The Backroom Barber

Walter Pearson had never imagined he'd be starting over at sixty-two, let alone in a sleepy Florida town with the thick air of salt and regret clinging to him like an old, damp towel. His wife—ex-wife—had wasted no time moving on, and their home of thirty years was now just another listing in a hot market. He hadn’t known where else to go, so he went south, chasing the promise of warm winters and the anonymity of a place where nobody knew his name.

The town, Gulfshore Cove, was small but lively in its own way. It had the usual array of pastel storefronts, dive bars, and retirees shuffling along the sidewalks, their skin leathered from decades of sunshine. Walter spent most of his first week wandering, trying to get his bearings. That was when he spotted it—the barbershop tucked away in an alley off the main drag, nearly hidden between a bait shop and an antique store.

There was no display window, no spinning barber pole, just a simple, hand-painted wooden sign over the door that read: Henson’s Barbering. A smaller sign was taped to the door:

Appointments Only. Call for availability.

Below that was a phone number.

Walter scratched his beard, which had gotten unruly over the past few weeks. He had always kept himself clean-shaven, a habit from his years in sales, but lately, he’d let himself go a bit. The divorce had stolen more than his marriage—it had taken his sense of discipline, his drive. Maybe a haircut would help him feel like himself again.

Curious, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number. It rang three times before a voice answered.

“Hello?” The voice was deep, steady, and oddly formal.

“Uh, yeah, hi. I saw your sign. Looking to get a haircut.”

A pause. Then, “Name?”

“Walter. Walter Pearson.”

Another pause. “We have availability this Friday. Eight o’clock sharp.”

“Sounds good.” Walter was about to hang up when the voice continued.

“I need to ask you a few questions first.”

Walter frowned. “Okay…”

“Your height and weight?”

That was a strange question for a barbershop, but maybe they catered to a particular clientele.

“Uh, five-nine, about two-eighty.”

The voice on the other end hummed as if taking notes. “Body hair? Chest? Arms? Back?”

Walter chuckled uneasily. “What kind of haircut place is this?”

“We like to ensure a comfortable and personalized experience for our clients,” the voice said smoothly. “It’s part of our process.”

Something about the way they spoke, professional yet deliberate, made Walter hesitate. But curiosity won out.

“Well, uh, chest hair, yeah. Arms, some. Back, not really.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Then, “You’re confirmed for Friday at eight. Knock twice when you arrive.”

The line went dead.

Walter stared at his phone, the unease settling into his gut. He should probably just forget about it. Find a Supercuts or whatever chain still existed. But something about that little alleyway shop intrigued him.

Maybe it was just the novelty. Or maybe, in some way he didn’t fully understand yet, he wanted to be surprised.

Friday

At 7:58 p.m., Walter stood outside Henson’s Barbering. The alley was quiet, the only sounds the distant waves rolling onto shore and the hum of a streetlamp buzzing overhead.

He knocked twice.

The door opened almost immediately.

A man stood there, mid-fifties, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp white barber’s coat. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, and his dark eyes studied Walter with something between amusement and approval.

“Right on time,” the man said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Walter stepped in, expecting to see a standard barbershop setup. Chairs, mirrors, maybe a waiting area.

Instead, the room was sparsely furnished. A small reception desk. A coat rack. And another door—the real entrance to the shop—shut tight.

The barber gestured toward it. “Everything happens in there.”

Walter swallowed. “And what exactly is… everything?”

The barber smiled. “You’ll see.”

And then he opened the door.

Walter's eyes widened as he took in the dimly lit room, the faint scent of leather and disinfectant filling his nostrils. The barber's chair dominated the center - a massive leather throne with gleaming chrome accents. But it was the walls that drew his attention. Every inch was covered in an array of tools and implements he'd never seen before - combs and scissors, yes, but also strange contraptions with gears and straps, polished metal surfaces that reflected the light in mesmerizing patterns.

"Strip," the barber said matter-of-factly, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Walter blinked, certain he'd misheard. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Take off your clothes. All of them."

"But... I just came for a haircut," Walter protested weakly, his face flushing.

The barber's expression softened slightly. "I understand your hesitation. But this is how we do things here. A true transformation requires vulnerability. Trust me, you'll leave here feeling like a new man."

