The Choir Boys

This is my first submission so please be gentle. This is a gay love story that also includes a particular fetish I have with guys longer hair. It starts off rather slow, there's no sex until chapter 3.

An issue of conformity

Let me introduce myself and give you a little back ground for the situation that I find myself in. My name is Morgan. I'm 18, going to be 19 soon. I'm what my dad refers to as young strapping lad. I think I'm pretty good looking, for a Welsh lad anyway. I have thick wavy reddish-brown hair that's currently touching my shoulders in a sort of wolf cut style. My mom is the local hairdresser in our village. She has a room in the back of the house set up for this. Most of the women in the village come see her, a few of the guys, and of course me, my brothers, and our friends. None of us would be caught dead visiting the barber in the nearby village.

Our village is in South Wales. A mostly agricultural area. We farmers are generally a proud lot. Some are more prosperous than others. We don't take kindly to being looked down upon though.

Some years ago, I believe back in the '80s, a gentleman went round Wales and established boys, and men's choirs. Mainly to give the male populations something constructive to do. Some find the idea of guys singing together a bit odd, but those of us who participate find it rewarding, and enjoy the camaraderie it fosters. Some of us actually sound pretty good too. There are "Only Boys Aloud Choirs, for boys ages 14-19, and Only Men Aloud Choirs if you want to continue singing. The men's Choirs are a bit more organized than the boys' choirs. Boys don't generally have to try out, everyone is welcome. There have been a few obvious 'bad voices' over the years though. Generally, the choir I'm in has between 15 and 20 boys at any given time. Participation isn't mandatory, give that most of us are farming families and the farm comes first.

I've been a member of our local Only Boys Aloud Choir in our village for a number of years now. I've thoroughly enjoyed it (up to now, I'll get into that in a minute). I've been working towards becoming Choir director. Usually, the Only Boys Aloud choir director's area volunteers from one of the nearby Only Men Aloud choirs.

I should point out that we practice on Wednesdays and Saturdays, at a neighbor's farm. We use their byre when the weather permits, as it can house all of us comfortably. When it's really cold, we'll all crowd into their front room in the house but that gets a bit awkward.

We are generally more interested in how you sound, than how you look, so we are quite a motley crew. Hairstyles amongst the boys vary greatly, but are generally on the longer side, somewhat scruffy or shaggy at times, might be cut by a mom, or sister in the family. Money isn't usually wasted on something as frivolous as a barbershop haircut. Clothing also runs the gamut. Some of us have a decent pair of jeans and a pullover, others are in overalls or hand me downs, having rushed to get there after evening chores.

We perform at churches, parties, sometimes a wedding, and usually put on a more formal concert or two during the year at the grange hall. The local Chamber of Commerce is a sort of sponsor to host these events.

There is also an annual competition, where the choirs from all over Wales gather and compete, usually just after schools out in the spring. Our choir usually tries to have the boys wear dark pants, and a white button up shirt when we are singing in front of a group. Most of us do a decent job of being freshly showered and hair combed or styled even. The dark pants and white shirt are an attempt to make all of feel we are on equal footing with one another. Nobody gets to wear their Sunday best, while someone who can't afford a new suit ais only wearing his brothers hand me downs. Sometimes the COC (Chamber of Commerce) steps in with a bit of financial help if the white shirt is a hardship. Our COC also provides ties for us. Personally, I like the ties. This year they are a deep purple color. (Goes great with my long auburn locks.) We don't button the top button either. The look is a nice uniform casual one.

Our choir director of the last several years has been taken ill and is unable to coach us. The Local Only Men Aloud choir has provided a stand in for us. Oh, did I mention, I'm the assistant to the director. I really, really want to be the choir director for the boys choir next year when I move up. I'll join the Only Men Allowed choir, but I want to continue with the boys, as their director too. They seem to be all for it and look to me for direction more than the new director. (Much to his chagrin.) We've been working hard rehearsing for an upcoming local concert, and of course for the big Wales Spring competition. It was going along very well till the new director showed up.

