Barber Novels & Stories

She used to get startled by his desire to be naked but got used to it by now. "Your haircut!" she suddenly remembered. "Your barber fixed an appointment for you this evening. So don't forget," she walked closer. "You have long hair and your hairline is perfect too..." she wanted to touch his hair but held back her urges. "A classic pompadour hairstyle will suit you best...it will go well with your beard too..." "Pompadour, huh?" Jeremy asked, running his fingers through his hair. His barber always asks him to style his hair that way, but he'd refuse since he doesn't like to put much effort into styling his hair every day.

Casimir sat on one of the swivel chairs just in front of a large mirror. While Casimir seemed so sure about his haircut, Carden Thompson stood there, with his heart beating fast. He could feel Mr. Perez’s stare and his words, telling him to come and take a seat to another swivel chair where the barber is waiting with a pair of scissors and a hair spray in his hand. “What? Don’t tell me you are now hesitating when you were the one who told me you want to chop it off?’ Casimir glanced at him with his reflection.

Sigurd was charged with finding the other two women, but there was no way he was waiting for him here. Common sense prevailed and he set her down in the chair briefly before covering her with his borrowed cloak. The barber who had shortened his hair had also advised a shave was in order so that he would not attract undue attention. He had agreed, with curses, and being subject to the mockery of his friend, though all in a good cause.

This was the first time in his life that he had stepped into a beauty salon for facial treatments and a haircut. He was a stranger to a place of service like this. Whenever his hair grew long, he just went to the barber in Chandrapur. Only a simple barber shop in the form of stalls which sometimes adjacent to stalls selling daily goods. Or occasionally he asked his friend who was good at cutting hair for a modest fee. Even once just with a thank you for being familiar with each other.

It was still a bit damp from his shower and she recognized the tropical smell of her shampoo on him. "Come on." She indicated for him to follow her into her 'business' room. She had a rolling barber's chair there. There was another television and some comfortable seating and piles of hair magazines. Beside the chair was a table that contained, what Troy would consider, devices of torture. The room had a smell that he found both foreign and comforting. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back." Troy picked up and examined strange metal combs and wands. He leafed through some of the magazines sometimes in disbelief at the

she snapped, “I need to get back the shop before the boss has my head. Is this about the Bloody Barbies again?” Bloody Barbie was the nickname Maria gave to the murders ever since she’d gotten involved as a suspect. It was an apt name. Each crime scene that had been investigated was painted red with each victim’s blood, and in each one there would be a bloody doll left behind (though, not exactly a Barbie), no less than three feet away from the body.

Or at least I wanted to, but that little nagging voice in the back of my mind told me not to get too comfortable, never to get too comfortable. I ran my fingers through my hair, already missing the length now that I had trimmed it down. The barber by my shop always bugged me about my hair telling me how a grown man like myself should keep it clean. So as a farewell to the old bastard, I let him clean it up for me. I figured a haircut would help me transition into this new life again. And I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I also wanted to look nice for a whole different reason. One that I might be able to entertain now that I didn't have to worry ab

The 'or something' turns out to be right. "What do you think?" Barbara asks, turning towards me. My mouth gapes open. Holy shit! Her pubic hair is a perfect triangle, coiffured with crisp edges all around and a flat surface that reminds me of a well-manicured lawn, or Grace Jones' haircut. It is the most erotic sight I have ever seen. Her tightly curled hair creates a smooth, thick covering nearly half an inch thick. "I just did it a week ago," she adds apprehensively when I don't answer. "Do you think it's too much?"

I go to take another shot but he stops me with a look. "What," I ask "Follow your own advice and pick a house. Get it over with. Go with your gut," he says and it's my turn to smirk. I take my shot and clap him on the back to signal I am leaving. I stand up and walk out of our favorite bar. I know Nole will be transporting out soon as well. He knows when I tell him he has had enough I am serious. Bronkarks are big bastards, and when they get drunk, there aren't many who can stop them if they get agitated. Nole would never risk that without me and Burk beside him.

He wore black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, that showed off his lean muscular forearms, which were covered in smooth black hair. He fussed around me, as he wrapped me in a gown and settled me at one of the sinks. I started to relax as he washed my hair and massaged the lather into my scalp, before rinsing slowly, gently running his hands through my hair. In the barber's chair, his hand caressed my scalp and neck, as he moved my head to the position he wanted and his twinkling eyes occasionally met mine in the mirror, when he was checking if something was alright. This was turning out to be a pleasant experience and I had the beginnings