Monday, May 31, 2010

Iowa Farm Boy, Part VIII


On Labor Day Monday we packed what few items we wanted to go with us to Omaha and loaded them in the back of the pickup that CD was driving. Louis was again his passenger and was leaning out the passenger window shouting as they pulled away, “We’ll see you tomorrow. I’m packing my shit tonight and you can plan on moving in right away.” Steve had his arm around me and we waved as they pulled away. CD and Louis were among the last to leave and while I wanted the weekend to go on for ever, in some ways I was happy to be alone with my Daddy.

We walked back in the house, exhausted from the wild and wonderful weekend. My right hand was around Steve’s waist and my left hand kept reaching to the cold steel locked around my neck.

“You happy?”

“Beyond belief, Sir.”

He laughed and rubbed my healing back. “C’mon, let’s go ride the horses one last time”

We saddled up and he in blue jeans and I still in only my jockstrap rode slowly over the whole property one last time. It was a warm day. It had been a perfect weekend, warm, sunny days and cool nights. And outside of my father’s appearance following my collaring it would always stand out in my memory as a perfect moment in life.

We returned to the site of my collaring and dismounted, letting the horses rest and drink at the creek. With ease and familiarity Steve drew me close to him, both of sitting on our flat rock, my back pressed firmly against his chest. We breathed in tandem, as one, drinking in the beauty of the site. I would hold onto this moment forever if I could.

After a time he spoke. “You have made me incredibly happy. You know that?

“Thank you, Sir.” I could ask for no greater compliment and I snuggled closer to him.

“I’m excited about the move. I know you are, too. I want it to be perfect, but even if every thing doesn’t work out perfectly, I want you to know the important thing is us. It’s only important that we hold on to each other. With trust. With respect. Understood?”

I murmured a “Yes, Sir” and turned to him, now on my knees. Without asking, risking punishment, I put my mouth to his crotch and began to lick his cock, straining as always against his tight blue jeans. He laid back on the flat rock and took a deep cleansing breath. With my hands I unbuckled his belt and undid the buttons on his jeans. We shared one last perfect moment on Steve’s farm before our new lives began in Omaha.

We arrived in Omaha late that afternoon on Tuesday and Steve pulled the bike up to the front door of the barbershop. A note was taped to the front door: “Keys with bartender at the Diamond. Love you both. Hate goodbyes. Louis”

Steve went over to the bar, retrieved the keys, and we let ourselves into the shop. Louis hadn’t packed a thing in the shop. It was all there as if he planned on opening the shop that day. The odd thing was one of the waiting chairs was gone, the mahogany/horsehair heavy chair clearly missing from the long row of them. We left our things in the shop and made our way upstairs. In the apartment it was clear that Louis had packed a few things, but here again everything was pretty much as we’d seen it when we’d taken our first tour.

“You up to some hard work?”

“Yes, Sir. I can’t wait.”

“We need to start making some money so we better focus on the shop first. We’ll have to tackle the apartment here and the upstairs wreck down the road. Let’s get back down to the shop and get to work.”

“Yes, Sir.”

In the shop Steve set me to work clearing all the shelves while he made a quick run to the hardware store. While I was removing the old bottles and a variety of supplies the bell on the front door rang. I expected to see Steve coming back with the materials to start stripping and sanding the full-wall back bar. Instead, standing there were CD, Nasti, and 20 other guys carrying tools, full tool belts, cleaning supplies, and wearing shit-eating grins, every last one of them.

CD waved five guys to follow him and up the stairs they went carrying crowbars, sledge hammers and huge trash cans. Nasti corralled five more guys and they hit the stairs carrying paint cans and painting supplies, and a host of cleaning supplies.

That left 10 more guys in the shop. Stepping forward to lead this group was Bob, Curt’s master. He waved the group over to the back bar and in no time the shop was filled with the commotion of power sanders knocking off ancient varnish. Bob handed Curt a screw-driver and set him to work on removing all the hardware. Somebody had brought a boom box and good hard-core Rock ‘n Roll filled the air, heard only when one or two of the sanders was turned off.

In little time the air filled with the music, the sound of the sanders, and a thick cloud of wood dust. In the back corridor I could see an ancient hot water heater being carted out the back door. A little later I saw a new, larger one come in and be guided to the basement. The huge trashcans were coming down the stairs filled and being hauled back upstairs empty. Bob was a real task master keeping his crew very focused on getting the huge piece of furniture cleaned to original wood. And somewhere in the midst of all this chaos Steve walked in.

