Despite all the options the Captain proposed, I'd decided to hang around the grooming chamber. Call me crazy, but for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to find out what was going to happen to Justine.

Have you ever made a seemingly harmless decision,... that subsequently impacted everything thereafter? A choice that, although capricious, and made totally on the fly, drop-kicked you into a realm you'd never have rationally chosen, or for that matter, wouldn't have believed existed?

Well, for me, that watershed was...

For the rest of my days, one thought would haunt me.

Justine's position had been altered. New coordinates got selected --- magneto-dynamism did the rest --- hauling her upright --- neck extended --- A-cups jutted --- thighs hugely straddled --- knees bent --- bareness trembling --- toes wiggling --- hovering in mid-air. It was perfect for accessing her under-chassis, haunches, soles, everything frontal ( remember - arms were criss-crossed behind ), and, of course, coiffure.

Jimmy then furiously walloped her lush bottom and hamstrings, employing an oiled fluidian strop, gads of activator, and my technique!

"Na-a-a-a-a-ga-gah-ga-gah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hgpft! Glub! Pant! Sob! Whinny!"

Crack after snappy crack echoed, heralding a flury of wincing girl-charm, jitterbugging cupcakes, whirling adornments; twitches and starts! And a predictable payoff --- tearful submissiveness!

"I can't tell ye what a positive influence ye've had on Jimmy", the Captain told me. "Jest look at 'em now,... lashin' like there were no tomorrow; exhibitin' glorious form and verve --- jest like ye! I don't wanna downplay the mathematics involved, but it's obvious Jimmy needed a role model, and it was ye, Lad, who'd provided it in spades!"

"Me?"

"Absolutely! One thing still puzzles me though. Where in Bubba's name did ye learn such fabulous technique?"

"Captain", I jabbered, "it's not like I did any formal studying or anything like that. It just came naturally!"

"Fockin' amazing!"

"Gahn-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-ng-g-t-t-h-f-f-tt! Pant! Sob! Whinny!"

"Agn-n-n-n-n-ns-s-s-f-t-h-t-y-tttft! Sob! Pant! Whinny! Whinny!"

"Ngr-r-r-r-r-r-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-onpft! Boo! Hoo! Sob! Whinny!"

Jimmy's imitation of me continued, right down to the expression on his mug. Gee, had I really looked that obsessive?

"Ah-hyulk! Yippie-ki-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ay mother-fucker! Pant! Ah'm gonna wallop yo big rump,... Pant!,... till the cows come home! Ah-hyulk!"

"Ye see, Lad", the Captain lauded, "ye've absolutely enriched Jimmy! Jest look how inspired his study habits have become!

"Excuse me, Captain", I boldly asked, "But,... what the heck does any of this have to do with learning how to cut hair?"

"What does what have to do with it?"

"Gnsh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Whinny! Whinny! Whinny!"

"That!"

"Oh,... that? Har! Har! Did ye hear the Lad's question, Boys?"

"Ha! Ha! Hee! Hee! Hee! Ho! Ho!"

"Ah-hyulk! Ah-hyulk! Ah-hyulk!"

Mos found the inquiry amusing. So did Jimmy, who'd halted in mid-stroke; bent-over and belly-laughed.

"Ah-hyulk! That's a,.... Ah-hyulk!,... good one, Partner! Ah-hyulk!"

The Captain just smiled. Now it was me about to get kid-gloved.

"Tenderizin' a strumpet isn't a Barber's most elegant responsibility", the Captain preached, "but it's certainly a fundamental one! After all, ye can't allow friskiness ta undermine the styling process! And conciderin' we utilize rather sharp instruments, especially when groomin' a hauler, safety issues underscore the importance of havin' a docile head in the chair! So the answer to yer query, Lad, is thet it's got everything ta do with it! Thet's why Flogmastering 101 is a required course at this College!

"Exactly w-what k-kind of grooming does a hauler g-get?", I stammered ( had I an ounce of sense, I should've asked --- where do I sign-up for the course? ).

It'd been the first question that popped in my head; uttered, of course, quite spontaneously. Little did I realize it would catapult me back into the fray. In one swoop, I was about to go from casual observer to hands-on scrutiny --- again!

"Ye've already deduced a few-o the details, Lad", the Captain chuckled. "Short and easy to maintain! Thet's how ye'd put it! Of course, ye was totally scatterbrained at the time; lashin' Justine's fabulous bum like an imbecile! But fock it! Who could blame ye?"

Deja vu struck.

"Yah! I had said that!", I jabbered.

"Screamed it, is more accurate", the Captain replied. "At the top-o yer fockin' lungs too --- just before going slack-jawed; reciting the entire final scene from 'Smoky and the Bandit'; promptin' Jimmy to hit the P-button!"

"The panic button?"

