The fugitive

by Cris Kane

 One dark and stormy night, a desperate man pays a visit to a shop which he heard can do amazing things.

Added: Oct 2019 7,458 words 7,581 views 5.0 stars (6 votes)


Thin shafts of light spilled through the lonely shop’s venetian blinds onto the wet brick pavement. It had taken Dirk a while to find the place, as the neighborhood had changed dramatically in the years since he had last been there. In his younger days, he had spent a great deal of time in its seedy dive bars and shabby by-the-hour hotel rooms, but he barely recognized the recently gentrified area with all its spiffy bodegas and boutiques. All of his favorite old haunts were now festooned with rainbow flags. He had begun to wonder if the shop he was seeking even existed, but he eventually located it down a blind alley. It seemed unlikely that any customers ever just accidentally stumbled upon the place. Then again, you had to be pretty fucking desperate to need its services in the first place. Dirk had first heard about the joint from a cell mate during one of his many “overnights” at the county jail. At the time, Dirk hadn’t believed the man’s fantastic claims about the place, but right now, that unlikely tale seemed like Dirk’s last and only hope.

Lurking in the shadows beneath a fire escape that rattled in the brisk wind which whipped down the alleyway, Dirk cased the inconspicuous storefront. Once in a while, an indistinct figure would pass through the dimly lit front room, then retreat back into the darkness. Eventually, Dirk crossed toward the shop, careful not to make a sound before rapping lightly on the window in the front door.

The person inside reemerged, their shadow looming large on the window shade. A muffled voice asked from inside. “Who is it?”

Dirk wasn’t about to give his name or any other identifying detials, not when so many people were after him. “I hear you… help people.”

“Sorry, we’re closed,” replied the man inside, his voice gruff and raspy.

“I’ll make it worth your while to open up,” Dirk said, stuffing his right hand deep into the pocket of his leather jacket.

Dirk waited for a response. The shadow inside didn’t move. Dirk held his breath as he heard a siren bouncing off the walls surrounding him like a the ricocheting of a pool ball in an elaborate trick shot. Dirk pinned himself against the facade of the shop and froze in position as the wailing grew louder and red and blue lights flashed against the rain-slicked surfaces, then relaxed as the piercing noise faded into the distance.

From inside the shop, he heard several locks being turned. The door swung open a crack and an eye squinted above the chain which kept the door semi-secure. The eye quickly took in as much of Dirk as was visible in the dark alley and the proprietor asked, “How much you got?”

Dirk removed his hand from his pocket, clutching not money but a revolver which he jammed through the gap between the door and the sill before the man inside had a chance to slam it shut. “How much will this get me?” Dirk asked in a menacing tone, clearly conveying his willingness to pull the trigger.

The man inside sighed softly. This was not the first time he had been in this situation. He slid the chain clear and swung open the door, allowing Dirk to enter.

Entering the warm and cozy establishment, Dirk felt as if he had stepped back into time. The place had the homey appearance and the pungent scents of a pristinely preserved old-time barber shop, with a white ceramic tiled floor, deep cherrywood-paneled walls, and two antique barber chairs facing gilt-framed mirrors. The only anachronistic note Dirk could detect were the magazines laid out for waiting customers, as dog-eared copies of the National Geographic and the Saturday Evening Post were intermingled with well-thumbed issues of the Advocate and Instinct – a sop to the new neighbors, Dirk assumed.

Dirk had been led to believe that the proprietor had been doling out his services in this location for decades, but the man now swiftly closing and relocking the door couldn’t be in more than his late twenties. Wavy blond hair was swept back neatly from his forehead and temples, surrounding an angular, symmetrical face dominated by piercing blue eyes. Broad chest muscles stretched out his crisply-starched white smock, and the cuffs of his short-sleeved shirt strained around powerfully cut biceps as he put his hands in the air in acquiescence to the threat posed by Dirk’s gun.

“So, what I hear you do here, is it true?” Dirk asked.

“I dunno,” said the barber, seemingly unrattled. “All depends on what you’ve heard.”

“Well, what I heard sounded impossible.”

“Well, then,” said the barber with a hint of a grin, “what you heard was true. We should go to the back room. We’ll be less conspicuous there.”