He's been quite a negative Nancy. Very critical of our casual style. He's looked down his nose at many of us who show up in our 'farm clothes'. He's been particularly critical of our hair too. I've noticed he thoroughly disapproves of my lush locks, as well as several of the other guys. He's suggested more than once that he can pay for our haircuts at the barbers if our families can't afford to keep us 'presentable'. That's pretty much a direct insult for a proud farming family. Personally, I find him to be a bit of a 'Dandy'. As my dad would call him. He's always dressed in expensive slacks, a dress shirt, sometimes a tie, and always seems to have a just cut severe short back and sides haircut. Usually slicked down with some sort of greasy gunk. Ugh. Quite a dweeb.

Tonight, as we finished up practice, he announced to the group that he'd spoken to the COC regarding our 'uniforms' for the big Wales competition. He has requested that we wear black dress pants, a crisp white button up shirt, and the new ties and vests the COC was going to be providing. We were to stop at a shop in the next village over in the coming weeks so they could measure us and order a properly fitting vest. He also strongly suggested we visit that villages barber and get a proper short back and sides while we were there. He was striving for uniformity amongst us boys so we would give a nice first impression at the competition. This didn't sit well with any of us. Money is usually and issue with our families. We surely didn't want to look like clones of this bozo either, Ugh. Being in the Only Boys Aloud Choir isn't supposed to put a hardship on our families. That's not the purpose of the Choir. I scanned the assembled group, taking in al the shaggy mops and manes, and tried to imagine us all with severe short back and sides cuts. I shuddered. Ugh.

As the weeks progressed, most of us did visit the clothing shop and get measured. We all, to a boy, gave the barbershop a wide berth. Most of us were more than fed up with this director's implication that we were 'poor farmers' too. As I said before we might not be rolling in money, but we are a proud lot. We don't take kindly to being looked down on. He was making us feel not good enough to be in the Choir unless we complied with his more or less mandatory dress and haircut ideas. The boys were becoming increasingly dissatisfied with him but didn't know what could be done.

As the weeks went on and our local concert, and the big Whales the competition drew closer, he continued to express his extreme displeasure at our having ignored his request to get our hair cut. He made the mistake of singling out me, and one of our neighbors, as examples of how shaggy and unkempt we were becoming. Weren't our parents embarrassed by the long messy hair we had been allowed to grow? We were positively disgraceful.

He flatly stated that he would be bringing the barber to us since we couldn't seem to find our way to him. The barber would be coming to the next few practices and had agreed to volunteer his services as what he considered his civic duty to make us presentable for the competition.

Needless to say, we were floored. We'd always been told it didn't matter much how we looked, it was how we sounded that was most important. The implication that we were all from poor farming families particularly irritated me, and a few of the other older boys. The director stated that I would be the first to receive a haircut next week as an example of good leadership. Cal, my long-haired neighbor (and very close friend) would follow me. (Cal had only just turned 18). He had thick heavy bright blond shoulder blade length hair. I knew he had my mum trim him once or twice a year. His brothers and father all had long lush blonde locks too. No one was going to be shearing his mane if I had anything to say about it, mine either. (I thought he looked amazing as is.) We would continue with the mandatory haircuts after practice until we'd all been 'sheared into proper looking young men'. I was instantly furious. Cal almost burst into tears.

After practice, before we left, I cornered the director and told him in no uncertain terms that I would be having my mum give me a trim before the competition. Several of the other members were friends of mine and I told him that at least those boys would also be having my mum give them a trim. If he were to insist on bringing the barber to practices, I would not be participating in any short of shearing. Nor would any of the other boys if I had any influence on them. He might as well cancel the barber visits before he wasted the barber's time.

I walked home with Cal after practice and calmed him down. No one was going to touch his mane. I would make sure of that.

Several of the boys sought me out before the next practice. They didn't want to attend the next practice if they were going to be required to the scalped. I assured them that they didn't have to submit to any sort of shearing and to come to practice. We'd sort it all out there.

I spoke to my dad after practice that night too. He was part of the local Only Men Aloud choir. Our new director had come from this particular choir so I figured my dad would at least know something about him. Dad gave me an earful. OH, yes, he was aware of him. He was one of the shopkeepers from the next village (The one with the barber) He was quite a 'prissy pants' as dad called him. He looked down his nose at the 'poor farmers' in dads' group too. He'd tried his 'uniformity' crap with dads' choir to but it had also fallen on deaf ears. Dads choir was glad to be rid of him, at least for a while. His best advice was to just ignore the barber when he showed up. If things got bad enough, he'd talk to mom and see if she could spare some time to make sure the boys were trimmed up before the competition. We could also move practice to our byre and have me direct, with oversight from dad, if things got bad enough.