Walter hesitated, his mind racing. This was insane. He should leave. And yet... wasn't this exactly the kind of unexpected experience he'd been craving? A chance to shed his old self completely?

With trembling fingers, he began to unbutton his shirt. The barber watched impassively as Walter removed each article of clothing, folding them neatly on a nearby chair. Finally, completely naked, Walter stood shivering slightly in the cool air of the room.

The barber nodded approvingly, his eyes scanning Walter's body with clinical detachment. "Good. Now, have a seat."

Walter lowered himself into the massive chair, the cool leather making him shiver. The barber moved behind him, and Walter heard the soft clink of metal as he selected his tools.

"Close your eyes," the barber instructed. "And remember, no matter what you feel, do not open them until I tell you to."

Walter complied, his heart racing. He felt the barber's presence looming over him, could sense the man's steady breathing. Then came the distinctive buzz of electric clippers, the sound filling the small room.

The first touch of the clippers against his temple made Walter flinch, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut. The vibration traveled through his skull as the barber began methodically shearing away Walter's salt-and-pepper locks. Clumps of hair fell onto his bare shoulders, tickling his skin.

As the barber worked, Walter found himself in a trance-like state. The rhythmic buzzing of the clippers, the gentle pressure of the barber's hand steadying his head, the occasional puff of warm breath on his scalp - it all blended into a hypnotic experience. He should have been panicking, should have been demanding to know why this stranger was shaving him bald, but instead, a profound sense of calm washed over him.

The barber moved with practiced efficiency, strip after strip of Walter's hair falling away. He worked in silence, the only sounds the hum of the clippers and Walter's own measured breathing.

The clippers fell silent, but Walter kept his eyes closed, waiting. He felt the barber's rough hands brushing away stray hairs, then the cool touch of a damp cloth wiping down his freshly bared scalp.

"You can open your eyes now," the barber said softly.

Walter's eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light. He stared at his reflection in the mirror before him, barely recognizing the man who gazed back. His head was completely bald, gleaming slightly in the low light.

The barber placed a hand on Walter's shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "This is just the beginning," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Are you ready for what comes next?"

Walter nodded slowly as the barber began lathering his chest with a thick foam. The barber's strong hands massaged the suds into Walter's skin in gentle circular motions. He felt the barber's fingertips glide over his ribs and down his sides, spreading the creamy lather.

Next, the barber picked up a straight razor, the blade glinting under the shop's bright lights. With smooth, practiced strokes, he carefully shaved the foam from Walter's chest, revealing the pale skin beneath. Walter lay still, feeling the razor's sharp edge whisper across his skin, as the barber meticulously removed every trace of hair.

After wiping away the last of the lather with a damp towel, the barber's hands returned to Walter's belly. His fingers kneaded and caressed Walter's soft stomach in soothing motions. Walter let out a contented sigh, relaxing deeper into the chair's leather embrace.

The barber then turned his attention to Walter's legs. Starting at the ankles, he worked the lather up Walter's calves and over his knees with thorough, unhurried movements. Walter could feel the barber's warm breath on his thighs as he leaned in close to apply the foam.

Once again, the barber took up his razor. He placed one hand on Walter's knee to steady the first leg. The cold metal kissed Walter's skin as the barber shaved in long, fluid strokes, from ankle to thigh. He paused to wipe the razor clean before repeating the process on the other leg, until both were smooth and hairless.

Finally, the barber wiped Walter's legs clean with the damp towel and gently patted the skin dry.

There was still one more thing that needed to be shaven….

Walter watched in the mirror as the barber once again pulled out a pair of clippers and approached his crotch, questioning why he was allowing this but unable to voice his thoughts. The vibrations grew stronger, and soon the clippers were buzzing against his sensitive skin. The barber put his fingers on Walter’s penis, moving it around so the clippers can grab every last snatch of pubic hair.removing every last hair from his privates. Soon, the task was complete.

The barber set down the clippers and wiped away the last few stray hairs with the towel. "Stand up," he said softly. "And take a look at yourself."

With shaking legs, Walter rose from the chair and turned to face the full-length mirror on the wall. His breath caught in his throat as he took in his reflection.

