The Barber's Pole

Hank's was a hole-in-the-wall barber shop, squeezed in between two larger buildings. A large old-fashioned barber pole adorned the outside of the single-level, painted brick structure. According to the sign on the glass door, the business was open nine to five. I was just in time.

I pulled the door open and a buzzer chimed, alerting the proprietor that someone had entered the establishment; the cold wind and some flying snow heralded my arrival just as effectively. I saw the barber, presumably Hank, sigh when he looked up at a customer coming in ten minutes before closing time. He was busy giving an older gentleman a haircut.

"I'm Hank and I'll be with you shortly," the barber said, nodding to me. He offered a friendly smile. "Can you do me a favour and turn the sign from 'open' to 'closed'?"

"Sure," I replied, grateful that I had arrived in time to get my trim. I switched the hanging door sign, hung up my coat and hat before taking a seat in the waiting area.

I absorbed the atmosphere of the traditional men's barber shop. The walls were cheap, simple panelling. Below the plate-glass front window, there was a display cabinet full of ancient tools of the barbering trade; there were all kinds of antique scissors, brushes, combs and razors. I didn't examine them closely, but I took in some details from the rest of the place. Nostalgic big band music from the '40s played softly over the speakers; I recognized a Glenn Miller piece. There were nudie magazines and back numbers of Popular Mechanics piled up on stands in the waiting area, emphasizing the masculinity of the clientele. A collection of framed prints showing pub signs of Olde England adorned the walls. There were also some sports banners and pennants. Intriguingly, there was a calendar on the wall, dated October, 2011, with a colourful picture of a forest in its autumn glory; the page seemed never to have been turned, and maybe it was fanciful of me to think time had stopped for Hank. Nobody would leave a calendar on their wall nearly ten years out of date for just no reason.

Hank had two barber chairs, of old-fashioned design. His work area was lined with mirrors, under which counters supported the tools of his trade: his electric clippers, brushes, combs, scissors and jars of barbicide.

Hank himself was probably in his fifties. He was stout of build, with fairly wide shoulders and big, hairy arms. He wore a traditional, white barber smock over black trousers and well-shined black shoes. He had finished cutting the older man's hair and was now shaving his neck with skill and precision using a straight razor. The two men bantered about the city's hockey team and whether the new coach was up to the challenge of bringing home a cup.

I wasn't interested in sports at all, but I did like the occasional athlete to share my bed.

I had known I was gay since I was ten years old, when I had a crush on my best friend, Mike. When I was fifteen, I made a move on him and he rejected me. He freaked out and told everyone that I was a homo. In a way, being outed spared me the angst of coming out; everyone from then on just knew I was playing for the other team and most of the people who mattered in my life accepted me that way. I never concealed my sexuality thereafter. Mike and I made friends again when he apologized a few years later. I even got a chance to bone him eventually but, for some reason, he didn't make that information public.

The old customer stood up and thanked the barber, walked over to the till and paid for his haircut. He put on his coat and hat and went out into the cold. Hank locked the door behind him and dropped the blinds. Somehow this added to my sense of being contained by the barber shop, like everything else that belonged to Hank.

"Come on down," Hank said, imitating the game show voice. He pointed me to the other chair while he swept up the old man's hair.

I took my seat and sunk into the comfort of the chair. Hank pumped the chair up and a few seconds later, he swooshed a bib over me and asked me how I'd like my hair cut.

My preferred hairstyle was pretty conservative. I normally kept my hair short with the top only a bit longer than the sides, but I had neglected my hair and let it grow for nearly six months; I was looking very shaggy. I described what I wanted and Hank started work on me. He sprayed my hair to comb it out and began taking the inches of extra hair off with scissors. I watched in the mirror for several minutes and it was like watching a sculptor free the shape from a stone.

Hank started a conversation, one of the familiar talents of a good stylist. He quickly sensed my disinterest in sports and moved to weather, and then local and federal politics before he turned the subject to me and my life. I didn't mind talking about myself. I told him I was enrolled in the local university, and studying for my bachelor of arts degree.

