Reconnecting: My Barber Buddy

It had taken years of thinking about him, months of searching for him, and weeks of planning to make my way back to where he was -- which turned out to be about 70 miles and 40 years away from where he was the last time I laid eyes on him. Back then we were both in our 20's. He was a hairdresser in a salon located on one corner of my college campus, and I was one of his regular clients and fuck-buddies. Now, four decades later, the sign on the shop door no longer read "Second Glance" (the name of the hair salon he used to work in), but it should have -- because I was here to have a second glance and get my second chance.

As soon as I pushed the door open and heard the entry chime ring, I saw in an instant that a lot had changed. His hair was white now, not the gold-flecked brown I remembered. There was a beard where there used to be clean-shaven cheeks. His body was thicker, heftier by about 80 pounds. I had no problem with any of that. I liked the solid thickened look of him that struck my eyes when I stepped in and dropped down onto one of the aluminum chairs in the reception area. As I sat there waiting to be his "last appointment of the day," I looked around the room. He had his own shop now, even if it was just a one-man one-chair operation.

The linoleum on the floor was worn and the pattern of it had been rubbed out by the many feet that had tromped around his stylist's station. The sun barely leaked in through the half-open blinds. It was obvious he was having trouble making ends meet. Sure, he was surviving as an independent contractor -- but the career he must have hoped for hadn't played out the way he dreamed. Everything in the room, including his eyes and his gut, were sagging. I felt sorry for him. And the vulnerability that emanated from him was a lightning bolt right to my crotch. It excited me. This was not a fully-satisfied man secure in his own success. This was a man who understood that the ground under his feet was not only unsteady, but sloping downward. It gave people like me who wanted to take something from him tangible power over him, and that was working on me as an aphrodisiac. I knew he couldn't say no. Wouldn't say no. I knew I would get what I wanted from him.

As I sat waiting in the cold metal chair, I fixed my eyes on his body as he moved around the client he was working on. He was listening to the guy talk, making little affirming noises, now and then saying something quick and flattering in an attempt to pump up the tip that he hoped was coming. His hands were sure and precise, moving quickly and deftly as he shaped the cut on the man's head. Not a young man. Not old either. Not handsome, not ugly. Not well dressed, not badly dressed. Not anything much, actually. Just there. Just a guy getting his hair cut. Just a guy talking about how he'd outfoxed his young boss at work that day, chuckling at his own cleverness. Just another head of hair to trim.

Gene's body moved like a billowing curtain in the wind as he worked. His body made a million tiny adjustments as he cut away the growth -- lean left, lean right, bring the elbow up, move the comb, pick up the clippers, put them down, his shoulders and forearms working together to keep the scissors flying round and round the head. It was like watching a master gardener trim a recalcitrant shrub, forcing the bushy shape into a manicured sculpture. His hands were thick and spotted, but moved delicately and precisely. The stylist's apron flowed around his dancing body, and the shorn hair fell on it and then dropped to the ground, as his hips shifted and his weight leant in each necessary direction. Every second I watched him I wanted him more. I knew that body. I knew what it felt like. I knew how my fingers felt when they came in contact with it. I knew the patches of bare skin that interrupted the pelt of hair that covered so much of it. I knew the shape of his shoulders in my palms. Most of all I knew what lay below his waist, and how it felt pressed against my face and laying on my tongue. It all came back. Every beautiful curve of his body came back. I could see they were still there. Richer and more voluptuous beneath the more padded skin -- but still right there, built into his luscious skeleton.

Even though I had deliberately arrived early, it seemed like I had hardly sat down when I saw Gene unsnap the pale green sheet from his client's neck, pull it carefully aside, and shake it to the floor. Still talking, his client walked up to the cash register, pulled out his wallet, and asked my former lover, "How much do I owe you THIS time?" Gene smiled, named a figure, and then froze for a second when the man said, "Oops! Guess that clears me out for today, bud! Here you go, exactly what you asked for! But I'll catch 'ya next time around -- don't worry, I'll be back!"

Gene's eyes dropped in a moment of frustrated defeat as Mr. Anonymous walked out the door. He lowered his head as he opened the cash register and dropped the single green bill into the drawer. Then -- finally -- he turned his eyes to me.

"Hi, I guess you must be Owen? You're the guy who called for the 6 o'clock appointment, right?"

"Yeah, that's me all right! Thanks for sticking around late to do me tonight. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I often stay open this late or even later -- gotta keep my customers happy, you know!"

"I'm sure you're really good at that. Keeping people happy, that is." And as we walked toward his chair, I added: "At least, I know you used to be really good at making customers happy, and I assume that hasn't changed!"

