Twink no more

Damn! He had probably exaggerated a bit! The barber grinned as he came back into the shop, freshly showered and dressed in a new smock. Todd now had three new toys to play with in the back of the salon. The guy was really insatiable. A customer from the boss would come today and … oh, damn! There was still the little asshole. He’d almost forgotten about him. He would give him a very special make-over - and he would be able to watch, see what was happening to him. Oh yes, that was just the thing for the stupid little faggot. He lit a cigarette and then sauntered over to the blond, skinny guy who was still sitting motionless in the big barber chair. His eyes were clear and moving from side to side in panic. Sweat was on his forehead and he could see the fear dominating his gaze. “You really are a little shit - and I think everyone should see that, don’t you? Well? No protest at all? Oh, you can’t say anything? Don’t worry, I’ll give you your voice back - if you’re very good. No bitching, no screaming!” He blew the smoke of his cigarette in the young man’s face and he began to cough. “What are you doing here with me? Why can’t I move? Let me go right now, you lunatic!” he yelled right away. He rolled his eyes and took another drag on his cigarette. “I told you not to shout, you freak!” “Who’s the freak here, you stupid sow? Let me go right now! Or else …” “Or else what? Are you throwing blue cotton wools at me? Oh, and I think someone with that many tattoos, he’s the real freak here, but we’ll get to that later, let’s start with that scrub on your head that you seem to call a hairstyle!” “You won’t touch my hair otherwise …”

His voice failed. He was mute, unable to move, and could only watch as this madman put a cape on him and fastened a paper neck brace. “Freak, yes, you really are a freak!” the barber said directly into his ear and he could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. Disgusting, repulsive … stimulating, horny … he wanted to kiss him … what the hell??? Oh God, the guy had a clipper in his hand, what was he up to, he wouldn’t … The clipper ate right into his hair, right in the middle of his head. He yelped inwardly as if in pain, but could do nothing but watch the barber shave him bald. “A real trashy bihawk, that’s for a freak like you!” the barber said, laughing and putting a lit cigarette in his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, shout, do something, but the barber whispered something in his ear, he couldn’t understand the words, it was as if they were fed directly into his brain, his subconscious. He simply stared into the mirror, took a drag on the cigarette and expelled the smoke through his nose. Disgust filled him, burning hatred - and a pleasant feeling. The guy was crazy, insane, completely out of his mind. What was this? A hypnosis thing? Even as he pondered how the barber was managing this, he continued to smoke almost greedily. Soon the barber took the stub out of his mouth, only to replace it immediately with a new cigarette. Then he picked up the clippers again. “Aren’t your parents ashamed of you? For such a freak? All those tattoos and piercings, and then that smell! You really should shower more often, my friend. You get a noseache from the stench!”

He smelled it too, cold smoke, sweat, something else … cum, old dried cum, stale beer, piss … He felt like throwing up while the barber continued to scalp his hair. Three lengths down the middle of his head were already bald as he attacked the sides as well. The smell seemed to increase, to befuddle him - and why did the maniac keep talking about tattoos, he didn’t have any, he didn’t want any, never! And no piercings either, oh no! “Stinky, wash!” said the barber and jerkily, he moved forward, towards the sink. The barber took the cigarette butt out of his mouth and he was relieved, glad and immediately felt a desire, a craving, he wanted … no! He had to concentrate, had to fight whatever the guy was doing to him. Warm water flowed over his head, then he felt shampoo that the barber was not very gently spreading on his head, face and neck. It stung his eyes and he got water in his nose and mouth. But he could not even gasp! Tears mixed with the shampoo and the water and burned his eyes even more. Then, all of a sudden, the barber put a towel around his head and face. He was immobilised, mute and now blinded by the towel! He would have to walk around for months wearing a hat!!! This was just a disaster. Why had he just gone to that shop too? He cursed himself and the last three hours of his life. As soon as he sat upright in the chair again, he noticed the stench again. It was bad, awful and he just couldn’t make out where it came from. “So, we’ll make it short and sweet with you, you really can’t stand that stench, you freak!” the barber said, his voice muffled through the towel still covering his head and face. He felt goosebumps run down his body. What had this guy really done to him? Why did he keep calling him ‘freak’ and where the hell was that wretched stench coming from?

