Here you go.
Just Like Dad
For years, I had urges that I really didn't understand. I'd masturbate to them every night. Then the guilt would come. It felt weird. It felt dirty.
It involved my Dad. No- not an incest thing here. I wasn't in love with him. I loved him: a great deal, in fact. In fact, I rather deeply admired him. I had my rebellion fits. It was 1970, after all. I was a normal, moody, 14-year-old asshole. We had our squabbles. The squabbles had intensified over the last year.
One side of me wanted to break away. The glasses were easy. I managed to trade my old dark frames for some fashionable wire ones. Mom had intervened and I was allowed to grow my hair somewhat longer. None of the other kids had flattops. It took months of pleading and weeks of slow growth before my hair reached combable length.
The next hurdle was being allowed to wear jeans and t-shirts to school. Dad threw a fit, but gradually gave in on that topic, too. My jeans had to be neat and whole. My t-shirts had to pass his approval. My body had started to develop by then. In my 70s jeans and T-shirt, I looked buff and pretty hip. The girls had started to notice me.
I finally got to look and act pretty much the way that I wanted to. Dad didn't like some of my friends. I occasionally broke curfew. Still, we arrived at a workable "truce"... pretty much like every other father and son.
Funny thing: none of this made me happy. On one hand, it made my social life much easier. On the other hand, I started to have some weird conflicts. Deep down, in my deepest fantasies, I wanted to look and dress like my Dad did.
The Urge had started as an ache - a painful longing. In time, The Urge invaded my idle fantasies. It conjured vivid pictures, each one more detailed and more exciting than the last. The Ache and The Urge collided. They created an emotional power, dominating my psyche as they crossed into my erotic consciousness.
For awhile, I was content to keep The Urge chained to my jack-off life. That was safe. I could get off, still look like I did before, and forget the whole thing for awhile. The Urge seemed rather repulsive after an orgasm. It was a relief not to look like the clean-cut boy of my fantasies. The Urge didn't last long as a passive fantasy. All too soon, it demanded to enter reality. The Boy, embodied by The Urge, demanded to be allowed to come out. I fought hard against Him. I tried to conjure up other fantasies. I tried to create something strong enough to make The Boy go away.
Fighting was pointless. Even then, I knew that The Urge wasn't going to go away. The Boy wasn't some alien invader. He was a part of me. He was the part of me that I liked the best. He was The Boy that I longed to be. A shoebox, hidden in the bottom of my closet, steadily filled with odds and ends. I'd bring out the box every night, then jack of madly over its contents. I would use the money from my paper route to buy small things for the box. Sometimes I'd pick up an old-fashioned hair cream, like Wildroot or Brylcreme. At other times, I'd pick up a cheap tie at the drug store. I felt compelled to have these things. My stash expanded to include pictures of businessmen in Crewcuts & Flattops from the local newspaper. I'd cut them out carefully, slipping them into my shoebox.
Pictures of astronauts would come out of books or magazines to join my ever-growing collection. The first time that I discovered high school yearbooks from the 40s and 50s, I thought that I'd hit the mother lode. All of those young men in crewcuts and ties made me shake with longing. I wanted to be one of those barbered & collared young men.
Most of my friend's dads wore crewcuts and flattops. Dad had kept me in a crewcut w/ a small "bump" in the front for most of my childhood. It was only peer pressure that made me whine to be allowed to grow some hair. I used to dream that he'd make me get a flattop.
I'd lock myself in the bathroom. Tons of goop would go on my hair. Then, I'd spend a long time molding it so that it all looked flat. It wasn't the same as getting a haircut. It did the job. I'd squint in the mirror and jerk off at my flat-headed reflection. Then I'd wash it out really fast.
One day, my mother asked me to pick up some dry cleaning. To steady my load, I used both hands to carry the bags home. When my hand first felt the stiffness of my father's shirts, it was like falling in love. Dad's business suits exerted a strong pull over me as well. When no one was around, I'd contentedly stroke and sniff my way thru the suits that hung in Dad's closet. My hands and my face memorized every weave, every fold, and every detail of the cut of each of those wonderful garments.
The Urge must've been waiting for this moment. It silently ushered me into the next stage of the Transformation. Lost in my suited oblivion, I absently slid a coat off of the hanger and slipped it on. My body trembled, then exploded with the heat of pleasure. Yes, that was incredible! I moved around, enjoying the caress of the coat over my body. The satin lining sent chills up my spine.