"Lots of tail out there at the campus?" He asked me this in a confidential and conspiratorial voice and with a sly smile.

I grinned. "You could say that."

"Do you like the boys or the girls?"

I was surprised by his insight. Sure, I was out, but I was not flamboyant. I didn't "dress gay" or lisp like a stereotype. I didn't have particularly good fashion sense. Most people didn't know I was gay until they got to know me a little, and usually they were surprised.

Anyway, I was out and proud, so I freely confessed I was gay.

"Ah, I thought maybe so," Hank said, not put off, but rather well-pleased at his judgement. "You move with an elegance rare in a straight guy."

I took that for a compliment. I told Dad all those dancing lessons were not for nothing.

As Hank moved around me, and the hair gathered in clumps and piles on the bib and the floor beneath us, I started to notice something odd.

Hank's crotch was positively bulging in the black trousers.

Well, well, what's this? I thought to myself. I was twenty, single and always game for anything. I began examining my barber's image in the mirror with heightened interest. He was handsome after a fashion, though he could do without that thin moustache. His hair was salt-and-pepper black and he had blue eyes. He seemed to be going out of the way to keep his crotch in my eyeline, and my eyes were definitely open. I had my hands on the arms of the chair and Hank's package grazed the knuckles of both my hands several times as he circled my chair like a hunter stalked prey.

"How about you?" I asked, tentatively guessing Hank was gay or at least bi. "You meet a lot of guys here, after all."

He trimmed around my ear and whispered into it. "Only a few really matter."

I was intrigued and whispered back. "What do you do with them?"

By now he was shaping my hair at the back. He spoke plainly now in his full voice.

"Well, I take them in the back and I fuck them."

My cock was at attention now too. Meaningless sex with strangers was a turn-on for me.

"Do they get a choice in the matter?" I asked with mock wariness. I wasn't scared at all. I was turned on by the idea of getting screwed by my new barber.

"Sure they do, but nobody I asked ever turned me down." He placed a hot, slightly wet towel around my neck, preparing it for the coming shave.

"It must be that everyman manner of yours," I said. "I was taken in right away. You and the other fellow talked like two old friends. Your conversation weaves spells of confidence."

This compliment on his charm was blushingly received.

After removing the towel, Hank lathered up the back of my neck to shave it clean. It occurred to me that I was alone in a locked shop with a man propositioning me while (coincidentally?) holding a straight razor at my neck. Shades of Sweeney Todd. Was this his real charm, the real reason he was never turned down? Hank scraped the blade down the back of my neck. I watched in the mirror as he wiped the residue on a towel. I scanned his features for any malice or tension and found none. Hank continued to scrape the back of my neck, slowly and sensually. I dismissed my fear as nerves and carried on flirting with the older man.

"Is this how you seduce all your lovers?" I asked.

The experience of having my neck shaved was over all too soon. It was a nearly erotic sensation in itself.

"No. Most of them come here looking for it. You'd be surprised how many men find themselves turned on by having a man stand within their personal space, touching them lightly."

"Really?"

To demonstrate, Hank gently ran his fingers through my hair. He lightly caressed my scalp as I closed my eyes and leaned back. Hank was right; this was intimate and it was a turn-on. He leaned over and whispered in my ear again.

"I feel like you and I could have some chemistry. You look like someone who would fuck with a purpose."

Now it was my turn to blush.

Hank opened the bib at the back and whipped it off of me, throwing it on the floor and sending hair all over. The bump in the crotch of my pants was obvious to us both. I stood up to face the barber eye-to-eye; we were practically the same height. Without hesitation, I leaned in and kissed him. In an instant, we were locked in a passionate embrace, sucking out each other's tonsils and letting our hands roam over backs and shoulders. We carried on for a minute or two until Hank broke the kiss and gestured for me to follow him into the back of the shop.

