Slick Hair and Leather Seats

by Greaserdannyboy

Living in a small town has its pro’s and con’s. Everybody knows all about your business, and pretty much does what “Mr. Jones” does across the street from you. The men gossip just like the ladies, but hear them tell it, they don’t. They call it, “Just jawing.” The men here try to outdo the other, not giving much notice on the appearance, usually cut off sleeves, torn jeans and work boots stained with years of dirt and grime…it’s the average everyday skoal spitting American bubba’s.

Course now, I’m not the Brad Pitt in my town, but have an eye for a well groom appearance.

Well, after years of having home cut haircuts, or self cuts like myself there was a miracle happened for my town. Know one knew what the small 20 x 20 building being erected was. But after completion it appeared to be something different in style and uniqueness. Slowly the building came alive.

Out in the lawn is this huge vintage, hotel type sign’ that read…HERBERT’S BARBERSHOP…VINTAGE STYLE. OPENING MONDAY 8AM-6PM. Well needless to say, it is the cream of the crop shop with a setting of 1950 that would pop your cork walking in. The walls are covered with white ceramic tile with vintage tin signs advertising hair grooming products of Lucky Tiger, liquid brylcreem in the bottle, aftershaves, numerous varieties of hair care products. The floors are covered with white tile with black ceramic wall borders with an inlay of mosaic tiles that reads RANDY’S, Mr. Herbert’s given name.

The workstations have a black marble top, with vintage green lavatories, with crome fixtures. The black marble is lined with pomades, oils, gels, tins of grease, haircutting tools, etc. The shop has 3 vintage chairs…damn…and covered in pure rich black leather that Randy did himself. You talking about zipper bulges…. The smell of grease, hair oil, and aftershaves…Whew, slap me necked and hide my clothes!!! A man couldn’t control his inner, deep bedded fetish without walking out looking all dumb founded, with pupils blown with desire. Heck, mine were sitting on my cheeks! I could not get to the owner fast enough for an appointment. This was a must, not a fantasy. I wanted this man in my hair.

Wednesday, 4:00 pm, I walked in for my appointment. Standing behind the first chair was Randy. Dressed in beige pleated cuffed slacks, long sleeve white shirt and black tie. His hair was salt and pepper, but shined to a dark color of black from the hair oil he used. Dropping to my lowest peak, my wet noodle legs shook as I went to sit out my turn. 50’s music was playing. Grease smells, and the oils dripped on the customer’s heads warmed by the clippers peeling the sides of their heads, fogged by the fine mist of talc, and the raw hide leather seats heated by the customers butts, creeping closer to my sensitive snout. Sitting beside me was Jack, the fish man down the street, David the cowboy from the towns western arena, Sam the hillbilly mechanic, and Josh, the teenager from PH School. All five of us were squirming like earthworms in a flood. Heck, times I couldn’t move my ass, it was melting deeper in the vinyl chair I had planted myself in.

After being entertained observing David, Jacks, and Sam’s slicked down haircuts, it finally was my turn while Josh waited his turn. I cannot tell you the different ways my masculinity was shooting…Oh God…if I could just beat the crap out of it, then maybe I would act like a gentleman. The chair leather squicked under my butt while warming my numb ass as every gentle move I made sitting there. I was surround by all the aroma that build up from the other guys before me. I think if I had swallowed a glass of bottled water, I would have fried myself right there! Thinking back of that moment, I realize Randy knew I was a bit anxious. He began a conversation asking me was I from this town. “Yes sir, I live just one block over on Main Street.” He ask me what I thought of his barbershop. “Very nice sir, it’s a place this town needed for a long time.” What do you think of the décor of the shop? “Well sir I’ll have to say, I am much into Rockabilly and for 3 years now, I live the 50’s. I dress the 50’s, and everyday style my do from the 50’s.” Cool! Tell me more about this style, where do you get the vintage clothes, what do prefer for hair grooming…ya know…. “I get the vintage clothes mainly off the internet, garage sales, flea markets…places like that. And buy my grease from the internet…different places. My favorite is Black and White, Rob’s 40wt hair grease, Dax, and Royal Crown.” Interesting. And you like the rockabilly style? “Yes Sir, sure do. It’s the uniqueness of the style, the hair grease, cuffed levis, and white T-shirts with stained collars from the grease, it’s hip, it’s cool…yes I do love it.

Well, by the way, what did you say your name was? “Danny” Nice to meet you Danny, I’m Randy. Reaching over my side to shake my hand, His hand sucked mine from the coats of grease and oil he had been using that day. So, Dan, you told me you grease your hair, but yet now you have dry parted shaggy semi long hair… “Well, I shampooed before my appointment cuz I didn’t want to bog your clippers down.” I see. What would you like today Dan? “Peel the sides to a taper, peel the nap, trim the top, and don’t cut any from the front.” Tilting the chair back my ass slid from the leather as I turned read thinking he thought it was a fart. Resting my head in the headrest of the sink he wet my hair, squeezing to remove some of the water. He then combed my hair forward from the crown and then to the side for the peeling. He did just as I requested to the T. It’s was perfect. He then scooped a moderate size of royal crown, mixed with butch wax, and lanolin. The weight of the grease mixture sit on the top of my head like bowl of jello. Yet thickness held my hair in place like rubber cement.

Dan, I’m the only barber at the moment. I could use some extra hands around here, would you like to help me out? It’s not much do, just shampoos, cleaning my equipment, sweeping the floors, and opening the shop up. Damn! My mind was telling me I could be this barbers grease slave…hot damn! I took the job a week later, that was 2 months ago, now I can occasionally shave a customer, color, as well as bowing down before my master barber waiting for his next demand.

Randy and I have made a bond of friendship, we travel to the barber supply store, sometimes I go alone, I get free haircuts and a well professionally greased pomp, and free long sleeved white shirts with my black vintage ties. I get my hands greasy and my comb clogged with different types of Randy’s grease collection. And go home in the evening with sticky fruit of the looms, and drips of oil on my Justin’s.

Randy is a master, in my opinion, at his work. He’s very understanding, and will do anything a customer requests without a flaw. I know Randy made my fantasies and re-kindled a desire to be free to enjoy men’s slicked hair openly. I would like to add also…. No man can walk up to me and tell me he doesn’t have his own private hair fetish. Whether flattops, Mohawks, to pony tails… It’s in every man’s head!

And lastly….the best time alone at Randy’s barbershop is 5:00 pm, when he leaves for home and I'm cleaning the shop. So…if your in my town around 5pm stop in, I’ll grease you up…from head to toe.

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