I reveled in the way in which the suit coat lay against me. My mind started taunting me with images of myself in those suits. A hunger clawed at my belly. My arms, my legs, my whole body shimmered with longing.
No guilt. No reservation. Nothing stopped me as I shucked my jeans and climbed into the trousers. It all seemed to happen in a slow motion cloud of feeling. The feeling was akin to love. I didn't look in a mirror that time. I didn't need to.
Simply sitting on the bed, dressed & groomed like my Dad, gave me such a sense of fulfillment, of completion. Quietly, I rock and flexed my body.
I got up and put the suit away. Relief flooded thru me as I "escaped" out of my parents' bedroom. I dove into bed and blasted off to sleep with the most powerful orgasm of my life.
After that, I would lie in wait for any opportunity to slick down my hair and dress in my Dad's clothing. Each session became longer and more powerful. During each session, I got better at molding my hair into a stiff and squared off semblance of a Flattop.
My dress-up sessions grew more complex and more delicious with each succeeding opportunity. My parents would leave for the evening quite often. The moment that the car left the driveway, I'd be in the bathroom slicking my hair flat. Next, I'd be in my Dad's closet.
Putting on a pair of his boxer shorts started the whole ritual. Nobody wore those but Dads back then, so it was a real treat. My dick would grow rock hard the minute it touched the underwear. One of Dad's white t-shirts came next.
The whole time, I'd keep one ear cocked for the sound of their car.
Then I'd reach for one of Dad's white shirts. His shirts were made for him: always white, always cut fuller, always made with a slightly higher than usual snap-tab collar. Carefully, I'd tie my tie just so. Often, I'd simply stare at myself in the mirror. Seeing myself, slicked and buttoned and ready to go, was a real source of excitement. I looked like a suit and tie man who was getting ready for the office.
Always with an ear for a car door, I'd just hug myself and get lost in the feeling.
Finally I'd pick out one of Dad's grey suits. It didn't matter which one. There I'd be: looking, to me, like every 3-button square that I saw downtown. My gut would ache by then. I'd be so turned on that it would take almost nothing to get me off.
I'd dream of looking and dressing like this every day. Fantasies of going out with Dad in matching haircuts & suits were a favourite fantasy. As a finishing touch, I'd put on Dad's extra set of glasses. Things looked funny, but wearing his glasses just set everything off right.
They helped in another way. I'd squint, just so. With some imagination I'd see myself in the mirror, wearing a bristled flattop and a dark suit. I'd stay dressed for as long as I'd dare. Sometimes I'd kneed my crotch to orgasm, dressed in one of those business suits. Sometimes I'd wait until later that night so that I could fantasise about how I looked.
Sometimes, I'd dream of being caught dressed in a suit. I'd jack of thinking of Dad catching me, and punishing me by making wear the suit and all day. I'd be marched off to the barbershop for a GI'd Flattop like his. ‘never happened, though. I was too careful.
One weekend they went to Grandma's. They decided that I was old enough to stay by myself. They pulled out of the driveway for the weekend. After waiting 10 minutes, I was up those stairs and into his closet like a shot. For the whole weekend, my hair stayed slicked and flattened to perfection. I stayed dressed in a suit and tie stayed quiet and didn't go out in the daytime. The lights stayed off, so that no one would bother me.
Man! I jacked myself off so many times that I was sore.
My last jack off of the night was imagining myself walking into the barbershop in a business suit. I conjured up a vision of how the clippers would feel as they sheared away my hip and modish locks.
Touching my lacquered head w/ my free hand, I'd dream of how square and bristled my head would feel. As I blasted off, I saw myself happily sporting a Flattop and a business suit.
That was one of the best ever. You might've thought that the weekend would've cooled my fantasy life. In a way, I'd hoped that it would. No go. On Sunday, it actually kind of hurt to change back into my usual clothes.
For weeks afterward, my gut would burn with longing for another dress up session. I'd deliberately pass by barbershops, just to catch a glimpse of some man having his crewcut spruced up. Hearing the buzz of the clippers would send me into fits of trembling.
With each passing week, The Urge to become The Boy tormented me. As time passed, I'd see myself in a flattop in almost all of my imaginings. My dreams revolved around the barbershop and the men's suits stores. Something had to give.