Gene cut his eyes toward my face as he shook out a fresh green sheet and prepared to drape it over me. "Used to be? Have I done your hair before, you mean?"

"You sure have. But back a while. Way back in the early '80's in fact. When you were working on Campus Corner at a shop called "Second Glance." You cut my hair regularly for a year or so there." And then, as he moved his arm over me to put the sheet around me, I raised my left hand and ran my cupped palm across his exposed hairy forearm, freezing him in his motion. "And we saw each other outside the shop too, buddy. I was a graduate student back then. Had an apartment on Perkins Avenue. Maybe you'll remember it if you think about it for a second or two. First floor? Big long gold velvet sofa? The bedroom that opened right into the kitchen?"

He was frozen in place, and I kept my hand on his arm. Stroking it lightly. Feeling the goosepimples rise against my fingers.

"Ummmmm.... maybe. I mean... I'm not sure. I knew a lot of guys from the university. Early 80's, you said? You came in a lot?"

"Exactly. Early 80's. And I came in... you... a lot. Remember these kids?"

I reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out a photo, and handed it up to him. It was the one and only picture I had of the two of us together. It had been taken in his shop one afternoon by a friend who'd dropped by the place that day with me. It showed me in Gene's chair, my mouth open in a laugh as Gene -- grinning ear to ear -- stood behind me cutting my hair. I was about 26, he was about 22. The beginning of his professional training. The last chapter of my education. The juncture in time where our lives crossed.

As he stared at the photo, I repeated, "long gold couch in the living room. Velvet. Big fat cushions we threw on the floor to play on a time or two. And the bedroom right behind it. Big wide wooden bed that you used to lay across to let me feast on your cock and your balls. Especially your balls. Oh man Gene -- how I loved sucking your balls. Think back. Think about the first evening we got together, how we walked around Campus Corner and went into the minimart for some snacks and some porn magazines. Think about how we got back to my apartment and realized we didn't have any lube. Think about how I was so crazy to fuck you that you said, "you got butter, right? Go get the butter... "

As I talked, I could feel his arms rotating against my neck, his palm cupping my chin as he leaned down to look into my eyes and say, "Oh yeah. Sure. I remember now. I remember all right. You've changed, but I remember you. I remember what it felt like the first time you got one of my balls into your mouth and it almost choked you. I remember what it felt like the first time your dick slid hard into my boypussy. I remember lying in that big wooden bed with you and hearing your TV playing some old movie as you screwed me and rode me and put your babies in my cunt. I remember it all now. I remember you. Where you been, Owen? Why ya been gone so long?" And as his lips finally pressed against mine, he murmured, "I've missed this mouth, buddy. Missed this open mouth all these years.. "

Our beards came together, the hairs tangling with each other, as our lips met. His thick, fat, rubbery, lips spreading over my mouth. My mouth opening as he pushed his tongue into my head. The fat cow-tongue blade of it jammed into my mouth. Awww shit I'd forgotten this part. I'd forgotten what a fantastic kisser he was. The thick tongue of an animal invading my mouth, twisting round and round inside my mouth, mouth-fucking me with the wide slab of tongue he was feeding me. The pressure of his lips as he pushed my head back against the head-rest and fed me. Amazing. Beautiful. The rest of the world dissolved away and all I was aware of was what it felt like to have my mouth filled with a man's tongue as our lips pressed hard against each other and our faces mashed together. His hands holding the sides of my face. My hands on the back of his head, pulling him tight against me, trying to squeeze out all the space between us. Just heads and mouths and tongues and grabbing hands digging into faded hair that is soft against the fingers...

"Is this what you want? Is this what you came here for? Tell me. Tell me what you want. Tell me what I can give you."

"Your balls. I want your balls. Your big fat fucking beautiful balls. They're the best. The best I've ever seen. The best I've ever tasted. Nobody has balls like you. Not one fucking person on this fucking planet has the balls you have. Feed me, buddy. Feed me your balls."

Gene stood up, walked to the door, flipped the sign to "closed," pulled down the blind over the window, and locked the door. As he strode back toward me, his hands were already unbuckling his belt, working the stud at the top of his jeans out of the hole it was plugged into. He lifted one leg, straddling my lap as he unzipped his pants. That was when I saw that -- just like in the old days -- he wasn't wearing any underwear. No wonder I'd been able to see his bulge when I walked in. He still did nothing to cover it, nothing to hide it. His balls were too huge to be held inside any briefs or boxers or g-strings or pouches. They had to be free to breathe and bounce. They had to be free to move.

And move they did. Gene reached into his own pants, slid his hand under his plump spermbags and lifted them out of the open fly of his pants. Finally, they were back in front of me. The balls of my best dreams. The balls that enslaved me.