Fuck, yes, I thought. All of my past lovers had been around my age. My barber was going to be my first 'daddy' and that was the fulfillment of a fantasy.

We passed a little 'employees only' washroom on our way to the back office and store room. In one corner of the room stood a twin-size bed with dingy covers. It was a little small, but we would make it work. Hank spread a large towel over the bed covers, presumably to protect the fabric beneath against the risk of semen stains. Then, we sat on the edge of the bed and continued sucking face, gradually letting our hands explore each other.

After five minutes, Hank needed more. He stood and raised me up. Then, he pulled my sweater and t-shirt up over my head while I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. I reached down and pulled off my socks and while I was down there, Hank was busy unbuttoning his smock. He threw it aside and by the time his pants, socks and underwear followed, there was a pile of clothing there.

I, too, was completely naked and feeling a little inadequate as I stared at Hank's impressive eight-inch rod.

"Wow. Now I know what it means when they say 'barber pole'."

Hank grinned. In the buff, Hank looked powerful, with just a bit of a belly. His chest was one of the hairiest I ever saw. His legs were muscular, perhaps from standing all day as he worked. His arms looked powerful. His cock began to swell under my inspection.

We resumed our embrace, our wet, pointed erections rubbing against each other. The sensations sent a shiver of delight down my spine. We explored each other freely—the barber had taken particular interest in fondling my ass cheeks—until Hank put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me gently down to my knees. His swollen member twitched invitingly and I grabbed it by the root to steady it while I absorbed the glans into my mouth. The salty emission at the tip of his penis added lubricant to my saliva, and I took as much of him into me as I could, probably four inches or so. I never quite got the knack of deep-throating; my gag reflex was too strong and I was suppressing it with difficulty. I compensated for my mouth's shortcomings by using a hand to massage the half of his cock I couldn't reach with my oral efforts.

Hank wasn't complaining. Not only was his cock streaming a copious supply of pre-cum, but he was groaning like his dick hadn't been touched in a long time. Somehow, given how forward he was with me, I doubted that it could have been that long since his last conquest.

"I want to nut in your ass," Hank said, producing a condom and lube, pulled out from under the bed's single pillow. The cad was certainly well-prepared and more than confident. Anyway, I was fine with him coming up my ass as long as he wore a rubber.

I got on the bed and knelt face down in the pillow, with my ass raised for easy penetration. I heard him snap the condom on. He lubed his shaft and then he packed the gel up my arse. I hadn't had a cock in me in a while and it had been even longer since I'd had one this big, so I was looking forward to this.

There was the familiar pain as my anal sphincter resisted entry, but then my ass popped and yielded to the sizeable tube of flesh. He fell into me slowly, enjoying my tightness, while I felt the peculiar satisfaction and pleasurable sensations of being filled from the back end. Finally, he was all the way in and I felt like I would be split in two. His pubic hair brushed against my butt cheeks as he sunk his cock up to the hilt inside me.

"Ooooohhhh," I groaned with satisfaction.

Hank began to ease back and forth ever so slowly. I enjoyed the warm friction as his hot cock mixed with my bowels. He slowly built to greater speed and my dick was swinging to and fro between my legs, which was pretty stimulating in itself. The barber's hands were on my shoulders, squeezing and kneading the muscles adjoining my neck. Every once in a while, he treated me to a reach-around and jerked my cock gently, but he couldn't easily do that, keep his balance on the springy mattress and maintain his pace at fucking, so, at my urging, he just concentrated on pounding my ass.

The bed squeaked and creaked under the punishment we gave it; the mattress complained and the headboard banged against the back wall of the shop.

Hank was good; I might have expected a man his age to be a capable lover, but I was surprised at his energy level and his stamina. He was able to fuck me like a young stud, but with the staying power of a mature man.

"Christ, you're tight," Hank said.

That was no accident. I routinely exercised the muscles in my sphincter with precisely the purpose of giving my lovers pleasure. Very few fucked my tight ass and lasted more than five minutes. Hank was already well past that.

