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atomicwedgienerd · 5 years ago

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Flattening the Curve

Chet hadn’t wanted to rent the room but he didn’t really have much of a choice. His lease at his old place was up and his coffeeshop was closed due to the quarantine. If he didn’t find a place soon, he would be out on the street just as everything went into long term shut down. So when he saw the ad for the single bedroom with food included, he jumped at the chance.

Of course, this was not an ideal situation for him. Mr. Gunderson, the man renting the room, was definitely kind of a fuddy duddy. He wore a tie every day and kept his hair in a rigid flat top haircut, the kind of haircut worn by NASA engineers in the 1950s. Dotted around the house were pictures of Mr. Gunderson’s son Gilbert who looked like a miniature version of Mr. Gunderson. Mr. Gunderson, a barber whose shop was now closed due to the quarantine, seemed to keep his son’s hair to the same precise specs as his own and the two had flat tops precise enough to set their watches too.

Gilbert was now away at MIT studying engineering, stranded in Massachusetts as the state had shut down, so Mr. Gunderson had cleared the remainder of his stuff out of his old bedroom and rented it out. Now it was Chet’s. There was always a look of chagrin on Mr. Gunderson’s face when he caught Chet’s decor through the cracked door. Album covers on the wall, some weird creepy art, the perpetually unmade bed. But the thing that bugged Mr. Gunderson the most was Chet’s grooming.

His hair fell in long cascading curves of a super hip undercut. It had been dyed slime green though now the roots were well grown out. Chet kept a scraggly beard and wore ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Mr. Gunderson shuddered whenever he heard him practicing his guitar through the door, imagining him bopping along and tossing those green curls around casually.

The two mostly stuck to themselves outside of Chet occasionally sitting in silence at the dinner table before hurrying back to his room to play guitar. The two couldn’t be more different.

As the quarantine stretched into week four, Chet found himself struggling. Even for his usually disheveled self, he was looking a mess. The hair on the side of his head had grown way out and it looked bad with his dyed hair on top. Mr. Gunderson caught him checking it out in the reflection of the toaster at breakfast one day.

“You know, if you need a haircut, I’m a barber by trade,” he said. “I’ve been cutting my own hair this whole time.” Chet snorted and looked at the man. His flat top looked as fresh as it did the day Chet had moved in. He clearly had skill. But he couldn’t trust his head of hair to a man who thought that haircut looked good. It was too old fashioned, too severe!

“Thanks but I don’t think I need a flat top,” Chet rebutted.

“Well every boy needs a good flat top,” Mr. Gunderson laughed. “But I can cut other styles too.”

Chet considered it. It would be nice to still look fresh even though he was in lockdown.

“Ok, but just touch up the fade. I definitely like the frazzled, dyed curve on top.”

Mr. Gunderson shuddered. There was nothing he appreciated less than this rebellious hair on an otherwise handsome young man. Chet could look so nice if he just shaved, committed to a nice conservative haircut, and did something about all those ratty old clothes he wore. He was the same size as his son Gilbert and Mr. Gunderson couldn’t stop thinking how nice Chet could look in a nice bowtie and plaid shirt like Gilbert liked to wear.

“Sure,” said Mr. Gunderson with a wicked grin and his fingers crossed. “I’ll just give you a little touch up.” He grabbed his barber’s cape and draped it over Chet before going to grab his clippers out of the garage. Chet rolled his eyes and waited as the boring tones of Mr. Gunderson’s old Bert Kaempfert record played from the living room. Was he really about to get a haircut from a man this old fashioned? Before he could change his mind, Mr. Gunderson was back and the clippers were whirring.

Chet sipped from a beer as he felt the clippers cut across the back of his neck. It felt great as the curly neck hairs dropped away and Chet could feel the wind of the ceiling fan brush across his neck. He had missed that feeling. He glanced down at the cape and saw more and more locks of hair drop and slide down the shiny black fabric as Mr. Gunderson did his work. Maybe he really did have what it takes for a modern fade.

Chet sipped on his beer and relaxed when suddenly he felt the clippers graze across the top of his head and saw a shock of green hair fall down the cape. He started to protest but Mr. Gunderson gave him a stern look and Chet fell silent. He couldn’t quite explain it but there was something in Mr. Gunderson’s gaze that just shut him right up. He wanted to fight back, but part of him wanted to comply. Chet felt his rebellious attitude squirm back down into the pit of his stomach as he sat there compliant.

