AUTHOR'S NOTE: (this story is) based very, very loosely on a encounter I had at Chicago's O'Hare Airport. I'm sure we've all had days at least a little like this!

c1995 jmhlhl

I hopped out of my cab at LAX, ready to shuttle it back up to the Bay Area and home at the end of a fruitless day wasted in meetings. I guess you could say I'm a little excitable. It doesn't take much to raise my blood pressure or test my temper. Those bozos today did a lot of both. I gave the cabbie a twenty, and told him to keep the change. I turned back to the terminal, ready to trudge out to the gate and hop on the cattle car. No luggage, just a daypack that doubles as a briefcase. I felt worn down and frustrated, and looked forward to an evening of complete relaxation in my easy chair. Maybe a little Monday Night Football action - I should get back for the second half.

Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye as I moved towards the terminal door, and I turned to look. Stepping out of another cab was a nice ass in blue jeans, half covered by some great looking, well kept light brown hair. As I often do, I stopped to take a more detailed look. Nothing gets my attention like a nice head of hair. She stood up, and I said "Whoa..."

She was tallish, with a pleasant and slim, though nondescript figure, and wore a loose white blouse with her jeans. Her hair was down to her butt, and as I moved my eyes up I noticed she had it in a ponytail, a thick ponytail that spread out to almost cover her butt. Nice, big, thick, straight hair. As I was congratulating myself on my good timing, I noticed that her big ponytail emanated from a grapefruit sized bun at the back of her head. At this sight, my pulse quickened. "This could be good..." I told myself as I let her through the door in front of me and then followed her inside.

She stepped into the check-in line for United, and I slipped in behind her, just ahead of an elderly couple who gave me the old 'how rude!' stare. "Sorry folks," I thought. "Can't you see why I did it? Look at her!" Look at her I did, getting as close to her as I could. I tried to unwind her bun, which was tightly wrapped. I traced her hair across her head - pulled loosely - and into the bun, then around and around, and finally out the top and down to the left. I looked at individual strands as they appeared and disappeared, and finally fanned out towards her rear. Absolutely magnificent! Silky, shiny, healthy, vibrant. Her ponytail swung slightly as she stepped forward. I edged closer, conscious of my pounding heart, hearing every breath.

I put my right hand to my side and turned left, stepping forward a little, like I was looking back outside, trying to brush against her hair just slightly. "Oooohhh." The hard-on developed. Sooooo soft! Just as quick as I had moved, she slid forward another space. "Where was she going? Is she married? How long is her hair?" Questions raced through my head as I stare at her hair. I can't remember seeing hair quite like this.

She checks in for her flight, and I realize I'm not even flying United. I step up to the counter and ask how much the round trip fare to Tokyo is, say "no thanks," and step away. She checks in her suitcase, keeps her purse, and walks away from me. I follow her about 20 feet back, watching her ponytail bounce as she works her way through a Japanese tourgroup. She ducks in a newsstand, and I walk over towards the phones and lean against the wall. I can get a good, though distant look at her face - seems attractive enough. Her hair is just loose enough to droop slightly and frame her face. No bangs or wings, just a few wisps off her forehead. For some reason, I note her posture. She stands very erect and confidently. Looks a little like an athlete.

She buys a paperback, stuffs it in her purse, and walks out. She makes a beeline for the bathroom, so I stay put, and watch the door. She takes quite a while, five minutes at least. Two women come out first, talking animatedly, one touching her ratty looking, shoulder length hair. "Wonder what they've seen?" She finally comes out, walks past me, and heads toward security. I go through a few people behind her. As I get onto the concourse towards the gates, I notice she changed her style, and my heart thumps again. No wonder those women were talking about hair!

I slide closer to see a large knot with a chopstick through it. Same ponytail, only no - it's longer! It now drops to the middle of her thighs, starting as a thick, round cable below the knot at the nape of her neck, and billowing out to cover her ass. "Man oh man, is that nice..." I watch it gently sway as she walks towards the gates, just a few inches each way. I'm hypnotized. Her hair is a beautiful walnut brown, with a few blonde highlights. I imagine it swaying over my hand on her hip as we are walking to our hotel room. I can feel every strand sliding over the back of my hand - so smooth and silky.

She turns right quickly. "Minneapolis. What could I do in Minneapolis? How much is the ticket?" After looking at the departure board, she finds a seat in the corner of the gate area, sits down, and tosses her ponytail over the back of the seat. I sit a row behind her and enjoy the view. Her flight isn't boarding for 25 minutes.

Her ponytail drops straight to within about 3 inches of the floor. "I wonder if she knows how close to the floor it's sitting?" Every time she moves her head she sends a ripple through it, and a ripple through my heart. I am focused completely on her hair. I don't even think Donna had hair this nice. I had a crush on Donna in high school. Hers was the longest hair in the school. Blonde, mid-thigh hair that she kept immaculate! Then senior year, it was gone. Chopped off. I couldn't even look at her anymore.

I drift off. Inside our hotel room, I'm this lady's glorious tail - slowly, lovingly, savoring every miniscule change in texture, noting the subtle nuances of color. It is softer than silk. I fondle her knot - she won't let me pull out the chopstick. It is big. A thick brown cable that loops around twice, and is held firmly by the chopstick, much to my amazement.

