Loading...Every time he saw her, he got a hard-on.
She seemed oblivious to his discomfort. Probably because the table always hid it from view.
He’d been coming to this diner every Tuesday and Friday for 18 months. It was clean and the staff was friendly. And the fact that they had free wireless Internet for their customers drew a faithful breakfast and lunch crowd.
For the first six months of the time he frequented the place, he had barely noticed her. They shared the usual pleasantries of people that meet on a regular basis, but keep friendship at the acquaintance level. He knew she was pretty in a wholesome way. And she smiled a lot. She usually wore a pink-checkered dress with a small stained apron. Her nametag was permanently tilted to the left and declared her to be SALLY K. Her hair was very long, all the way to her waist. She usually wore it in a thick braid. All of these things he acknowledged impersonally, as one would an extra in a movie.
Then, one Tuesday afternoon as he had his lunch, she changed everything about how he saw her.
It was the week of Christmas. Her usual uniform had been exchanged in favor of tight black jeans and a deep red turtleneck with a discreet green wreath pin that hovered over her left collarbone. The red knit made her complexion glow. But it wasn’t her clothes or her make-up or the sassy sprig of mistletoe tucked over her right ear that caught his attention that day. It was her hair.
She wore it loose and it hung in a shiny black curtain. It swayed gently with her feminine walk. It fluttered slightly from the breeze made by the ceiling fans. It covered her shoulders and back like a fluid black velvet cape.
He must have been staring because she came to his table more frequently that day to ask him if he needed anything more. All of his responses sounded like a teenage boy had taken over his voice. Were a blind person near, they’d have no clue he was comfortably settled into his thirties.
He finally managed to control the staring and his voice. She went back to wearing the braid and uniform as usual after the holidays were over. But it was too late. His imagination had already wrested itself from his mental grasp and began creating scenes of her with her hair down.
At first it was just fantasies of her by herself. She’d be naked on the counter, her hair flowing around her. She would rub her hair across her breasts and masturbate while he watched. She’d tickle her pink wet pussy with a lock of the dark tresses and make herself come by brushing it softly against her clitoris.
Sometimes these images of her were so vivid, he’d jack off in his car before returning to the office. If she knew what he did with all of the extra wet-nap packets he asked of her, she’d probably strangle him with her apron!
Soon he began to appear with her in the scenes. She’d be naked and always, always! her glorious mane was free of the braid. He’d strip off his clothes while she watched and he’d lie on the countertop or across the seat of a booth. She’d crouch low over him and flow down his body with her hair trailing after. It felt cool, smooth and soft. When it reached his stomach, the slight tickling sensation would cause him to jerk and groan. He’d lay stiffly with his arms at his sides. His fists would be clenched, and he never touched her. She’d treat his whole body to this delight until he was groaning and thrusting his cock at her. It seemed to beg her to touch it!
She’d chuckle throatily at the distress she’d caused him and finally center her attention on his hard, proud erection. She’d tickle and tease it with the tufted ends of her hair. She’d wrap thick locks of it around his shaft in a loose spiral and gently move upward, sliding it around, up, and off the swollen head. Finally, when he was making low inarticulate sounds of begging and lustful torture, she’d wrap loose handfuls of it around his cock and stroke him until he came in glistening jeweled droplets all over the black strands.
He assumed she had no idea of his fantasies. A year had passed with little outward change. Once again it was Christmas Eve. Her hair was down, and he couldn’t help but watch her move about. Every time she approached, he pretended to be engrossed in the display of his laptop. The diner was closing early and all of the other patrons had left, but still he lingered helplessly. His erection was painful and if he stood, it would be very obvious. Every time he thought he might have it under control, she’d come over to the table. Her hair would almost brush his left arm when she reached over to refill his coffee cup. He held his breath each time she approached, half in dread and half in anticipation.