He shook in fear as more and more green hair tumbled down the cape. He should stop him. He should stop Mr. Gunderson right now! But part of him enjoyed the thrill. He hadn’t expected that. Some part of him was honestly relieved that Mr. Gunderson was taking charge. Chet felt a tightness in his skinny jeans as his penis grew to attention. He was enjoying it! A moan of ecstasy escaped his lips as Chet felt a wet spot in his underpants. He was dripping with precum with every swipe Mr. Gunderson was taking.

Finally Chet felt the clippers run down the top of his head so tightly that he could feel them graze the top of his scalp. He was jelly, shaking in the seat. He wanted to say something but he just heard a tiny squeak come out of his mouth as Mr. Gunderson gripped his shoulder and said “No talking, son.”

“Yes Sir,” Chet said, at first shocked by his compliance, and then humiliated, and then pleased. It felt good to submit to this man. Chet felt the older man’s strong hands as they began to work a thick paste into his hair. He could feel just how short each bristle of hair had been taken on the sides but the shocker was how short it was on top. Chet couldn’t have more than an inch there now. Mr. Gunderson pulled out the blow dryer and began running the brush over Chet’s shorn locks.

“I may have taken a little more off than you were expecting,” Mr. Gunderson said with a grin as he handed Chet the mirror. Chet gasped when he saw himself in the mirror. The rebellious green curve of hair he had was completely shorn away. Mr. Gunderson had given him a flat top just like the one he gave himself and his son Gilbert. All that was left was a narrow ring of jet black hair standing at a perfect ninety degree angle to the rest of his head. Chet tilted his head downward and stared at the bald spot Mr. Gunderson had shaved into the top.

“What the fuck is this!?” he groaned. With a crack, Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face.

“I won’t have that kind of language in my home, do you understand me?” he barked at Chet.

“Yes,” said Chet, a little shocked. Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face once more.

“Yes WHAT?”

“Yes, S-s-s-sir!” Chet stammered, taken aback by how forceful Mr. Gunderson had become, but also shocked at how his body was reacting. He could feel himself shrinking from the older man, but also his erection was raging beneath the cape. He liked being treated this way! It was so humiliating, but also felt so right.

“A boy like you should have been given a cut like this a long time ago. We’re going to make this a weekly habit of yours. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Chet, before quickly adding “SIR!”

“Now lay back, it’s time we did something about that terrible beard of yours.”

“But...” began Chet before feeling Mr. Gunderson’s sharp gaze on him. “I mean, thank you Sir.” Chet felt humiliated. All this time he had spent playing in a rock band, rebelling against norms, being a total queer freak... and here he was erotically thrilled to be dominated by this forceful man who was making him into a clean-cut little conformist.

Mr. Gunderson began slathering the hot lather on Chet’s face. Chet whimpered as Mr. Gunderson dragged the straight razor across his neck and cheeks, wincing as he saw the sheer amount of beard coming off in each swoop. After a few minutes, Mr. Gunderson wiped off the remaining shaving cream and splashed Chet’s face with an excessive amount of Old Spice. The sting shocked Chet and he gasped before the overwhelming stench of the aftershave overtook his senses. It was so powerful and reminded Chet of all the old-fashioned men he had known growing up. This was not the way that queer hipsters smelled! But the odor made him feel warm and contented, and extremely horny.

“You’ll be using this every day,” Mr. Gunderson said as he handed Chet a large bottle of the stuff. “This is the same thing I use and the only thing my son Gilbert has ever used.” He pulled the cape off Chet and sent the remaining scatters of slime green hair falling to the floor. He handed Chet a broom and dustpan. “I expect this floor to be spotless.” Chet just uttered a meek “Yes Sir” and immediately got to sweeping as Mr. Gunderson retired to the living room to flip his record.

Chet finished sweeping and retired to his room. He ran his hands over the humiliatingly short and conservative haircut and felt himself rise to attention again. The landing strip on top was particularly humiliating but Chet couldn’t stop thinking about how powerless he had been in Mr. Gunderson’s chair and how much he enjoyed that. He would have done whatever the old man had asked of him. He started at himself in the mirror, at the clean cut boy he had become, and beat off furiously as he rubbed the sharp sides of his flat top and the smooth landing strip. He had never cum that hard in his life and he sprayed all over his fresh cut hair. The humiliation overtook Chet again and he realized he was powerless to stop it. He belonged to Mr. Gunderson now.

