#toupee-for-men

[christinamark]

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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.

[somekindafairy]

they really had magneto day dreaming about how charles would look 'after all these years' and then charles shows up and he just went "oh shit! he's hot!"

[stubblybuck99]

Another beautiful bald head covered up

[alvadee]

it's so funny learning how many past actors were bald (ing) but we don't acknowledge it because they wore hairpieces (and a lot of people don't know it).

sometimes i'm scrolling and think "yeah, my hollywood blorbo was bald but so was yours!"

[hairpiece]

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[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[natty60073blog]

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[christinamark]

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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.

[wigsandhairpieces]

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