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LOVING UNCLE VAL

By Rugtopper

I had debated all day whether or not I was going to talk to my uncle. When he finally came home that evening from an art exhibition, I waited until he had finished in his bedroom before I finally knocked on his bedroom door.

"Wait just a moment, Anthony. I'm in the bathroom."

I waited another minute or so and then my uncle told me to come in.

I sat down on the end of the bed and waited to say what I wanted to say while I watched my uncle. My Uncle Valentine Carminello was standing in front of his dresser mirror removing his cufflinks and button studs from his tuxedo shirt. He had removed his tuxedo pants. Even though his shirt was loose, I could clearly see his traditional athletic undershirt beneath it. He was still wearing his black thick and thin socks, his double grip sock garters, and his opera court shoes. I could also see he was wearing boxer shorts that were almost knee-length with little burgundy medallions all over them. Being Italian, he had the most luscious head of jet black hair. Although on closer inspection, it was obvious that his hair was really a toupee. As it was 1978, his toupee was the best Kanekalon fiber money could buy. It was thick and full and brushed off the forehead in an Italian pompadour. It was styled with an off-the-forehead upsweep. If you got very close you could see the mesh foundation base. I was in awe.

"Did you enjoy the art exhibition, Uncle Val?"

"It wasn't bad, Anthony. It was an eclectic mix. Now, Anthony, what is the matter with you? You have been in a mood all day long. Did you do well on that science test?"

"I made a B minus on the test, but I got an A plus on the lab work. That's not why I've been in a weird mood lately."

"Well, I'm proud of you. Now, what is wrong?"

"I don't know how to tell you."

"Well, you don't look sick. What is going on?"

I just sat there looking down, unable to really say what I really wanted to say.

"Well . . ."

I just blurted out, "I want my hair to look like yours, Uncle Val."

"Anthony, look at me. Look at my hair. Now I know that you are fully aware that my hair is not really my own hair. You are old enough to know that this is a toupee."

"I know, Uncle Val, but I love how it looks and I love you. I just want to look like you."

"Oh, Anthony I love you, too, but you are only 13 years old. You are too young for a toupee. Besides, you have nice pretty hair just like your mom had."

We just sat there for a few moments. Finally I looked up at my uncle and asked, "do you know why we were late to the funeral service?"

"That was ages ago, Anthony . You were only six. How could I remember. I don't recall that we were late for the funeral, Anthony. They were not going to start without us. I just remember how handsome you looked in your little suit."

"Uncle Val, we were late because I kept trying to make my hair look like yours. Dad always made fun of it. I didn't know when I was six what a toupee was. I just knew I liked how nice it looked."

"Anthony, your dad never liked me even before he married my sister, your mom. I didn't want them to get married, but your mom insisted on marrying him. When they started fighting, she made sure she named me as your guardian. Four months later, they had that horrible car wreck that killed them and put you in the hospital for weeks."

"I know. I don't know why I want to have hair like yours. I just would like mine to look like yours."

"Anthony, look at me." He reached up and started slowly removing his toupee. I couldn't believe how bald he was. I hadn't seen him without his toupee in a few years. He had always tried to keep me from seeing him without it. "Take a close look, Anthony. Do you really want to be like this? Does this have to do with your friends? Your friend Danny's grandfather wears a toupee, so does your friend Marty's eldest brother. Is that what this is about?"

"How do you know about them?"

"They both go to the same barber as I do. Is this what this is about?"

"Not exactly. I don't know. I just know that I'd like to have one."

"Anthony, do you really want to be bald and wear a toupee? Do you really want to put up with the snide remarks behind your back like that I get? What about swimming and roller coasters? Yeah, you can enjoy them, but there is always the fear that you might have a mishap and be embarrassed. Then there is the fact that someone might want to run their fingers through your hair someday. Do you want to have to endure that potential humiliation? I don't think you have even begun to think about what is involved with something like this."

As he finished telling me all that, he got up from the bed, took his toupee and put it on its leather wig stand on his dresser. There was a slightly longer one just beside it. He came back to the end of the bed, put on his robe, sat down, and removed his shoes, garters, and socks. He slipped on his house shoes and went to the kitchen. I followed him. He filled the kettle from the tap and got two mugs. He was going to make chamomile tea. I knew we weren't through talking.

"Anthony, you are a sweet boy, but you haven't got a clue what you think you want."

"You may be right. I guess I'm being silly, wanting my hair to look like yours."

"Of course I'm right. Now, drink your tea and tell me more about this science lab. You're a better student than I ever was. I nearly blew my science lab up when I was your age."

I went to bed that night, but I still couldn't get the idea out of my head. I decided to try talking to Uncle Val again after school. It went slightly better only because Uncle Val made a concession.

"Come here, Anthony. Put on my spare," Uncle Val said to me after I talked to him the next day. I went into his bedroom. I sat at the little built-in vanity. He took the spare toupee off its stand and put it on top of my head. It felt funny with my mop of dark wavy hair bunched up underneath it. He tried to get it to stay in place and combed it. I thought it looked great, even if I was only 13.

"So, what do you think? How does it feel?"

"I don't know. I guess I would have to get used to it like you did."

He took it off and put it back on its stand.

"I'll tell you what, Anthony. When you are older, if you need it, I will do everything to help you get one. However, if, when you graduate from high school, you still want it, whether you need it or not, I will get it for you before you go off to college. Okay?"

"Okay."

With that, I didn't discuss it with him anymore. However, the desire never faded. It only grew stronger as the months and years rolled on. As I soon discovered how to pleasure myself, I realized why I might want it. That was something I certainly couldn't tell Uncle Val.

As the school years rolled by, I adopted a few other things I liked about my uncle. He took me to buy some underclothes and a pair of garters. He thought it was funny when I dyed my dark brown hair black, but he didn't make fun of me.

The week of my high school graduation, I asked him if he remembered what he had promised me when I was only 13. I reminded him that he said that he would get me a toupee whether I needed one or not after I graduated from school. I asked him for one as a graduation present before I went off to college.

"What! Are you crazy, Anthony? Look at you. Most guys would be jealous of a head of hair like yours. Hell, I'm jealous. Why on earth would you want to get rid of it only to cover up with a cheap facsimile? It doesn't make any sense."

"You're right, Uncle Val. It doesn't make any sense. I don't understand it at all, but you promised. Will you take me to your barber next week after I graduate?"

Uncle Val just stood there . He hadn't changed much in the past six years. His toupee was just as dark and full. It was still a synthetic fiber, though I don't know what kind. He finally walked over to the phone and called his barber. He was on the phone for quite some time. When he got off the phone, he looked at me and said, "you have an appointment a week from Friday."

I know I smiled and said thank you. I probably also got a bit excited in other ways. I wasn't really thinking clearly.

Finals and graduation flew by without incident. I was 25th in my class.

When Friday came, I was excited and nervous and scared. I had no idea what was going to happen. Over the years I had gone to the barbershop with Uncle Val. I had watched him get his real hair trimmed while he sat there very bald and embarrassed. I would look at the hairpiece magazines. Sometimes I'd take a few home to look at while I played with myself. Sometimes Danny's grandfather was there. Sometimes Marty's eldest brother was there. Danny's grandfather was at least 60. His toupee was this pewter or silvery gray that was very thick. Marty's eldest brother was named Jon. He was about an inch shorter than Marty. He wore a brown toupee with a traditional left-sided part. I couldn't believe how bald he was when the barber removed his toupee to trim his fringe. Marty and I had turned 18 a few weeks apart. Jon had to have been 26 or 27. Marty never told me when Jon got his first toupee. I was going to wait and ask him myself after I got mine.

After all the customers had left, Uncle Val began talking with the barber. About ten minutes later, he motioned for me to get in the chair. He had a toupee exactly like Uncle Val's, only it was light brown. There was some gray on the sides and in the back, but none in the toupee. He began combing my hair in various directions. Finally he got these long clips and began to segment my hair. He took a pair of scissors and a narrow-toothed comb. He started giving me a regular haircut on the sides above my ears and in the back. He was extremely quick. In less than 15 minutes, he was completely done. I had a traditional businessman's haircut that would have been acceptable in any corporate setting around the globe. He put down the comb and scissors and walked to a cabinet a few feet away. He opened to reveal a dozen wig stands on three different shelves. He took two identical off the third shelf and carried them over to the ledge across from the chair from where I was sitting. They were similar in style to the barber's and Uncle Val's, but they were a dark brown like what my natural hair color had been before I dyed it.

He took the clips out of the hair on top. He got clippers, turned them on, and began removing all the hair on the top of my head. He made several passes from back to front as sheets of my dyed black hair fell onto the clear, see-through cape. With each pass, I saw more and more scalp. After the third pass, he got a small electric razor and ran it back and forth across the top of my head. I had dreamed of this moment. Now that it was finally happening, I did not know how to respond. I just sat silently in awe of my new look. He must have told me to get up because Uncle Val had to call my name and tap me on the shoulder. The barber led me to the sink. He shampooed my hair. It had an almost acrid, pungent odor. I soon discovered that it was to remove the black dye. After he applied a heavy cream conditioner to my hair and scalp, he left me with my head in the basin for almost five minutes. After he rinsed me, he applied another heavy cream, but only to the top of my scalp. It felt like my scalp was on fire. He told me this would kill the hair follicles for several weeks making it easier to wear the toupee on a day-to-day basis. When he said that I suddenly got the most uncontrollable erection I had ever had in public. Tipped backward in that chair, there was no way to hide it. The barber just smiled and made a comment about me being like my uncle. After he rinsed the depilatory from my scalp, he led me back to the barber's chair. I got a good look at the new me. I was bald. I was almost as bald as Uncle Val. I didn't look 18. I didn't know how old I looked, but it wasn't anything like a teenager should look.