A week later when Mr. Gunderson demanded Chet sit down for his next haircut, there was something warmer about the man. He praised Chet for how well he was maintaining his clean cut face and how he could definitely smell the Old Spice he was using.

“There’s just one problem, son,” he said.

“What’s that, Sir?” Chet stammered out.

“I won’t have someone in my home that dresses like they pulled their clothes out of the dumpster. My son Gilbert left a few of his outfits behind. After we’re done here, you’re going to bring me all of your clothes and we will throw them out and replace them with respectable clothing.”

“No w--” Chet stammered before hesitating. He saw the mean look in Mr. Gunderson’s eyes and immediately become aroused. Mr. Gunderson was going to completely tailor Chet’s appearance and he knew there was no way to fight it. What would he do? Leave? He couldn’t! And besides, he was already leaking precum just thinking about how embarrassed he would feel in Gilbert’s conservative clothing.

Chet went back up to his room, freshly flattened and his hair standing to perfection and brought all his clothes down in a trash bag so Mr. Gunderson could throw them out. Soon after, Mr. Gunderson came down from the attic with some old boxes of Gilbert’s and began showing Chet his new wardrobe: plaid shirts, high rise pants, bow ties, suspenders, even a few old pocket protectors. Mr. Gunderson patiently taught Chet how to tie a bow tie and by the end of the evening, he was dressed exactly the way that Gilbert was in all the family photos.

Chet gulped when he saw himself in the mirror. All rebellion and individuality had been removed from his appearance. He looked like a nice clean cut nerd from the 1960s and he could barely recognize himself. The bow tie was tied nice and chokingly-tight as the starched collar of the plaid shirt scratched his neck. His pants were held above his belly button with a pair of vintage suspenders. A pair of white slouchy socks peeked out from below the hem as Mr. Gunderson slipped a pair of Gilbert’s brown suede Hush Puppies on to Chet’s feet. With the exception of the glasses, Chet looked just like a dark haired version of Gilbert. But luckily he had his contacts so he didn’t need glasses.

“Take them out,” Mr. Gunderson said almost reading his mind.

“Sorry Sir?” asked Chet hesistantly.

“Take out your contacts,” he demanded. Chet gulped and ran to the bathroom where he pulled the contacts out of his eyes and put them in the case. He hurried back to Mr. Gunderson, stumbling a few times as he bumped into an end table in the hallway. Mr. Gunderson snatched the contacts out of his hand and threw them in the garbage.

“Here, try these on.” He handed Chet a clunky pair of frames. The prescription wasn’t quite the same but he could see well enough. Now from head to toe, he looked like a retro cleancut nerd. Chet had always been embarrassed of his bad vision but now being embarrassed was a perk. The thick lenses made his eyes look tiny and the retro frames made him look so old fashioned. They were black plastic with a clear bridge, the kinds of glasses people didn’t wear anymore. They were retro nerd glasses.

“You look perfect, Chester,” Mr. Gunderson said.

“My name is Chet,” Chet said.

“I’ve seen the lease you signed,” Mr. Gunderson said. “You and I both know that Chet is short for Chester, your real name. It’s disrespectful to not use the real name your father gave you, isn’t it, Chester?”

Chet was overwhelmed with humiliation. He hadn’t been called Chester since he was a child. But he knew he couldn’t say no to Mr. Gunderson.

“Yes Sir,” Chester said. “My name is Chester.”

Mr. Gunderson smiled. “That’s right, Chester. Now it’s almost 9pm. Don’t you think you should be getting ready for bed?”

Chester just gulped. Going to bed at 9pm was humiliating but what else could he do?

“Yes Sir,” he said as he headed up and got ready. When he arrived in his bedroom, he found a stack of freshly folded tighty whiteys on his twin bed. On the back waistband of each pair Mr. Gunderson has stitched in a tag that read “CHESTER.” Chester knew he’d be wearing these every day from here on out.

The next morning, Mr. Gunderson was up nice and early and he made Chester hand over all his decor. He redecorated the room with Gilbert’s old furniture. Chester’s queen sized bed was replaced with a modest twin bed and all the weird art and albums on the walls were replaced with science posters and signed Star Trek pictures. Chester felt a twinge of humiliation as he saw Mr. Gunderson take his possessions out to the curb but the need to submit to the man was more powerful. He barely even put up a fight as Mr. Gunderson took his guitar away.