Dirk motioned his gun, indicating that the barber should lead the way, then barked, “Wait!” The barber froze, and Dirk ducked down the darkened hallway, cautiously turning the doorknob to the back room while keeping his gun pointed in the barber’s direction. The hinges squealed as the door swung open. Dirk pawed at the wall inside the back room until he found the light switch. Flicking it on, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling glowed. Dirk rushed in and spun in a quick 360 to make sure no one was lying in wait. He saw no one, just a room outfitted with ancient fixtures similar to those in the front parlor, if less immaculately maintained.

Satisfied that they were alone, Dirk gestured for the barber to come into the rear room with him. The barber stepped in and shot a quick glance toward his upraised arms. “May I?”

“Sure, sure,” Dirk said, slamming the door to the hall. “Gotta say, you don’t seem very nervous to have a gun stuck in your face.”

“You’re not my first unexpected midnight visitor,” the barber said, letting his strong arms drop to his side. He studied his new “customer”, much of whose face was concealed behind long brown hair which had not recently been exposed to shampoo and a dark patchy beard with occasional profusions of gray. What was visible of his facial features offered evidence of an uneasy life, with a cockeyed nose which had clearly suffered multiple breaks over the years and a ruddy complexion bearing scars from acne, fists and at least one broken bottle. In the stark glare of the naked lighbulb, his heavy brow shadowed his eye sockets completely, so the barber felt that he was staring into a void. The intruder was burly, even larger than the barber but in much worse physical shape. The barber noticed a gash in the left sleeve of Dirk’s battered leather jacket surrounded by a red liquid that glistened when it caught the light. “Looks like you’re hurt.”

“Huh?” said Dirk. Following the barber’s gaze, he glanced at his shoulder and realized for the first time that he’d been grazed by a bullet. He’d felt a metallic taste on his tongue during his circuitous journey across the city to get here, but hadn’t taken the time to assess what might be causing it. Every muscle in his body seemed to hurt at the moment, so a little gunshot wound contributed little to his overall level of pain.

“Take off your jacket and let me tend to that,” the barber said calmly.

Dirk considered it for a moment, then wriggled awkwardly out of his leather cocoon while managing to keep his gun aimed at the barber. Eventually the coat dropped to the floor with a wet thud. Again, the barber asked, “May I?” this time indicating that he wished to approach to examine the gash. Dirk nodded and the barber walked over. The shoulder of Dirk’s plain white t-shirt was soaked in red from the shallow flesh wound, and blood clung to the abundant hair down his beefy arm.

Dirk had seen more than his share of blood in his lifetime although, more often than not, it tended to be someone else’s. “So, you think you can stitch that up?” he asked.

The barber shook his head. “Better. I can heal it.”

Dirk looked skeptical, even though he had come to this place precisely because he’d heard impossible things were possible here. He watched as the barber walked to a shelf which contained a collection of mismatched containers and snatched up a small green smoked-glass bottle. The barber pointed to the vintage barber chair in the center of the room and indicated for Dirk to take a seat. Dirk lumbered over and eased his aching body into the patched-together vinyl seat.

The barber removed a eyedropper full of liquid from the green bottle and raised it over the bleeding gash. “I’d tell you this was going to sting a little, but the fact is it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.” With no further warning, he dripped the viscous liquid into the exposed flesh. It felt like a straight-edge razor was slicing every nerve in Dirk’s upper arm. He howled in excruciating pain and would have leapt out of the chair if the barber had not clamped his powerful hands on Dirk’s wrists, pinning them to the arm rests. “Just give it a few seconds and it’ll fade,” the barber assured him as he struggled to keep Dirk seated.

The agony was so intense, Dirk thought it could not possibly end without killing him first, but just as promised, the sensation passed in a matter of seconds, replaced by a calming rush. He collapsed back into the seat as the barber urged him, “Take a look.”

Barely able to move, Dirk tilted his head to the left and looked down. Astonishingly, the skin across his shoulder muscle had fused back together seamlessly, without a scab or scar to mark the spot of the injury. There wasn’t even a noticeable gap in his profuse hair to indicate that anything unusual had occurred. Dirk stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed. He was now utterly prepared to believe everything his cell mate had said about this place.

“So, what is it that you need me to do for you?” the barber asked with matter-of-fact impatience.

“I need to look… different.”

“What? Short back and sides? Little trim of the beard? Sure, no problem.”