He barely recognized the man staring back at him. His head was completely smooth, his scalp pale and gleaming under the lights. His chest and fleshy breasts, once covered in a thatch of graying hair, was now hairless and almost boyish in its nakedness. The skin of his legs and groin looked strangely vulnerable without their usual covering of hair.

Walter's vision blurred as tears began to well up in his eyes. A choked sob escaped his lips as the enormity of the transformation hit him. He felt raw, exposed, like a snake that had shed its skin.

The tears flowed freely now, running down his cheeks and dripping onto his smooth chest. His shoulders shook as he wept, overcome by a mix of emotions he couldn't name. Relief? Grief? Gratitude? Fear? They all swirled together inside him, a maelstrom of feeling that threatened to pull him under.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric. He turned to see the barber undressing, carefully folding his white coat and placing it on the chair. The man's body was as fleshy as Walter’s and also without a trace of hair. A military tattoo adorned his chest, just over his heart.

The barber approached Walter slowly, his bare feet silent on the tiled floor. He reached out and cupped Walter's face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears.

"Shh," he murmured. "You are going to leave here a very different man than when you came in."

Walter leaned into the barber's touch, for the first time in his life craving the warmth of another man.

“Open your mouth” the barber firmly asked. Walter, feeling powerless, complied allowing the barbers tongue to intertwine with his own.

The barber pulled Walter close, their hairless bodies pressing together. Walter shuddered at the strange yet arousing sensation of smooth skin gliding against smooth skin. The barber's hands roamed over Walter's back and shoulders, his touch firm and purposeful.

"On your knees," the barber commanded, his voice low and husky.

As if in a trance, Walter sank to the tiled floor. The barber's engorged member bobbed before his face, thick and veiny. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip. Walter hesitated, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He had never done anything like this before. But the intoxicating musk of the barber's arousal drew him in like a magnet.

Tentatively, Walter extended his tongue and lapped at the salty droplet. The barber groaned, his fingers threading through Walter's freshly shaven scalp. Emboldened, Walter wrapped his lips around the swollen head, savoring the velvety texture against his tongue.

He began to bob his head, taking more of the thick shaft into his mouth with each downward motion. The barber's grip on his head tightened, guiding Walter's movements. Walter relaxed his throat, allowing the barber to thrust deeper. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he struggled to accommodate the entirety of the barber's impressive girth.

"That's it," the barber panted. "Take it all, just like that."

Walter hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, his own neglected cock throbbing between his legs.

The barber abruptly pulled Walter off his throbbing shaft. "Stand up," he ordered. "Lean over the counter and place your hands on the mirror."

Shakily, Walter rose to his feet. He approached the mirror, staring at his own flushed, tearstained reflection as he assumed the position the barber demanded. His hairless body quivered in anticipation and trepidation.

The barber pressed up behind him, his rigid member sliding between Walter's freshly shaven ass cheeks. Walter gasped at the sudden intimate contact, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

"Easy now," the barber murmured, his hands gripping Walter's hips to hold him steady. "Just relax. Let me guide you."

Walter took a deep breath, forcing his tensed muscles to unclench. He watched, transfixed, as the barber reached for a bottle of oil on the counter. The man poured a liberal amount into his palm, then reached down to coat his thick shaft, stroking it slowly from base to tip until it glistened.

Then the barber's slick fingers were probing at Walter's most secret entrance, massaging the tight ring of muscle in slow circles. Walter shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed as one finger breached him, sliding in up to the knuckle.

The barber worked his finger in and out, gradually adding a second, then a third, stretching and preparing Walter for what was to come. Walter panted harshly, his hips rocking back to meet each thrust. His own cock hung heavy and aching between his legs, a string of pre-cum dripping onto the tiled floor.

"Please," Walter whimpered, hardly recognizing his own voice. "I need…"

"I know what you need," the barber growled. He withdrew his fingers, leaving Walter feeling empty and desperate.

But then the blunt head of the barber's cock was pressing against his slickened hole, demanding entrance. Walter forced himself to stay relaxed as the barber pushed forward, the thick shaft slowly sinking into his willing body inch by excruciating inch.