I had been given the job of removing anything that wasn’t bolted down. Carrying out the row of customer chairs was my first task. As I was about to carry out the fifth and final chair I almost ran into Steve. He was standing at the front door. I could see the amazement in his eyes. Bob came over and gave him a big hug. “Whadya think?” he shouted over the incessant roar of the sanding.

“I think I can’t afford to pay all of you for this work.”

“Shithead. Nobody wants to be paid. But everyone wants to be first in line for a good haircut, good shave, a good bootshine, and maybe a good blowjob. They all are willing to work for a couple of days to try to get this place open and you into a decent apartment. You only gotta pay the bills for the supplies. Deal?”

“What? Do I look stupid? Of course it’s a deal.”

It took almost two full days to fully demolish the place. By the end of Thursday the shop was in pretty good shape, but the back bar would need at least two more coats of varnish. Upstairs the apartment had been stripped of all the ratty furniture and few kitchen cupboards. The refrigerator and stove were in working condition so we kept them and Nastibear focused on sanding and varnishing the old hardwood floors. In the bathroom, old wall tile had been pulled down and new tile added. Lots and lots of paint made the place look almost brand-new. CD had come up with a new mattress for us to throw on the floor. A decent sofa had been found at a thrift store along with a sturdy table and a couple of chairs for us to use. Steve’s leather chair and ottoman were finally brought over and put into the living room. It started to feel like home.

On the third floor CD hadn’t left a shred of plaster behind. The walls were bare to the studs. Walls separating the tiny rooms and been torn down completely. Even the ceiling plaster and been pulled down to reveal an additional three feet of headspace. Walking into this space was the most exciting for me. At the end of every work day Steve would invite everyone to the roof for a beer. And as they left he’d pull the hatch closed and the two of us would look over the space imagining its future use. Steve pointed to a corner, his arm around my shoulder, “The sling there, I think. A St. Andrew’s Cross in the opposite corner. Maybe a peg wall or two to hang whips, ropes, and chains.” I got a hard-on just hearing him talk about the possibilities.

Somehow by Tuesday we managed to get the doors to the shop open. We’d hung posters at the Diamond and another “grand opening” sign on the front window. We’d set our hours for Tuesday through Thursday, 10 to 6 and Friday and Saturday from 2 to Midnight, hoping to draw a few horny bucks from the bar on the weekends. At 9:00 Tuesday morning there was a pounding at the back door. Both Steve and I were up, but moving kind of slow, muscles aching from the hard work we’d put in to get the shop ready.

Since I was just out of the shower and naked Steve ran down the back stairs in his boxers to open the alley door. I heard a lot of commotion and then Steve’s voice,

“Get yer ass down here, barberboi!”

“I’m still naked, Sir!”

“Good! Now get down here!”

I ran down the stairs absolutely dying of curiosity. As I came down the small hallway from the back entrance I got a glimpse of NastiBear standing in the middle of the shop. I came through the door and saw Steve and CD off in the corner to my left. Between them was the missing waiting chair. Only it had been turned into the most magnificent shoe shine chair, the chair bolted to a 2 foot platform with stairs leading to this throne. The wood on the chair had been revarnished and two small footholds had been built into the platform for the customer to mount his booted feet. There were a dozen cubbyholes on the exposed side where I could store all the tools I needed.

The three men were grinning as I ran to each of them giving them huge hugs. I ended with Nasti as I knew he was probably the one who had done the most work in getting the chair ready for me.

“That is just too fucking cool! Thank you so much.”

Nasti pulled me into his arms and tweaked my tits. “We want to be the first customers, so get some clothes on you two, and get your asses back down here.” Nasti pulled a cigar from his jumpsuit pocket and plopped into the barber chair ready for a buzz cut, while CD climbed into the shoeshine chair and pulled out a similar cigar. Steve and I headed up the stairs together.

Steve put on his tightest blue jeans, fairly new, but well cut to show his ass and package. Next came socks and his leather motorcycle boots. He walked to the closet to get out one of his uniform shirts. He was digging through the shirts hung there, unable to find his regular nylon uniform when I snuck out to the hallway closet and retrieved the new uniform I’d bought him.