Still wielding the gun in his right hand, Dirk grabbed the barber’s forearm in his left hand and squeezed, impressed that he didn’t feel a twinge of pain in his formerly wounded arm. “No, man. You gotta make sure no one can recognize me.” The words “no one” were particularly emphatic.

The barber preferred not to render his specialized services without compensation, but he saw no option in this case. Besides, he knew payback came in other forms besides money. “I’ll start preparing the materials.”

The barber moved back to his shelves and pondered which of the many options before him would be most useful. He asked a few questions about how specifically Dirk wished to change, but the man seemed to have no preferences. “Whatever you want. Just as long as not even my own mother would know me if she saw me.” In this case, it wasn’t even a cliched expression. Dirk was absolutely certain that his mother would happily rat him out to the people who were after him. He literally had no one in the world he could turn to anymore. No one except the mysterious man in the white smock now wheeling a tray full of bottles over to the barber’s chair.

“I’m gonna need you strip down completely,” the doctor informed Dirk.

“Why the fuck for?” He’d gotten a queer vibe from this guy from the moment he saw him, but he hadn’t anticipated this particular request.

“You want to be unidentifiable, right? Well, how’s it going to look if I give you a brand new face but it’s still stuck on top of your same old body. You think that whoever’s looking for you isn’t going to recognize this?” He gestured toward Dirk’s bloated torso. “Or that tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil on your right forearm?”

Dirk conceded that the barber had a point. He had been so doubtful of his cell mate’s story, it hadn’t even occurred to him that this man’s wizardry might be applied to the entire body. Dirk sat up and peeled off his t-shirt, exposing his flabby pecs and oversized gut, getting goosebumps as he bared his skin to the cool air of the room. He kicked off his boots and squirmed out of his black jeans, tossing them onto the painted cement floor. Once he was down to his plaid boxers and white crew socks, he paused and shot the barber a glance. “Seriously? Everything?”

“You can leave those on. For now.”

Dirk was relieved that he wouldn’t need to be totally naked, although that “for now” did get him thinking. It seemed highly unnecessary to alter his penis to avoid detection by his legion of enemies. After all, it wasn’t like any of them could identify that in a lineup. But if everything was up for grabs, altering his cock was the one modification about which Dirk would actually have some definite preferences.

The barber removed a bottle from a mini-fridge, filling a small beaker to the halfway point. He brought it over to the chair and handed it to Dirk. “What’s this do?”

“It’s Jägermeister. Trust me, the rest of this will go better if you drink that first.”

Dirk had never been fond of Jäger, but if there were any surprises like that wound-healer in the offing, Dirk welcomed the alcoholic sedation. He slammed back the liquid and felt it flood his system with warmth. It hadn’t exactly tasted like Jägermeister, and the feeling going down was definitely different from what he expected, making Dirk wonder if the barber had slipped him something else instead, but at this point, he’d already put his continued existence on the planet in this stranger’s hands. It seemed silly to raise any objections now.

“Okay, get up. Before I can do anything, I need to wash that hair,” the barber commanded.

Dirk rose from the chair and walked to a work sink where the barber was slipping his hands into rubber gloves. He turned on the faucet and warm water gushed forth. “Bend down,” the barber commanded and Dirk obediently complied. He felt the barber applying a cool goo to his tangles of matted hair and massaging it down to his scalp. Maybe it was just the effect of the pseudo-Jäger, but Dirk was suddenly extremely relaxed, a feeling intensified by the barber gently wringing out his soapy hair. If the people who were pursuing him were to burst into the room right now, Dirk would be too mellow to put up any resistance. In fact, he’d probably want to give them a hug.

The barber led Dirk back to the chair where the big hairy man snuggled in like a tipsy toddler. Dirk closed his eyes blissfully as he felt the barber getting to work with an electric clipper, shaving away the fierce mane that Dirk had maintained for years. As the barber buzzed the skin behind Dirk’s ears down to stubble, Dirk felt himself growing aroused by the realization that he would be gaining an entirely new appearance. He sensed that his cock was stiffening inside his boxer shorts and had a moment of panic that the barber would notice his bulge, but this anxiety swiftly vanished as he realized he didn’t care if the barber noticed. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be that noticeable a bulge anyway, he thought grimly. Yeah, he’d definitely have some specifications to make if they got around to sprucing up his schlong.