When the barber was fully seated, his wiry pubic hair scratching against Walter's smooth buttocks, they both paused, breathing heavily. Walter had never felt so full, so utterly possessed. It was as if the barber was reaching into the very core of his being, claiming him from the inside out.

The barber began to move, slowly at first, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing up Walter's spine, making his toes curl against the cool tiles.

As the pace increased, Walter braced his hands more firmly on the mirror, pushing back to meet each powerful drive. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the small room, mingling with their harsh panting and guttural moans.

As the barber pistoned into him with increasing force and speed, Walter gazed at his transformed reflection, a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest alongside the intense waves of pleasure radiating from his ravaged hole.

What would people think if they could see him now? His ex-wife, his former colleagues, his golfing buddies - they all knew him as straight-laced Walter, the dependable salesman and doting husband. Always so predictable, so boring in his routines and his vanilla missionary sex once a week.

But this Walter - this hairless, wanton creature impaled on another man's throbbing cock - was someone else entirely. Someone primal and unashamed, a slave to his body's basest desires. Someone who reveled in being taken, used, dominated so thoroughly and completely.

He imagined them all standing there watching, their mouths agape in shock and awe. His ex-wife clutching her pearls, eyes wide as saucers. His golfing pals shifting uncomfortably, unable to look away from the erotic spectacle. His prim and proper ex mother-in-law on the verge of fainting.

And Walter would just smirk at them, unabashed, as the barber rutted into him savagely, claiming his freshly shaven body in the most intimate way possible. Let them see him like this - naked and exposed, glistening with sweat and oil, a debased receptacle for this potent alpha male's pleasure.

The barber's powerful thrusts grew more erratic, his fingers digging into the flesh of Walter's hips hard enough to bruise. Walter knew the man was close, could feel the thick shaft pulsing and throbbing inside him as it swelled to its full girth.

With a guttural roar, the barber slammed forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt in Walter's clenching heat. Walter gasped as he felt the first scalding spurts of seed painting his inner walls, marking him indelibly as the barber's conquest.

The barber pulled out abruptly, still spurting, and grabbed Walter roughly by the shoulders. He spun Walter around to face him, one hand flying to his own erupting cock. Walter barely had time to close his eyes before the first thick ropes of cum splattered across his face, coating his smooth cheeks and lips in pearly streaks.

Walter opened his mouth instinctively, extending his tongue to catch the salty essence. The barber groaned approvingly, milking the last few drops directly onto Walter's eager tongue.

As Walter swallowed the warm, bitter seed, he became acutely aware of his own straining erection bobbing against his belly, flushed an angry purple and leaking steadily. The barber's gaze dropped to Walter's crotch, a wicked grin spreading across his chiseled features.

The barber's eyes glinted with amusement as he took in Walter's still-throbbing erection. "Look at you," he purred, "so desperate for release, even after taking my cock so beautifully."

Walter flushed, equal parts embarrassed and aroused by the barber's frank appraisal of his wanton state. His hairless body was slick with sweat and streaked with the barber's seed, his hole still fluttering and gaping from the thorough reaming. And yet, his own engorged member remained painfully hard, the purplish head glistening with pre-cum.

"Go on then," the barber said, gesturing towards the leather chair. "Lay back and touch yourself. Let me watch you come undone."

With shaky legs, Walter lowered himself onto the cool leather, his back arching slightly as his bare skin made contact with the smooth surface. He let his legs fall open, exposing himself completely to the barber's intense gaze.

Tentatively, Walter brought his hands to his chest, his fingers finding his peaked nipples. He began to rub them in slow circles, marveling at how sensitive they had become. Each brush of his fingertips sent little shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward, making his breath catch in his throat.

The barber watched silently, his eyes tracking every movement of Walter's hands as they roamed over his freshly shaven body. Walter grew bolder under the weight of that heated stare, pinching and tugging at his nipples until they were red and puffy.

His hands drifted lower, skimming over his quivering belly. He traced the curves of his hips, the creases of his thighs, teasingly avoiding the one place he ached to be touched most.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Walter wrapped his fingers around his straining shaft. A low moan escaped his lips at the contact, his hips bucking up involuntarily. He began to stroke himself slowly, savoring the delicious friction against his heated flesh.