I was scared, though. What would Dad say? Would he laugh, or send me to a shrink? It occurred to me that I was crazy. I didn't understand this aching, intense longing.
Finally the day arrived when I couldn't take it anymore. Dad and I had had an unusually good spell. We'd done quite a few things together. Things were going very well.
I'd awakened that morning with such a hard on that I couldn't stand it. My heart pounded. My hands shook. My mouth went dry. Every part of my being pushed me out of bed to have "that talk" with Dad.
The urge hit me hard. I shaved my budding beard extra close that day. Taking some leftover Brylcreme from my jack off stash, I greased my hair thoroughly. A few moves with the comb, and my hair was slicked back on the sides. I parted it, combed it to the side, and slicked the front back over the top.
Instead of my jeans, I put on a pair of my "good" Sunday slacks. A white shirt hung in the closet, stiff and glossy from the cleaners. I hadn't worn it in a long time. My cock went rock hard. I pulled the shirt from the hanger and slid it over my clean, white T-shirt. It was chilly out. A v-neck pullover sweater completed my dressing.
It felt wonderful to be dressed so nicely. It took almost everything I had not to blast off an orgasm right there. But no, it was now or never.
I wanted to stop, to take everything off and forget it all. The other side of me proved too strong. Shaking, I walked out of my bedroom into Dad's study. Dad was reading over some papers. He didn't seem to notice when I walked into the room.
I sat down in one of his chairs by the desk. I was shaking all over. The chair really was holding me up. I almost tried to sneak back out of the room when Dad looked up from his papers. Too late. Here we go.
A puzzled look on his face soon gave way to a broad smile. His eyes still betrayed curiosity.
"Well! You look very nice today, John."
"Thanks, Dad." I croaked. My voice had only started to change. Croaking was a way of life. Then I got quiet again.
"I must say, son: you look very nice today. I don't understand, though." He shifted to relax in his chair. His eyes smiled at me through his thick glasses. He ran a finger over his tie while he waited for me to continue.
I went numb inside. My dick was rock hard, but my body had stopped trembling. I continued. "I...I don't understand it, Dad. Something made me want to put this on today." I looked away from him. Snow was starting to fall.
"Well, I can't say that I'm not surprised, but I'm happy to see it." His eyes were warm and comfortable. I relaxed a little.
He chuckled as he continued. "You sort of remind me of a good looking boy that I used to know." His gaze remained steady. So did his smile.
"Well...yeah..." I blushed high crimson. "Like I said, I don't know what made me do it." I fidgeted in the chair.
Dad sipped his coffee. He waited for me to continue.
"A lot of things are happening that I don't understand. Things that I suddenly want to do. It's scary, but I can't help it."
Dad got up from his chair. He pulled me out of mine, and gently led me over to the sofa. He plopped me down, sitting right next to me. I must've looked very confused and frightened. He wrapped a comforting arm around me and pulled me into a hug. Normally I would've squirmed to get away. The fact that I visibly relaxed into him must've told him volumes.
"You're at the time of life when all sorts of strange feelings will come up. We discussed the changes that your body is going through already."
I left my head on his shoulder. It felt safe. I felt like a happy little boy again. Suddenly I didn't want to be a grownup.
"You really want to tell me something, don't you?" His soothing voice told me that anything would be all right.
I took a deep breath, and let it all come out. "Dad, I don't know why, but I really, really want to get a haircut."
Dad's fingers checked the back of my head. He looked mystified. It had only been a week since my last haircut.
"I want to get a flattop- like yours. The kids will all laugh at me, but I really want one anyway."
Dad chuckled. He patted his stiff deck of tight bristles and asked: "A flattop? Really? Why the sudden change of heart?" He rubbed the smooth shaven back of his head, running a finger thru my slicked mop. "I thought that your old man had the goofiest haircut in town? You've been kidding me about it for years."
I looked him in the eye and shyly continued. It was too late to back out now.
"Yeah. I was pretty mean. All of that time, what I really wanted was to have a haircut like yours. I don't know why I want one, but it's getting to me."
He smiled, shaking his head, but let me finish.
"Dad, I really have to have one. Please- can you take me to your barber and get me fixed up?"
He sat up. I sat up. He took my hand, questioning me further: "You'll be about the only kid in creation w/ this haircut, you know. Are you sure that this is what you want to do?"