“A good boy like you shouldn’t be playing a guitar anyways,” Mr. Gunderson said as he snapped the neck of the instrument. He unlatched a large box that he had brought down from the attic and revealed a shiny red enameled accordion. “You’re going to learn how to play a more respectable instrument. This is one of Gilbert’s spare accordions. Since he has so much time off right now, he’s even agreed to teach you how to play over Zoom so I’ve arranged for him to give you lessons every morning from 8am until 10am.” Chester’s boner raged from the humiliation and it took all his energy to muster out a meek “Thank you Sir.”

Chester was humiliated during his first lesson as he was tutored by the equally nerdy and meek Gilbert. Just hearing someone as nerdy as Gilbert correct him and call him Chester was overwhelming. Every time Gilbert would tell him “Gee whiz, Chester, you’re sounding better and better,” Chester would respond with a geeky “Thanks friendarino” as his erection dripped with precum. He couldn’t get enough of it! Soon, the lessons had taken on a more familiar tone as it was clear Gilbert had a crush on Chester. Chester could barely handle it. Just a few months back he had been making out with all kinds of hot skeezy punks at the bar. Now he was getting hit on by a four eyed nerd in a bow tie. And when Gilbert asked him if they could be internet boyfriends, Chester couldn’t help but say yes. Now he was a huge nerd dating another huge nerd over the internet.

Eventually Chester became an expert accordionist and the pandemic became a thing of the past. Gilbert finished his engineering degree and moved back home. Mr. Gunderson wouldn’t let the two share a room so they did the only logical thing and made things official. Mr. Gunderson called a local Episcopalian priest and he swung by to marry the two nerdy boys. Chester couldn’t believe it. Gilbert and Chester Gunderson were two married nerds! They wore their bowties and pocket protectors and matching glasses every day and even though they were married, Mr. Gunderson made them sleep in separate twin beds in the same room. Each one would play the accordion during their weekly appointments where Mr. Gunderson, whom they both now called “Dad” gave them identical flat tops before sending them back to their shared room for more practice and a fun night of chess. There was nothing cool or hip or modern anymore about Chester. His every moment was one of abject humiliation, and he couldn’t be happier.

It’s time to sacrifice your modern hipness and become a retro nerd. Join other nerds at the nerdification discord.

#nerd #nerdification #hipstertonerd #hipster #maletransformation #cleancut #preppy #retrohair #retrofetish #flattop #flattophaircut #dad #transformation #maletf

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atomicwedgienerd · 5 years ago

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The Grease

Eddy had that kind of hair that made people jealous. It was thick, wavy, and he never seemed to have to do anything to it. He woke up in the morning, ran his fingers through his hair, and just went about the day. His messy bedhead always looked intentional but it was nothing more than good genes and the luck of the draw, and that was the way Eddy liked it. He viewed his hair as the perfect extension of his personality: carefree, wild, and completely untamed. And despite the fact that he put very little effort into things, Eddy always came out on top. He had coasted his way through high school, charmed his way through college, and now he had half-assed his way to a position as an art director for one of the west coast’s premiere surfboard companies. The work was easy, and it left him plenty of time every day for surfing. Eddy had it made.

One day on his way back from the beach, Eddy caught a passing glimpse of himself in a shop window. He could see that his mane was getting unruly, even for himself. All that saltwater was good for volume but damn could it do a number on split ends. Even a guy like Eddy knew you had to do some upkeep. As he continued on his way home, he noticed a barbershop he hadn’t seen before: Berger and Sons. From the striped pole out front to the subway tile lining the walls, this place looked like one of the classic shops you’d see if you googled “1950s barbershop.” Eddy had seen a few of these retro throwback barbershops open in different spots over the city but they had always seemed a little too traditional for a guy like him. Regardless, Eddy had a meeting the next week with a client and figured it couldn’t hurt to have a little touch up on his flowing locks. Plus, if he did it now, it wouldn’t look like he had gotten all dolled up for the meeting. Looking like he didn’t care was alllllll part of Eddy’s allure.

A bell tinkled as he entered the shop and Eddy immediately noticed the smell. A sweet but nearly antiseptic odor hit his nose, reminding him of his grandfather right after he had shaved. Yep, this place was definitely old school. The barber waved him over and patted the seat, inviting Eddy to sit down.

“Welcome to Berger and Sons,” he said. “Let me guess, you want a headshave?” Before Eddy could even react, the barber had burst out laughing. “Just a little light barber humor!”