Sure enough, when we met for the next practice, the director had the barber in tow. He'd brought all the necessary gear too. No doubt drooling at the promise of 15 or 20 shaggy guys needing shearing. My friends stayed close to me throughout practice, as did Cal. I'd had my mum trim my lush locks a few days before practice. I'd also taken the time to wash and style them neatly. After practice, when called upon, I could say that I'd had a haircut and this was as short as my hair was going to get. Screw him and his short back and sides mentality.

As practice ended, the director asked me, Cal, and a few select others with long shaggy mops, to stay behind. As the barber got his gear out, a stool was placed in front of him by the director. "Morgan, front and center please" the director barked. "We don't want to Keep Mr. Hagen waiting now. He's been gracious enough to volunteer his time to get you shaggy farm boys clipped into shape." He quickly reiterated to Mr. Hagen that he would be administering a severe short back and sides, similar to his own, on each of the boys. I caught Mr. Hagen staring at me, almost drooling. I decided to tease him a bit, since I wasn't going anywhere near that stool. I looked down, my thick chin length fringe cascading over my face. I pushed my fingers into it and worked it slowly back and off to the side as I lifted my head up. Giving him a sly smirk. Cal was also watching me closely.

I addressed the director, "Sir, with all due respect, I've had my mum give me a haircut this week. I won't be needing Mr. Hagens services. I don't think any of these other boys will either, will you guys?"

The director approached me. He made the colossal mistake of raising his hand and running it through my hair. My thick fringe sliding down over my face again. "Morgan" he huffed. "Go sit on that stool immediately. You clearly haven't had a hair on your shaggy head touched. This mop is positively disgraceful." He sounded like a drill sergeant, what a dick I thought to myself.

I knew I had to keep my cool or things would quickly get out of hand. "I'm sorry you feel that way sir. I won't need Mr. Hagens services though. If you really try and insist. Maybe you can find another assistant director to replace me. I won't be continuing since you find my appearance so disgraceful. I know I have a fine voice and one of the other choirs in the area is sure to take me on till I turn 19 in a few months. Then I can replace you as director.

The director was getting redder, and redder as I spoke. I was quite proud of myself for keeping my cool. I had surprised myself with the last-minute threat of leaving. The thought of leaving this choir saddened me, I really liked this group of guys, and we sang extraordinarily well together, as least until this asshole showed up.

The director must have realized that I was serious. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I think that would be a huge mistake but, it's your choice, of course. I could tell he was positively seething but trying to maintain his self-control. I almost giggled at him, he was so red faced.

Since I'd proven to be uncooperative, he set his sights on Cal. Cal gave me a panicked look as the director approached him.

"Ah, Cal, since Morgan doesn't seem to want to do what's necessary to ensure conformity amongst you boys, surely you'll have a seat over here." The director had gently locked onto Cals arm as he said this, and was doing his best to propel him over to the stool. With a bit of not so gentle persuasion, he managed to get Cal over to the stool and was trying to get him to sit down on it. I took a look at Mr. Hagen, who had the dastardly cape in hand, ready to capture his first victim. He was almost drooling at the site of Cals lush locks swinging madly while he struggled with the director.

"Um, sir!" Cal squeaked. "No really sir. It's not necessary. I don't need a haircut sir. Please no! Morgan, help me!" Cal was almost in tears. As the director was forcing him to sit. Mr. Hagen quickly wrapped him in the cape. Pulling the thick locks up thru the neck opening. The blonde mane cascaded down against the cape in all its glory. Fully shoulder blade in length. The director was standing over Cal. Preventing him from getting away.

"Ah, now" the director cooed. Theres a good lad, let Mr. Hagen get you clippered up. You'll look so much better. A sterling example for the rest of the group." Nice and tight now Mr. Hagen, we want these haircuts to last awhile."

Mr. Hagen now had a firm grip on Cals head, forcing it down, chin to the chest. Cals face had disappeared under the lush thick collar bone length bang locks flopping furiously as he struggled with the director.

