with a male
man boner between my thighs. Hidden under the crinkly cape, his big hands
slid over my bare skin. The stubbly hair tickled between my back and his
front, and then his hand gripped around my dick like a joystick.

With each tug, he jerked me and rubbed my body against him. He fucked my
squeezing thighs, his moistening tool poking up behind my balls and between
my cheeks and tight against my legs.

The drape bounced up and up from his hand on my cock, unmistakably hinting
at what was happening below. The barber adjusted his bulge, and I noticed a
wet spot.

He put his clippers away and watched our reflection, just as we did,
putting on a show. I winced, my mouth open. This made him bite his lip and
press his chest against me and bounce me on his lap.

I let it happen. I let my jizz ooze out onto his knuckles as I felt his hot
cream come up onto my balls. We moaned, and I wondered if anybody lived
above the shop. We jiggled and jostled slower and slower until we sighed in
completion.

Like any other haircut, the barber said, "well, that'll do it." He took the
drape off us and wet a paper towel to wipe us up. Only the sound of a
stadium and announcers on TV filled the silence.


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