In for a penny, in for a pound. I continued, my voice quaking in tune w/ my shaking body.
"I've been pretty mean to you, lately." Then, I simply shot out what I had to say before I could change my mind. " Really... I've wanted a haircut like yours for a long time."
Dad sat dumbstruck for a moment. I could see the wheels whirring in his mind. Suddenly, he stood up and led me to the front foyer.
"Alright- let's do it. I don't get it, but who am I to argue when my boy says something as nice as this? Let's go"
In a flash, he had us in our hats and coats. We were on our way to Leo's Barbershop in no time.
We must've gotten there during a slow time. The other two barbers had gone to lunch. Leo was alone, and the chair was open. Dad helped me out of his coat. He simply removed his hat and began chatting w/ Leo. I stood there, saying nothing.
"The boy, here, has just asked me for something really special."
Dad ran a hand over his haircut and told him: "He's just asked me to fix him up with one of these little beauties. Give him a flattop: Bald landing strip, lather shaved high up the sides and the back."
He smiled. "Just like mine." A smile broke across my face. If memory serves, I actually blushed right about then.
Leo looked at Dad, then looked at me in astonishment. He shook his head, then chuckled. He looked at me again and asked: "Are you sure? I haven't given a fella your age a Flattop in a long time."
My voice held as I told him: "yeah- just like his" as I pointed at my Dad.
"Okay. Have a seat and we'll fix you up."
Dad took off his topcoat and hat. He made himself comfortable across from me.
Leo wrapped the cape around my trembling body. The paper neck cloth felt tight against my neck. I almost came when he snapped the cape fasteners into place. Everything became crystal clear. Every smell in the shop became sharper: the talc, the aftershave, the smell of clipper oil assaulted my nose. The smells of an old fashioned barbershop were suddenly closing in on me.
The leather of the chair was aged just so. The give felt great, in tune with the cold metal of the rest of the chair. Leo pumped the chair, bringing my head up closer to the clippers.
The smile on Dad's face told me everything. He was so happy to see me in the barber chair. No turning back, then. I was about to get a short bristled GI haircut.
My eyes landed on a display of combs that Leo had for sale. Dad must've been following my gaze. "You won't need one of those," he chuckled. He pointed to another display and added, "that one will be more your style, now."
I looked at the poster that he'd indicated. The lettering screamed BUTCH WAX, in big blue letters.
Next to it was a cartoon of a guy in an impossibly sharp looking Flattop. Thank god for the barber cape. My dick was shaking. I felt something wet in my crotch. I'd started to pre-cum already.
"We'll get ya a jar of butch wax before we leave. You'll need it." Dad said as he picked up a magazine. He added, "Tomorrow, I'll show you how to use it. There's a trick to working it in right."
I was shaking inside. My mouth went dry again. I was sure that Leo could hear my heart pounding in my chest.
"Just relax, Johnny. You're going to look really nice when we're done."
He pumped the chair up. From behind, I heard the clippers roar to life.
He made a few passes thru my hair with the comb.
Suddenly, the clippers appeared in the top of my view. He took aim, then mowed straight back over the top of my head. I could feel the clippers as they moved down the centre of my head. The first clump of hair fell onto my shoulder. Leo picked it up and asked if I'd like a souvenir. I gave a dorky reply. Leo dropped that first lock of my sacrifice into my lap.
I looked over to see Dad, watching intently. His magazine forgotten, the man was absolutely transfixed by the proceedings. Dad smiled his encouragement.
It suddenly felt very cool up there. Too late to change my mind. I had to go thru with this now.
Leo ran the clippers over my head again, over and over again. My shorn hair began to rain down on my lap. It steadily dropped onto my shoulders as it spilled off to the floor. My hair kept tumbling steadily into my lap. I watched it pile up around the chair.
"Funny thing about Flattops," Leo observed "Sometimes, they never grow back."
Dad smiled, rubbing his own tight brush of bristles. "That's true. Leo gave me my first one back in '48 and I'm still wearing it." He laughed.
"'Guess that I'm stuck with this haircut for life."
My dick grew so hard that I had to shift in the chair. The barber and Dad laughed about that. They didn't see the hard on. They probably just assumed that they'd given me a good scare.
Then he changed to a smaller clipper. He began brushing my hair, then cutting it off. Every stroke of the blade buzzed loud against my frozen body. He seemed to finish up there. I couldn't move. The sound of tools moving around echoed behind me.
