After a long and warm Turkish summer day, travelling by bus from Istanbul to the town of Canakkale, we finally arrived in our Hotel.

From my more then 1 inch grown out crewcut, sweat was dropping on the lobby’ s floor; Oh boy how warm it was.

A lot of people gathered around the receptions desk, waiting for their keys. While waiting I had an urge for visiting the toilets. I saw a sign that lead to the toilets. To my friend, who was standing next to me, I said, “I’ve got to go the toilets, so you go up to the room, I’ll see you later. “Okay”, he answered “and don’t do anything stupid!” he joked.

Off I went. On my way I had, to my surprise, to cross an open inside situated Turkish Barbershop, which was a part of the Hotel as well as it was a shop for the local people. They could enter the shop from outside. Walking along I shyly looked into the shop and there he stood, a friendly smiling and about 50 years old Turkish Barber, wearing a big moustache and sporting a smoothly fresh shaved head which, instantly, draw my attention, awakening my hair fetish. I saw him looking at my face and my grown out crewcut. I touched my chin, as I was unshaved for three days.

Walking by I reached the toilets, which were just around the corner.

After doing my toilets duties I had to return and to cross that Barbershop again. Thoughts raced into my mind and my hart was starting to pump. “Well” I thought, “I do need a shave.”, knowing that my second fetish me was secretly hoping for more. I felt my cock was growing.

And there the Barber stood, blocking my way through and inviting me into his chair. “Shave” the Barber asked in his only English he spoke and he pointed at me, showing me his barber chair. Before I knew I was lead to the chair and pushed into. He draped a white cape over me and tied it around my neck. As I was uneasy he tried to calm me. He was speaking in rapid fluent Turkish and he started to lather up my face. He sharpened his apparently old white-ivory throat cut razor. This was my first Barber lather shave I ever got and I nervously tried to enjoy it. After shaving with the grain of the beard grow, he lathered me up for the second time to shave against the grain. A few minutes later he finished this part of my adventure, he wiped my face clean and massaged some Turkish after shave onto my face, which freshened me up, it really felt good. My face was as smooth as it can be.

Now he pointed at my head and asked, “YES?” My fetish me forced me to nod “yes”, not knowing what he intended to do with my grown out crewcut. This was the most exciting moment of the event, not knowing what would happen next. He spoke again in Turkish to me, which I could not trigger at all. I just nodded, “yes, yes”, as if I understood him and I was wondering what kind of hairstyle he had in mind for me. I always had medium or short haircuts, which I let cut extra short before doing my holiday journeys. The barber must be an old fashioned one as the only clippers I saw on his barbers-desk were some old handclippers. He took one without any attachtment. My alarm bells went off at that moment, as I was now almost sure that he was about to cut my hair very short. He must have noticed my hair fetish and he wanted to satisfy me and perhaps himself too. Well he did. My fetish ME enjoyed this very moment and was celebrating it with a full-developed grown cock, which he must have noticed also.

For the last time the Barber ruffled my hair and he pushed my head and “clicka, clicka, click” the clippers went from my nape up over my bumb towards the crown. “Would he stop”, I wondered and he stopped at the top of my head. My cutted hair tumbled down over the top into my lap. “Clicka, clicka”, a new bold path was clipped in my hair at the back of my head and so he went on clipping to the left side of my head. He was clipping high up almost over the top of my head. The handclipper was very sharp and clipping very close. My hair was not pulled at all. Only very short stubble was left. “Clicka, clicka” now he went to the right side. When ready I saw myzelf in the mirror, sporting a white walled very high-tight crew cut, this only for a very short moment. “What will be next” I wondered in a split second. “Would he leave the top, would he make it shorter, how short shall it be?”. Very soon I became aware that he would not spare one single hair. After finnishing the right side the clipper came in the front of my head and “clicka, clicka” off came my bangs travelling towards my crown. He was cutting my top down to zerro. Strains of hair felt on my nose and sticked on my sweating forehead. Path after path my head became bold. His hands rubbed my ca. 1/32 inch long stubbled hair which felt like sandpaper and he asked “SHAVE”? My ‘fethish me’ was in total control of “me” and I must have nodded “Yes”, because then he started to wed my head with warm, almost hot water. After that he took a bottle that contained some oil, which he massaged into my bare clipped head. This took some time and then …. he took black modern razor and replaced the razor-blades with a fresh new ones.

He gently pushed my head and he started softly to hum some Turkish song. Then he raised the razor and he began to shave, carefully touching my crown down to the back of my head, over my bump, towards my nape. “Scratch, scratch”, was the only thing I felt and heard. Within a minute the crown and back of my head were shaved and already I could feel the freshness from the air conditioner cooling my still overheated head. Then the right side came working backwards to the front and then soon the left side was done as well. He shaved very professional and precise without any nicking, checking by rubbing his soft hands over the fresh shaved parts of my head. This very much aroused me. “My God”, I thought, seeing my very pale shaved skin, this compared with the sun burned colored face I showed. Carefully “scratch, scratch”, he started to shave the top. I really was (and showed) excited and he smiled at me, showing his teeth. The Barber took a towel, drying and removing the (it was) shaving oil from my now bald scull. Thinking to be ready I made an attempt to leave the chair, but a strong hand pushed me back. “Not ready”, he said and he started to lather up my head. He sharpened his ivory-white razor, the one he used when shaving my face. He started the shave my head now against the grain of hair growth, leaving my head more pink and shinning then it already was, however without any nicks or burns.

So, within ten minutes my head was shaved twice and I was become totally BALD. His hands softly rubbed my now naked almost smooth, fresh shaved head, while looking for forgotten spots. By doing this I almost came into my pants. Was it ME who was looking back from the mirror; ME who was shaved BALD like a Buddhist Monk. Well .. I liked it. The Barber was removing the remaining lather from my head, rinsed my head with delicious cold water and he uncapped me. Then he rubbed in some oil that tanned and polished the skin and made my head shine like a billiards ball. He was ready now and my head was baby smooth.

Slight shaking I left the chair and my hand touched my head. I rubbed it. Oh boy, I never had felt this before. The smoothness was overwhelming. It was cool, cool very cool. A broad smile from my Turkish Barber encountered me and I must have smiled back at him. I asked him how much I had to pay him and his answer was “On Miljon Sir”, which meant that I had to pay him 10 million Turkish Lire, about US$ 8. I tipped him very well.

Stunned I left the shop. I did not know that there were so many mirrors hanging in this Hotel, as I saw myself constantly, bald and shinning, with still a to pale skin, which however, as I later experienced, soon would be sun tanned. What had I done, what happened, I was only looking for the toilets.

After reaching the door of my room I knocked and Hans opened the door. Totaly astonished he looked at me. “What did you do?”, he laughed. “Well”, I responded, “I went to the toilets and ….”, telling him the whole story. “To be honest Frank”, Hans said after I had finished, “I could have had a shave and haircut to, but not a head shave”.

So down we went into the Barbershop. The Barber was just cleaning his desk and about to close his shop. I pushed Hans into the chair and I said to the Barber. “He needs shave and haircut, not head shave.” The Barber smiled again, full teeth. Hans his hair was much longer then mine was. He wears his hair in a normal Businessmen’s haircut. After shaving Hans face he was getting I very nice, short Turkish Ivy League haircut, which is what most of Turkish men wear I noticed.

And the rest of our journey? Well, from that day I kept my head smooth every day, wondering if I ever shall have hair grown back on my head again.