The fitting, and the cutting, and the styling took quite some time. Despite his swiftness, it took over an hour to "cut-in" both of my new hairpieces. He dealt with both exactly the same way. There was very little styling involved. They were mesh based just like Uncle Val's. There was a perimeter of hardened plastic where the barber applied a heavy double-sided tape. He used thinning shears to taper and blend the sides and back into the fringe hair. He never trimmed the main body of my new toupees. Lastly, he rolled this machine over and plugged it in. It looked like a portable IV drip that you would see in the hospital except this had a huge two gallon container at the bottom full of water with a hose attached to something that looked like it came off a vacuum cleaner. He told me it was a steamer that is used for clothes, but it worked well on hairpieces. He turned it on. In less than two minutes, steam was coming out of the hose. He took the vacuum cleaner attachment in his hand and with a brush began styling my new hair. I could feel my toupee ever so slightly lift as he used the steamer and the brush to "shape" my new hair into the same style he and Uncle Val also had.

When he finished with the second toupee, he put the spare wig on its stand and the other empty stand in two sacks. Uncle Val paid and we left the barbershop. Uncle Val had me place the sacks in his trunk. When we got into the car, he looked over at me and said, "well, Anthony, is it everything you thought it would be?"

I didn't really know what to say or what he expected me to say. Finally, I looked in the vanity mirror at my new hair.

"I like how it looks, but it feels different than what I had expected it to feel like. I'm also slightly nervous because I'm actually bald underneath my new toupee."

"Well, you said this is what you wanted. You better plan on wearing it for a very long time. I don't want you to leave the house without it taped to your head. Do you understand me? So, are you ready to face the public as a young man in a rug?"

"What?"

"I thought I'd take you out to dinner. I know graduation was last week, but I think you need to get used to wearing it out in public as soon as possible. Danny and his grandfather, Tom, and Jon and Marty are meeting us at the restaurant. Danny and Marty were at the barbershop earlier this morning. I think they will want you to see their new look, and they will want to see your new look, as well."

I just turned and stared at my uncle and finally said, "I love you, Uncle Val!"

"I know, Anthony. I love you, too."

Six handsome men of various ages sat around a huge table at a popular local steakhouse in 1984. It was no different than other people eating out on any given night, except these six men all shared an uncommon, but fairly obvious secret. Sadly, they were also oblivious to the fact that most anyone with basic observation skills could deduce that special secret.

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August 1, 1984.

It was a good day. It was a scary day. It was a hope-filled day. It was a tearful day. It was was the day I ceased to be just another teenager with a mop of unruly hair to being a young man with an embarrassing secret.

I had spent most of the summer waking up every day with less hair on my crown and more hair on my pillow. This Wednesday was different. I was sitting in the barber's chair finally accepting my future. My barber had convinced me to get a slider. I was about to be fitted with a tiny hairpiece for my crown area. This might be an every-day occurrence for many older men. However, it is extremely frightening for a boy of 15. Here I was about to begin high school, yet I'm having to confront the adult nightmare of going bald.

My barber was a neighbor. He was a friend. He lived two blocks from me. I saw him often. I also knew that I was about to carry the same secret that he gladly carried. He wore a hairpiece. What's more important, he didn't care if anyone knew it. I wasn't that cavalier, yet. That would take another 20 years to achieve. I still have to get through the initiation into this unique group of men who need to cover the reality of being bald. I sat there while Jerry talked to me, instructed me, in what was about to be my fate for the rest of forever. I was scared and happy at the same time. Jerry was telling me that he was going to shave a small area in my crown area so he can attach my new hairpiece. I might have had a slight panic attack. I don't really remember. I only remember seeing the bald spot in the mirror just before Jerry attached my new hairpiece. Of course, in the ensuing 40 years, the bald spot became a bald swath!

My little hairpiece looked great! The color match was nearly perfect. The texture was also a great match. Now, that might have been completely false. I was seeing the image I wanted to project to the public every day.

School began without incident. No one said anything. I think it had more to do with the fact that no one looks at the top of someone's head. Still, I was always wary of something being said.

I even survived my driver's test and subsequent picture for my license. I still think it is funny that I have never had a driver's license where I wasn't wearing a hairpiece for the ID picture.

I managed to get through the tenth grade and part of the eleventh grade wearing a slider. However, I knew that eventually I was going to lose more hair. My barber, Jerry, convinced me to get ahead of it by getting fitted for a full toupee. That transition occurred during Spring Break in 1986.

Jerry had ordered my toupee for me during the Christmas holidays. Jerry shaved me to a Norwood 4 for my new toupee. I probably cried. I mean how many 17 year old kids do you know who are bald? Now, I didn't have any embarrassing rip-offs. That would have been almost impossible with the industrial, medical-grade glue used, which I really hated. I did, however, get tons of second glances and too many snarky comments about wearing a rug. I didn't care because it was far superior to the reality underneath!

My high school graduation was no different from any other high school graduation in America. There was formality. There were wonderfully uplifting speeches. There was great celebrating by families. Mine was unique in that there were three men in that auditorium who were wearing toupees: my barber, myself, and the father of a girl in my graduation class.

After graduation, that girl's father came up to me. He made sure that no one was around. He told me that he was proud of me. He said that my hair looked great. His toupee was very obvious. That was the first time I had ever had a conversation with another man who wore a toupee. It was an awesome encounter. I have had many of them over the past 40 years. Each has been such a joyful experience.

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Wedding Night Surprises

By Rugtopper

I have always been traditional or old fashioned by nature. For as long as I could remember growing up at the orphanage, all of us under Father Carmine's care and instruction were taught good principles, good ethics, and good deportment. For the few of us who were never adopted, some would rebel and veer from the path laid out by Father Carmine. I stayed the course. Once we reached our teen years, all the boys were expected to wear dress pants, shirts and ties, and shoes polished to high gloss every day. As such, we were required to also don certain undergarments. Some of the boys hated the mundane medallion or diamond patterned boxer shorts. The sleeveless undershirts, or tank tops, were somewhat popular among most. They were back in fashion again after an absence. The one thing that a lot of the young men hated were the sock garters. Father Carmine said that a proper gentleman never pulled up his socks in public. I didn't mind any of it. In fact, I really liked it. It made me feel like a grown up man instead of a teenage boy. Personally, I think he just liked seeing all of us dressed like that every morning as we got ready for school.

At one point Father Carmine thought I would follow him and take Holy Orders, but I didn't want to follow that strict path.

By law, at age 18, the state required me to leave the orphanage. For whatever reason, I was never adopted. Father Carmine helped me find a small room to rent a few blocks from the orphanage. I was allowed to continue to help out in the office at the orphanage. In truth, I was the de facto bookkeeper for the orphanage and the parish. I started night school to get a proper degree in accounting. That's when I met Julie.

Julie Hatfield was extraordinarily gorgeous, and yet painfully shy. Slowly, over the course of that first term of school I got to know her. I was shy to some extent, but I had also learned to be open enough as a kid in the likelihood I might get adopted. In short, we were both looking for someone to love. Less than a year later, we were dating on a regular basis. Despite our blatant differences in background, we found we had some things in common. She was rather old fashioned, as well. Unlike most young women, she wore skirts or dresses. I don't think I ever saw her in pants. She always had her hair beautifully styled. On our first real dinner date, I swear she wore an elegant little black dress, a string of simple pearls, with her hair in a French twist. I was so mesmerized I couldn't even say her name.

After two months of dating, I thought we were getting serious. I had casually brought up marriage. We had already talked about so many things. There were minor disagreements over silly issues, but on many principles we were of one mind in our views of things. This was beyond an issue of politics or religion, but rather an approach to many esthetics of life that most everyone of our generation hated or thoroughly dismissed.

One night when we were dining at our favorite restaurant, she said something that startled me. As we were eating our little dinner salads, she asked me if I was losing my hair. I had never been asked that before, much less seriously given it any thought.

"I don't think so," I told her. "Why do you ask?"

"It looks like you are receding a bit in the front. Plus, you are thinning in the back."

I was more interested in why she brought it up than in if it might be true or not. Over the next week she mentioned it a few more times. Finally, I confronted her about it. That's when we had our first real 'adult' conversation. We shared our interests. Nowadays, people call them kinks. Back then, you didn't talk about those things. Still it was enlightening, and even vulgarly titillating, to say the least.

I asked her why my hair was suddenly such an issue for her. She told me that she really hated bald men, and that she didn't want me to go bald. I told her that I didn't think there was a chance of that. That's when she brought up my empty history.

"You're an orphan, Bryan Murphy. You don't know who your parents are. You don't know if your maternal grandfather was totally bald or anything. I couldn't live with a bald man. I just couldn't. I know it sounds silly."

