[FM] My long hair and my 21st birthday lead to the strangest sexual encounter I’ve ever had

Because of my April birthday, I was the last of my college friends to turn 21. As a result, we decided to fucking rage. At the time, my hair was the longest it had ever been; when I pulled it over my shoulders, it fully covered my tits a la *The Little Mermaid*. My hair is quintessentially Jewish in that I have huge brown curls that take for fucking ever to style and dry, and it was way more upkeep at that length than it was worth. But, it was striking, and I got a good story out of it.

My girls and I went out to a bar close to campus, all of us clicking along in stiletto heels with our skimpy party dresses on and our makeup done all fancy. We looked like the absolute stereotype of college coeds on a night out. And we had a fucking blast. The girls and I had pregamed in one of our apartments, and most of us were positively wasted before we even stepped foot in the bar. Once there, we split multiple pitchers of margaritas, giggling and taking selfies and shrieking whenever one of our favorite songs began playing over the bar’s speakers. My straight friend Karla and I began dancing together, flirtatiously grinding on each other’s thighs and laughing and whispering in each other’s ears. After a minute or so, I turned around, bent over, and began rubbing my ass against her. Karla cackled and grabbed my hips, grinding against me as I tossed my long hair over my shoulder and locked eyes with a stranger from across the room.

He watched my dancing with thinly veiled interest. I quickly scanned him up and down, taking in his preppy outfit, his Vineyard Vines, his douchebag haircut. Not at all my usual type. But there was something about the look in his eyes that flattered me more than any of the other bros who had offered to buy me a drink so far that evening. I turned and whispered in Karla’s ear. She laughed and wished me a happy birthday and good luck before crossing the dance floor to grind on one of our other friends. Making my way to the bar, I posted up next to the mystery bro and smiled at him. “It’s my birthday!” I shouted drunkenly over the din.

“Happy birthday,” he grinned, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“A piña colada, please and thank you!”

He eventually flagged down a bartender and ordered me the drink. We chatted as much as possible over the loud music. His name was Connor, and he was an economics major (duh) and a baseball player (also duh) and a member of a fraternity (the biggest duh) at my college. I sipped on my drink as he paid the tab, and we then walked over to a quieter corner of the bar. “You have beautiful hair,” he told me earnestly after another couple minutes of chatting and not-so-subtle flirting, his eyes roaming up and down my massive curls.

“Oh! Thank you!”

“Can I touch it?”

“Um. Sure!”

Careful not to break the curls, which impressed me, he gathered my hair over one of my shoulders and stroked it softly without running his fingers through it. It was weird, but I just assumed he was on molly or very drunk. As long as he continued to ask me for permission before touching me, I didn’t really care. A serene smile appeared on his lips. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked me, still staring at my hair, “I live a block away.”

I glanced over at my friends. They were all having a great time, dancing and drinking and partying it up. Karla was dancing with at least two other women at once. I felt a slight twinge of guilt, but I had already spent hours with them that evening; they would understand if I left to get some birthday dick. “I’d love to,” I smiled at Connor.

He grinned excitedly and laced his fingers through mine, gently guiding me through the bar, out the door, and onto the busy street filled with other college bars. With my other hand, I shared my phone location with my friends so that they wouldn’t worry. Excitement and nervousness coursed through my veins. Connor was charming enough, but I knew early on this was going to be a one night stand – he couldn’t really maintain a conversation on our walk. Whatever. He didn’t need to be able to talk in order to make me cum. His apartment (thankfully not a fraternity house) was incredibly close, and we were stumbling into his bedroom, our mouths locked together, not even five minutes after he had suggested we leave the bar.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders, our tongues tangling as I kicked off my heels. His hands reached around me to unzip the back of my dress. He peeled my dress off my body and laid me down gently on his bed, his body covering mine as we continued to kiss frantically. I unbuttoned his shorts as he whipped his shirt off, revealing a soft but strong body clearly sculpted by a combination of the gym and weekly kegs of beer. Kissing his neck, I dipped my fingers under his boxers to find a completely flaccid cock. “Everything ok?” I asked softly, stroking him with my hand.

“Yeah, just tipsy,” Connor said, pulling down his shorts and boxers the rest of the way and taking over for me, quickly jerking himself and pressing his lips to mine.

I broke the kiss to look up at him. “Are you sober enough to have sex?”

“Yeah, for sure, it’s just whiskey dick. But I want to fuck you.”

“Ok,” I smiled, “Just let me know what I can do.”

“Actually,” he murmured, sitting down beside me, “Can I, uh, touch your hair again?”

“Oh! Sure! Where do you want me?”

“Just rotate a little.”

I turned so that I was laying across the bed horizontally. Connor stood at the side of the bed by the top of my head, gathered my hair in his hands and knelt down, burying his face in it. Somehow, I kept it together. This was not what I was expecting, but I was determined not to laugh at whatever got him going. He inhaled deeply. “I want to fuck your hair,” he murmured, his face still buried in my curls.

“What?”

“Can I fuck your hair?”

“Instead of my pussy?”

“Just until I’m hard enough to have sex.”

“Uh. Yeah, ok. Just please don’t cum in my hair.”

“Oh,” he muttered disappointedly, “Ok sure.”

He immediately stood up, wrapped a fistful of hair around his dick and began using it as a masturbatory tool, soft groans spilling from his lips as he thrusted quickly. He had clearly fantasized about this before. I looked up, his upside-down body pumping in my line of vision as he literally fucked my hair. “Finger yourself,” he demanded breathlessly.

I pulled my tits over my bra and slid a hand down the front of my panties, my fingers gently circling my clit as I watched him. “Fuck, keep going,” he whispered, gathering more of my hair to fuck.

