The Boyfriend by longhairboy
Aaron took a moment to spread some more mousse down the length of his immense ponytail. He started at the thick base and then worked his way down, his hands reaching the first, the second, the third, the fourth, and finally the fifth band in his tail before at last meeting the poofy golden tip, 22 inches and eight years away from the nape of his neck. He shook the two-foot tail once he’d done and admired its gleam in the mirror.
It’s so f***ing long, he thought to himself, pulling it down his chest to where it nearly, he noted with satisfaction, met the head of his burgeoning erection.
There’ll be plenty of that tonight, he smirked. Penis and ponytail. Brent will get both.
He’d been targeting his fellow frat brother, Brent with the flushed face, floppy brown hair, blue eyes, and rock-hard abs, for months. So what if Brent had a boyfriend? Sean was just some loser with a buzz cut. Aaron caught his own scrawny frame and smooth face in the mirror and had a momentary realization of his own boyishness, but he pushed it away. After all, he had the king ponytail. He yanked the thing ever so slightly and saw his jeans rise.
That day in school all his thoughts were on the party coming—and on Brent coming, too. He sat down in history class, careful to let his python of golden hair fall over the back of his seat and splay across the desk behind him.
He turned around with a smirk.
“Your hair,” the guy behind him said. “It’s on my desk.”
“Oh, sorry,” Aaron guffawed and pulled the thing over his shoulder. “It’s just so long.”
The guy’s blue eyes narrowed from beneath his brown crew cut.
This happened almost every class. Aaron always pretended it was an accident, but the truth? He just liked f***ing with the ROTC dudes. All their talk of honor and service. While they prepared for war, he honored his tail and serviced his dick. It seemed a better way to spend his time.
He’d picked out his outfit carefully. Cargo shorts and a tight band tee that highlighted his taut torso to marvelous effect. The tee was black, chosen especially to contrast with the spun gold of the two-foot rope snaking down his back and stopping just inches above his waist. He checked his reflection one last time, fingering the tail in the mirror. He was 21 and had been growing it since his thirteenth birthday. He’d seen the shaggy mops sported by the boys at his school and thought he could do it better. Little did he know. Within six months of his last buzz cut (a memory that made 21-year-old Aaron shudder) it was obvious that his hair was magnificent, a golden glory against whose fire all the other boys’ choppy skater cuts were pale flickers. At the end of 7th grade, Aaron was “that skinny kid.” He was scrawny, bony, young looking. By the end of 8th grade, the beanpole was crowned with a mass of golden waves, and by high school he was “that kid with the hair.”
It grew and grew, into a shoulder-length flaxen hood by high school graduation, at which point its thickness and waviness necessitated the ponytail. And then the ponytail took on a life of its own. At the start of his freshman year of college it was a blonde stump. By the start of sophomore year it fell to between his shoulder blades. By the start of junior year it was halfway down his back. And now here he was, late March of that same school year, sporting an enormous ponytail that spiraled in pulsing beauty to just above his waist and required five hair ties lest it overwhelm his still-adolescent frame. It always bothered him that he looked like such a boy, that despite being old enough to drink—if only just—he couldn’t get in to an R-rated movie. When people saw the massive tail, though, the little-boy comments faded.
“Holy s**t,” he’d heard before. “That’s insane!”
“Man, your hair is epic.”
“Sweet hair, bro!”
“Dude, how long did that thing take to grow?”
“Eight years,” he’d grin as the boner rose. His pole and his tail had long been connected, and after a few close calls in classrooms he’d learned to wear two pairs of underwear that the growth of one snake prompted by the growth of another could be concealed. Tonight, though? Commando. He wanted Brent to have full access. Maybe Sean could watch. Sean. Talk about plain. Just some Asian kid with a black buzz cut. Yeah, he had a good body. It was, though Aaron didn’t like to acknowledge this, much more muscled than his. But so what? You don’t walk around naked. And Brian got lost in a crowd. Aaron never had that problem.
None other than Brent himself confirmed that shortly after Aaron’s arrival.
Brent tugged his tail and Aaron’s flag pole flew Old Glory.
“Hey, man,” Aaron responded. He smiled and gave Brent a high-five.
“I was looking for you, man,” Brent said. He was still sober, which, given that this was a Delta Lambda Phi party and that they were more than five minutes in, was surprising. A few things about Brent were surprising, though. He was an athlete who was smart and friendly; he was insanely good looking—with his piercing eyes, clear skin, and gymnast’s body—but refused to primp; and he lived in the Delta Lambda Phi house, where gay hook-ups were happening at all hours of the day and night, but to Aaron’s knowledge had not strayed from Sean. Yet. Sean was just a loser from the sticks. Aaron had the TAIL. Speaking of which.
“You’re always easy to spot, bro,” Brent laughed. “That f***ing ponytail. I think you could reel a ship in with that thing.”
Aaron flashed Brent a half smile and felt the beige fabric of his shorts stretch.
“Maybe I should try,” Aaron offered, drawing the tail over his shoulder and slowly working it down his chest so that Brent’s eyes were directed to the spot where the rope stopped, just above his boner. Could Brent see the bulge?
“You have some hair there, too,” Aaron noted. Brent laughed and ran his hands through his glimmering mahogany mop, whose shiny curls just barely graced his soft brown eyebrows.
“I’ve been thinking of growing it out,” he admitted. He unexpectedly took Aaron’s tail in his hand and surveyed the length. Aaron’s breath caught and his boner burned. “This thing makes me jealous. How long did it take to grow?”
Aaron shifted and felt the cargo material dig in to his dick, which was now pulsing.