Dirk’s head felt even lighter, and it had nothing to do with what he drank. The barber had finished buzzing away his hair, and he could swear his skull had lost ten pounds as a result. He reached up and brushed his fingers across what was left, surprised to discover that, although the sides had been trimmed practically to the bone, the top of his head still had inch-long bristles. The barber pushed Dirk’s hand away so that he could get to work on removing Dirk’s beard.

“Maybe you could leave, like, a goatee or something,” Dirk offered in a slurring, light-hearted voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

“Oh, no,” said the barber. “I think you’ll look much cuter clean shaven.”

Dirk doubted that. He knew all of the unattractive pits and divots that he’d initially grown the beard to conceal, way back before he even dropped out of high school. Besides, he didn’t come here to look fuckin’ cute, he came here to look unrecognizable. Then again, if he actually came out of this procedure looking cute, there’s no way anyone would think it was him. “Okay, you’re the doctor… or whatever you are,” Dirk said with a chuckle. “Why’s my voice sound so funny?”

“That drink I gave you had an anesthetic in it that’s altering your vocal cords. Changing the way you look wouldn’t do much to hide your idenity if you still sounded the same when you talked, right?”

“Gosh, I hadn’t even thoughta that!” Dirk said. He didn’t really mind how his voice sounded, although it sure made him sound younger, with a little croak in it. There was something familiar to it, and he figured this must have been the way his voice sounded when he dropped out of high school.

The buzz of the clippers fell silent and the barber slapped a cool liquid onto Dirk’s cheeks. “After shave?” Dirk asked.

“A little stronger than that,” the barber informed him. “This’ll smooth out your skin. Get rid of those ugly scars.”

Considering that he had felt cornered into this situation by unfortunate circumstances, Dirk was surprised by how much he was now getting into it. He’d never thought of himself as a vain man, nor had he thought he had much to be vain about, but his heart was actually racing as he anticipated how he would look with short hair and cheeks that did not resemble the surface of the moon. Maybe with his new appearance, he’d even have better luck with the ladies, most of whom were scared off by his imposing presence. Those few who weren’t turned off had universally turned out to be whores or psychos, so the prospect of attracting more discerning admirers sure seemed like a possible upside to this whole appearance-change thing. Not that sex was anywhere close to the top of Dirk’s mind at the moment. For the immediate future, just getting out of this city with his life and testicles intact would be a victory. But somewhere down the line, maybe he would find himself on some tropical island with his old troubles far in the rearview, sipping a pina colada as he swung in a hammock under a palm tree, wearing a skimpy cherry-red Speedo.

Dirk snapped out of this reverie with a jolt. Where did that come from? The thought of his fat, hairy body squeezed into a fuckin’ Speedo conjured up images of one of them red-assed baboons. He let out a loud cackle at the absurdity of it.

“What’s so funny?” the barber asked as he washed the face cream from his gloved hands and prepared for the next procedure.

“Just had this weird vision of me wearing a teeny little swimsuit.”

“That’s not so weird,” the barber said, his voice striking Dirk as kind and soothing. “When this is over, you should look rather nice in a teeny little swimsuit.”

Dirk snorted at the very idea, but he felt another surge in his shorts as his cock chubbed up further. Maybe if the doc… or barber… or whatever he was did manage to boost his cock size, he wouldn’t be embarrassed to walk around in one of those little banana hammocks. Maybe he’d be proud to show off his impressive bulge. Hell, maybe his new cock would be too big for a Speedo to even contain!

Dirk was just about to bring up the topic when the barber spoke again. “I’m gonna need you to open your eyes now. I’m gonna put in some drops.” Dirk complied, slowly parting his eyelids. The barber positioned a dropper over Dirk’s right eye and warned, “This is going to sting a bit.” Dirk did feel a sharp prick in his eyeball, but it only lasted a moment, or if it did last longer, Dirk was too blissed out to notice. His eyelids drifted shut and the barber had to hold Dirk’s left eyelids open himself in order to administer the other drop.

“What was that for?” Dirk asked dreamily as a fizzy tingle spread through his eyes like a shot of seltzer water into a glass of bourbon.

“Changing your eye colors.” His tone was blasé, as if changing someone’s eye color was an everyday occurrence.