“Very light,” Eddy deadpanned. “I’m not looking for anything too crazy. Just wanna get these split ends cleaned up.”

“Ah, an easy enough task,” said the barber as he threw the cape over Eddy’s body and began spritzing his hair with a mist.

“So is it just you?” asked Eddy, looking around at the otherwise empty barbershop. “I thought the sign said Berger and Sons.”

“Well, I’m Nestor Berger,” he explained. “So that part’s accurate. Don’t actually have any sons but I figured the name would convey the sort of traditional barbershop experience I try to offer. You see, in these modern times, there’s a lot of people who don’t really appreciate the…” The barber’s voice started to trail off. The scent from the mist he had sprayed in Eddy’s hair was so powerful--so sweet and intoxicating--that Eddy had started to zone out. He felt warm, he felt comfortable, and he felt relaxed. The shop drifted away from him and suddenly he felt someone tapping him on his shoulder.

“Sir? Sir!” said the barber until Eddy snapped back. “What do you think?” Eddy’s eyes came back in focus and he saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped. The barber had ruined his hair. Where his flowing bedhead had been was now a heavily slicked, extremely greasy, and overly combed hairstyle the likes of which one would see on someone from the 1950s.

“I just asked for the split ends cleaned up!” Eddy bellowed.

“And that’s really all I did!” smiled the barber. “Ok, I may have taken a little bit off here and there but there’s still length.” The barber showed Eddy the back of the hairstyle in a handheld mirror where the sides and top had been slicked back into a greasy tail. “I just figured I would give you a more dapper appearance. This is a homemade hair grease you know. You can only get it here.”

“Well I didn’t ask for it,” Eddy said as he threw off the cape and stood up to leave. “No wonder your shop is so empty! Maybe try listening to your customers!”

“A barber has to do what he knows is right for each customer,” the barber grinned. “Trust me, you’ll be back!”

“The fuck I will,” Eddy said as he stormed out the shop.

He was furious! He stopped to gawk at himself in a parked car’s side view mirror. This nerdy retro haircut was the opposite of everything Eddy was about! It was rigid, traditional, and just plain uncool. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was his buddies asking him out for a night of drinks. “Sure,” he texted back. “Just let me go home and wash my hair real quick.”

Eddy had never washed his hair that intensely in his life. He shampooed it twice, conditioned it thrice! He even blow dried it. He put a little salt spray in it and when he felt it looked the right level of mussed, he got dressed and headed out to meet his buddies.

---

Lee, Kirk and Drew were at the bar doing shots when Eddy walked in. He waved at them and they gave him an odd glance and ignored him, before Lee did a double take and started cackling. “Eddy! Over here!” Eddy jogged over to join his pals.

“We saved a shot for you,” Drew said, laughing. “So uh, what’s going on here? Trying out a new look?”

“Well I washed my hair,” Eddy said, “but I wouldn’t say it’s a new…” He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. Eddy’s hair was back in the heavily greased, retro sidepart he had when he stormed out of the barbershop. It looked just as fresh as when he snapped out of his weird daze and saw it for the first time. He touched it in horror and as he pulled his hand away from his hair, his fingers came back with a thick sheen of greasy, oily product that overwhelmed him with that same scent he remembered from the barber shop. His eyes went blank for a moment before he snapped back to reality.

“It’s.. nice,” Kirk said with a wry smile as he handed his buddy the shot of whiskey. “Just very different.” Eddy took the shot and paused. What was going on? He had washed his hair… hadn’t he? He did have to admit though: the haircut did look sort of nifty. Nifty? Where did that word even pop into his head?

He laughed and threw back his head, downing the shot. It burned terribly, like he had never tasted alcohol before and he began coughing and sputtering as the shot came back up and sprayed on his friends. They erupted in laughter at him.

“Maybe you should get a glass of milk instead,” Lee said. Eddy protested--although it did sound kind of nice. But no, he was a grown man. He could drink a beer! But even that didn’t seem very nice.

“You know what guys? I’m not feeling super nifty.” There was that damn word again. “I think I’m going to go home and get some rest.”

“Come on, man! It’s still early!” Kirk shouted.

“No no,” said Drew. “Let the man get his rest. Hope you feel niftier tomorrow.” Eddy blushed. His face felt on fire. His friends were mocking him! He stormed out the door as he could hear his friends burst into laughter.