Dad got up, and put on his coat and hat. "I'll be back soon. Wait here for me." He grinned as he headed out the door.
Leo tried to make small talk. I responded as best I could. Every part of me was focused.
At one point, Leo laid the clippers flat against the side of my head. He mowed steadily backward. With every stroke, the hot blade warmed against my skin. As soon as it passed, a heavy chill blew against my scalp. He laid the clipper on the other side, mowing straight back. He continued around- almost to the top of my head in back. The hair was still brushing over my ears. For the moment.
In no time, Leo had skinned and peeled the sides of my head to bare stubble. My head felt cold. I felt very naked and vulnerable.
He lay down the clippers. During that break in the action I ran a hand over the top of my head. My fingers probed the longer hair toward the front of my head. It was already standing pretty much straight up. I lingered in the middle of my head.
There was a patch of stubble, barely there at all. I felt the rest of my haircut. It felt sculpted- everything trimmed perfectly into shape.
I heard a screwtop lid opening. Suddenly, he was massaging something waxy into my hair- what was left of it. It smelled wonderful! He took his time, massaging it until every bristle on the top of my head was coated. Then he brushed everything straight up. He took his time. Each pass of the clipper made a noise as it mowed ever more of my hair away.
Finally, he finished on top.
I heard the hot lather machine. Soon, he was working a cloud of foamy lather all around the back and sides of my head. He pushed and massaged that warm foam almost all the way to the top of my head. Leo picked up a long razor, stropping it on the leather attached to the chair. Quick strokes- they tickled as the fine point made slick work of the sides of my head.
Hot towels, then another lather. Then another shaving- this time against the grain.
A warm wet towel took away the remaining lather. My head felt very cold. I felt very naked- very unprotected.
My cock was pumping hard against my crotch. My whole body shook.
Leo dried the sides of my head. He took a short brush and pushed the deck of my haircut up to full erection. When he dusted the back and sides of my head with that brush, I let out a gust of breath and relaxed in the chair. My naked scalp. No hair to protect it. Every stroke of the brush played havoc with my nerves. Even my nipples felt strangely alive against my undershirt.
He left me sitting there, trying to maintain. He went to the window. The snow was falling faster now. He looked both ways, thinking. He looked back at me, then said:
"Ah, what the heck. It's gonna be a slow afternoon. Probably will close early."
With that, he tilted me back in the chair. This was the first time that my naked head met the cold leather of the headrest. I froze.
It felt fantastic! I'd had no idea that I'd feel so bald and clean. Leo wrapped my face with another hot towel. The soothing heat felt great. I just lay there in the chair, luxuriating in the most incredible experience of my life. Leo covered my face in hot lather. I giggled a bit as he stropped another razor. This was fun. Carefully, very slowly, Leo whisked away the hair from my face. It was a surprise: I'd shaved that morning.
Inspite of that fact, Leo's razor found some whiskers to shave. I really did feel/hear the razor shaving my face to a perfect smoothness. Another warm towel, and he cleaned me off.
He had just begun to razor away what remained my moustache when Dad walked in. Our eyes met. We smiled.
"Just giving the boy some extra sprucing up. No charge for the shave." he chuckled.
I almost forgot that Dad was there as Leo finished making my upper lip baby smooth. He wiped me off, then applied a lotion to my face. It smelled great- just like Dad smelled whenever he came back from the barbershop.
He tilted me back to a sitting position. The sides of my head felt itchy. Suddenly, Leo's fingers were all over my head. He massaged the lotion over the whole shaven area. Imagine how it felt, the first time that my newly bald sides felt someone touch them. It was electric ! The sensation was so intense that I thought that I would pass out.
Dad stood up. He joined us at the barber chair.
Leo chuckled and said: "Are you ready, Johnny?"
"Get ready for a real shock, son." Dad added with a broad grin. "You might not recognise yourself." And with that, Dad started to turn the barber chair toward the mirror.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and felt the chair turn around.
Dad's reassuring voice whispered to me. I felt his breath on my ear: "Go ahead, Johnny. Take a look. It's great!"
I opened my eyes. My body went onto a shock and almost came at the same time. In the mirror sat a total stranger.