It hadn't been easy to fine the old-fashioned uniforms with the fold-over flap and four buttons at the right shoulder. I'd fantasized about seeing Steve in one since the first time I'd set foot in his shop. Taking buses all over town I'd finally found a barber supply store where the old guy running it thought he could find a few in storage. Sure enough, he'd located three and I bought them all. I’d starched one white cotton smock top about 8 times until it was as crisp as a sheet of steel. I brought it back into the bedroom and held it out. He heard me and turned. I could hear a little gasp come from his throat.

“Damn, that is so fine….” He took it from me and slid it over his rugged torso. He folded the flap over the front and slowly buttoned it up to the neck. I was getting hard just looking at him. He walked over to give me a hug and slapped my dick, now leaking pre-cum. “But I can outdo you one.” He reached into the closet and pulled out a package he’d stuffed way in the back. He handed it to me and I opened it. Inside was a black leather workman’s apron complete with two hip pockets and one chest pocket. I immediately threw it on. The cool leather against my skin took my dick up another notch of hardness.

Steve walked over to me and put his arms around me. My face was buried in his chest, inhaling the fresh starch, feeling the crispness. His hands grabbed my buttocks and gave them a big slap. “Now put on your tightest jeans and a t-shirt. We got a business to run!”

And run we did. Besides the many guys who’d helped us do all the remodeling there were several of Louis’ old customers who came by to check out the new barber. We caught a few walk-ins as well. Since not everybody wanted their shoes or boots shined I had plenty of time to keep a pot of coffee going, sweep up the hair that was accumulating, and restock supplies as Steve needed them. I even had a few minutes to run upstairs and make us lunch which Steve wolfed down between customers. At 5:00 we still had three guys in the shop waiting for their turn in the barberchair. He motioned for me to pull the shade down on the front window and to turn off the revolving barber pole.

And that was our routine for the first three days. When we finished we’d lock up, hang up our uniforms in the shop, and head out the back door and in the back door of the Diamond for a beer or two. Between us we had made pretty good money in three days and even though I didn’t know the particulars of the loan some quick math told me we should be able to make all the bills each month with a little left over. Besides, the beer at the Diamond was cheap and being there was pretty good for our business too. Larry, one of the regular bartenders, did a good job of introducing us to everybody and recommending our services. So the five or six bucks we spent on beer was probably some of the best advertising we did.

On Friday we slept late. I made a huge breakfast for us and we headed down to work. There was a guy waiting outside the door when I went to unlock it. It turns out it was our banker, the guy who liked being fisted. His name was Frank, and he was a hottie. Unlike so many men who had grown their hair long in the 70s he still wore a very pronounced crewcut. The crewcut and the three piece suit made him almost look like he belonged in another decade. Probably only 5’ 8’’, he had a tight little body and while I’m no suit wearer, this guy looked pretty fucking hot in his.

“I came by to see if I made a good investment of the bank’s money.” He barely looked at me, clearly focusing on Steve in his handsome uniform. It took about 3 seconds to work out he was a real bottom. I sort of laughed when the realization hit me. “I’d like to get a haircut while I’m here if that’s okay?”

Steve took the cape off the arm of the barber chair and gestured for him to take a seat. “Next time let me do the shave for you as well. And Jack here would like to shine your shoes while you’re getting a trim, wouldn’t you Jack?”

I didn’t wait for an answer but went to the corner where my chair was and threw on the apron and grabbed the tools I needed. Steve was putting the cape on Frank, having helped him out of the suit jacket. They chatted a bit as Frank settled in. On my knees I went to work with a vengeance on those brogans he wore. The style of shoe made a bootblack’s job difficult, with lots of tiny cutouts for decoration. I took my dental picks and started to dig out months of grime. Above me I could hear the clippers start up. Frank had readjusted the cape and I could see his right hand making its way to his crotch. There was slight flush in his face and I knew we were turning him on from both ends. By the time I got to the buffing stage, Steve was lathering up Frank’s neck for a good shave. I could also see Frank’s right hand working extra hard in his crotch. I really believed this fucker was going to cream his shorts right there in the shop.

Steve knew exactly what was going on as well and played it for everything it was worth. He stropped the razor extra long and slowly in preparation for the shave. Frank’s eyes watched every stroke. And when the razor finally touched his neck I could hear a very faint moan escape from him. I started working my brushes and rags with a frenzy. The shoes were starting to look like patent leather.

