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rugtopper · 4 months

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I Hate Butterscotch

By Rugtopper

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

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

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

"Good evening, Dr. Goldstein."

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

"Sure, of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

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