I put a hand to my head. The deck of the flattop stood perfectly erect. I could see the sheen of the wax against the tight horseshoe. The horseshoe ringed the top of my head, stopping before the back. It was very short. So short that it just barely stayed flat on top.
Boy! Was it flat! I lifted up my head. The hair in the front was perfectly erect. The whole top of my head was a perfect square, just rounded a little bit along the sides and tilted in slightly. I could've balanced a book on the deck of that flattop.
I tiled my head down a little bit. The center was perfectly bald. Leo had actually shaved the very center smooth. The bald strip connected with the back of my head.
Moving my head around, I noticed something. No hair moved anywhere. I kept moving my head up and down, side to side. It was fantastic. The butchwax glistened my deck to erect perfection. Just a flat and tight cap of hair on the top.
No doubt about it. This was a tight, clean GI haircut. Every line was absolutely flat and level. Leo had taken his time to make this Flattop a model of upright perfection.
Dad put his hand against the back of my head. Wow! I felt his fingers as they rubbed me and squeezed. Nothing could've prepared me for the feeling of being absolutely hairless on the back and sides of my head. No hair- none at all. Completely smooth and naked. My scalp was a glistening white.
My ears stuck out at a slight angle. With no hair to hide them, they popped right out. It was going to take some getting used to- looking so jug headed. My whole face glowed pale and smooth.
The major shock was how young I suddenly looked. That scared me. The hair had always made me look older. Buzzed now, into a tight flattop, I looked very young. My smooth face looked as though no hair would grow there at all. All of those years of trying to grow something- cancelled. My face was as smooth as a baby.
I no longer saw the budding stud of the ninth grade when I looked in the mirror. A nagging fear chilled my gut. I looked like a goofy little kid. A 12-year-old kid was staring back at me in the mirror!
Dad was standing right next to me- proud as I've ever seen him. He was beaming from ear to ear. He palmed his ears, then mine. I'd never really noticed how big his ears were before. That's where I got from: even the shape of our ears was almost the same. It was then that I realised how egg-headed we both were.
There we sat- looking in the mirror. We wore the exact same haircuts now. We looked almost exactly alike. Suddenly, I'd become a junior version of Dad. A rock hard-on made me squirm.
"Wow. You look great, kid. I'm just so proud of you." He placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt warm and happy inside.
Couldn't help it, a smile burst over my baby face. My ears perked up more- just like Dad's did when he smiled. It was thrilling so see how much I looked like him.
As I got out of the chair, Dad paid Leo. They made some small talk, both smiling, as they looked my way. I slipped my coat on and waited for Dad to finish.
He shook hands w/ the barber. As he crossed the shop, he said:
"Looks like you have a steady customer now, right son?" He smiled so broadly that I could only nod.
"That settles it, Leo. We'll both be back next week."
Leo smiled. His only reply was: "Always happy to have a new customer, Mr. Reeves. That lotion should keep him smooth until then."
Dad explained that the aftershave lotion also had a growth retardant. My face and the sides of my head would stay perfectly bald for almost a week.
By Saturday, there might be just enough to shave.
Next Saturday? Another haircut?
"Next week?" I replied, startled, to myself. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Getting the haircut felt wonderful. I'd dreamed so long about being sheared and shaven. The sight of my flat head, in the reflection from the window, gave me an instant hard on.
Dad finished buttoning his coat as he quietly continued: "Why so surprised? You're looking so sharp that I think that we'll just keep you in that Flattop for awhile."
Kept in a Flattop? Brought to the barbershop for regular haircuts, with Dad? The thrill was almost more than I could stand. Somehow, the idea of wearing the same haircut as Dad's all of the time gave me a real thrill. I really wanted to be kept this clean and barbered for good. I didn't understand it.
Dad picked up a bag and started to fish something out of it. As he did, he said: "Don't worry, Johnny. I'll tell everyone that I'm making you wear that haircut. To keep ya looking that nice, I'll happily play the villain!"
He winked as he said that. I could've sworn that he knew how thrilled I was at that moment.
"Here's a little present from me. You've made me a really happy man today." He motioned toward my haircut. "Getting that haircut was about the best present that a son could give his dear old dad. I'm really touched."
He pulled a dark grey hat out of the bag. It was high crowned, narrow brimmed. It had a black hatband and a small feather on one side. Dad always wore one like it. Do did every other white collared Dad of that time.