As he heaved himself at my ass, I pushed back in time, maximizing his depth of penetration. His thrusts became faster and more urgent and his breathing was laboured. I didn't need for Hank to tell me when he ejaculated; he gave a long groan and I could feel him surging and pulsing inside me as he filled the condom with his cum.

He collapsed in a heap on my back and for a moment he was still with his head on my shoulder. I could smell his cologne. Then he felt me squirming under him, trying to trigger my own orgasm by rubbing myself out against the towel beneath me. He lifted himself off of me and rose to his feet. He slapped my arse lightly and told me to turn over. I obeyed. Hank pulled me by the legs, until my ass was on the edge of the bed.

"Throw me the pillow," Hank said.

I obeyed again. He threw the pillow on the floor in front of him and knelt between my hanging legs; I relaxed slightly when he told me it was okay if I wanted to rest them on his shoulders. When he took my cock in his mouth, I moaned instantly. This stimulation was an indescribable improvement over what I felt when I had been rubbing myself against that towel. The first thing I really noticed about Hank's blowjob technique was that a lot of it relied on the strength of his well-trained tongue; it spiraled around the tip of my deck, massaging it.

I raised my head to watch Hank at his work; there's nothing much more erotic than watching someone give you head. As his mouth slid down over the full length of my shaft, I felt a shiver of pleasure flutter up my spine. His eyes were open and he looked back at me as he pumped his neck and bobbed his head up and down over my cock. He applied a comfortable amount of suction, creating a vacuum in his mouth which collapsed his cheeks inward; the inside of his mouth was as tight as any asshole I'd ever been in.

Having been well-fucked just a few minutes previously, I was in a high state of excitement as Hank blew me. I knew I would not last long under this oral onslaught.

"I want you to come in my mouth, kid," Hank said, removing his mouth from my cock for just a moment. He quickly resumed his cocksucking rhythm on me and renewed his assault against my endurance with that tongue of his. I could feel him tracing a spiral around the head of my penis every time I entered him; he treated the underside of my cock to a vibrating tongue massage.

That did it. I almost immediately felt my testicles rise; the molten semen began to surge toward my cock. I held it back with all my might, trying desperately to extend this experience, but all I could do was delay my ejaculation. When my strength failed, I cried out.

"I'm coming!"

Hank redoubled his efforts and the hot jizz burst out of my cock, filling his mouth in a dozen spurts. My back curled, my stomach muscles tightened and the room grew faint and dark around me as I was overcome with wave after wave of orgasm. My well-used asshole undulated in time with the spasms in my cock.

Eventually, the moment passed and we both lay side-by-side on the bed. I cuddled into him and he didn't seem to mind. We stayed like that for an hour, dozing, until the barber spoke.

"My wife will be waiting with my supper," Hank said.

So, he was married and bisexual. Usually, that demographic could be relied upon for discretion in matters of their adultery. Not that I cared; I was free to fuck who I liked. I could understand his concern that openly gay university students were likelier to chatter about their conquests than cheating bisexual males, so I promised I wouldn't say or do anything to expose him. Hank seemed satisfied that I was not to be doubted.

By that time, we were both dressed, so, after we both used the washroom, we walked out into the shop.

"Uh, what do I owe you for the haircut?"

Hank grinned.

"Nothing. You come back, say every three or four weeks or so, and you can have free haircuts—with a little special treatment in the back—for life. Just make sure you come in at the same time of day, just before closing time."

I agreed.

I kissed Hank deeply as I wondered how many people were getting free haircuts from Hank. It didn't matter; I wasn't looking to get emotionally involved with an older man anyway. But I would not soon get tired of his dick in my ass. He could be my daddy on the side.

Then I put my coat and hat on and went out into the cold, winter night. The weather couldn't touch the warmth I was carrying inside of me. The shop light went dark behind me. I walked a little awkwardly as my arse tingled and ached pleasantly from my encounter.

I grinned at the thought of my barber shop experience and decided I might need another haircut before three weeks passed...