"But, Julie, I'm not losing my hair at all. Yes, it's receding a bit like you said, but it's nothing drastic."

"I just couldn't stand it. That's all."

"What would you want me to do, get a hairpiece?"

She got this odd look on her face.

"Would you? For me?" She asked, almost childlike.

"What?" I retorted.

"Would you get a hairpiece? I mean, you are slowly losing your hair as it is. If you got a hairpiece now, no one would know."

"Julie, if I get a hairpiece, I would be bald underneath it. Wouldn't that bother you? I mean, eventually we are going to get married. We have decided to wait until our wedding night to make love. Won't it upset you when I take it off that first time?"

"That's different, Bryan."

"How is that different, Julie? You just said how much you hate bald men. Would you hate me?"

"No, Bryan. I love you. It's just that . . ."

"Well. It's just what? You say you love me but hate bald men, yet you want me to be bald. I don't understand."

"Neither do I, to tell the truth."

"Okay. Now, I'm confused."

"I really can't explain it. With all the little quirks we have shared, I left one out. I have this really odd bent for men who wear rugs."

I laughed. She got upset.

"I'm sorry. Don't be mad, Julie. I'm sorry. So, let me get this straight, a man in a cheap toupee makes you hot?"

"Yes."

"I guess it makes him hot, too." I sarcastically said. She just gave me this certain smirk I had grown accustomed to over the months I had known her.

"I'm sorry, Julie."

"Just forget it. You said you wanted to know."

"Would you really want me to do that? Would it make you happy?"

"Yes. Would you really do it for me? I mean, would you put yourself through that?"

"I have never known of someone doing something like that for someone else. I mean, yes, people have done other things for someone they love, but this is really unusual. I don't even know a barber who could help me."

Suddenly she had this look on her face.

"You know someone, don't you?" I asked her. "You have been planning this haven't you?"

"No, not really, but I have a third cousin who owns a little old fashioned barbershop about forty miles from here. I think if I talked to him, he would do it without any questions."

"Do you know how much those things cost, especially over the years? I will be 20 in a month. My job doesn't pay much and then there is school tuition, I couldn't afford the added expense."

"Let me talk to Ronnie. I'll tell him your situation and what I want. He's a nice guy and a highly respected barber. Do you know that he is the mayor's barber?"

Mayor Llewellyn was the nicest man you would ever want to meet with a blatantly obvious pewter toupee perched on his head.

I swallowed and said, "if that's what you want, sure."

Little did I know just how traditional and old-fashioned I was about to be.

Ronnie Blevins was a bit of a throwback. When I got to his shop, he was sitting in this huge red leather and chrome barber's chair reading a magazine. He was wearing a white barber's smock over his husky frame. He looked like so many of those guys who had once played football, but had just let things go since graduation. The top of his head was this flat cocoa brown, wavy hairpiece in an early 1980s brushed back style. The sides and back were not the same shade of brown and quite sparser with some gray in it.

"You must be Bryan. I'm Ronnie. Julie has told me all about you," Ronnie said as he got up and shook my hair. "Have a seat," he gestured.

"So, you've spoken with Julie? You know why I'm here."

"It's okay, Bryan. Julie and I are third cousins, but she and I are very close. She is like one of my sisters. I have three."

"Must be nice. I guess Julie told you that I'm an orphan."

"Yes, but I know it hasn't stopped you in any way. Julie has told me how you graduated in the top ten percent of your class in high school, and how you're working your way through college at night. Now, let's get down to business. I can tell you have some receding in front and thinning in the crown." Ronnie said this as he took a comb out of his smock and started combing through my hair.

"I really don't think I need a hairpiece, Ronnie. I think Julie is overreacting."

"I didn't think I did either, Bryan. Still after every Friday night game, I'd find more and more hair in the drain. Finally I couldn't handle it. When I messed up my knee during the last game of the season I knew college ball, and any other kind of sports, was no longer a part of my future. I went to barber school, and came to work for my dad here. A year later he had a stroke and died."

"I'm sorry to hear that. At least you had that time with him."

"Julie has given me some instructions. Do you trust her? Do you trust me?"

"Well . . . I love her. That's what's important. If this is what she wants, I can't say no. In all the time we have known each other, she has never asked anything of me."

"Okay then. Let's get started."

Ronnie grabbed some clippers and slowly began to remove the hair on the top of my head. As he did it, I could suddenly see just how much of my scalp was starting to show. Maybe I was losing my hair and was just in denial.

Ronnie made several passes from the front of my head to the top of my occipital bone. Pass after pass, I looked more and more like a forty year old man, as opposed to a twenty year old man.

When Ronnie put down those clippers, the hair on the top of my head was so short and sparse that I couldn't even see them in the mirror across from me.

Ronnie picked up a small orange tube and put some pale opalescence cream on my scalp. It was very thick and quite cold. He began to spread it over the newly shaved area. As he massaged the cream into my scalp, it began to get warmer and warmer. When he finished, he washed his hands and rolled a small heat lamp over to the barber's chair. The lamp was even warmer than the cream, but it never seemed to burn. The longer that heat lamp was on, the cream changed from the opalescence shade to totally clear. Once the cream was completely clear, it suddenly began to shine and almost glow. When that happened, Ronnie turned off the lamp. He had me move to a sink in the corner where he rinsed off the loose hair and the cream.

When I sat back down in the huge barber's chair, Ronnie removed the hand towel that was my head. I made a slight gasp. I was so incredibly bald. I had this small ring of hair around the sides and back of my head.

Ronnie left me staring at my pasty scalp. He came back a moment later with an old leather wig stand with a hairpiece pinned to it. It was a much lighter shade of brown than the hair that had been on the top of my head.

"Let's get to work helping you to look like the young man that Julie wants to marry," Ronnie said as he took the hairpiece off the stand. He put tape around the perimeter. I watched how he only used four pieces of tape. Each was specifically designed for certain places. Two pieces were shaped like parentheses for the front and back. The other two were straighter for the sides. He put the toupee on my bald head. I felt the tape adhere at all four places. More importantly, I saw the sudden transformation of my overall appearance. Ronnie began combining the piece on the back and sides. With scissors, he trimmed the longer tendrils. There was a left-sided part already established. It was very stark. He gently combed the front of the toupee. It looked like it was swept up off my forehead. It was the same style the mayor had, as well as several other prominent men around town. I was torn between embarrassment and delight. I was too busy marveling at what was on my head to fully grasp the artificiality of it. Finally, I looked at Ronnie via the mirror and asked him, "how much does this cost?"

"Usually I charge $50, but this first one is like a wedding gift. I know that money is tight for you. A lot of men are like you. They don't want to be bald, but they can't afford the very expensive human hairpieces that are on the market."

"But I'm not really bald. You just made me temporarily bald for the toupee to please Julie. Didn't you?"

"Well, yes, Bryan. But, that cream I used is a high acting formula depilatory. With the heat lamp, it kills the hair follicle for up to six weeks. After I used it for six months, my hair never grew back. Neither will yours."

"You mean I'm . . . bald?"

"Technically, yes, but you have a great toupee, Bryan. This is what Julie picked out for you."

I drove back home, a completely new man. A week later, Julie and I had planned to go to a fundraiser for the mayor's upcoming campaign. I wore a retro 1950s tuxedo that was midnight blue. Julie wore an emerald cocktail dress that matched her eyes perfectly.

The entire evening, I was so self-conscious. I thought everyone in the room was staring at my new hair. In truth they were. It didn't help that I seemed to be acutely aware of the microscopic space between my bald scalp and the quite noticeable toupee taped to it. Strangely, it wasn't uncomfortable or itchy. I just felt like I was the center of attention. I had realized before I left Ronnie's shop that the hairpiece was rather thick and full. When Julie and I were introduced to the mayor and his wife, his eyes immediately drifted upwards to my upswept, hard hairline, and he smiled. Later on after he had finished greeting his guests, he made his way to our table. He asked if he could have a private word with me in the lobby of the hotel where the fundraiser was being held.

"Young man, I hear you managed to survive 18 years under Father Carmine's tutelage at the orphanage."

I was rather taken back. I hadn't expected that opening gambit.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor. I guess no one was willing to take me on, sir."

"How old are you, son?"

"I'll be 20 in a few weeks, sir."

He moved a little closer to me and dropped his voice. "It looks like Ronnie did an excellent job on your hair, son. His Dad helped me out with my problem when I was about your age. Trust me, I know how tough it can be."

"Thank you, sir," was about all I could say.

"Be proud of it. There's nothing to be self-conscious about or embarrassed by. It is far better than the hidden reality. Am I right?"

A soft "yes sir" was all I could muster.

"Father Carmine tells me you have been his bookkeeper since you were a teen. I could use someone like you in my office. A raise in salary certainly would help you and Julie get started in life. Come by my office on Thursday. We'll talk. I'll go talk to Father Carmine a little later and see if I can steal you away from him."

With that, the mayor walked back into the banquet hall as Julie was walking out.

"What did he want, Bryan?" Julie asked as she got closer to me.

"He wanted to offer me a job!"

She looked up at my rug and asked, "did he mention your hairpiece?"

"He just told me that he thought your cousin Ronnie did an excellent job."