“Good idea, Doc. You really think of everything,” Dirk said, awestruck.

“I’ve learned from experience that there’s no detail too small that someone won’t notice it.”

Dirk found himself warming to the man hovering over him. “So, how many people you done this for?”

“Too many to count. Of course, most people don’t ask for a head-to-toe overhaul like this.”

“How long you been at this?”

The barber laughed under his breath. “Ohhh, you’d be surprised.”

Before Dirk could ask another follow-up question, he felt a thick substance like cake batter being poured onto the depression at the base of his chest. The barber’s gloved hands spread the substance across Dirk’s man-boobs, over his bulging gut and down the length of both arms, kneading him vigorously in the process. The barber carefully rubbed the goop around each of Dirk’s fingertips, informing him, “This will give you new fingerprints, so no one will ever be able to prove you’re the same person who walked in here tonight.”

Dirk murmured appreciatively, glad to be shedding the old him, eager for a fresh start. He could swear he could feel heat being generated under the surface of his skin, breaking down the layers of fat and making them evaporate. The sensation was indescribably arousing and his cock made another jerk in his shorts. Dirk had gotten plenty of massages in his life, but he’d never allowed a man to do one. Seemed like a pretty homo thing to do. But now he was getting turned on by the barber’s fingers stroking their way across his skin, and he was only mildly freaking out about it. It was as if the barber were exorcising him of the demons of excess that had corrupted his flesh through years of poor choices, purifying him so he could emerge a new and better person. Dirk heard someone moaning with extreme satisfaction, and only gradually realized that the noises were coming from him.

“There, now you’re finally getting into it,” the barber said. “Just relax and give into the process.”

Dirk felt the same goop being poured down the length of his bloated legs and waited eagerly for the barber’s hands to resculpt them as well. Dirk had never felt so stimulated in his life. It was as if the entire surface of his body had become a giant ultra-sensitive foreskin, responsive to even the slightest touch. He assumed that this was just part of the process and would fade soon, as he couldn’t imagine walking around in a constant state of extreme arousal. Then again, he was feeling so good, he hoped the feeling would never subside. He could tell that his cock was now sticking straight up and tenting his boxers. There was no way the barber could miss it now.

“Doc,” Dirk panted, “what about my cock?”

“What about it, boy?” the barber asked.

“Can you make it bigger? Please?”

“Looks like it’s already getting bigger, boy,” the barber said, amused.

“Yeah, but I want it really, really, really big!” Dirk sounded excited, practically giddy, like a kid on Santa’s lap asking for something extraordinarily inappropriate.

“If I make it too big, it might look silly on a skinny little boy like you,” the barber chided Dirk.

Feeling chastized, Dirk’s tone softened. “Well, okay, whatever you think is best.”

“Don’t worry, boy,” said the barber. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy with it.”

Dirk could feel the barber snipping the fabric of his boxer shorts with a pair of scissors, the cool metal resting gently on the soft skin at the base of his erection. The barber pulled the scraps of cloth away and flung them into the trash. Dirk’s arms, legs and torso still felt hot underneath the batter-like substance, but his exposed crotch and cock felt cool in the open air. Suddenly, the barber’s hands wrapped around Dirk’s cock, coating it with something the consistency of clay. His hands shaped and molded the clay, stretching it upward, adding layers to its girth. While the treatment to his trunk and extremities seemed to be extracting elements from his body, this felt entirely different to Dirk. It was as if this clay was merging with his cock, turning into flesh, making his appendage bigger, longer, harder.

The barber worked on his task with great care, pulling and stroking the shaft with one hand, smoothing extra layers around Dirk’s scrotum with the other. Dirk felt himself becoming massively hung, his balls growing to the size of extra-large eggs and his cock rising more than twice as long as it ever had before. As the barber sculpted the fine details of the mushroom head, he moved his other hand faster and faster up and down Dirk’s towering boner.