“Gosh darnit!” Eddy blurted as he marched down the street. He had intended to use stronger language but it just didn’t come out that way. How strange. When he got home, he decided to put on some football to calm his nerves but stopped on a channel showing old episodes of Leave It To Beaver. He couldn’t help himself. He had to watch.

By 10pm, he was already fast asleep.

------

Eddy’s alarm went off at 6 in the morning. He shot to attention and was shocked when he saw the time. He hadn’t been up at 6 in the morning in years, and yet, his phone had it listed as an alarm that went off every day.

He went to go brush his teeth and was shocked to see his hair still stuck in that crisp, greasy and exceptionally conservative side part. He hopped in the shower and scrubbed and shampooed and when he finally got out, his hair was a sopping, stringy mess. Thank goodness. The grease was finally out, and, just to be safe, Eddy decided to let it air dry. After all, he had plans to go surfing with the boys later, provided they weren’t going to be too mean to him after last night.

Eddy actually felt intimidated by that, which was ridiculous. He had always been the leader and now he felt concerned about what the other guys would think! It was just one rough night; they would forget it soon enough. After all, Eddy was the best surfer among them and he would re-assert himself at the top of the food chain. He gave himself a smile in the mirror as a familiar scent began to wash over him: the same scent from the barber shop.

Suddenly, Eddy’s phone rang and he found himself dazed in a strange location. He didn’t quite know where he was. He answered the phone.

“Bro where the fuck are you?” he heard Kirk say, the sound of waves crashing coming through the phone. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”

Where the fuck was he? Eddy looked around and realized he was in some sort of convention hall. Tables and tables stretched in all directions, each of them covered in protective lucite boxes containing… stamps!? He saw the banner: West Coast Philatelist Convention.

“I’m at a philately convention,” he said.

“A what, bro?”

“Stamps,” Eddy said. “It’s a stamp collector. It’s a convention for stamp collectors.” The sound of unmistakable laughter arose from the other side of the phone.

“He’s at a stamp collecting convention!” he heard Kirk say to the others whose laughter quickly echoed from the receiver. “Well, uh, I hate to interrupt that exciting occurrence but you gonna join us at the beach?”

“Of course,” said Eddy. “I just wanted to stop in here and uh…. Look I’ll be there soon, ok!?” He quickly hung up in shame. He started heading for the door when he caught his reflection in a piece of lucite and gasped.

The hair had come back. Greasier than before. He touched it and his hand came away with a thick coating of sticky wet hair product. His hair was practically dripping. Then, Eddy caught the rest of his reflection. He was dressed in a pair of grey dress slacks and a white button down shirt. Tucked. In.

Something was wrong. Eddy would never wear this. He looked like a little dork! He had to get home, but first, he was going to stop at that barber shop and get some answers! He headed for the door but then he caught a glimpse of some fascinating stamps.

“Oooh those are actually pretty neato!” he said aloud. He couldn’t believe he was saying that… or thinking it. But he when he got close to the table, he was dazzled by how cool the stamps were. A vintage series commemorating Star Trek! They were so awesome! He couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his wallet and hesitated.

What was he doing? This wasn’t him. But these stamps were really neato completo. What the heck? Life is short. He plunked down his credit card and bought a few, as well as a book to store them in.

“You’re gonna need to fill that up, sonny!” smiled the vendor. Eddy couldn’t help himself. He desperately wanted to leave and meet up with his buddies but he couldn’t help himself from examining other tables, buying more vintage stamps, and striking up conversations with other philatelists. Before he knew it, the convention was closing and it was time to go. His phone had dozens of missed calls and texts from the boys wondering where he was. Something very strange was going on indeed.

As he headed back to his apartment with his new stamp book full of old stamps, he spotted a vintage store with a display in the window. The mannequin was dressed in a way that should have made Eddy recoil. It was dressed in a short sleeved white button down with a thin black bowtie. The black flat front slacks came up to its belly button and were cinched with a thin brown belt. On its feet, vintage white crew socks hung in furls as they went into the shiny black penny loafers. This was the outfit of an unmistakable nerd, a relic of a bygone era representing a sort of clean cut, goody two shoes attitude that had always revolted Eddy. But for a brief moment, he saw his reflection where the mannequin’s head was, his face and slicked up hair on the outfit. It almost seemed right, but he shook his head and snapped out of it.