"See? I knew it might help you in more ways than you thought. With this new job, maybe we can get married."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course. I don't want a big wedding. You don't have any family. I only have Ronnie and his three sisters. We could get married tomorrow afternoon at the courthouse if we wanted."

"Wait? I thought you wanted a very traditional church wedding. Don't most women want that?"

"Well, I'd love it, but I can't afford it; we can't afford it. I'd love for Ronnie to walk me down the aisle, and his youngest sister be my flower girl, and his other sisters be my bridesmaids. I'd want to see you standing there at the altar beside Father Carmine looking so handsome and mature with your . . . Never mind."

I whispered, "you mean my new hair?"

"Yes, Bryan."

"Do you really like it? I feel a bit awkward. Still after Ronnie's and the mayor's little pep talks, I do feel a lot more comfortable. Wait here just a moment. I have an idea."

I left Julie standing perplexed in the hotel lobby. I went back to the banquet hall and found Father Carmine. He just finished talking with the mayor.

"So, Bryan, the mayor says he wants to hire you away from me to work with his campaign. Is that what you would like?"

"Possibly, Father, but that's not what I wanted to ask you. Julie and I want to get married properly in church with you officiating. The trouble is, we can't afford it."

"Bryan, why don't you let me give you the wedding as a gift? I've known you since you were nine days old. You are the closest thing I'll ever have to a son. Let it be my wedding present."

I guess the look of surprise on my face was a bit over the top. I felt the toupee tape slightly lift in the front. If Father Carmine noticed, he didn't say anything. Of course, he hadn't said anything to me all night about my hair. Maybe he hadn't noticed. I hope he has not. Alas, his eyes drifted upwards and then back down. He only smiled and walked away.

I went back to Julie and told her the good news. She cried and kissed me, and then she felt the back of my head at the occipital bone where my toupee was taped. She only lightly touched it, but didn't pull it.

"You look so handsome and mature," she whispered. "Thank you for doing that for me."

No wedding had ever come together so quickly in our community. Everyone at the parish helped out. Two of the nuns worked all week transforming Ronnie's mother's wedding gown to fit Julie.

We were married the next Saturday at St. Michael's.

The honeymoon was two nights at an Inn three blocks from Ronnie's barbershop. That was a gift from Ronnie's older sisters.

After I carried Julie across the threshold, I walked back to the hall and got our two suitcases. I closed the door and we looked at each other.

"So, I guess this is the magic moment," I said.

We had that little talk a few months ago," she began. "Are we ready?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

We both began to undress.

We had changed from our wedding clothes into more traditional attire. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a square neck. I was wearing a dark navy suit.

I took off my coat for her. My crisp white shirt was tightly tucked into my trousers. You could clearly see my undershirt through the dress shirt. I loosened and removed my tie.

She reached up and unclasped the top of her dress. She turned around and indicated for me to unzip it. She let it fall to the floor. She was wearing an ivory slip. She reached up and slid the straps off her shoulders letting the slip fall on top of her dress. She stepped out of it and turned to face me. She was standing there in her bra. Clearly, it contained more than just what nature had given her. She had told me that. It wasn't vulgar and pointy like Jayne Mansfield, but it did evoke a certain Jane Russell flair. Her open bottom girdle with garters and stockings sent shivers up my spine and a tingle in my trousers. She stepped forward and unbuttoned my shirt revealing the straps and scoop of my classic ribbed undershirt. She then undid my belt. I knew what was about to happen. She unbuttoned my pants and unzipped my fly. My trousers fell to my ankles. I was wearing the white boxer shorts with pink roses and red hearts that she had sent to me that morning. I stood there with my matching navy socks and double-grip pink garters. I started to reach up to remove my toupee. She stopped me. She sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened her garters. She slowly removed her stockings. Then she got up, turned around for me to unhook her bra. Her breasts were almost non-existent, but I never said anything. I was too aroused to speak. I was also nervous. I must have been perspiring. I leaned in to kiss her. I could tell my toupee tape was slightly loose. I leaned up and put my hands up to remove it as I had done on my own every night since I had gotten it. She sensuously slid off her girdle. She helped me as I took off my toupee. She gasped as we connected and completed our union. We felt old and young, ugly and beautiful, exposed and yet complete.

The End.

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I found this ad in a magazine at a beauty salon in 1982. Most teenaged boys have porn magazines under their beds. I had this. I always dreamed that by age 40, I would be Byron (on the top), and that most people would probably guess I had switched from a toupee to a full wig.

#wig #cheap toupee #hair replacement for men #toupee for men

I Hate Butterscotch

By Rugtopper

I was beyond excited. After making every excuse imaginable to see my dentist whenever I could over the years, Dr. Goldstein finally asked me out to dinner. Yes, I guess I could have been bold and asked him myself, but he is at least 25 years older than me. I have had a crush on him since I was a teenager. He is so handsome and dapper. He also has something else that most anyone, male or female, would find off-putting. He wears a toupee. It's not high quality in any way. It doesn't even match the color of his real hair. You see, I have this bizarre problem: I have a fetish for toupees. Every time I'm in that dentist's chair, I get so turned on just staring at Dr. Goldstein's hard, fake hairline. His toupee is a deep chestnut brown, very thick and full, with a traditional left-sided part. The thing that makes it stand out is the upsweep off the forehead. There are far better hairpieces on the market that he could have purchased, but for whatever reasons he went with a less-than-perfect facsimile of human hair. I have never said anything to him about it, although I have wanted to.

The night finally arrived. I had changed my mind nine times over what to wear. I knew he was taking me to a very upscale restaurant, so I knew I needed to wear a suit. I had debated which of the three I owned to wear, and decided to wear the dark navy; then, there was the decision about the tie. I had many in my collection that had belonged to older male relatives who had passed on. Twenty minutes before he arrived, I finally decided on a bright floral. My shirt was crisp and white. My undershirt was taut across my pecs and clearly apparent underneath. I had decided to wear these silly silk pink boxer shorts with red and white hearts on them - just in case. I had gone all-in with garters for my socks. I had worn them since college. A fraternity brother had gotten me into them.

Dr. Goldstein arrived on time looking handsome as ever in a dark charcoal suit. Like me, his shirt was crisp and white, but thicker than mine. Still, I could see the faint outline of the scoop of his a-shirt. I knew he had more traditional leanings in apparel. When I opened my front door, my voice caught in my throat. The way the porch light seemed to magnify the artificiality of his hairpiece took my breath away. I didn't want to go to the restaurant. I just wanted him in my bed with his hair on my dresser. Still, I managed to find my voice and greet him.

"Good evening, Dr. Goldstein."

"None of that 'doctor' stuff tonight, Chris. Please call me Jake. Now, are you ready? That restaurant won't hold our reservation."

"Sure, of course."

I'll skip over the dinner conversation. It was pleasant, but pedestrian. The food was excellent. I thought that I had been fairly successful in avoiding staring at his hair, but I guess I failed because as we got to dessert and coffee Jake put his fork down and looked directly into my eyes.

"Uh, Chris, is there something wrong with my hair? You keep staring at it."

I immediately crossed my legs and said, "I am so sorry, Jake. I didn't mean to stare, or embarrass you. I never would want to do that."

"Then why do you keep staring at it? You seem to do it all the time, especially when you're in the chair for your checkups."

"I apologize, Jake. It's just that . . . Never mind. I can't say."

"Of course you can, Chris. I've known you since you were 12. You can tell me anything."

"Okay. Uhm . . . I don't want to embarrass you or hurt your feelings."

"You won't, Chris. Now, just say it."

I took a sip of my coffee. It tasted very bitter, so I added another spoonful of sugar and took another sip. "Okay. Jake, I really love your hair. I think it is so beautiful. There, I finally said it out loud". After I said that, I tightened my crossed legs even more to keep what little I had from popping up.

At first, Jake got this slightly shocked look on his face, then he seemed to blush.

"You didn't hurt my feelings at all Chris. In fact, I'm quite flattered. But, I'm also somewhat embarrassed."

"I'm so sorry, Jake. Now I'm embarrassed for upsetting you." I took another sip of coffee.

"Chris, I'm not upset, but I am a little embarrassed. You see, this is very difficult for a man to admit, but I actually wear a toupee."

I crossed my legs even tighter, forcing my nuts to roll up inside myself! I tried to keep a pleasant look on my face, but I was so excited. I was also suddenly flushed and slightly dizzy.

"It looks great," I lied to him. Actually, it looked great for someone with my issues, but it looked bad for someone who is trying to convince the world that his hair is real.

"I had to start wearing one when I was in college. A lot of men are embarrassed about losing their hair, especially at a young age. Are you okay, Chris? You don't look well." What I tried to say was, 'I feel fine if a bit warm'. What came out was some sort of incoherent gibberish. After that, I think I passed out, but I really don't remember.