Gene pushed his crotch forward to my face as it descended toward his crotch. My tongue was long since out of my mouth and drooling, saliva running down it as I went for him. So big. So fat. Like melons. Like grapefruit. Fruit to be plucked by my lips. Plump hairy orbs I was desperate to lap and taste and slobber on.

So I did. I pushed my tongue out as far as I could, opened my mouth as wide as I could, and went to town on the rich ripe danglers he was offering me. I started with the tip of my tongue on top of his meat, pressed against the base of his prick, drooling against his skin. Then I began to slurp round and round and round the thicket of hair and skin around his balls and cock. As I circled his jewels, moment by moment I felt his flaccid cock slap against my cheeks or forehead, then ride up the side of my face as my tongue hit the bottom of its circuit and lapped yet again over the base of his crotch. The fork between his legs. The funk and scent of his manbags against my nostrils, the hairy skin of his balls repeatedly sliding over and across my tongue. Round and round. Finally pausing with my nose buried in the cleft between the ponderous orbs and my tongue lapping below them.

Opening my mouth wide. Spreading my lips. Pushing against him, trying to take one of his balls into me. Using my fingers to hold it, to gently, reverently, push it into my yawning maw. So tough to get it in. So fat. So FUCKING FAT. So perfectly round, like a basketball, like a planet, like the mouthful of manhood I have remembered across all the miles and tasted in memory for 40 years. Gently. Gently. Working the ball into me. Working it. Until -- finally -- with a moist quiet "pop" -- it slid inside. My lips tightening around it. Caressing it. Holding it. A living squirming perfectly round plum inside my mouth. My nose pressed against the underside of his now hard cock. My lips a cushion for his perfect swollen testicle ball. I can't breathe. I don't want to. I want to feel this forever. Soft. Delicate like a flower bud. Rich and pungent like a muskmelon. Hairy and wet with little bumps and mansaltiness. The universe stops. I freeze in place. I gently suck on the ball and know how privileged I am.

But I want more. Slowly, and oh so carefully, I release my prize and move to its mate. I lick the outside of his left ball. It's even bigger than his right one. Even fatter. The plumper of the twins he has raised. Oh so gently and delicately I slip it into my mouth. My hands stroke his hairy white ass as I suck like a baby kitten on this man's ball. He strokes my hair and coos to me, standing rigidly still as he lets me gently tug at him, stretching his ball sac as I try to gargle his ball, try to take it still deeper into my head. I put one hand on his cock and start to stroke it. I hum softly and the vibration transmits itself to the inflated nut in my mouth. I can feel the ball react. Retract. Try to pull up tighter to the base of his prick as he hardens still more. My fingers feel the dew starting to drip from his cockslit, and even though I can't feel it land, I know that drops of his pre-cum are trickling down onto my hair. I know that he will shampoo me with his dripping honey, that his cock-nectar will glue the hair-follicles together and give me a skull-cap of his juice. Later, when I am alone, I will rub it all over my scalp. I will feel his sweetness gumming up my hair and it will turn into man-flakes that I will wear and comb out gradually for days.

But that's later. Right now, I am here. In the perfect moment. His right ball in my mouth, his left ball in my hand, as I suck and tug and start to adoringly twist them. He is groaning now. He is getting closer. He uses his pelvis to push my head back against the headrest again. He is pressing his crotch against me and dancing against my face. His balls are my world.

I want to fuck him. And I will. But that will come later tonight. That will come when he begs me to go home with him and we climb into his bed and he sits across my lap and takes my cock into his gaped pussy and rides me as we both moan and grind and spill ourselves over each other as many times as our balls will fill our dicks with cream. We will fuck all night, falling asleep and waking in each other's arms, mashing our bodies together, frosting each other's bodies with sweet layers of cum. We will use thick sticks of butter to lube ourselves and roll around like little piggys in each other's arms. Finding the old curves that we have always known in each other's bodies. Finding new tastes in the new rolls of fat that we have grown. Making hogs of ourselves.

But that is later. This is now. Now his cock is fully inflated and wet and in my hand. His balls are in me and on me. He is riding my face. He is moaning and I am filled with absolute bliss as he is on the edge of filling me. Feeding me. Oh yes my sweet sweet lover FEED ME. SHAMPOO ME. MAKE ME WET. I feel his balls contracting -- tightening -- pulling up -- lifting up -- and LETTING IT FLY. He is spraying his cum on me. All that white juice rushing up the tube of his dick to PUMP PUMP POUR out of his dick-nozzle. Shit yes. OH SHIT YES. Empty your marvelous balls on me. Drown me in your juice. Give me the full, hot, creamy, bottomless bounty of your perfect balls. Give me your babies, drench me in your seed.