Dirk was becoming delirious. He had never felt so happy, so alive, so horny. All the fears, all the anxiety he felt when he entered the shop were being pushed to the back of his mind until they dissipated entirely. He wanted nothing more than for the barber to keep jacking him off for the rest of his life, but he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Dirk’s hands tightly gripped the armrests of the barber chair and his toes stiffened inside his socks, the only attire remaining on his body. The pressure built in his balls and he felt a gusher erupting from the head of his cock, firing globs of hot spunk which landed with a splat in puddles on the surface of his chest and abs. From the feel of the warm cum against his bare skin, Dirk realized that whatever the barber had applied to his torso had now completely vanished. As his body relaxed, his right hand drifted from the armrest onto his tummy, his fingers feeling the ridges of his tight muscles underneath the slick coating of jizz. He scooped up some cum and slid it playfully between his fingertips. He was seized with an urge that had never entered his mind in his life and he acted upon it without thinking, raising his hand to his lips and licking it clean of the salty cum. He had never tasted anything more delicious. He sprawled out on the chair, his energy completely spent. Dirk heard the sound of rushing water in the distance and imagined that he was lolling naked on the grass beside a clear rushing stream.

In fact it was just the barber scrubbing up his used supplies. The barber knew that the effects of the would-be “Jägermeister” would be near completion now that Dirk’s orgasm was permanently locking in the programmed changes. He allowed himself a moment to study his handiwork, pleased that after decades of work, his craft was still improving. It had taken a long time to fine-tune his various procedures, and his first attempts were, to be charitable, far from successful. Slowly but surely, though, he had refined his techniques and begun to perform his “experiments” upon the disreputable inhabitants of the downtrodden neighborhood who made up his customer base.

He had purposely chosen this out-of-the-way location in a rundown section of the city so that his labors would go largely unnoticed. As long as he tested his procedures on people who were already homeless or drunk or crazy, people whom society had already chosen to ignore, it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to the public at large that the local denizens were becoming a bit healthier, a bit stronger, a bit neater, a bit younger. And in those rare but unfortunate cases where some of the barber’s attempted “improvements” went awry… well, it just meant another poor soul would be found dead on skid row, not something likely to raise many questions. Oh, perhaps the coroner would be intrigued that the John Does seemed to have nicer complexions and admirable muscle tone lately, but certainly nothing to bring about excessive scrutiny. At the end of the day, a dead bum in good shape is still just a dead bum.

Over the course of decades, the barber’s secretive efforts had gradually turned the residents of his neighborhood into healthy, productive, upstanding members of the community. They had also become, to a man, gay. The barber could have carried out all of the physical and mental changes without simultaneously turning his subjects into homosexuals (well, all the ones who weren’t already), but he thought he would feel more comfortable continuing to operate his business amid a population who shared his preferences. He took great satisfaction in seeing the harmonious and proud community which he had single-handedly brought into being, knowing that the public never would or could know of his contributions.

Sure, he could have moved on to practice his remarkable skills elsewhere, to use them to become wealthy and famous, but they would also have subjected him to scrutiny and ethical condemnation, perhaps even prison time if anyone discovered how he had been disposing of his botched “experiments”. No, he was largely content to keep things on the down low as a respected member of this little world of his own making. He still managed to earn a comfortable living utilizing his skills on an elite clientele who learned of his remarkable abilities through the word of mouth of previous well-to-do customers. Of course, news of his unique talents had also spread among the criminal class, for whom the barber’s skills were of particular value, which led to the occasional encounter such as tonight’s, but in general he was left in peace.

He also used his products on himself, but only carefully and sparingly. As a result, the octogenarian perpetually maintained a young, handsome and fit appearance which allowed him to blend in with the rest of the community. Still, he had grown lonely over the years, never feeling he could truly reveal himself to anyone he met for fear that his secrets would be exposed. For this reason, from time to time, when someone particularly desperate arrived at his door, someone at the end of his tether – and someone whom the world at large would not miss – the barber took the transformation a step or two further than his ethical code usually permitted in order to create himself an ideal partner, wiping their mind clean to create a blank slate to be formed into whatever the barber desired.

Sadly, the barber inevitably grew tired of these custom-designed boy-toys, as his physical desire would ebb for their particular body type and they would develop their own interests and demand their freedom. A few times, he had attempted to re-remake his companions (he frowned on the term “slaves”, although it was likely more accurate), reprogramming their minds and refashioning their bodies into something fresh and exciting, but the process was never entirely successful the second time and the relationships would flounder. He found it better to reset their minds, erasing all memories of their time with the barber, and release them into the community, then wait for another lost soul to arrive at his door to become his next companion.