The next thing I do recall was the acrid smell of burning hair, and a coolness on my knees. I slowly opened my eyes. I was sitting in a huge barber's chair with a clear cape covering me, yet I could see my undergarments! What was going on? I looked up and saw my reflection in a huge mirror. There was a husky man standing behind me. He had the most exquisite black pompadour, clearly a full wig. He was holding a tiny pen with a cord attached. He kept touching the top of my head with it. Each time he did, I felt a slight tinge and smelled burning hair - my hair. There was only stubble on the top, but the rest of my hair on the back and sides had been trimmed very short. I tried to talk, but was unable to utter a word. In front of the mirror was a shallow ledge. There were two styrofoam wig heads with a very dark ginger toupee on each. At first I tried to think who I'd like to see wearing them. As my mind cleared more and more, I realized that those toupees were for me. As this reality became clear, I saw Jake via the mirror walking toward me.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you are finally waking up, Chris. You know, I love the cute boxer shorts you wore just for me. Still, it's a waste of all that silk to cover that little dicklet of yours. I bet you sit down to pee. Still, it's good to know you have some traditional leanings in your choice of apparel."

"What's going on, Jake?" It sounded somewhat slurred. I must have still been hung over from whatever was in that bitter coffee.

The husky barber continued to denude my scalp while Jake spoke.

"Chris, you are very intelligent. I think you have figured it out. I am flattered by your schoolboy crush. I even found the story you wrote about me. Now, don't look so startled. I recognized myself in the story immediately, even if you did change my name. You see, Chris, you were very chatty a few months ago during that extraction surgery. Afterwards, with Antonio's professional skills, I decided to help you become the mature man you have longed to be. I think you need to know what it's like to have everyone stare at your hair all the time."

As Jake finished talking, he took a step back. Antonio took one of the toupees off the styrofoam head and applied four pieces of tape to the underside. Two of the pieces of tape were curved. They were placed at the front and back of the hairpiece. On the sides were placed two straight strips. Antonio quickly placed the toupee on my head. The perimeter was rather stiff. The tape immediately stuck to my scalp. When Antonio had my new hair on my head, I felt the curved tape in back adhere just above my occipital bone. I knew then that I was forever going to be a Norwood Six male patterned bald man in a rug. I could feel the light mesh foundation of the center of the toupee against my smooth, sensitive bald head. The toupee was thick and full with a fixed left-sided part. The texture was smoother than my own hair. The contrast between my flat brown hair and what had been taped to my head was stark to say the least. Antonio began trimming my new, fake hair with scissors. He used a small handheld steamer in the front. Suddenly I could tell he was giving me the same up-sweep that Jake's toupee had. I realized that apart from the color, I had the same model toupee as Jake did. The laser wand Antonio had earlier used had killed the hair on the top of my head. It has also destroyed the hair at my temples. Without that, it was even more glaringly obvious what I had on my head. My little dicklet decided to do a happy dance. I was enjoying my new look without a thought about the day-to-day life experiences I would certainly encounter.

I was mesmerized, humiliated, vulnerable, and thrilled all the same time. I was also a little upset.

"It's butterscotch," I blurted out. "I hate butterscotch."

"I know Chris. You told me after that surgery as the nitrogen oxide was wearing off. You told many, many things. You told me about your crush you have had for me, and you told me one other thing."

As Antonio finished styling my new hair, Jake walked up behind me, leaned down beside my ear, and whispered, "you have a great toupee, Chris, but it's still just a cheap toupee."

The End

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CONFESSIONS OF A FETISH BARBER

BY RUGTOPPER

Sam picked up the telephone after it rang the second time.

“Adonis Hair Replacement Salon, Sam speaking.”

“Sam? This is Troy. How are you?”

“Troy! I’m fine. Good to hear from you. Why are you calling? Your regular appointment is still three weeks away.”

“I have finally decided to take your advice and change pieces. Is there room on your schedule to see me at 2:00 this afternoon? I’ll be through at the station by then.”

“Sure, Troy. I have an appointment at 1:00, but he is my last for the day. My afternoon is yours. I’ll see you at 2:00.”

Sam hung up the phone in the waiting room and went back into the styling room. He picked up a broom and finished cleaning the hair clippings on the floor. Sam had a very traditional barbershop right down to the black and white linoleum tiles on the floor. In the center of the room taking its pride of place was an enormous chrome barber’s chair with fire-engine red leather on the seat and back. This was the chair that Sam’s dad had used for nearly fifty years. This was the chair where Sam had his first haircut. But Sam didn’t have time to dwell on that. He had to finish cleaning up, have a small lunch, take care of his 1:00 appointment, and prepare for Troy. Troy Duncan. What a great guy. Everyone loved Troy. Everyone thought they knew Troy. He had been a fixture at the local TV station for nearly twenty years. Now he strictly did the morning and noon-time broadcasts, but was still a well-known local celebrity. “I wonder what made him decide to switch from a toupee to a full wig,” thought Sam. Troy Duncan had worn a toupee for nearly twenty-seven years. In fact, Sam’s dad had actually done the first fitting on Troy when he was only twenty-two years old. “That was just before Dad retired to Florida,” Sam said out loud to no one in particular. After Sam finished sweeping, he checked his own hair in the mirror before he went back out to the waiting room. Every silvery hair was in place. Of course it was; it never moved. It was made and styled that way. Still, before he left the room, he did give his hair a quick mist with wig hairspray. He knew Howard, his 1:00 appointment would notice. Howard noticed things like that. Howard was a relatively new type of client for Sam. In the last ten years, Sam had had an increase in clients who wore toupees or wigs. Among those were several who were a somewhat unusual because they really wanted to wear a toupee or a wig. In other words, they had no physical lack of hair precipitating the need to cover it up. Howard was one of those men.

As Sam was finishing his lunch at the reception desk, Howard walked in to the salon. He was early.

“Hi, Sam,” Howard said as he closed the office door behind him.

“I know I’m early. I'll sit over here while you finish your lunch.”

“Thanks, Howard. That would be great. I’ll be done in just a bit.”

Howard walked over to the sofa, tugged up his pants legs, and sat down. When he did this, he crossed his right leg over his left knee flashing a short jet-black sock, and the clip of his garter. Howard loved to do this. Sam chose to ignore it. Howard Gunson. Howard was only thirty-one, but he did everything he could to look like a man over sixty. Howard had on his usual barbershop attire. He was wearing hideous pale yellow beltless slacks, a thin-knit white short-sleeved dress shirt, and white patent leather loafers with a gold bar. This would have been marginally okay except that Howard was wearing an athletic undershirt which was clearly visible through the top shirt. Other undergarments were noticeable as well. When he sat down, Sam observed the knee-length boxer shorts with the tiny multi-colored diamonds underneath the beltless slacks. Also, the short dark socks held aloft by garters were clearly, but unnaturally outlined through the pants. Sam had given up trying to figure out why Howard wanted to look like this.

“Okay, Howard, I’m ready if you are.”

Howard came into the styling room.

“Howard, before we get started, don’t you think you’d better undress so we don’t have an accident like the last time?”

“Sure, Sam.”

Howard went to bathroom and undressed. When he returned, he was wearing only his undergarments. His tiny dick was already trying to poke itself out of the oversized boxer shorts that were hiding it. Howard walked across the room and got into the chair. As Sam put the cape around Howard’s neck, he looked at Howard’s hair. It either had to be the worst looking thing Sam had ever done for a client, or the best job Sam had ever done in making something nice look cheap. Howard’s toupee was coal black with a sheen. It covered most of his head. There was a left-sided part, but it was only simulated. You couldn’t see the scalp at all. Sam called this type of part a “pillowed part” or a “carpet part.” Basically, it looked like where two pieces of carpet came together, like on a staircase. The base of the toupee was mostly mesh with just a strip around the circumference for tape. The front of the rug almost embarrassed Sam. There was no lace-front hairline or anything fancy. This was old-school front under venting. Even at 100 yards, you knew this thing wasn’t real. Howard was sheepishly proud of this.

“Okay Howard, let’s get started.”

Sam put both of his hands on the base of Howard’s neck. Just above the neckline he felt for the plastic strip and loosened the tape. Howard moaned just a bit. Sam knew what was happening and stopped for just a moment to give Howard a chance to catch his breath. He put his hands at the base of Howard’s toupee and slowly peeled the toupee forward. As the toupee was removed, Howard moaned again and shot a tiny wad onto the underside of the cape.

“You know, Howard, if you were married, your wife would be so disappointed. We haven’t even started, and you’re already finished.” Sam laughed as he said this. Howard only gave an evil little smirk.

“Don’t ask me to explain it, Sam, I can’t. Just trim what I have and put me back together. I have to be at the newsstand at the airport by 3:00 this afternoon. I’m working a later shift today. You know how much I love working at the airport. It is the best place for rug spotting.”

This was something else Howard loved to do: look for toupees, and be spotted as well. Sam got the hot-lathered foam and put it on Howard’s stubble. He observed the flawless, but man-made Norwood seven horseshoe pattern on Howard’s head. With several quick strokes, Howard’s faint shadow of hair was gone. Sam trimmed the fringe with a four guard as Howard always requested. After this, Sam picked up Howard’s toupee, and placed it at his forehead. He slowly rounded it back into place. He did his best to comb the synthetic hair over the real, but too-short hair. This look made it even easier for it to be spotted.

“By the way, Howard, I hope that at your next appointment we can finally start on your laser hair removal. It will make the mpb ring look more natural when you remove your toupee. Now, up, out of the chair. Get dressed. I have another client coming at 2:00, and I need you to be gone.”

Howard got dressed, paid with a huge tip, and left. Sam swept up and waited for Troy.