The sight of Mr. Hagen brandishing the huge clippers, and his evil grin, shook me to my core. Oh, God, they were the big Oster 76s, yikes. I knew my mom had a pair just like em. She used them on the older farmers who just came in for an annual shearing. I heard the evil clippers clack as they fired up, quickly spinning up to full power. They were fast approaching the back of Cals head, ready to plunge into Cals Lush mane.

The director was practically moaning with glee. "Ah, yes, let's get this overgrown bulk stripped away, shall we lad?"

Things almost seemed to happen as if in slow motion. In the moment I knew I had to stop this. I knew I would be in big trouble if I tackled either the Director, or Mr. Hagen. Suddenly, I saw where the clippers were plugged in. Cal had jerked forward, startled when the clippers clacked to life, trying desperately to protect his lush locks. The director was struggling with Cal to make him sit back again, so Mr. Hagen could feed the thick bulk into the hungry clipper blades. I knew enough about clippers to know that these would be cutting sinfully short as there was no guard on them. Just as they were making contact with Cals plush mane I reached the plug and pulled frantically. The byre was suddenly quiet. I looked at Cal just in time to see a thick hank of his treasured mane fall to the ground.

I rushed over to Cal. Firmly pushing the Director out of the way. Mr. Hagen was busy trying to get the clippers plugged in again. "Get up Cal." I barked, reaching for the snaps on the cape to release it as he stood.

As Cal stood the cape fell away. He turned to thank me, and caught sight of the thick hank of severed blonde lock laying forlornly on the ground. He reached up and felt the back of his head. Fortunately, when Cal leaned forward, the clippers only made contact with the lush bulk hanging low, and not directly on his nape. Cal let out a forlorn wail that filled the byre. "NO! MY hair!"

Mr. Hagen meanwhile had plugged the clippers in again and was standing ready. "Ah, well, the damage has been done now young mister Cal. How about you sit back down here and we'll finish the job, shall we."

I barked. "You'll do no such thing Cal. I quickly inspected the damage. Shielding him from Mr. Hagen. This is salvageable without getting a severe short back and sides, to be sure. We'll talk with my mum tonight. Whirling on Mr. Hagen I said, "you might as well pack up your thing's sir. You'll do no more damage here tonight." Turning to the rest of the guys standing close I said "Let's go guys. I think we're done here." I started for the door with a quietly sniveling Cal in tow. He was pawing at the back of his head. As we gathered up our music and personal items to leave, we paused to hear the conversation between Mr. Hagen and the director.

I heard Mr. Hagen addressing the director. "Tristan, when we discussed this, you assured me that the boys were completely on board with getting short haircuts. I had my doubts but figured I'd come along and see. "He scanned the rest of the group as they were leaving. "Do any of you want to take a seat here and let me give you a nice short haircut?" He was met with silence as we filed out of the byre.

My friend Seth piped up, "If the director is going to insist on us getting scalped as a condition of singing in the competition, I'm out. I'll go with Morgan and join one of the other choirs. I'm not interested in conforming to some ridiculous notion that we all need to get the same identical scalping to look good. Morgans mum cuts my hair too and I think I look great. (Seth had a handsome thatch of dark brown hair that partially covered his ears and nape, quite a bit shorter than mine, with a nice thick bang fringe that was currently pushed to the side.) I knew for a fact he looked fantastic with a bit of product in it and brushed back. He'd worn it that way many times for our performances. In fact, thinking about it for a minute, all these guys did clean up pretty well when it was necessary, without severe scalping's. This director hadn't yet seen how good we could look when required. The local concert was this coming Sunday afternoon. I'd speak to the boys and ask them to put in some extra effort to look their best.

I looked directly at Mr. Hagen. "Sir, is there any likelihood that you'd be willing to give any of these boys, just a trim, and not a thorough scalping as Tristan suggests we all need. I for one, think a severe short back and sides, such as he has, would look truly hideous on any of us. His makes him look quite prissy, to be sure." I was done with this charade and quite done with him as choir director. As you can see, none of us is interested in becoming a ridiculous looking clone of this buffoon. Mr. Hagen seemed to ponder this for a minute.