She stands up. 20 minutes have gone by. Her flight is delayed. She heads to the snack bar next to the gate. I watch, and then after a minute, I decide I'm thirsty too. She's third in line, I'm fifth. A high school age girl is between us. I stand a little to the side to get a better view. Suddenly, without warning, she reaches up with her right hand, feels for the chopstick, and pulls it out. Her knot tumbles loose, she shakes her head violently, my groin aches. "Oh my god. Oh my god!" I'm thinking it, the high school girl in front of me is whispering it, her hands cover her mouth. Mine go to my pockets, to try to cover the biggest hard-on I've had in a long time.

In front of me is absolute perfection, the most amazing female form I've ever seen. One glorious, unbelievable cascade of luscious silk that covers her shoulders almost completely, and then hides her body way down past her knees. I steady myself and look down to see her hair stop in one smooth horizontal edge at her calf, about 8 inches above the floor. It is as thick down there as it is at her shoulders. Just a touch of wave. She reaches back and rustles it with her hands, and it seems to billow out more and more. The blonde highlights are more dramatic at the full length, and lend an exotic flavor.

"You've got to breathe sometime!" I can't compose myself, my heart is racing, I am completely stunned. She keeps leaning her head back and shaking, sending waves through to the ends. "Will you marry me?" This is the longest hair I've ever seen, and the thickest. It seems as if every strand is perfect. Perfect in color, perfect in length. I want it all for myself - I want to lose myself in it.

The high school girl moves up next to her and talks to her - I strain to listen over the flight announcements.

"You have beautiful hair!"

"Thank you."

"I don't think I could ever be patient enough to grow mine half as long as yours!"

"It's a lot of work, but not as bad as you might think."

"How long did it take you?"

"Twelve years. Haven't cut it since grade school."

They talked for another couple of minutes, another woman joined in. Her soft voice added to the effect as she grew more and more animated talking about her hair. It was obvious that she loved her hair more than about anything. I think I feel the same way. "Sweep her off her feet and take her to your castle where you can delight in her soft mane, happily ever after..."

"Do you want to grow it longer?"

"I want it to touch the floor, and maybe some more. I wonder how long it can get. No way am I going to cut it!"

"And that's how you can improve on perfection!" I thought.

"Can I touch it?" the high school girl asked.

"Sure!" she says.

I have never wished I was somebody else so hard in all my life. I watched the girl gently pick up a tress and stroke it. Those were my hands, dipping into perfection, treasuring every second.

She gets an orange juice, says goodbye to her new friends, and walks over to the window by the gate. I can see just about everyone following her as I get my coke and head back.

I sit less than ten feet behind her as she stands at the window and puts on a show just for me. The setting sun makes her hair shimmer, and creates a slight silhouette effect. The shadows on the floor at my feet show thousands of strands at the ends. I'm surprised she hasn't noticed me yet.

She pulls a brush out of her purse and drops it at her feet. She reaches behind her and pulls her hair over her shoulder. She picks it up and brushes the ends, softly yet firmly. She slowly works her way up, stopping occasionally to inspect. "Let me brush it for you. Just sit there and relax."

After ten entertaining minutes, she flips her hair behind her and starts brushing from her forehead back and down, and as far as she can reach. I see myself guiding the brush through her hair like a knife through butter, my free hand following, smoothing out the silk. She's my wife, and we have two girls - rapunzels to be. Every night, without fail, I take this beautiful cape in my hands and brush it, love it, as it grows longer and longer. "Oh god! You are so beautiful! So, so beautiful"

She finishes brushing, and her hair looks a little straighter, fuller than before. She is hidden behind it. She bends down to reach her purse. Her hair starts to fall over her shoulder. She straightens up, tosses it back and tries again. Same thing, one more time. Finally she gives up and bends over. Her hair cascades over her shoulder like a waterfall. I see it in slow motion, almost strand by strand. Her ends touch the floor and drag towards her purse. It is a moving, translucent wall, the sunlight making ever changing patterns and reflections. "Amazing!"

Just as the last bit of hair is about to slide off her rump, she reaches out with her hand and stands back up, guiding her hair back behind her. Then she stands almost motionless for about ten minutes, staring over the horizon. I see myself next to her, my hand stroking her hair, our bodies pressed against each other. "I am yours, my lovely." Then, for one brief moment, I imagine I am her, feeling the subtle pull at my head, feeling the softness touching me, my back, my shoulders, my rear, my legs, my arms. "What a magnificent feeling. What magnificent beauty."

They announce her flight. "No, not now!" She reaches back and gathers her hair at her neck. She pulls and twists, quickly but gently, forming a twist that grows ever bigger. Finally, she leaves a foot dangling, reaches in her purse again, pulls out a chopstick, and slides it into place. I stand up and walk towards the door, leaning against the wall for one last glimpse. She gets in line. "Please don't go! I love you! Be mine forever..." I am desperate to hang on to every last image of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Just before she vanishes down the jetway, she looks at me and smiles. I melt, sliding down the wall until I am sitting. She is gone. Suddenly I am spent, and I sit there for about ten minutes, the image of her in silhouette at the window engraved forever on my mind. I trace her soft tresses with my hand, feeling every silky strand passing through my fingers, like sand. I cradle her face in my hands, her hair warming my fingers, her soft skin and glowing smile...

I rise, and walk slowly back down the concourse. I should be able to make the 7:30 shuttle. My wife will hold some dinner for me, and have it hot by the time I drive home from the airport. I wonder how my daughter's soccer game went after school?

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