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[rugtopper]

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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[rugtopper]

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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[sforzesco]

this is a scrapped scene from Trikaranos & originally it joined a standalone series of comics from Pompey’s point of view, but it got scrapped from THAT set too because I decided they both needed to be weirder and worse and this is kind of vanilla ngl. however I’m still kind of fond of it in some kind of way, and it’s been a second since I’ve posted a comic! also I wanted to draw it. so I did.

for context: Crassus cut his hand open helping Pompey out with something in a previous scene! for more context: the answer to Pompey’s question is a reliable (business/political) partner. that’s about it!

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[darunyama]

I love insane women 🥰