HAIRCUT

by

K. O. Neal

Hi! First customer of the day! Gonna be a hot one, isn't it? Here, let me hang that up for you. Say, that's a beautiful suit. Damn nice fit, too.

Oh. Paul sent you? Oh. Ha! Well, in that case I can say what I was thinking-you sure got the figure for it.

Thought you might be a straight one. They wander in every once in a while. One came in the other day. Fat as a pig. "Well," he says, "whaddya think of the topless bathing suit?" "Fabulous!" I says, "I've been wearing one for years." Well, he liked that and thought he was going to have a nice old smutty bull-tobull yak, and then he looked around for the tit calendars. You should have seen his face when he saw these photographs. But at least he kept his mouth shut, so I didn't butcher him like I've done some.

Well, so how is old Paul, the old bastard. What a camp!

Now, tellya what I'm gonna do. I'm not like other barbers. I'm a one-man specialty shop, and I don't fiddle around asking how you want it. It's like the queen screamed-"Let go of my ears, I know my business!" Nosirree. I know my business, and a first customer just puts himself in my hands and lies back and relaxes and enjoys it.

I will say this to you, though. In my categories, you're the butch-swimmer type. Not that full-blown heavy butch-football type and not that lean-hungry butch-track type. The minute a man takes off his coat-minute hell, I can do it in a split second-these old gay X-ray eyes of mine strip him and I got him categorized.

Well, any way, you're the butch type, so I can give you a choice—butchcrew or butch-long. Nothing womped-up on your type. Frankly, that pompadour you've got there-nope. With your figure and face you don't need it. You have to be all of a piece. Some of these poor queens got nothing else. Not you. You're all of a piece. With that hip line and shoulders—neat.

C

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