“Say ‘hello’ to the new you, little stinker! I think it suits you much better, freak. That’s what you get for acting like Queen Sheba, kid!” the barber said and then pulled the towel off his head and face. He stared into the mirror, not understanding what he was seeing. He probably would have screamed, but no sound passed his lips. He wanted to jump up, to smash the mirror that showed him something that couldn’t be, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his fingers.

“I like tattoos, but what you have there, well really, freak, freak, freak!” the barber breathed in his ear and he felt hot tears gathering in his eyes. He was a freak! His hair, which was so important to him … A bi-hawk - he only now fully understood what had happened. A wide, bald, shiny white strip down the middle of his head, sides and back equally bald and white, and above it two Mohawks, one a dirty green, the other a washed-out red. That they were already erect and stuck together with hairspray was probably the least shocking thing. On the bald right side of his head was emblazoned a large tattoo. A strange A in a circle that he had seen somewhere before … The left side of his head was tattooed with an Asian dragon that extended to his left cheek. ‘Anarchy’ was tattooed in crude letters on his forehead. But it wasn’t just the horrible tattoos that ‘adorned’ his face, oh no. He had a septum piercing, a safety pin in his left eyebrow and flesh tunnels so big that his ears hung almost to his shoulders. Pulling the absurd earlobes downwards were two strange hangings, a skull and crossbones and some kind of metal hook. His neck was also tattooed, a skull right in front, at the throat, flames right and left. That was not possible! How could this be true. This had to be a nightmare! It had to be, it had to be, it had to be!

Laughing, the barber pulled the barber cape off his body and again a punch hit him in the pit of the stomach. The stench instantly got worse, seemed to take on a real personality. And only then did he really realise that he stank so. He was literally exhaling the smell! His thin torso was in a dirty and painted leather waistcoat with studs, underneath he wore nothing but his bare, but now covered with countless, sometimes obscene, tattoos. He wore a studded belt and skin-tight leather trousers that were tattered and dirty. His feet were in dirty red combat boots. He looked dirty, soiled, filthy. He saw in the mirror how the barber behind him lit a cigarette and then put it in his mouth, momentarily he began to pull on it. He watched himself as if in a film. The dirty punk, the freak who sat on the chair and smoked.

“For you I have another very special gift, my friend! They don’t need a dirty, smelly freak in the bar, so I’ll leave your memories completely intact. You’ll remain the stupid little faggot you’ve always been, trapped in a body you can’t change. No new haircut, no laser removal of your tattoos. Oh, and you can shower all you want, but the stench is now your eternal companion. Oh, stink, the freak aroma! Always a cigarette in your mouth, a lust for quick sex with other punks, I’ll give that to you as a little present too. Because, you’ll see, freak: whatever you do, your old life is over and at some point you’ll give up, you’ll become the punk and freak that you are. You will give up your old life. But how long that takes, I leave up to you, freak! So, now you’re going to go home and go to bed. Then you’re going to sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you will have forgotten me, this shop, everything that happened here today. You won’t know you’re a freak now. You’ll only know it when the first person calls you on it! Oh, and when you get home, of course you will first cut up all your clothes and throw them away. What you’re wearing now is quite enough for someone like you.” Then he snapped. For a split second there was nothing but hatred in him. But then his eyes snapped open.

“Jesus, can I use the phone now or what? I need a taxi, I’m terribly tired and I have to get home!” he said. That strange barber grinned stupidly at him. Jeez, he really was even stupider than he had thought. “I think you should take the underground, the stop’s just up ahead!” he then said. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders and briefly had the feeling that he smelled something very strange. Probably the place was just dirty. Disgusting. He took a quick look in the mirror. Yes, he was already a hot twink! Then he stood up. If the jerk wouldn’t let him call a taxi, he’d just take the underground. Really, such a weirdo …