"No. The Postulate #3 button. But ye was on the right track! So how 'bout dazzlin' us some more? Finish the deduction. Go give Justine the once-over! Visual and tactile. Then tell us what kind-o doo she'll be sportin! Capish?"

Suddenly I was back in the spotlight, groping a totally naked girl; diddling here, dawdling there, while the Captain and Mos and Jimmy looked on, passing a box of twinkies amongst themselves.

"Well, Lad, what does thet remind ye of? Chomp!"

"Errr,... Reeve?"

"Come again?"

"Errr,... I m-mean,... ahhh,... polished glass?"

"Bingo!", the Captain said. "But what in blazes made ye think-o Dr. Lois?"

"Oh n-nothing", I stammered, pawing Justine's hairless puss. "It just p-popped into my m-mind. Probably had something to do with those,... errr,... medical tests I'd had."

"Fock! I kin empathize with thet", the Captain replied.

"Mg-g-g-gpft! Whinny! Pant! Pant! Whinny! Sob!"

"Pt-t-t-t-t-th-h-hpft! Drool! Sob! Pant! Glub! Whinny!"

Justine's mouthware was auto-lubricating, compensating for the drying-out effect of panting ( remember her stuck-out tongue ). The only hitch was the drool --- lots of it --- churning like beer-foam --- mixing with perspiration --- cascading southward --- betwixt her charming A-cups --- glistening --- drip-dropping from elbows, puss, knees and toes.

"Man! Is she ever slippery", I blurted, running my fingers from clit to chin, pausing to fiddle with her labial and nipple rings. "Heck, she's drenched! Good thing you've got those floor drains!"

"Yah! Installed 'em meself", Mos proudly beamed. "It's basic plumbing, ye know! Chomp!"

"I see ye fancy her hoops, Lad" the Captain opined. "But don't neglect the one in her nose! It's a clue, ye realize! Nyuk! Nyuk! Chomp!"

Fuck! It was more then that. It was massive! A full quarter-inch in diameter; obliterating not only the poor girl's nostrils, but any sense of daintiness as well!

"Of course! That's it!", I yelped, tugging on the bull-ring for emphasis; mesmerized by Justine's penitent look.

"What is?", asked Mos.

"It's size!", I blurted. "That's the distinction between her, and ponies like Spin and Dry!"

I wrenched Justine's ring like she were a Chatty-Cathy doll, and I was bent on hearing every last recitation! Left! Right! Up! Down! This way! That way! Yanking steadfastly; ignoring the snorts and quakes; savoring how her eyes obediently tracked,... oh so fucking adorably!

"Show-ponies wear sleek jewelry", I blabbed! "Journeyman ponies, on the other hand, get the heavy-duty treatment! Like this one! And not just in the hardware department!"

"Fockin' amazing!", the Captain exclaimed. "Absolutely dead-on analysis! Wouldn't ye agree, Mos!"

"Fockin' eh, Captn'! I told ye,... Chomp!,... the Lad's a natural!"

"Mg-g-g-gpft! Pant! Pant! Sob! Whinny! Pant! Pant! Pant! Pant!"

"Pt-t-t-t-t-th-h-t-t-t-t-t-t-hpft! Drool! Sob! Glub! Glub! Drool! Whinny!"

The auto-lube spritzed again. Spittle cascaded like a waterfall. Perspiration too. Suddenly the Fells Naptha dispenser on the wall made perfect sense. What incredible sheeting action! And remember those floor drains?

"Yep! This steed's built fer labor!", I ranted. "Not for preening! Not for pageantry! Just for work! A hauler, if you will! Which is why, her ultimate grooming's gonna be much different then Spin and Dry's! Not nearly as sophisticated! In fact, much less! Capish?

"Would ye care ta take a stab at just how much less?", the Captain quizzed.

I circled Justine, perusing every possible detail. My guess would be an educated one!

"Well, you've not held back in any other department!", I opined. "All marks are as ostentatious as possible; piercings certainly not stingy. I'm thinking her final doo's gonna be equally eye-catching!"

"Not bad reasoning, Lad. But I must correct ye on a point. As barbers, we've nothin' ta do with body adornments or markings! Them's the province of the Pony Barons!"

"Pony Barons?"

"Capish! They're the blokes who've hired us ta do the grooming. They decide on stuff like tattoos, marks, piercings and bangles,... and of course, implement whatever scheme's been concocted! Most ponies, in fact, are already fully outfitted when they get here. At least from the nose on down. Our only concern is the hair! Permanently removing what's not wanted; styling the rest! The only exception might concern eyebrows. Sometimes we'll tattoo those back on."

"Back on?", I stammered. "Why w-would you have to d-do that? What would've happened to the real ones?"

"Ha! Ha! Hee! Hee! Hee! Ho! Ho!", Mos giggled. "Oh, Lad! Thet's priceless! Jest focking priceless!"