Tonight’s arrival was curled into a fetal position in the chair, still euphoric from the earth-shattering climax which had sealed his new identity. The barber gazed fondly at his latest creation, thinking that this was perhaps the best transformation he had ever done. Then Dirk squirmed, repositioning himself on the chair and revealing his hairy back and sagging ass. The barber couldn’t believe he had forgotten to flip Dirk over and make the proper dorsal modifications. The barber shuddered, worried that he was growing too sloppy and forgetful in his old age. He had only ever used his products on himself to rejuvenate his body physically, fearing that if he took any of the products which made his subjects younger mentally, he might accidentally eradicate the parts of his brain which understood the intricacies of his work and thereby render him scientifically useless. Maybe someday, if he became certain that his faculties were declining irrevocably, he would slip himself an overdose and wipe away his own memories, allowing his body to live out the rest of its days as a studly, mindless himbo. It didn’t seem like such a bad way to go, but he wasn’t ready to surrender his mind to youthful hedonism quite yet.

The barber walked to the chair and flipped Dirk face down so he could apply the fat-absorbing, hair dissolving “batter” to make his backside match his front. He went easy on the butt cheeks, deciding he rather liked the look of an oversized ass on Dirk’s otherwise slimmed-down body. When the process was complete, he nudged drowsy Dirk and spoke to him gently. “It’s time to clean up, boy.”

Dirk grumbled, not wishing to be roused from his comfortable daze, yet something in his mind told him that, when he heard his master’s voice, he must do as he was asked. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms in a yawn, his long limp cock flopping like a drowsy snake between his legs. He turned to the side and lowered his stockinged feet to the cold hard floor. Dirk’s knees nearly buckled as he attempted to stand, but the barber was there to catch him and guide him toward the shower in the corner of the room. The barber turned on the faucet and helped Dirk remove his socks as the water warmed up.

“What is your name, boy?” the barber asked Dirk.

Dirk opened his mouth, as if the answer should come out as a reflex. But he said nothing. It was the darnedest thing. He was positive that he had a name, but he’d be doggoned if he could come up with it. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged at the gorgeous man to whom he now felt such deep and abiding devotion.

The barber smiled, pleased that the final step of complete transformation had been accomplished. His new companion was ready. From now on, his personality and his identity would be whatever the barber told him they were. “That’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have expected you to remember your name… Cody.”

Cody grinned. Duh! How could he have forgotten his own name like that? Golly, what else might he have forgotten? He felt like such a ditz. Good thing he had the master around to tell him what to do.

“Go ahead and clean up, Cody. Then we’ll head upstairs and go to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said brightly, stepping into the shower and scrubbing away the residue of the barber’s various treatments. The mind wipe left motor skills, language and reasoning intact, so the barber didn’t have to start completely from scratch. In the immediate aftermath of a total overhaul like this, there was always a bit of confusion as expectations collided with reality. Cody’s mind still thought it was housed in the body of a burly bear of a man in his forties, so it was disorienting when his delicate hands slid over a sleek hairless torso with firm pecs and clearly defined taut abs. However, his mind quickly shook off any befuddlement, as any momentary delusions were proven false by the clear evidence of his body. What could possibly have made him think he had long stringy hair or a big yucky beard when he scrubbed shampoo through the tight bristles atop his head and could feel the babyish softness of his smooth cheeks? How could he have expected to see an enormous gut hanging out when he had such a clear unobstructed view of his magnificent long cock? He gripped his shaft in both hands and shivered with delight at the sensation of stroking its full length, but he heard his master admonishing him, “No, Cody, no touching your cock. That’s my property. I’ll show you what you can do with it when we get in bed.”

Cody turned to face the barber, looking shy and ashamed. “I’m sorry, Doc. I won’t touch it again.”

“It’s okay, Cody,” said the barber. “You’re just learning.”

A jolt went up the barber’s spine when he heard a dull thudding coming from the front room. Who could be knocking at this time of night? He rushed over and shut off the shower, handing Cody a bath towel and pointing to a closet. “Here, dry off and grab yourself something to wear from in there. I have to see who’s at the door, so just stay quiet, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody responded. The barber went into the hall and shut the door behind him.