Finally, she slipped the check silently onto the edge of the table and started to refill the salt and pepper shakers in preparation for closing. He regretfully picked it up and scanned for a total. Instead of her usual neat columns of items and numbers she had written, “For my favorite faithful customer, lunch is on the house. Merry Christmas, Sally.”
He looked up as he started to leave the booth. He’d just reached the end and was about to attempt to stand and walk away when he looked up at her. He waited a moment desperately trying to get a grip on his desire. He watched her face as she finished the last table, half-locked the door so he could leave but no one else could enter, and turned the sign on the window behind the shuttered blinds to “CLOSED.” As she returned the boxes of salt and pepper to the shelf behind the counter, she looked at him and smiled, tilting her head. The tiny movement caused her hair to fall forward over her face, and he caught his breath. Her smile froze as she stared at him. He watched as the warmth in her eyes went from friendly to passionate. She walked around the counter and stood in front of him.
He couldn’t move as she leaned closer to him, closer and closer still, slowly as if she were afraid he’d come to his senses and flee. When her hair brushed his bare forearm and then his shoulder he gasped sharply. It was silky soft.
She was a breath away from his face. He could smell the apple scent of her shampoo. When she finally began to move the fraction of space between them to brush her mouth with his, he met her halfway.
Her lips were smooth and soft, and she kissed him passionately. She didn’t pretend to be coy or inexperienced, but kissed him with the skill and lust of a grown woman. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him tighter to her. He reverentially touched her crown and slid his fingers gently through her hair. It fell across his cheek as he leaned back to receive her kisses.
She knelt beside him on the booth, causing her to be slightly taller than he. He was wrapped in her dark cloud and it touched his face and shoulders.
His kisses grew more urgent with the increased contact of her hair. He pulled her closer until she was forced to straddle him. Her knees rested on each side of his hips. Her breasts were directly in front of him and he nuzzled them greedily through her shirt. She tugged its hem from her waistband and pulled it over her head quickly. Her tresses fell in disarray across her breasts and he nearly came from the sight of its dark glory against her creamy skin. She unbuttoned his shirt and leaned forward to kiss his chest and his fantasies became wonderfully real as he felt her hair on his chest and stomach. He ran his hands through it and rubbed it against his skin. He was too distracted to notice that her skirt was around her waist and his pants were undone and pushed to his ankles until she sank down onto him with a hissing sigh.
Her head tilted back and her dark curtain fell over her shoulders and onto his legs, causing him to jerk into her with a sudden bolt of lust. She rode him, grinding and moaning until she came with a sharp cry when he took her breast into his mouth. He was barely in control of his own passion when she slithered off him and down onto the floor. She pulled her hair away from him and he whimpered low in his throat in protest of the loss.
She leaned forward and spread his knees apart. Still holding her hair away from him she took his swollen cock still wet from her orgasm into her mouth. He wanted to pull her hair from her grasp, but was afraid she’d stop if he did. He thrust into her mouth, clinging to the table with one arm and the back of the booth with the other. She felt him get closer and closer and finally, she let go of her hair and let it spill all over his stomach and thighs. He came so thunderously that the table creaked from his grip. She held on through the storm of cum assaulting her mouth and throat, swallowing it all with passionate greed.
As he recovered, she leaned against his stomach, stroking his thigh. His hands shook as they brushed over her hair. She looked up at him and smiled her friendly smile.
He continued to frequent the diner, and more often, she wore her hair down. It was her signal to him that she wanted him to stay until everyone had left. He told her about his year of fantasies about her, and she enacted them for him.
She’d masturbate using her hair while lying languidly on the counter. She ran it over his body like a dark waterfall. She would lie atop him with his cock deep inside her and pull it around them like a dark curtain. Their encounters were always brief, though passionate. And never did they speak of love.
Eventually his fascination with her tapered off. She sensed the change in him but was not bitter. They knew nothing of each other’s lives and were not in love. One day, he stopped coming to the diner. She was a little sad at the loss, for he had been a wonderful lover.
And then a handsome man came in late on a Thursday and stared in fascination at her long, dark hair.