Straight up 2:00, in walked Troy Duncan. To the unknowing, one might think he and Howard were alike. They both wore toupees and had the same fetish for undergarments, but that was where it ended. Troy was 48, handsome, fit, well-read, and a genuinely interesting person.

“Get in here, Troy. I did not expect to see you for three weeks much less get a call from you today.” Sam said this as he sat down on the sofa. “Sit down,” Sam said as he patted the sofa. Troy sat down and crossed his left leg over his right knee. Unlike Howard, he did not flash his garter clip even though he was always tempted to do so.

“Now Troy, why have you decided to go with a full wig? I’ve only been trying to get you to wear one for over a year.”

“Well Sam, I remember when you told me that I was losing more hair, that I was slowly but eventually going to move from a six to a seven on the Norwood scale.”

“Yes, and at that point you really need a custom-made piece. Granted, the stock pieces I get for you are good, but they won’t cover the baldness when you get to a seven,” Sam intoned.

“I know,” agreed Troy, “but my reason has less to do with a custom piece and more with the custom price attached to it.”

“You know I’d cut a deal for you. You are one of my most loyal clients . . . and most famous, well, even if no one knows that you are a client.”

“Well, I don't know about people not knowing, but I’m going to make the transition because of work.”

“Work?” Sam asked.

“Yes, work. You remember a while back I sent an audition tape to San Diego for that network job? Well, I finally heard from them yesterday. They went with Justin McKay.”

“Justin McKay? Wasn’t he that kid who interned for you a few years ago?”

“Eight years ago to be exact. Justin McKay interned for me and then the station manager actually hired him to be a researcher before he went to Atlanta. Anyway, when I found out about losing the job in San Diego, I decided just to stay here.”

“What do you mean stay here?”

“The station manager has been wanting me to sign a ten-year contract for over a year. I haven’t because I kept thinking I would move up in the market to a larger network. This was the fourth time I have been passed over. That is one of the things I hate most about news broadcasting: always having to look for the next market job. Anyway, when I signed yesterday, I just decided that now was the time. I have a worn a toupee since I was 22 years old. I just want something that's a lot easier to take care of. I'm getting older. It is time to graduate, so to speak, to a full wig.”

“I remember Dad telling me how nervous you where when you came in for that first fitting.”

“I was a wreck, mainly because I didn’t know what I was getting into. I really wasn’t that interested in wearing a toupee at that time.”

“Really, Troy, I didn’t know that. You seem so comfortable wearing one.”

“Your dad, and later on you, really helped me get comfortable wearing a toupee. My advisor was the one who really guided me to get one. He told me that if I wanted to move from behind the radio microphone to being in front of a camera, I needed a full head of hair. I didn’t think I was that bald, but I was lying to myself. By the time I decided to deal with my hair loss, I think I was almost a four on the Norwood scale with a lot of fuzz. Your dad just shaved me clean so I had a smooth surface for my first toupee. I can tell you I walked out of here with my head held high for the first time in nearly two years. When I made that first appearance for the campus news, I felt like a million bucks. I realized that I had been hiding under a silly plaid riding cap. Anyway, after I lost the job in San Diego, I signed the ten-year contract with the station. It is the same pay, but with lots of bonuses. Also, on the bright side, a full wig every two years costs far less than a toupee every six months.”

“I want to hear more about this Justin what’s-his-name. You said he interned with you?”

“Yes, about eight years ago. I guess the people in San Diego wanted someone younger than me. They can have him and his overly-permed hair.”

“Oh, my! Did you say it was Justin McKay?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“Now, I remember him. Troy, that’s not a perm.”

“What! You mean that awful hair is natural?”

“Only part of it,” Sam hinted.

“You mean Justin McKay wears a rug?”

You got it, Troy. He was one of my first fetish clients,” Sam confessed.

“Fetish clients? What on earth is that? What do they do, suck their toes or something disgusting like that?”

“Well, not exactly that. Nearly ten years ago, I started getting phone calls from men who wanted to be fitted for a toupee. It was only a few, but when they would show up for the consultation, I would discover that they had a full head of hair.”

“You mean these guys were not bald? They weren’t losing their hair at all?”

“No. They just wanted to wear a toupee.”

“I can’t imagine someone who had hair wanting to wear a toupee. I understand being bald and wanting to cover it by wearing a toupee, but to make yourself bald on purpose just to put on a toupee is a little too farfetched for me.”

“You would be surprised, Troy, just how many men actually want to do just that. My last client, just before you came today, is one of them. He is 31 and has worn a toupee on purpose since he was 25. Justin is the same way.”

“Tell me more about Justin and this other guy.”

“Let’s move to the studio so I can start on your new wig while we talk.”

“Okay,” Troy said, but neither of them moved from the sofa.

“Less than a month after you told me Justin had been hired as a researcher,” Sam continued, “I got a call from him. He told me that you had recommended me. He told me he wanted to be fitted for a toupee. I asked him how bald he was. He told me that I would need to remove a lot of hair in order to have a proper fit.”

“How did he find out I came here? Did he follow me? I know he was always asking me where I got my hair done and then he would correct himself by saying, ‘I mean. . cut.’ That always bothered me. Well, keep going.”

“So the day of the appointment came and Justin arrived on time. He had all this unruly hair. He also had a very expensive toupee in a box. He told me that he wanted to wear a toupee and that he had always wanted to wear a toupee. I told him that I just couldn’t wave a magic wand and make him bald. He got hard as a rock when I said that. I told him it would be unethical to make someone bald on purpose. I told him that he was being silly, that he didn’t need a toupee. He was not moved. He just kept begging. Finally, I told him to leave. I told him that I would think about it. He called me the next day crying. He told me that his therapist had suggested that he get a toupee to face his fears of going bald. I told him he wasn’t going bald. He said that he was. I asked for the name of his therapist. He wouldn’t give it, of course, because there wasn’t one. The day after the phone call, he showed up here in a baseball cap crying. He had shaved the top of his head. He was crying and begging me to fit him with the toupee. So, I did.”

“My God! I knew he was a little off the beam, but nothing like this. So, you fitted him with the toupee?”

“I had to. I couldn’t let him leave looking worse than Larry from the Three Stooges. It was awful. He had basically taken a beard trimmer and mowed down the middle of his head. I told him to get in the chair.”

“How did the fitting go?”

“The fitting was routine once I got his scalp prepared. He had buzzed himself to a Norwood four, but the toupee was sized for a five. After I shaped it to a level five, I was ready to shave the stubble. I got the hot-foamed lather and quickly removed all the stubble. At this point he was totally into the whole process. The boy had a ton of hair. When I turned him toward the mirror with his curly toupee setting there on its stand, he made the strangest sound. He actually shot a load in his pants. I wouldn’t let him get up. I made him sit there in all that goo while I finished. I got the toupee off the stand, put tape on the underside, and attached it to his head. The next bit took forever, and I do mean forever, over two hours. I hate working with curly hair. He kept telling me to keep his fringe longer. It really wasn’t all that long, but I did as he asked. It looked well blended, but I knew that without the toupee he was going to look like a clown. He ended up coming back every four weeks for a trim before he got that job in Atlanta. When he moved, that was the last time I saw him. Well, that is the whole saga of my first fetish client. I am sorry you lost the job to him. You are a great reporter.”

“Thanks, Sam. Can we start on my wig now? You can tell me about that other guy then. What’s his name?”

“Yes, we can start. You had better undress. These wigs are long and loaded with tons of hair. They make them that way. They come fuller than necessary. Anyway, the guy’s name is Howard. I’ll tell you about him when you get back from the bathroom.”

Troy got up and went to the bathroom to undress. He always did this whenever he had a new fitting. It was easier, cleaner, neater, and just more comfortable. As Troy walked across the room to the bathroom, he moved various items from his pants pockets to his suit-coat pockets. He also thought to himself, “How many times have I done this? How many toupees have I gotten since I was 21?” Today was something new for Troy. When he got into the bathroom, he removed his coat and hung it on one of the pegs inside the door. He closed the door and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He loved how his tight athletic undershirt looked beneath his crisp white dress shirt. He removed his tie and hung it up. Off came the shirt and down came the pants. They slid off easily over his wing tips which he liked to keep on. Seeing himself in his tight undershirt tucked into his knee-length boxer shorts, thick-n-thin socks and garters, he gave himself a queer little smile. He said out loud to himself, “And now off goes the hair, old man.” Troy walked out of the bathroom, sat down in the barber’s chair. Sam put a fresh cape around his neck and slowly lifted the back of Troy’s toupee. Same removed it from front to back. The extent of Troy’s baldness was overwhelming to take in. Sam had been right. Troy was almost a full Norwood six. His peaks and his temples were completely gone.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Sideburns as well,” Sam asked.

“Sideburns as well. There is too much gray in them, and I never really liked them anyway. Shave it all. It will be easier in the long run.”

Sam turned on the clippers and removed Troy’s sideburns and all of his fringe. Next, he got the hot-foamed lather and the razor and removed the stubble. Suddenly, there sat Troy Duncan - Channel 14’s lead anchorman totally bald and slowly getting a massive erection.

“Oh, God! I knew this day might come, but I wasn’t really prepared for it. I’m totally and completely bald. I don’t believe it. I am completely bald.”