As Cody began to pat himself dry, he noticed his reflection in a full-length mirror on the door of the closet. He was a strikingly lovely boy, with a platinum blond fade, unnaturally sky-blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose and bee-stung lips floating amid a creamy complexion. He had the trim, perfectly toned physique of a collegiate sprinter and, aside from a clump of blond pubes and some faint wisps of hair along his shins, he was devoid of body hair. His right forearm seemed somehow empty, but he could no longer remember that it had been decorated for nearly thirty years with a tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil and had only vanished from his skin ten minutes ago.

Somehow Cody was positive that he was nineteen years old, just knew it to be a fact, even though the specifics of his life were a vague blur. The barber would fill in those gaps in the coming days, so that by the time Cody was ready to accompany the barber in public, Cody would have a detailed backstory which he believed to his core was the absolute truth.

He turned in profile and slid his palms admiringly along the curves of his plump and perky ass. As he rubbed the tender skin on his bubble butt, he felt his cock engorge. He felt guilty for making himself hard like that, but he remembered that his master had told him not to touch his cock. He hadn’t said anything about not touching his ass or any other part of himself. If that happened to make his cock hard, he wasn’t breaking any rules.

When the barber entered the front room of the shop, he saw a familiar shape outlined on the window in the front door. The barber calmed himself and made his way to the door, unlocking the deadbolts and sliding clear the chain. “Evening, officer,” he said to the amiable cop standing in the drizzle. “What brings you out on a miserable night like this?”

The policeman smiled at the barber. “Oh, just following up on an APB we got. I wouldn’ta bugged you, but I could see that your light was still on.”

“Not a problem. Always happy to help. Come in out of the rain.”

“Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot.” The cop shuffled into the store, wiping his feet on the mat to avoid tracking mud onto the pristine white tile floor. He removed his cap, revealing a thick head of red curls.

“An APB, huh? No one dangerous, I hope.”

“Afraid so. Real bad hombre, apparently. A lot of nasty people would love to get their mitts on him. We’re hoping we can track him down first.” The cop reached into his pocket and extracted a folded sheet of paper which he handed to the barber.

The barber made sure not to exhibit a flicker of recognition as he unfolded the paper and saw Dirk’s mugshot in all of his hairy, bearded, sunken-eyed, middle-aged glory. The barber made a show of studying the paper before looking at the officer and declaring with absolute honesty, “Nope, no one who looks like that here.”

“Yeah, I didn’t figure,” said the cop, “but I thought you oughta be on the lookout for him. Nice guy like you alone back here in your shop. Desperate guy like that might stumble in here and take advantage of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” the barber said confidently.

“Oh, I got no doubt of that,” the cop said with a smile. “All the same, I’d keep the door locked tight if I were you. You never know who’s out there.”

“Will do, officer. And, remember, if there’s ever anything I can do for you…”

The cop’s pale face flushed. “Aw, shit, it’s tempting, but I already got enough grief when I showed up with this,” he said, pointing to his hair. “All the guys at the station were sure it was a wig, ‘til I let ’em pull it. I probably shoulda taken a few days off, so my story that I got hair plugs woulda been more believable.”

“Well, the offer still stands.” He winked at the cop, who had been totally bald and totally straight when he made his first courtesy call at the shop several months earlier. The barber doled out occasional favors to keep a few allies on the force, in case he ever needed a favor of his own some day. He opened the door for the cop, hoping to draw this visit to a close. “You have a good rest of the night.”

As the cop nodded and stepped back outside, he heard a squeaking hinge from deep inside the shop. He spun around and noticed a young blond man emerging meekly from the rear room, wearing nothing but a cherry-red Speedo. The cop’s eyes were drawn like a magnet to the enormous bulge barely contained within the spandex.

“I found this in the closet, Doc,” Cody informed the barber. “Do you think it’s too small for me?”

The barber swallowed hard, hoping the cop wasn’t sharp enough to take the major mental leap from his own instant hair growth to the potential for changing the desperate man on that wanted poster into a fresh-faced young stud muffin whose jumbo cock was practically leaping out of a microscopic swimsuit. Stone-faced, the barber turned back to the cop to gauge the officer’s reaction.

The cop simply winked at the barber and said to both him and Cody, “You two have a good rest of your night, too.” He stepped into the alley and closed the door behind him.


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For more on BRK commissions click here or go to  (Credit: Aaron Amat)

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