In a panic, Eddy headed back to his hip apartment and slammed the door. He turned on the TV and tried to relax but couldn’t. Eventually, he flipped to an old episode of Leave It To Beaver and found himself mesmerized. Everyone was so polite and clean cut and old-fashioned. By 9pm, he was asleep.

Before Eddy knew it, it was already 6pm Sunday evening. He had no idea where the time had gone but when he looked around his apartment, he began to get dizzy. Everything looked… different. That’s when memories came flooding back.

He saw himself at 6am, waking up nice and early, and calling a company to come take his furniture away. Then a flash and he was at the antique store flashing his credit card around and buying all kinds of retro furniture. Another flash and he was at the vintage store loading up a cart with dorky looking clothes. And another flash and he was back at the apartment, showing movers where to place all his many purchases.

Another flash and he was back in the present, standing in his apartment which he no longer recognized. The entire thing looked like it was a set from Leave It To Beaver. His flat screen TV had been replaced with an old woodpaneled TV from the 50s with an antenna on it. His workout equipment replaced with a chess table and two chairs. His slick leather couch was gone and in its place was a floral patterned retro sofa. Everything about his apartment looked old fashioned and drab. All of his records had been replaced as an LP of Bert Kaempfaert’s greatest hits played over the hifi. He ran to his room and gasped. His waterbed had been replaced with a single twin mattress, the bland gray sheets tucked and folded with military precision. Then, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nearly fainted.

He was wearing a pair of shiny red Converses with white socks and cuffed, deep blue, highwaisted straight legged jeans. His shirt, an orange and green plaid number, was tucked into and fastened in place with a cheap brown belt. In the pocket of the shirt, a pristine white pocket protector sat overloaded with pens and pencils and tools. A dorky white undershirt poked out from under the button down. On top of all that, he had a bright red cardigan with white piping and a big letter B like he was in school or something. He was dressed like he was president of the chess club 1955! And of course, on top of his head, sat an exceedingly greasy slicked haircut that was now nearly jet black. He touched it in horror as his fingers came away thick with the grease.

The grease! This had all started with the grease and that barber shop and that awful barber! He would have answers to what was going on. He could help Eddy undo whatever was happening. Eddy would go and find him and get this all sorted out. But not dressed like this! He tore through his closet and found most of his clothes had been replaced. That would be a pain to fix. But in the top, in a corner he must have missed earlier, he found some sweatpants and an old tank top. He didn’t look as cool as he had hoped, but it was better than the Leave It To Beaver nerd look he had been sporting earlier.

Eddy ran out onto the street and started hurrying to the barber shop. As he waited at an intersection, he saw himself in a window and gasped. Somehow, he was back in that outfit! The cardigan, the dorky shirt, the highwaisted jeans! Something strange was going on. The grease was changing him, affecting his perception. He had to get to the bottom of this.

A few more blocks and he found himself across the street from Berger and Sons Barbershop. The lights were on so Eddy knew he could get some answers. But the light wouldn’t change. Eddy waited and waited but it didn’t change. There was no traffic. He could just jaywalk across the street. But try as he might, he couldn’t get himself to do it. A little voice in his head kept telling him that it was against the rules. Since when had that mattered? Eddy never followed any rules! But he simply HAD to all of a sudden. His rebellious nature was defeated and he could not cross the street without the light changing.

It didn’t. Something was stopping it from happening and Eddy couldn’t cross. Defeated, he returned home, fiddled with his TV antenna, and fell asleep watching more Leave It To Beaver.

--------

“Eddy, can I have a word with you in my office?” he heard his boss saying. Eddy blinked and found himself in the conference room of his office, his coworkers staring at him with a smattering of cheeky smirks and barely restrained laughter. He recognized the clients he had a meeting with on Monday but… was it already Monday? He looked down and groaned. He saw it: the outfit from the mannequin. The dorky bowtie, the short white sleeved shirt, the flat fronted highwaisted pants, the slouchy white socks, and of course the super shiny penny loafers. He turned around and saw his presentation: just a big white posterboard that said “Surfboarding: It’s Neato Completo.” All the work he had done for months was gone and this was what he showed up to the meeting with? All his passion for surfboarding and this was the best he had? But when he thought about it, he could barely even remember himself surfing. All he could think about was how much he wanted to get home, look at his stamp collection, and maybe read up on some chess maneuvers. What was happening to him?