"Ah-hyulk!", Jimmy guffawed. "That's another,.... Ah-hyulk!,... good one, Partner!"

"Whad I say that's so funny?"

"Don't pay them no mind, Lad", the Captain cut in. "Focus on the challenge. See if ye can predict the final doo."

More observation was needed. I dropped to one knee, concentrating on Justine's legs and under-chassis, groping like I were deciphering braille. Man, she was smooth! Just like Spin and Dry and Reeve! There was nothing remotely resembling a hair follicle!

I tracked upward. Across her belly. Past her ribs. Pausing to tweak nipples and pull rings. Then examining her armpits, neck, and ears.

"Hummmmm-m-m-m-m. Everything's as smooth as glass", I jabbered.

Then I played with her hair --- gads of it --- long and silky --- spouting like tentacles on a Hydra. With natural ringlets galore. All cascading to waist-level.

A notion suddenly occurred.

No, not a ponytail like Betty Cooper's ( from Betty and Veronica ). Or Betty Rubble's ( from the Flintstones, i.e. Barney's wife ).

Gloriously dangling from hinter-yonder; charmingly sashaying during ponygirl promenade; mesmerizing all jamokes bearing witness!

"Thet's quite the grin ye're flashing", the Captain said, interrupting my daydream. "Care to share yer thought's with the rest-o the class?"

"Oh,... errr,... it's n-nothing", I lied, not wanting the Captain to know how outlandish my imagination could get. "It's just some whacked-out notion that popped in my head."

"Well, go ahead and articulate it."

"I'd r-rather not."

"Why?"

"It's too far-out --- makes me seem like a head-case!"

"Lad", Mos cut in, "ye've already made it known thet ye'd rather be pilotin' a Star cruiser; gettin' yer ass shot at by every low-life in the Galaxy! We already consider ye a head-case!"

"Mos has a point", the Captain added, "But who gives a fock what we think anyway? We're just a bunch-o Sots like everybody else!"

The Captain had a way of getting to the heart of a matter. His logic was compelling. Why not fess-up? What could possibly happen?

"Oh, fuck it", I blurted. "I was thinking,... errr,... that she should,... ahhh,... be cropped to a crew-cut, and the cut-off ponytail be attached to the back of her double-prong harness! What-da-ya think of that?"

"Errr,... Guys? W-What do think?"

Picture the expressions on a bunch of newly appointed Kamakazi pilots,... just as they learn what the word Kamakazi actually means!

Those were the looks now being flashed at me. Threefold!

The Captain broke the uncomfortable silence.

"We'll do no focking such thing! Will we Mos?"

"Not a fockin' chance, Captn'!"

"I'll be focked up the arse by a Tugoolian Zenk, before I'd participate in such deviance!", the Captain added!

"Me too", railed Mos.

"Ah-hyulk! Me three!", echoed Jimmy.

"Gee,... sorry guys", I quickly backpeddled. "I don't know what made me think of such an outlandish notion! Maybe it's the Restorsin? In any case, I'm sorry!"

"Whatever the fock for, Lad?", the Captain replied. "The idea was fockin' brilliant! Wasn't it, Boys?"

"Absolutely fockin' phenomenal!"

"Ah-hyulk! Yah!"

"But,... b-but you said tha... "

"It's that bloody crewcut notion thet's verbotin!", the Captain interrupted.

"Fock, yah!", echoed Mos! "It's scandalous!"

"Ah-hyulk! It's sur-r-r-r-r-r-e not what we do here, Partner! Ah-hyulk!"

"Well it doesn't have to be t-that short", I quickly shot back. "It could be a one or two-inch spiky doo! Or maybe just a simple blow-cu... "

"Totally bald!", the Captain thundered! "And then buffed so lustrous, ye'll need sunglasses while ogling! Thet's how a hauler gets styled! Fock! It's Pony Baron decree! Am I wrong, Boys?"

"May me dick fall off if ye are, Captn'!", Mos huffed.

"Ah-hyulk! Mine too!", Jimmy seconded.

My response wasn't as pithy.

"Errr,... ahhh,... errr,... ahhh,... errr,... ahhh,... errr,... ahhh,... errr,..."

And,... for some curious reason,... my dick was doing somersaults.

Jimmy held the Oster shears directly in front of Justine's trembling nose.

You'd have thunk it were a gun.

Her wide-eyed goggling was as charming as all get out!

Startled! Daunted! Horrified! Cringing! Despondent! Spooked! Pick the emotion --- she telegraphed it!

And as for me?

Haughty! Baronial! Conceited! Impatient! Walking bent-over because of a boner! Smirking like a numskull! Shit for brains!

"She registerin' a 1.9, Captn'! Should we give her a couple-o whacks?"

"I'd recommend leaving things be fer the moment."

"Capish."

