barber-boy-3

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Subject: Barber Boy 3 It’s a Monday, so the barber shop is closed, but Vito has a private client arranged while the Barber is out of town. I get there early, but when Vito arrives he tells me to walk to the store and buy myself a drink first. I ask him if he wants anything too, and he says no, hurrying me on my way. I walk down, pick out something, pay for it, and walk back. When I get there, Vito is talking with his client, a tall man about Vito’s age with his son who’s a little older than me. They both have sandy hair, almost red but not quite. Vito surprises me by treating me like a customer. “Oh, hello, you’ll have to wait,” he says, standing at the second barber chair and motioning to the empty first station. “He’s late. Should be here soon, though.” He jokes that there’s no privacy even with a private appointment and introduces me, informally. I wave hi, a little sheepishly. The dad thanks Vito for getting them in to see him for a cut. Vito says it’s fine and tells the father that he’ll be first and tells the son, “Junior, you sit and you’ll be next,” pointing to the spot next to me on the bench. Then he tells me I can take off my shirt so I’m ready when the Barber arrives. I’m really put on the spot, but I don’t hesitate long. I peel my T-shirt off, feeling eyes on me, hang it on one of several coat hooks on the wall, and sit. Vito explains that I always do that so I don’t get hair in my collar. “That’s a good idea,” the dad says. “We’ll do that too.” He unbuttons his shirt too and tells his son to do the same. They both have athletic builds with big biceps and round butts. They’re both now just wearing snug khakis. The son has just a tuft under each arm but is otherwise smooth. The dad is pretty smooth too but with a patch of fur in the center of his chest and on his forearms too. “Pretty soon you’ll be big like junior here,” Vito says to me, basically suggesting that I look at his body. We’re sitting close to each other, but of course we don’t talk to each other. I see him eyeing the magazines and deciding if he’ll read, but he doesn’t get up. Then he reacts to Vito talking to him. “And pretty soon you’ll be even bigger like your dad, eh?” he says. The dad jokes that he’s almost there and will probably wake up tomorrow an inch taller than his old man. şişli escort Then Vito swirls the cape around the dad and glides his hand slowly underneath it, across the man’s chest, before tightening it around the man’s thick neck. The dad says that the chair and the cape feel cool against his skin and good on a hot day like this. Vito combs and cuts the man’s hair quickly and professionally. The hair falls down the cape and to the floor, and my urge is to sweep, but that’s not my job today apparently. Brief small-talk about plans and vacations and news and sports and the weather go by, as if we’re reading a newspaper out loud. Vito leads the conversation, and the dad is talkative while the two young men are polite and answer questions but mostly just sit next to each other. “It’s like a locker room, isn’t it,” asks the dad. The son grins a bit and feels a bit more comfortable with it, relaxing. He says that it’s nice that it isn’t so crowded like always. “It’s always like this on a Monday, isn’t it?” Vito asks me. I agree. Vito apologizes that I’m waiting and says that it probably won’t be much longer. Then he asks me if I’m gonna take off my pants, too. Again, I’m on the spot, with them looking and wondering. Before I have a chance to stumble over my words, Vito explains that I take off my shirt and pants usually, since it’s private and you don’t get hair falling down the cape onto your cuffs. “You don’t mind, do you?” Vito asks. The dad looks at a few clumps of hair at the bottom of the cape, falling just over his knee, and says, “No, we don’t mind. That’s a good idea.” Then he starts fumbling under the cape and slides his khakis off, brushing hair off the leg. Vito takes them, sweeps a little brush over them and hangs them on a hook between me and the son. I’m staring at the dad’s bare leg peeking out from under the cape. Vito tells me to go ahead, and the dad says that junior should do the same for his turn. He and I both undo our pants and step out of them. I’m wearing tight white briefs, and he’s wearing manly, slightly baggy, light blue boxers. He looks more like his dad than to me, even though we’re about the same age. I’m staring at his body, and I think he knows it. He’s kind of glancing out of the corner sivas escort of his eye. I realize that I’m hard and obvious. I’m using all my willpower not to touch it, the constant