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Out of this world by George Wheeler


Out of this world
By Paul


As a teenager I started to let my hair grow. My hair was corn blond, very thick and with small waves. My father hated it. He wanted me to have a short haircut. My mother defended me telling my father that this was a natural teenage rebellion against my parents and their norms. She told him that is was better to let me "rage out" now and get it out of my mind and body than having it build up inside me as something unredeemed threatening to explode when I became an adult. In the worst case this could mean that I would cut my ties to them and they would never see me again. Very reluctantly and tight lipped he accepted her argument. And I got it my way and let my hair grow.

When I started high school, my mane reached classic length. My mother trimmed the tips " ½ an inch every six months. I sat on a kitchen chair with a huge towel serving as a barber cape around me. She b rushed it all out over the towel. To my own surprise I sensed that getting my long hair cut did not leave me unaffected. On the contrary. I got quite excited and was glad that the barber towel did not revealed the huge bulk in my lap.

Every time I got in the "barber chair" my father would "accidently" need something in the kitchen and every time he remained there watching my trimming. It was quite embarrassing " and it got worse as my hair grew longer and longer. He would make comments like: "You really need a haircut son" or "everyone takes you for a girl with that hair". I blushed and wished he would leave the kitchen and let me "enjoy" my trimming undisturbed.

When I finished high school, my mane brushed the back of my thigs hiding my back and my ass completely in a thick carpet of corn blond waves rivaling the shine of gold. No one could tell that it was a guy and not a girl hiding behind this huge amount of hair.

I loved my long hair and was determined to let it grow to terminal length even if it meant growing it to my feet. I continued with my mother’s regular trims " and my father’s ever more critical comments: "Now you’re no longer a teenager son. You really should get a real man’s short haircut" and "son you are an embarrassment to your family and to your gender. That hair belongs on the head of a girl, not a young man". I blushed and the bulge in my pants threatened to explode. Still my mother defended me and said how wonderful and beautiful my hair looked and although I looked like a little princess, she dreaded the thought of seeing it all land on the barber’s floor.

After the summer vacation I started at University. Usually I would wear my mane in a huge man’s bun or occasionally in a long braid as thick as a rope.
I had many girls commenting my hair with admiration " "your hair is gorgeous", "wish I had a hair like you", I would love to caress your amazing mane". But some girls disliked it: "You look ridiculous with that long girly hair. You need a haircut", "come here and I will cut off your ugly braid for free" etc.

Even among the guys my long hair drew attention. Mostly negative comments that I needed a real man’s short haircut, that I looked like a girl, that I looked horrible with my thigh long braid and more. But among the guys there also were a few " very few " who actually made positive comments like "hey dude your braid is amazing" or "how long is your hair? Would love to see a bun drop" and "I love your long hair even though it makes you look like a girl".

Years went on at University and I graduated at the age of 25. At that time, my hair covered my feet. I got very very aroused walking around naked feeling my naked feet against my soft thick mane. Often, I had to satisfy myself when the excitement got too overwhelming. My floor long mane however made my love life quite difficult. Not that I had any problems establishing contact to the other sex. Often women found me witty and charming. Flirting was not a problem either. But it all ended up the same place.

When we went either to their place or mine it started off well. Kissing and caressing. Clothes disappearing. Mutual arousal. And then it all ended. The girls always asked to see how much hair was hidden in my gigantic bun. I knew what would happen next, so I always refused. But many of the girls kept pushing or even grabbed my bun " ending up in a bun drop.

And each time with the same result. Shock, horror, disgust, disbelief…. Good buy excitement welcome abruption. Not even one of the girls I met found my floor long mane attractive. On the contrary they left me ASAP " standing naked covered in golden thick hair like a carpet all around me.

I must admit the thought of getting a haircut kept popping up more and more. If I ever were to have a relationship with a girl, it might be at the dispense of my beloved mane. Since it seemed that there was not a girl out there ready to appreciate or at least accept my hair coat.

Ending University also meant starting to look for a job. I was more than aware that my ground long hair could make it difficult to find an occupation that would make it possible for me to keep my mane safe " and hopefully grow even longer. My plan was to buy me very decent clothes and footwear and tie up my hair in an enormous bun. There was no way I could hide my 6 1/2-foot-long mane completely but at least it would not be too visible how long it was.

Since I graduated with high notes, I had no problem being invited to job interviews. And all though I made positive impressions on nearly all employers I never got a job. I received all kind of bad excuses " no one ever mentioned my hair " but I had an extraordinarily strong feeling that behind all the rejections lay the fact of my gigantic bun.

At that time, the thought of parting from my beloved floor long mane gained momentum. Would it change my luck " with the other sex and at the job market? Would I be able to live without my warm, sexy, carpet of floor long golden locks? Would I regret having it cut off? I was so much in doubt.

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