"That haircut's going to be kinda cold outside. Your other hats won't fit you, now."
With that, Dad fitted the hat over my new haircut.
It fit like a glove. Perfect. The crown slid smoothly over the deck of my Flattop, keeping it in shape. The hat hugged the upper sides of my head, resting comfortably on my forehead. The lining just barely touched the top of my head, tickling it. It made me very aware of my short haircut under it. The bristles rubbed against the leather inner band.
Out the door we went.
Instead of going home, Dad took us to lunch at the diner. I felt some qualms as I took of my hat.
Quite a few people stared as we walked through to an empty table. Most of the patrons had at least combable hair. Dad and I were the only guys sporting Flattops.
Dad got a laugh when the waitress brought a "12 and Under" menu for me. I was furious at first, but Dad's warm chuckling brought me back to earth.
I really did look like a little kid, but what the heck? He went ahead and ordered for the both of us.
We chatted calmly as we ate our lunch. It took no time at all for me to relax.
My hand kept going to the top of my head, though. Feeling the slick bristles was becoming addictive. Over the years I'd noticed that most men in Flattops tended to pat the tops of their heads. It hadn't passed my notice that they often rubbed the sides of their heads, too. Now, I was The Guy in the Flattop. Now, I understood.
My reflection kept drawing me. I couldn't help smiling. There we were: Dad and I in shaved and buzzed down Flattops. The reflection caught the both of us: our flattened jug eared profiles; the glint of our shaven & hairless sides reflecting in the overhead lights.
Dad's smile matched mine. At that afternoon I felt closer to him than I'd felt in a long time. It was then that I realised how much I'd missed his approval.
As we chatted, he began to ask some interesting questions.
"You had a powerfully strong need for that haircut. I don't understand it, but I'm pretty happy with this morning's events." Dad stroked his collar and tie thoughtfully.
"How far does this need extend, Johnny? Anything else that you want to try?"
I squirmed. I hemmed and hawed as Dad just sat there. He sipped his coffee while he waited. This whole thing obviously fascinated him. I tried to be noncommittal, but finally just had to spill it.
"Well, Dad: I really like the way you dress." That stopped Dad's coffee drinking in mid air. He stopped dead still. "I wouldn't mind putting on a tie more often- but we don't have to, if you don't want to. I dunno... I'm really scared by this."
My mouth went dry again. My heart was pounding as I gulped a whole glass of water. My whole body was as hard as my dick right then.
"Dad. I don't understand it, but I want to look a lot more like you." I shook my head in resigned confusion. My voice squeaked. Dad had to have noticed how much I was trembling. It all sounded as weird to me as it must've sounded to him. Silence, as I waited for the axe to drop.
Dad took pity on me. His face blossomed in a warm smile. "Well... I have kind of missed you, the last couple of years." He draped his hand over mine. He looked at me, drawing me into his eyes.
"It seemed as though you didn't want a dad anymore. I'd remember all of the things we used to do. Maybe a part of you misses all of that, too."
His voice stayed very even- very comforting. The rest of the world fell away. The space between us grew safe and warm. I realised what a special and wonderful guy he was. I started to feel guilty for all of the mean things that I'd said and done to him.
My voice choked. It seemed to go higher & softer as I whispered: "Dad, I'm sorry that I've been so mean to you. Yeah. I guess that I really want my Dad back again."
He squeezed my hand. We smiled. It almost looked like he was going to have some tears. He didn't, of course. In a very quiet voice, he said:
"Johnny, if you want me to be your dad again, by god, then I'll be your dad again. Let's be a real father-son team, huh? Let's spend a lot more time together. How about it?"
That invitation went straight to the heart.
"T-that'd-d be great, Dad. Yeah." I felt so light and so safe right then. All of my worries about my friends and my inner conflicts vanished.
"And, if you really want to look like the Old Man," Dad winked confidentially; " I think that we can swing that as well." His voice sounded giddy and hopeful. He really became a friend at that moment.
We put on our wraps and headed out the door. The snow had slowed considerably. Just one of those light flurries that makes the whole world seem magical. He put an arm around me as we headed down the street. My neck and my ears started to tingle from the cold. The shaving left my face very sensitive to the air. The streets were full of happy people. I was one of them, now.