“Eight years,” he announced proudly.
“Holy s**t!” Brent exclaimed with a laugh. “I’ll drink to that! Have you done any shots yet?”
Brent’s eyes gleamed with something vague, and Aaron knew he had him.
Three rounds of Fireball in and Aaron’s alabaster skin grew rosy as his face grew warm.
“I’ve been wanting to grow mine out for a while,” Brent confided. They were surrounded by raucous, drunken young gay men, and Brent had to lean in for Aaron to hear. He accidentally got too close and his plump lips grazed the tip of Aaron’s ear. His hand subconsciously took hold of the tail as he continued, “In a year it could maybe be to be shoulders, right?”
Aaron surveyed him with lust in his eyes.
“It’d be close,” he said.
“Mine can’t compare to this,” Brent lamented, lifting the whole huge ponytail into the air. A freshman pledge caught sight of the two-foot tail suspended above the counter.
“Dude!” he exclaimed.
Aaron could feel the head of his dick moisten with precum as he swung the colossal ponytail behind him. The freshman boy whooped in admiration, but the motion of the tail was soon stopped by a stern hand.
“Remember last time you knocked over a shot glass?”
It was Greg, the leader of the chapter and a hard-ass if ever one existed. With his square jaw and compact frame, he radiated seriousness, and he saw Aaron’s tail for what it was: a vehicle of a boy’s vanity and an extension of a perpetual hard-on that grew with every inch the tail added.
“If you don’t control that thing, you need to tuck it into your shirt. Or cut it off.”
Aaron’s nostrils flared at the very mention of the word “cut,” and when Greg saw the momentary terror in Ponytail Boy’s eyes he let out a mean little chuckle.
“Just kidding, dude,” he said with a condescending pat on the shoulder. “I mean, can you imagine a baby face like you without that tail?” He tugged it for good measure. “Be careful you don’t get it caught in anything. Brent, isn’t Sean on his way?”
“Oh, yeah,” Brent snorted derisively. “Hey, Aaron, I have some Pinnacle back in my room. You have to try this s**t.”
Ten minutes later, Brent and Aaron were wrangling in nothing but their boxers, Aaron’s absurdly huge tail falling over his naked shoulders to dangle between his and Brent’s bare chests.
“Dude, this thing is…” Brent smirked and stroked it. “Wait, I have an idea.”
He took the tail lower, down to his own swollen member, and used its lustrous strands to pleasure his inflamed manhood as his hand grasped Aaron’s engorged pink shaft.
“Dude,” Brent moaned. “Your f***ing ponytail—”
There in the open doorway stood a furious Sean and a smug Greg.
“Oh, s**t. Sean, I—”
“I f***ing knew it! I f***ing knew it! You and Ponytail Boy!?”
Aaron stood and turned, his erect cock standing like a challenge to Sean’s honor.
“Well,” he said, holding up a tail at the end of which Brent’s cum was clearly visible. “You’ve got that right.”
“You son of a bitch!”
Sean dove for him, but not before Gregory could intervene. He zeroed in on the titanic tail, not hard to do given its length, and by it dragged a yelping Aaron from the room.
“What the f*** do you think you’re doing!?” Aaron turned to fight, but Greg easily overpowered the smaller boy.
“You and your ponytail,” Greg informed him. “Need a break.”
And with that Greg unceremoniously shoved him into a broom closet and shut the door behind him.
“For your own protection, of course,” Greg called out. “Don’t want Sean to hurt you. Oh, by the way, I think you’re stuck.”
Aaron tried to move forward and found that he couldn’t. With mounting terror, he drew his hands to his massive ponytail and found that it was pulled taut, caught at its very base in the door.
Greg smiled at the shriek from behind the door as he surveyed the two-foot anaconda hanging down to the knob. Seeing it this way, he could fully appreciate that Aaron was really just a huge ponytail attached to a boy. The most remarkable thing about him was shut in a door. And it looked like it needed a trim.
“Greg, open the door! Open the door!”
“It’s jammed man. I’ll go call a janitor. Let me know if Sean comes by.”
Sean did come by, his fingers bright with the curls he’d just cut off of Brent. He’d always considered Brent’s “hair thing” to be weird, but seeing him with that walking ponytail had proven that the manhood was wrapped up in the mop. He’d taken care of that. Now he’d take care of something else. Aaron was still squealing when Sean approached the rope hanging from the door. He picked it up, pulled it out, surveyed his boyfriend’s load on the instrument of his pleasure.
“Hey, Aaron,” Sean called. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m going to get you out.”
“Wait, Sean, please—”
Sean held the rope taut, applied the scissors to the door frame, and in a five-second parade of crunching, snipping, and pleading, had given Aaron a trim that was eight years overdue. SNIP. SNIP. SNIP. A little more…a little more…The tail snapped away from the door and Aaron fell forward on the other side. His hands went immediately to feel for the gigantic tail on which he’d lavished nearly a decade’s effort and lust, and he felt instead a mushroom of hair that extended perhaps a half inch past the first hair tie.
The boy, denuded of his extraordinary tail, looked less the cool frat guy and more the pubescent pee-wee. Sean smirked at Aaron’s scream, unaware that the former ponytail prince was busy leaving a puddle of urine beneath their coats and jackets.
Sean strode for the door confidently and caught Greg’s gaze.
“I let Aaron out,” he said, and without further explanation tossed the gigantic severed ponytail onto the countertop.
Greg picked it up and thought a minute.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “Let’s do a round of shots and then play pin the tail on the donkey.”
Sean breezed out the front door and the party went on.