instinct of man. “Now it really does feel like a locker room,” the son jokes. Vito says it’s like free air conditioning. Then he starts the small talk again, pointing to the TV with a football game happening. He’s finishing up the man’s haircut and leaning over his body, almost face to face, to check that the sides are the same. Then he swishes the cape off, revealing the magnificence of the man and sweeping a tiny brush around him, as if he just chiseled him from marble. The man is built head to toe and wearing just snug white briefs, like me. He stands up, brushes his hands over his body and through his hair, which makes his arms and calves and buttocks flex. Then he’s suddenly standing in front of the two of us, his almost naked son and me, even more almost naked and with a pup tent. “You’re up,” the dad says, and the son replaces him in the chair, joking as if it’s a block of ice. The dad sits next to me, still in just those tight white briefs, just like me. “Is that the new uniform?” Vito asks, pointing to us. The dad grins and pats my knee. Then he looks at the TV and runs his fingers through his chopped hair and brushes his hands to let tiny hairs fall to the floor. Vito quickly pushes the broom, my broom, around the floor to gather hair. Then he capes the son, whose hands are gripped onto the arm rests. Vito adjusts the cape, and it ends at the knee, and the dad and I can see up underneath it to the boxers and even almost up the legs of the boxers. Then the chair is swiveled around, and the haircut proceeds. I’m openly staring at the dad, and now he’s kind of side-glancing me. I find myself wondering if he likes being on display. He’s certainly display-worthy. After a couple minutes of casually talking about the game on the TV, us all watching the tight pants and jock strap lines of those men on display, I notice that the dad has twice given his crotch an adjustment, touching or tugging or rearranging, pulling the balls up, nudging the front to one side. Vito’s crotch is pushed against the arm rest and the arm on it. Then the son’s hand moves off the arm rest, sıhhiye escort and I notice the cape crinkling and moving slightly, as if something is moving under it, slowly. I turn my glance to the dad and see that he’s holding his barely covered cock, not quite jerking, still kind of adjusting, very thoroughly. I do the same. I notice Vito do the same occasionally, but he’s still working. Then he gets to the son’s neck and has the clippers. He positions the son’s head down, and the son freezes there, not allowed to move. Vito moves the chair around to the side, facing us, us facing him and up under the cape where one hand is pulling and pumping in the dark. I lean forward a little, curious if the fly has been penetrated. I can’t see. I find myself thinking that I like that I can’t see for sure. I side glance to the dad and see him staring and also palming his own muscular leg and side glancing me. We’re all tugging with just our underwear covering, but the conversation is still happening sporadically, about the game and about the weather again. “Man, it is really hot,” says the dad. I look over at him and say that it’s going to be a heatwave, the next few days, and I’m jerking and forming a wet spot. He looks at me, also jerking, and we’re talking barber shop talk, and I get to stare at his huge bulge making the white briefs into transparent briefs. Then, it all gets faster. We’re all going faster. It’s very hot and sweaty. The TV suddenly becomes our joined focus, as it’s a run for a touchdown. We’re all watching him run down the field with man after man lunging for him and not grabbing him, their hands sliding off the slick, skin-tight football pants. “Oh yeah! Alright! GO!” we all yell, all still pumping, and when the touchdown happens and the crowd on the TV erupts, we all shout and raise one arm each, clenching a fist, and I’m jerking fast and letting my cum fill my briefs, and I’m watching as the dad is slowly pulling and squeezing tight and holding his other hand to the tip of his dick at his waistband and flexing against the air, and I look over at the son whose head is pushed back with his eyes closed and Vito’s hand on his bare shoulder under the cape. Vito is biting his lip and pressed against the chair. We all keep yelling, because of the touchdown. We’re all smiling and reacting to the touchdown and how great it was. And we sit there with wet spots until they’re done and get dressed, and I sit in Vito’s chair while they walk out. If you like this story, look for more under Prolific Authors and make a donation to the site.

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