All of the hippies and fashionable types were strolling, the snow dusting their hair. I no longer looked like them. Something told me that I would never look like them again. That was fine. I had my Dad with me. Everything felt right, now. Dad and I wandered thru the streets, enjoying the afternoon. That mild winter day, in that old town, was a classic movie backdrop.
Dad steered us around a corner, motioning for me to follow. He stopped in front of optometrists' shop.
"I noticed that your glasses have been coming loose lately. Let's go in and get them fixed. Won't take but a minute."
We blew in from the cold. The doctor stood at the counter. I got the impression that he'd been waiting for us. He greeted us cheerfully, ushering us back to a booth. I handed my glasses over. He disappeared into the back.
We chatted very quietly, mostly about what movie we'd see. In the course of the conversation, Dad mentioned that this was where he got his glasses.
The doctor returned w/ a brown leather case.
He snapped the case open. The case didn't hold my glasses. Dad looked at me expectantly as the doctor fitted them onto my face.
Very heavy, they were. The lenses were more of a rounded rectangle than my glasses had been. The frames were a plain, 1950s style, and flat black.
They were very thick, very wide. At that time, the only people who wore glasses like these were little boys and recruits in Armed Forces boot camps.
Before I could say anything, the doctor slipped the glasses onto my trembling face. Done deal. My face quickly grew to savour the weight and the tightness of my new glasses. The shaven sides of my head felt the bows pushing and forming themselves. I could feel my ears sticking out.
They fit tightly behind my ears, pulling the glasses flush to my face. The nosepiece had been narrowed w/ a black fitted "plug". The plug made my nose look flatter, and my glasses look bigger and thicker.
I took a look in the mirror. Then I looked at Dad. Then I looked back at the reflection. My cock started to get hard all over again. The glasses were the same style as Dad's. He'd been issued this style in the Army, and had stuck with it ever since. Sometimes I'd kidded him about them, but always put on a pair during my secret dress-up times. I could scarcely believe that I now had a pair of my own.
My mind could barely grasp the fact that I'd be wearing these nerdy glasses all of the time. That was fine. I was enjoying the whole thing too much to think very much at all.
Before I could really take it all in, Dad spun my stool around. The optometrist produced a thick band of black elastic. It had loops on either end, and a buckle for loosening or tightening. The doctor slipped the loops into place. My glasses now held fast to my head. They wouldn't move at all as I turned to and fro. They sat fast and firm.
The hairless skin of back of my head tried to flex and move against the elastic. No go. The band held flush against my skull. Those black glasses made my face look even more smooth and pale than before. Looking sideways, the bows and the sport strap caused the sides of my head to glow in bald relief.
The frames were so thick that they hid my eyebrows. My face and head looked completely hairless- except for the tiny, clipped Deck Brush ringing the top of my head.
Dad looked very happy with my appearance.
Affectionately, he pulled on the front w/ a finger. When it didn't wiggle very far he laughed.
"You said that you wanted to look like me. This seemed like a good place to start."
I started to feel proud of the fact that I looked so much like my Dad now. Somehow I knew that I would be wearing those big nerdy glasses for a very long time.
No doubt about it. The glasses and the haircut had turned me the spitting' image of my Dad. I looked like a nerdy kid from a 1950s sitcom. All of those longhaired kids at school were really going to tease me over this. So what? Strangely, I was thrilled at the thought of being teased. I'd be constantly reminded of my jarhead haircut.
"Just another token of my appreciation, Johnny. And you are deeply appreciated." He stood up and kissed the top of my head. An affectionate pat on the back came with it. You know it: I just beamed and lapped it all up. He paid the doctor for the "rush job" and I stepped out in my goofy new appearance.
I don't remember the movie. Dad picked the film. It doesn't matter. We had a great time. I do remember feeling very close to him that day. It reminded me of the closeness we shared when I was a little boy. He could've reacted very badly, but he hadn't. He'd been great.
The two of us sat and enjoyed the film. Our crewcuts and glasses glowed in the flickering light. Even in the dark, the two of us stood out from the rest of the crowd. All of the teenaged angst and squabbling between us vanished. We were just two happy Flattopers- Father and Son- passing a magical day together.
That wonderful time still gives me a warm glow when I think about it.
: been withdrawn from the haircut story site
: --Previous Message--
: Looking for a story called either THE URGE
: Just like dad. About a boy who secret wants
: to dress like and have his haircut just like
: his dad. Great old story from mid 90s.
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