“Okay, Troy. Get over it. You’ve been bald most all of your adult life. Now, it is just a greater level of baldness. Welcome to my world," Sam said as he laughed. Troy laughed, as well.

Now Troy, I have two styles for you. There are four wigs, two in each style. One is a traditional left-sided part, just like the toupee you’ve been wearing for several years. The other style is slightly fuller with a casual, brushed-back look to it. I really think you should go with that. I think it looks better with your facial features. Also, with this youth-obsessed market, I think it will be more attractive. What do you think?”

“I think I need to go with the hipper, brushed-back look. I’m changing from a toupee to a wig. I might as well get a better looking style as well. I also want to stop talking about my hair so you can tell me about Howard and some of your other clients. Confession is good for the soul. Confess!”

Sam put the wig on Troy’s head and turned him toward the mirror.

“I’m not going to leave it like this of course. It will be over the ears and above the collar - very professional, but casual. Okay, now about Howard. I think you might know who he is. He has a newsstand at the airport. He runs an okay business, but with him, everything is about toupees. He loves spotting guys who wear them. He also loves being spotted. He really gets off if someone notices his rug. He actually gets sweaty palms if someone stares at his hairline while they are talking to him.”

“Really? I think I know who are talking about. Maybe I should chat him up sometime just to mess with him. He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Howard! No, he’s harmless. If you do decide to chat with him, you might pull back your coat so he can see your undershirt. He has a real underwear fetish as well.”

“Should I flash him a glimpse of garter,” Troy asked as he kicked his gartered leg out from under the giant barber’s cape.

“No, Howard might soil himself right there in the airport,” Sam laughed.

“Okay, who else is there? Keep going.”

Same continued cutting and thinning and styling Troy's new wig as he proceeded to "confess" about more of his clients.

"Well, there is Larry, the used car salesman."

"Don't tell me. He's overweight and wears a lot of gaudy jewelry?"

"No. Larry hates jewelry. Plus he is somewhat trim, even if it isn't totally natural."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I happened to notice that he looked like he had lost weight, so I complimented him. He informed me that he got tired of dieting and had gotten one of those girdle shirts that flattens everything."

Troy laughed. "So what about his hair? Is he one of your fetish clients, too?"

"Yes. He had always wanted to wear a rug, so he started tweezing his hair out. However, he quickly discovered how tedious and painful that was. He had me laser his hair off so he could permanently wear a hairpiece."

"You mean you destroyed his hair? I didn't know you were licensed to do laser hair removal, Sam."

"I've been licensed to practice that for years. Anyway, Larry had found this blond synthetic hairpiece online that he really liked. His bio hair is almost white, and doesn't match the hairpiece at all. Still Larry loves it and the attention he gets. Anyway, I have had quite a few clients over the years who have had me do laser hair removal. One of my clients is a security guard at one of the casinos here in Vegas."

"You mean some guy had all his hair lasered off?"

"Yes. He said he was tired of shaving it all the time. He's huge and muscular. The look works for him.

"Okay, Troy. I need to rinse this wig, remove it, and begin on the other one."

Sam rotated the barber's chair and lowered it. He gingerly rinsed all the loose hair from Troy's new wig. He raised the chair and gently applied a towel to Troy's head. He took a blow dryer and began styling Troy's new wig. He knew Troy wanted a hipper version of his old style, but he knew Troy's conservative tastes. He styled it off the forehead, with an easy, brushed back look. He turned the chair toward the mirror.

"So, what do you think, Troy?"

"It's perfect, Sam. Just like what we have discussed a few times over the past year. There is just enough up-sweep which I like, but not a retro pompadour. Now, any more stories? The confessional is still open."

Sam removed Troy's wig and placed it on a stand in front of the mirror next to the other, uncut model. Suddenly Troy felt vulnerable, as he always did without his hair. He shouldn't, but he did. He had been bald for half his life, hiding it under a rug. He liked to think he was fooling most of the people all of the time, but deep down, he knew most people strongly suspected that he wore a hairpiece. Yes, this new wig was nice, but it was even more obvious than his toupee. He knew he would get tons of junk emails commenting on his new look. He didn't have any fringe in which to blend it, and now no sideburns. Sam had done a great job thinning out the wig, but the temples were obviously taped to his now totally hairless scalp. His fringe before had been thin and wispy. He knew this fuller wig would look a lot better. Sam put tape on the second wig and put it on Troy's totally bald head. He liked the tight grip of the tape on his scalp. Since that first day he had put on his new toupee in his dorm room, he had always enjoyed how it felt sitting on his bald head.

"Well, Troy," Sam said as he began cutting on Troy's spare wig.

"Well what, Sam? Are you going to continue with the confessions?"

"Let me make a quick phone call, and then I'll give you an exclusive confession that will snap your garters."

Sam quickly returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face.

"So, what makes this next confession so much better than the others you have shared?"

"Well, this one is about me, Troy."

"You? I thought you were naturally bald. When I first came here all those years ago, you were already wearing a toupee. If I remember correctly you're only four years older than me. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Troy. I just turned 52. And, yes, I was wearing a toupee when we first met, but it was partly due to my desire to be like my dad."

"I don't understand, Sam."

"You knew my dad along with two other barbers in town kept all the male stars and celebrities looking their best when they would perform at the casinos. Whenever one of the barbers would order a new wig for a certain tipsy member of the Rat Pack, he would also order one for my dad. My dad really liked that full style. All the Hollywood stars had their own barbers or used Max Factor. Here in the desert, if a man was going bald, he either went without hair or went with second best. Anyway, I'm getting away from my story. When I started working here, sweeping up after school as a teenager, I noticed that a lot of my dad's customers were uncomfortable with me around because I had a full head of hair. One day after work I asked my dad if I embarrassed him because I didn't wear a hairpiece like he did. That really upset him because he said that I could never embarrass him. That's when I told him that I really wanted to wear a toupee like he did. He said that I was being silly. He said there was no way he would let me wear one when I didn't need to wear one. I asked him if he would let me wear one if I did need one. He said he would. So, I took the clippers and gave myself a tiny bald spot. He couldn't believe I did it. He made me wait until the next day to fit me with a little slider that he had in a drawer."

"A slider? What's that?"

"Oh, that is a little piece for the crown area. It can be worn with clips or glue."

"So, you're telling me that you had a toupee fetish just like some of your clients?"

"Yes, Troy, I am. I started wearing a rug when I was still in high school. By the time I graduated and went to beauty school, I was a full Norwood five."

"What did your friends at school think?"

"Those that knew, thought that my dad made me wear one for his business. I couldn't let people think my dad was that cruel. I told them that I was losing my hair and didn't want to be bald. Remember Troy, this is Los Vegas. Everyone cares about how they look. Half the girls in my graduating class wore extra padding in their bras!"

As Sam was finishing his confession to Troy, the chime on the front door rang.

"I thought I was your last client, Sam. I can't let anyone see me. The public may suspect that I wear a hairpiece, but I don't want them to have a face-to-face confirmation."

"He's not coming in here, Troy. Let me rinse and style this wig while I explain. Now, he is a long-time client, but he's not here for an appointment. You see, I have a second confession to make. You probably don't remember Sean Dugan. He was a professional bodybuilder and model, but after a car accident, he was working part-time as a security guard at your station when you were having all those issues with Justin. He found out that Justin was the one who kept sabotaging your network chances.

Sam turned Troy around in the chair, rinsed all the loose hair from the spare wig, and then began styling it like he had the first one.

"Troy, Sean, was the one who brought Justin here. He hated how Justin would talk about you behind your back at the station. Sean hated the snide comments Justin made about your toupee. Sean put a stop to it by convincing me to teach Justin a lesson with my laser. He didn't have to work very hard."

Troy got up out of the chair, took off the barber's cape, and walked into the lobby. He didn't say anything. He just walked up to Sean, softly put both hands on his face, and kissed him the way he had always dreamed of years ago when he would see him at the station.

After that long, passionate kiss Sean just looked down at Troy Duncan's old-fashioned undergarments and smiled. Troy just smiled as he glanced up at Sean's light cocoa colored toupee.

Later, the two of them went out to eat, but ended up back at Troy's condo for dessert and more.

(You can fill in the rest!)

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THE INTERVENTION

BY RUGTOPPER

Vinny did not expect to find anything in his mailbox at work. He did not he know why he bothered looking in it. He had been an inter-office courier at Payton Publishing for three years. No one ever sent him messages; he was never invited out for a drink after work; and, no one even bothered to say hello to him in the halls as he made his rounds. Finding a handwritten note in his box was a shock. He was even more shocked to read that he was invited to watch a football game with some of the executives from the eighth floor this weekend. He hated going to the eighth floor. All the male executives would give him strange looks. They were looks he was not used to getting. They were looks of pity, but not in a condescending sort of way. It was a look of pity that you see someone give another human being when you know that that someone is about to help that human being. Regardless, it did not make Vinny feel comfortable. When he left the eighth floor, he always felt like he was about to be the next big project for the local Junior League to take on to make them feel good about themselves. He had no idea how wrong he was. He had no idea just how good he was going to feel about himself.