Mos was referring to a Yabba-gauge readout --- a hand-held gizmo receiving data from electrodes pasted to Justine's neck, tits, hips and soles; also from nipple and clitoris sensors ( attached to sleighbells ). It was set on fidget-mode --- measuring her restlessness quotient. And so far, things seemed to be Ok.

"We don't want the Lass too docile, ye realize. That'd spoil the fun. Nyuk! Nyuk!"

Call me crazy, but I wasn't compelled to argue! This was fun! Go figure?

"Ok, Jimmy", Mos advised, "ye've got the com. Buzz at will! And remember, always keep the shears positioned at complimentary angles to the radius-of-curvature!"

"Yah", the Captain encouraged. "And don't allow non-linear vectors ta approach congruency! Unless of course, their tangents are derivatives of square roots!"

"Ah-hyulk! Ah'll do my best, Captn'!"

"Mg-g-g-g-g-gf-f-f-f-t-t-t! Sob! Snort! Whinny!"

Jimmy had barely nicked Justine's thick coiffure. Picture a southpaw throwing righty --- while in the throes of lockjaw. That's how deft he'd looked! Obsessed with technique, but floundering in outcome!

"Fer Bubba's sake! At thet rate, she'll grow them locks faster then ye're cuttin' 'em! Ye've gotta proceed with passion, Jimmy! But keep in mind the math!"

"Ah-hyulk! Yah Sir, Captn'!"

"Mej-j-j-j-g-g-r-r-r-g-g-h-h-h! Sob! Sob! Glub! Whinny!"

Same result! Only a couple of split-ends floated downward.

"It's the vector-ratio", The Captain observed. "Thet's what's holdin' ye back, Jimmy! Ye've gotta keep things non-planar!"

That did it! I couldn't stand anymore.

"Captain", I blurted. "Your making this way too technical! Just tell Jimmy to shear the bitch right down the fucking pike! Ok?"

"Get a load-o thet!", Mos said incredulously. "The Lad fancies he knows better! And without any formal training, mind ye! Har! Har! Har! Thet's a good one, indeedy!"

"Bombastic to the core", the Captain chuckled. "But jest fer the heck of it, let's give 'em a crack at practicing what he's preachin'!"

"Yah! Lets!", Mos agreed, pressing the shears into my hand.

It was a hefty doohickey; nickel plated; wonderfully balanced; fully portable; charged and humming. For some reason, it made me feel omnipotent! ( So did the raging boner I sported! ).

I eyeballed Justine like the Coyote does the Road Runner --- ominously flaunting the Oster.

"Yeah! That's right! Stare at it baby! This is what's gonna make you a smoothie!"

"Ng-g-g-n-n-no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-e-e-e-e-e! Glub! Sob! Whinny!"

I didn't just practice what I preached. I glorified it! Down to scalp! Directly midline! A double reverse Mohawk! Had I sheared any more ferociously, it'd been skin hitting the floor, not just two fistfulls of lush hair.

"Boo-o-o-o-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-e-e-e-e-e! Sob! Sob! Pant! Pant! Pant!"

"Pt-t-t-t-t-th-h-t-t-t-t-t-t-hpft! Drool! Sob! Glub! Glub! Drool! Whinny!"

Justine didn't seem to like my performance, carrying on as if she'd been electrocuted; setting off both the auto-lube and Y-gauge!

But her's was the minority opinion.

"Great Clinton's ghost!", Mos bellowed. "I don't believe me fockin' eyes! Where in Bubba's name, Lad, did ye learn ta shear with such pizzazz?"

"G-Golly, Partner! Ah-hyulk! That was,... Ah-hyulk!,... focking boda-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-cious!"

"Kudos, Lad!", the Captain chirped, flashing me a thumbs-up, and a knowing wink!

But I was in no mood for laurel-resting. The Y-gauge was up to 2.1. Time for action!

Top's done!

Ditto for the right side.

Left half's done!

Ditto the back.

"Boo-o-o-o-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-e-e-e-e-e! Sob! Sob! Sob! Glub! Whinny! Whinny! Snort!"

"There!", I gasped, backpedaling twenty paces to savor the view. "That's the way to do it! Money for nothing --- chicks for free!"

The utterance, of course, made zero sense ( typical for me ).

What I'd had wanted to remark, however, as Justine's new look made my testosterone gland double in size, loomed a tad more succinct.

Silence ensued, as the Captain, Mos, and Jimmy stared in awe --- first at the weeping, cropped-to-the-scalp, totally nude ponygirl --- then at the pile of locks on the floor.

Mews and sobs monopolized the soundtrack.

Then the Captain piped-up.

"Jimmy, ye better go fetch a broom."

"Yah, Sir."

"And, Jimmy..."

"Yah, Sir?"

"Ye doesn't has ta call me 'Sir'!"