And like that it was over. The neck had been cleaned of remaining lather, the cape pulled off, the shirt collar pulled back up and I stood up and backed away. Steve held the mirror so Frank could see the sharp edges on the crewcut and the closely scraped neck. Frank was still breathing hard and thanked us. “What do I owe you?”

Steve spoke up. “Not a penny. I appreciate your ability to get me a loan and this is a small way I can pay you back. You come back next week. Anytime. But remember to not shave that morning so I can do it. You’ll never regret it.”

Frank grabbed his jacket and mumbled something about needing to get back to the bank. When the door closed behind me I could hear Steve start to laugh. “Back to work, my ass. That boy is going to his car so he can whack off. We did everything but bring him to his orgasm right here. I know he’s out there finishing it. Something tells me if I didn’t already have a barberboy of my very own I could probably turn him into one in less than a month.”

Friday and Saturday nights turned out to be pure heaven in the shop. Steve had an occasional haircut, but I stayed busy from about 9 to 12 polishing boots. Guys would go to the diamond and grab a beer then sneak out the back door and come in the back door of the barbershop. They’d climb into the shoeshine throne carrying their beers, shoot the shit with Steve who was relaxing in a barberchair, smoke cigars, and watch me do my show. By this time I was pretty damn good at my work and on Friday and Saturday nights I would enhance the show by licking every inch of the boots before the final buff. Many a man stepped out of that chair with their cocks straining against denim or leather.

CD had added some well-placed hooks on the back of the chair and under the arms. For boys wanting their boots shined we went through the process of tying them to the chair using the hooks as anchor points. I loved watching some of those boys squirm in the chair under the watchful eyes of their Daddies and Masters.

Around 11:00 Steve would pull the front shade on the window and door and get me to strip naked before putting the apron back on. Steve would chain me to the shoeshine chair. A lot of guys would gather to watch the final couple of shines of the night. I always got a hard-on that made the apron stand out a bit in front, but I took pleasure in making sure they got equally hard by the time I was done. I made a helluva lot just in tips those first few weekends.

And twice a month, like clockwork, Steve would sit me in the chair fully naked for my haircut. I always had a hard-on before I even sat down. And Steve would make a really big show of my cut. My hair grew thick and fast and it didn’t matter what style he chose, crewcut, flattop, high ‘n tight, or landing strip, he made it look perfect. As the leathermen learned of the show Steve was putting on we started to get damn near as full as the bar during my haircut.

Before we closed the shades it was always fun to watch the show on the street. Across the street from us and the Diamond was an old flophouse hotel. Downstairs in the basement was the The Cave, a gay disco. Around the corner was another gay bar, The Stage Door, which had drag shows and a dance floor. Watching the polyestered boys walk by, combing their long hair and wobbling on their platform shoes always gave me a good laugh. We could see several of them nudge each other and point over at the Diamond. A newbie’s eyes would grow large with shock and fear hearing the tales of incredible decadence that surely took place inside. And into The Cave they’d dive to pay a $5 cover charge, drink over-priced watered-down liquor, and shake their groove things.

At midnight we’d close down the shop. We’d shower together and put on fresh jeans and t-shirts. Steve sometimes added his chaps, sometimes not. I always preferred it when he did as I knew it was a sign he was horny and looking for more than a quick suck and fuck. I typically wore my trashiest jeans along with a wife-beater t-shirt. This way it was easy to see my collar around my neck. I was proud of my collar and wanted people to know how happy it made me to be Steve’s boy. It also gave Steve easier access to my tits which he liked to work at every opportunity. As the weather turned colder Steve allowed me to wear the leather jacket he’d given me so long ago.

Often we went home together, just the two of us. Occasionally Steve would drag along another boy to join us. He let me know it was okay to cruise a little with other guys, but my heart was never in it. I was still smitten with Steve and Steve alone. Once in a while he might invite five or six guys to join us on the third floor where we’d been slowly creating our dungeon. On the last day before our move to Omaha I’d cashed out my savings, almost $1800 due to the contributions by Steve, and I’d turned a lot of it over to CD and Nastibear so they could help with the third floor overhaul. We were creating a space envied by every leatherman in Omaha.

I loved it at the shop and I loved it at the Diamond. It was a small world, smaller even than the farm in some ways but I felt comfortable and happy in it. I knew that someday I’d have to have more in my life, a new challenge, some sort of education, something….but right now I had everything any barberboy could ask for.

End of First Book

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