Vinny went to eighth floor, as instructed in the note. He waited outside Mr. Reynolds' office. Albert Reynolds was a tough man to size up. He was not the type of man you would see going to a football game, much less hosting a football party. He was more the type who might sing with the local chamber ensemble on a Tuesday night, and play golf on Saturday afternoon. Mr. Reynolds came out of his office with a big grin on his face. He was a slight man, maybe 5'7", if that tall; very trim with no facial hair. Aside from his height, his most striking feature was his fiery strawberry blond hair. At 43, he was still very youthful looking with his ruddy complexion and the flaming head of hair.

"Here are the directions to my house, Vinny. I hope you don't have any trouble finding the place. There are only going to be six of guys there, plus you."

"Should I bring anything, Mr. Reynolds?" Vinny asked.

"Well, Vinny, first call me Al. Second, if you want to you can bring some chips. The other guys are bringing the rest of the food. I'll be in charge of the grill out back."

Thanks, Mister . . . ah, Al."

"No, problem. See you Saturday at noon."

"Sure."

All week, Vinny looked forward to the weekend. Also, he noticed that the guys on the eighth floor looked at him differently. He wasn't sure what kind of look this was. Still, when they saw him, they did at least speak to him. That was the best change.

Saturday finally came. Vinny showed up at Al's house right at noon. He could hear the TV when he got out his truck. He grabbed the grocery bags and headed toward the front door. Before he even got to the porch, the door opened. It was Mr. Pierce. Perfect Pierce they called him. He once recalled a book that had had 10,000 copies printed because of a punctuation mistake on the last page of the book. He was not one to mess with at all.

"Hey, Vinny, glad you're here." Mr. Pierce said as he took the bags out of Vinny's hands.

"Hi, Mr. Pierce.

"Now, Vinny, we're away from work. Just call me Derek."

"Okay, Derek." Vinny replied.

"I think you know all the other guys here," Derek said as Vinny made his way through the door.

Yes, Vinny knew all of the men. After a quick survey of the room, he also knew why he might be there. He didn't really make the connection when Al gave him the directions, or even when Derek, with his stark-white preppy hairdo, greeted him at the door. Now he knew. There sitting in front of the giant screen television were the other four men from the eighth floor. All six were clothed in their khaki slacks, typical golf shirts and their obvious toupees. Here Vinny was in his blue jeans, faded t-shirt, tennis shoes, and ratty black hair. Now he knew that something was up.

Derek closed and locked the door. Al got up from his chair and came to shake Vinny's hand. Vinny was led over to the sofa.

One of the guys turned off the television.

"Now, Vinny, I bet you're wondering why we asked you here. Especially when you think we haven't even had anything to do with you all these years."

"Well, it is kind of odd, don't you think?" Vinny asked, as he ran his hands over his messy hair with the V-shaped hairline.

All the men just looked at each other and then at Vinny.

"Vinny, we want to help you. We think you're a great guy. We know you've been waiting for job to open up in editing. You've seen people come and go. You've even been overlooked twice. Most men would have left, but you've stuck it out. We appreciate that more than you know. But we can't help you until you decide that you need help. We need to know that you are willing to do what it takes to improve yourself for the job that you want."

"Look, uh, Mr. Steel, is it? I just came to watch the game. Yes, I'd like to move into editing. Yes, I'd like to remain in the publishing business. I've got time. It's been three years since I finished grad school. I've had a lot of offers, but not with a smaller publishing company like yours. I like what Peyton produces. I like their style. I like the fact that they really want to publish local authors."

"Yes, it is Mr. Steel, but you can call me Gene. We like what we see, but only in your resume, Vinny. There is plenty of room for improvement in so many areas of your life. We just want to help you, that’s all."

"Vinny, let me just cut to the chase. The way you present yourself on paper is suburb. The way you present yourself in public is another story. That is what we want to change."

"Look, Al, let me make myself clear. I don't need your pity that each of gives me every day at work. I certainly don't need some sort of intervention to help me make it in the publishing world."

"True, Vinny, but believe me when I say that the publishing world is not busting down any doors to find the next best editor. It is a closed field. Everything is focused on the next author, the next bestseller. No one cares about editors or proofreaders. They are a dime a dozen. What I'm trying to tell you is that, as you are now, you will never stand out. There is nothing in your appearance that says, 'yes, I am a professional.' It says 'look at me, a man in his thirties who can barely make ends meet, who can't dress himself, and who is losing his hair.'"

"So, it comes down to that, does it? My hair. Is that what this is all about? This is rich. A room full of men in rugs giving me a lecture on hair loss. This day just gets odder and odder."

"Alright, Vinny. So what. So, we happen to wear toupees. The alternative is what you are quickly moving toward. We have all been there. We all know what will happen. We see what you do. We see you try to hide it at work. We see you use a lot of product to make the front look fuller. You brush down the sides to hide that growing V at your temples. We even see you slap on that awful ball cap when you get into your truck everyday when you leave. Is that how you want to live, Vinny? Are you prepared for what happens next?"

Up until this point Vinny and Al had been the only two involved in this exchange. Suddenly, Mr. Cappato spoke up. He was Italian, just like Vinny.

"Vinny, you and I are a lot alike. We both come from big Italian families. We both know how hard it is to be the one in the family who is losing his hair. Look at me Vinny. I was your age when all my thick, black hair started going down the drain." With that, Mr. Cappato reached his hand up to his full, coal black pompadour, and took it off. There sat Mr. Cappato with just a narrow rim of dyed black hair over his ears and across the back of his head.

Vinny just sat there in shock, speechless.

"This is where you are headed. Look at me, Vinny. Let me help you. Let us help you." Mr. Cappato pleaded.

"What, now all of you are going to take turns showing me your bald heads?" Vinny asked.

"We just might, but first I think we need to do something else."

That was Mr. Peyton, Jr., the boss’s son. He had the fakest head of brown hair you have ever seen. It did not even match the course salt-n-pepper hair on the back and sides. He didn't even bother to dye it to match.

"Vinny, I think you need to go to the bathroom and wash out all that product. I think you really need to see just what little you have up there."

"I think you might just need to make me, Junior." With that Vinny jumped up and snatched off Mr. Peyton's toupee. Not only did it reveal his bald pate, but it also revealed where his tan line stopped and his pasty scalp started.

"Well, I think that is enough childishness for one day." said Al. "Boys, I think Vincent here needs a bit of help. Please escort him to my barbershop in the basement."

When Al said this, two security guards from the building came in from the other room and lifted Vinny off the ground. One of the other executives, who had remained silent to this point, produced a large needle.

"This will make things easier, Vincent." said the executive with the tightly-curled wig.

Vinny found himself half awake in a barber's chair, strapped down and wearing only his teal-colored bikini briefs, surrounded by the six men. All of them were now totally bald. Their wigs and toupees were lined up in front of Vinny on stands just staring at him. One of the security guards was now dressed in a white barber's uniform. Vinny's hair was dripping wet. All of the black-colored mousse and fiber thickeners had been washed out. Gone was all the darkened powder used to hide his nearly hairless crown. Vinny just looked at himself for the first time. Then he looked at the men in the mirror. Lastly, he looked at the six Styrofoam heads staring at him.

With slurred speech, Vinny managed to say, "you're right, guys, I need help. I know if I ever want to advance to the eighth floor, I have to change my look. I've been denying it for over ten years now. I need to improve my image. I want a full head of hair like you guys. Mr. Cappato, I do want to look like you."

"Call me, Carmine, Son. I think that would be the best thing."

"Rex, go get a wig just like Carmine's out of the closet for Vinny here." Al told the barber.

While Rex was gone, the other security guard, now in full barber's gear came and began prepping Vinny.

Vinny's head was shaved until there was just a shadow left. Vinny was given two more shots. With this he passed out. Hours later, he awoke in the chair with a stiff neck. He was still hung over, but managed to open his eyes. In the mirror was this guy with eyes like his, who had a totally hairless, shiny dome. Rex was behind him mopping the floor. The smell was worse than a locker room. He knew that smell. He didn't need to think about what had happened while he had been out. The other barber came back into the room. He rubbed Vinny head with a clear liquid. This was cool and cleansing. It also completely removed the shine on his scalp. While the barber was doing this, Vinny noticed that there was only one wig stand in front of him. On it was a thick, black wig. The barber took this off the stand, applied tape to the underside and put it on Vinny's head. He pressed hard so the tape would adhere. He turned Vinny to the side and started combing and cutting. Next, he got out a steamer and started styling the wig. While Vinny was still groggy, Phil turned Vinny toward the mirror. Suddenly, Vinny was wide awake. Now he really recognized himself. This was the Vinny from high school. This was the cool Vinny that every girl and boy wanted to sleep with.

All six executives filed into the room. They were wearing their toupees and wigs.

"Vinny," Al said, "We have a change of clothes for you upstairs. We've recorded the game, if you want to watch it with us. Also, you are expected in my office on Monday morning to discuss your new position as a copy editor. Are we clear?"

Vinny nodded as Rex and Phil helped him up. Mr. Cappato helped Vinny up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Vinny put on his new casual clothes while Carmine watched and occasionally helped. Several hours later they eventually emerged from the guest bedroom each brushing down the back of his hair. The weekend turned out better than he had hoped. Vinny never watched the game, but spent the rest of the weekend with Carmine. Monday morning a whole new world began.

THE END

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