Needless to say, Eddy’s meeting with his boss was short. They offered him a month of severance and told him to pack up his stuff and leave. They couldn’t have a square like him working at a surfboarding company. He looked at all the beach memorabilia at his desk and just threw it in the trashcan. It didn’t seem like his anymore anyways.

As he walked back home, he could feel everyone staring at him, giggling at his outfit, looking at his big greasy haircut. He felt dejected and embarrassed and could barely see where he was going. He just looked at the ground and shuffled his penny loafers. When he finally looked up, he saw where he was and he wasn’t surprised. Berger and Sons Barbershop.

The bell tinkled as he entered the shop. Mr. Berger looked up and smiled.

“I knew you’d be back. How are you feeling about the haircut?”

Eddy sighed. “I hate it. Well I hated it, but I can’t make it go away and every day I just feel like it suits me more and more. I don’t know what’s happening!”

“That’s the power of a good grease,” said Mr. Berger. “Once you go slick, you just have to stick!”

“Gee whiz,” said Eddy. “I guess so. I just feel so different now.”

“Would you like me to wash it out? You can go back to the way you were. Or…”

“Or?” asked Eddy.

“Or I can apply one more coating and make it permanent. One more coating of pomade and you’ll be a good retro nerdy boy forever. The choice is yours.”

Eddy sighed a breath of relief. The nightmare was finally over. He was ready to make his choice. And then the strong smell overwhelmed him.

“I’d like to stay this way forever!” Inside, Eddy was screaming. That wasn’t what he wanted at all but the grease was making him say it. The grease was making him sit in the chair. The grease was taking his will to fight. The grease made him sit politely and smile as Mr. Berger took a huge scoop of hair product and began working it into Eddy’s jet black hair. When he was finally done, Mr. Berger spun Eddy around and said, “What do you think?”

Eddy looked at himself in the mirror… and couldn’t see anything. It was a blur.

“Oh of course,” said Mr. Berger. “You’ll be needing these now.” He pulled out a pair of clunky black rimmed glasses with thick lenses and placed them on Eddy’s nose before fastening them in place with a tight elastic strap. The world came into focus and Eddy saw himself in the mirror.

The hair was even neater, even more retro, and even greasier looking than before. The thick black glasses just complimented the hair perfectly. When Eddy reached up to touch his hair, it felt nearly plastic. It didn’t budge at all. This truly was the haircut he was stuck with.

“Gee whiz, it looks neato completo Sir!” he said with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” Mr. Berger smiled. He handed Eddy his wallet back and opened it to the ID holder. Eddy’s license had been replaced with a new one. The picture showed Eddy in his thick glasses and greased up hair and where his name should be it read “Edward Berger.”

“Berger and Sons Barber,” Mr. Berger smiled. “I just knew you had potential.”

“Golly thanks for the swell haircut, Dad!” Eddy--or was it Edward--said with a grin.

“Say, son, I know you got fired from your job and I was thinking… isn’t it time you joined the family business?”

-----

From that day forward, Edward Berger spent every day in the barbershop learning the craft. His nights were spent in his dorky apartment studying chess maneuvers, listening to lounge music, and watching Leave It To Beaver. He was in bed by 9pm every night and awake by 5am every day. He wore a tie and pocket protector every day to the barber shop and even on most weekends. Whenever he was on the street, people would point and laugh at him but Edward Berger never felt ashamed. He knew it was better to be a clean cut retro goody two shoes than the hip rebel he had used to be. Besides, nobody had a spiffier haircut than he did.

Finally, the day came when Mr. Berger thought Edward was ready to ply his trade on clients of his own.

“I sent out a few invitations for free haircuts to get you some people to try your greasing skills on.”

The bell jingled and three men walked into the shop. Edward pushed up his thick glasses and ran a hand over his thick plasticene haircut. The men seemed almost familiar but he couldn’t remember why. They signed in and Edward picked up the sign in sheet.

“Well hello and greetings fellas and welcome to Berger and Sons Barbers. So nice to meet you…” He glanced down at the sign in sheet. “Lee, Drew, and Kirk. Now which one of you is up first?”

The three men laughed at this absolute retro nerdy joke before them. Little did they know, they’d be just like him soon enough.

If you liked this story, why not join us in the nerdification discord? Surely someone has a magic hair grease that will turn you into a retro goody two shoes nerd!

#nerdification #haircut #slickedhair #nerdtf #jocktonerd #transformation #retrofetish

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