My pussy was bone dry. Connor was clearly enjoying himself, and I wasn’t about to shame him for wanting to enjoy my hair sexually, but this just wasn’t my thing. Despite my lack of interest, I didn’t want to blue ball him. I had no intention of ever seeing him again, I hadn’t promised that I’d take his number, and I didn’t want to embarrass him. And I was drunk and kind of just wanted to go home. So, to help him get off and speed this whole thing along, I moved my fingers under my panties in a way that made it look like I was still touching myself.

His thrusts got faster and harder, but I had so much slack in my hair that it didn’t place any pressure on my scalp. “Your hair is so fucking big,” he groaned, wrapping it tighter around his now fully hard cock, “I want to cum all over it.”

“Um.”

“It’s all I can think about,” he hissed, one of his hands gathering hair and cupping it around his balls as he thrusted into the other, hair covered hand.

I mean, I knew I would have to wash the ever loving fuck out of my hair anyway because he was rubbing it all over his balls and definitely leaking precum into it. “You can cum in my hair,” I whispered, “But I’ll need to shower before it dries.”

“I’ll call you an Uber,” he groaned, violently thrusting into my hair.

Modern chivalry. Another minute or so passed of me pretending to rub my clit as Connor fucked my hair. His breathing got rougher and rougher. “Ohhh fuck I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum all over your fucking hair. Oh my fucking god,” he groaned.

I stayed silent. With a guttural yell, massive amounts of cum erupted from the tip of his cock, landing across my hair and deep within my curls, a couple streams reaching my forehead. “FUCK!” he cried, watching as his cum sprayed over me.

His thrusts slowed and stilled, and he gathered some clean hair from the back of my head to wipe the final dribbles of cum from his cock. He panted and smiled down at me. “That was amazing,” he marveled, “Did you finish?”

“Sure,” I smiled, guilt tightening in my chest over lying but really just wanting to end this and go the fuck home to take a hundred showers.

“Awesome,” he smiled, leaning down to peck my lips Spider-Man style and then putting on his boxers.

“Um, could you please pass me a towel or something?”

“Oh! Yeah!”

He handed me his own bath towel off the back of his door. Well. Good enough, I supposed. The irony of using a towel he had rubbed his balls on to clean up his cum was not lost on me. I adjusted my bra and wiped off the cum from my forehead and my hair as much as possible, but there was just so fucking much of it. I pulled back my hair in a bushy braid, slipped on my dress, and looked over at him. He was sitting on the bed unperturbed, scrolling through his phone. “Could I borrow, like, a hat or something?” I asked, a little exasperated that he wasn’t proactively helping me after I had just clearly fulfilled a powerful fetish for him and not asked for any reciprocation.

“Yeah, just grab one of the ones by the door.”

“Thanks. Can you please call me an Uber?”

“Right! Gotcha. What’s your address?”

I gave him the address for a building down the street from my apartment, not wanting him to know exactly where I lived. My eyes scanned over the selection of baseball caps. Grabbing a pink Vineyard Vines one, I slammed it on my head to cover the most obvious locations of cum, and I slipped on my heels. The cum-covered braid/baseball cap/party dress/stilettos combination was not a cute look. “Uber should be here in two!” Connor called over, yawning widely.

“Thank you,” I murmured curtly, pulling out my phone to find some missed texts from my friends, “I’ll wait outside.”

“See you around!” he called after me, climbing under the covers.

Seriously? “See you around”? Not “I’ll walk you out” or “thanks for letting me cum on you on your birthday without asking me to do anything to get you off”? Fucking “see you around” are you fucking serious? Prick. I left his apartment and shut the door behind me, feeling slightly used and very physically dirty.

By the light of a streetlamp, I took a selfie with my cum-filled braid and sent it to my group chat along with a quick rant about men who do nothing to get women off and only ask after the fact if they’ve finished. And another text bragging about my hard-won Vineyard Vines cap. Around the time I got in the Uber, sympathetic texts began flooding my inbox. Karla came over to keep me company as I went through about three or four full rounds of shampooing and conditioning my hair, and we fell asleep on top of my covers shortly afterwards, too tired to actually climb into bed but frequently whispering “see you around” as we started dozing off and devolving into drunken giggles. The next morning, we went to a diner, got pancakes, and discussed the evening in detail while nursing wicked hangovers. And thus ended one of the strangest sexual encounters of my life.

The real end to the whole story, however, came a semester later. I was strolling through campus with Karla, my hair tied in a ponytail and pulled through the back of that same (now-washed) Vineyard Vine’s cap, when I saw Connor and a nymph-like woman around our age walking towards us holding hands. The woman looked like Rapunzel, her long, straight, blonde hair flowing down to her lower back. I grabbed Karla’s arm. Connor’s brow furrowed in familiarity as we got closer to each other, clearly trying to place me. Fuck it. I had nothing to be embarrassed about. “Hey Connor, good to see you again,” I smiled pleasantly.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he stammered, very obviously incapable of recognizing me with my hair pulled back.

“Lily. We met last semester,” I reminded him politely before turning to his girlfriend and holding out my hand, “Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too!” she chimed in a musical voice, “I’m Lori.”

“You have absolutely beautiful hair, Lori,” I smiled, a mischievous tone entering my voice that I knew Karla would notice.

Karla made a quiet sound of recognition and covered her snort of mirth with a fake cough. “Thanks so much,” Lori replied brightly, “You’re so sweet.”

Connor paled as he finally realized how he knew me. “Well, I’ve gotta run,” I grinned, tipping the baseball cap at him, “See you around!”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/i9av76/fm_my_long_hair_and_my_21st_birthday_lead_to_the