As he worked himself with one hand, he let the other drift further down to cup his hairless balls. He rolled them gently in his palm, feeling their weight, marveling at the smoothness of the skin. It was such a strange and thrilling sensation, so different from the coarse scratchiness he was used to.

Walter's mind drifted back to the last time he had touched himself like this, before the divorce, before his life had been turned upside down. It had been a perfunctory affair - a quick, furtive wank in the bathroom while his wife slept in the next room, his hand shoved down his pajama bottoms, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to conjure up some bland fantasy.

There had been no sensuality to it, no joy or self-exploration. Just a mechanical need for release, a brief respite from the stress and tedium of his daily routine.

But this - this was something else entirely. Laid bare and exposed in front of this commanding stranger, his body transformed and sensitized, Walter felt like he was discovering himself anew with every caress. Each stroke of his hand sent pulses of electric pleasure coursing through his veins, stoking the fire building deep in his groin.

He quickened his pace, his fist flying over his rigid shaft as he chased his impending climax. His other hand drifted further back, his fingers seeking out his slick, stretched hole. He traced the puffy rim, shuddering at the memory of being so thoroughly filled and claimed.

Slowly, he pushed two fingers inside, groaning at the delicious burn as his body yielded to the intrusion. He began to thrust them in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, imagining it was the barber's thick cock splitting him open once again.

"That's it," the barber murmured, his voice low and rough with arousal. "Fuck yourself on your fingers. Let me see how much you need it."

Walter whimpered, his hips rolling to meet each plunge of his fingers. He angled them just right and brushed against that secret spot deep inside, making stars explode behind his eyelids. His cock jerked in his grip, leaking copiously, the slick sounds of his strokes obscenely loud in the quiet room.

He was close, so close. His balls drew up tight against his body, his shaft pulsing in warning. He frigged his prostate mercilessly, his other hand flying over his throbbing flesh, chasing the crest of his impending orgasm.

"Come for me," the barber commanded. "Paint yourself with it. Mark yourself as mine."

With a strangled cry, Walter obeyed. His cock erupted, sending thick ropes of pearly seed arcing through the air. The first spurt landed on his heaving chest, the second streaking across his neck. The next few pulses painted his face in warm, salty streaks, coating his gasping lips and splashing onto his tongue.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over Walter as he milked himself dry, his spend pooling in the hollow of his throat and dripping down his smooth cheeks. His entire body shuddered and convulsed, his hole clenching rhythmically around his buried fingers, prolonging the mind-blowing sensations.

Finally, utterly spent, Walter collapsed back against the leather chair, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He was dimly aware of the barber moving around the room, gathering up a damp towel.

The barber approached and gently wiped the cooling semen from Walter's face and body, his touch almost tender in the aftermath of such intense passion. When he was relatively clean, the barber tossed him the towel to cover himself and began to dress.

"Make another appointment for when the hair grows back," the barber said

Walter emerged from Henson's Barbering feeling dazed, his freshly shaven scalp tingling in the warm evening breeze. He could still feel the ghost of the barber's touch on his skin, the ache of being thoroughly claimed lingering deep inside. His clothes felt strange against his hairless body, the fabric rubbing in new and unfamiliar ways.

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, blinking in the fading sunlight, he began to notice things he had never paid attention to before. The town seemed to be filled with heavyset, bald men, their smooth heads gleaming like polished eggs.

The newsagent on the corner, a rotund man with ruddy cheeks and a shiny pate, caught Walter's eye as he passed. The man gave him a knowing wink, his lips curling into a sly smile.

Further down the street, a portly businessman emerged from a cafe, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. His suit strained over his ample belly, his tie askew. As he passed Walter, he too gave a conspiratorial nod, his eyes roaming over Walter.

As he turned the corner onto his street, he caught his reflection in a storefront window. He barely recognized himself - not just because of his gleaming bald head, but because of the change in his very bearing. It was as if the barber had stripped away not just his hair, but all the insecurities and doubts that had weighed him down for so long.

Walter's mind reeled as he tried to process everything that had happened. In the span of a single haircut, his entire world had been turned upside down. He had been broken down and remade, his body and soul bared in ways he had never imagined possible.