Ponytail
Aaron was a boy who had one gift: his enormous ponytail. By far his predominating feature, it took a young man whose face was passably attractive but otherwise unremarkable and turned him into a wonder, a walking billboard of teen lust with a golden rope of gorgeous hair hanging down his back.
The ponytail had taken years to grow, as anyone who had even a cursory look at the thing could have attested. It was unique among boys’ ponytails, however, in that, while its length was ultimately what made it such an alluring asset, that length was not its only attraction.
Aaron was blessed with sun-kissed hair, sparkling blonde locks the color of a vibrant yellow autumn leaf that tumbled down his back in voluptuous curls and waterfalls. His hair ties held back not just a mass of exceptionally long hair, but a dense jungle of gorgeous platinum waves.
In the end, of course, Aaron’s hair was distinguishable primarily for its length, and in that area he excelled more than most. As an eighth-grader, the boy, shorn of several months of growth by overbearing parents, decided to let his tresses fall unabated, expanding as far as was possible. Since then he’d never had any more than a few inches of hair taken off (and then only with grimaces of horror and shudders at the thought of losing his mane), and now, as a Freshman in college, he sported a massive ponytail that extended seventeen inches from the base of his hair tie to its swirling tip.
The ponytail attracted all manner of female attention, and he was sure to utilize it for all it was worth. More interested in casual sex than in any type of lasting relationship, the boy used his tremendous braid as an anchor with which to pull young girls to his other, more appealing organ.
His penis throbbed every time a coed worshipfully stroked his thick ponytail, and in almost every instance his erect cock was satisfied with a plunge into the pants of a scantily-clad, well-endowed young woman. In the mornings after these escapades, his ponytail would lay fully stretched on a pillow, stray blonde pieces perhaps caressing the face of a nighttime partner who would reach gently for that lovely tail of hair.
Yet the thing of great beauty inevitably caused hardship in the feminine party to the event, as it would abruptly be yanked up off the bed with its owner, who, after tossing it arrogantly over one shoulder so that it rested on his chest, would exit the room.
Aaron went through innumerable partners, at least one hundred since his sixteenth birthday, and as his ponytail became ever larger so did the scope of his conquests and his subsequent reputation.
He was extremely proud of his ponytail, often to the point of great arrogance, and enjoyed it as an end in and of itself, not just as a means to sex (although this was certainly an added bonus).
Typically, merely telling a girl how long it had taken him to grow was enough to woo her. Tiffany and Amanda were not typical girls, and this was not a typical day in the life of Aaron. The lovers he had seduced were grown unhappy, in fact, furious, with the scornful boy toy who’d so heartbreakingly dismissed them, and they collectively sent their minions to do vengeance against Aaron—and against his incredible ponytail.
Amanda and Tiffany were themselves the models of female sexuality. Both nineteen, both with long blonde hair that sat in rivulets and curls atop ripe breasts, which breasts strained mightily against their constricting tee-shirts, they were fully equipped to handle Aaron, that little boy whose ponytail had garnered his penis far too much action.
Aaron was expecting Amanda—but he wasn’t expecting Tiffany. Amanda entered his basement (he’d deliberately let her in by leaving a key in a specified place), and immediately the young man found himself highly aroused by her.
Her tan skin shone and shimmered as if doused in perspiration, though of course she was flawlessly clean, right up to the long legs that ascended into perilously short cut-off shorts. If he looked at an angle, he could almost see the vagina that he so longed to penetrate.
“Hi,” he said cockily, tossing his ponytail, in all its glory, through the air. For a moment it caught in the light and Amanda could see the individual hairs as they glimmered and undulated. The huge thing landed on his shoulder as he approached Amanda, his nostrils inflating as they often did when he was particularly stirred.
“Hey,” he said again, advancing on her with a rock-hard penis that was almost bursting through his pants.
“Hey,” she cooed, reaching to hold his ponytail in her hands. It was remarkably soft for being so thick, each curl like a roll of silk on her palm. In spite of their tenderness, however, these locks were clearly strong, great fat circles of hair that threatened at any moment to envelop the hair tie that could barely contain them.
His ponytail was truly a magnificent thing to behold.
“See this ponytail?” he asked her of the remarkable object that she now lovingly fingered. “I’ve been growing this for four years. I haven’t had a real haircut since I was fourteen.”
At eighteen, this was quite an achievement indeed. Amanda, despite the objective of her visit, could see why the tendrils had ensnared so many women within their fiery grasp.
He swaggered and further protruded his penis as he announced with pride the amount of time he’d put into the long ponytail, clearly now himself aroused even more than she was.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go into the backroom.”
He grinned broadly and then took his ponytail into his own hand, twirling the huge thing and saying nonchalantly, “Okay.”
Aaron backed into the room, and so did not see the second girl who awaited him.
Suddenly, a second hand had wrapped its delicate fingers around his supple ponytail, and cooed admiringly. Momentarily startled, Aaron quickly recovered and looked on in delight at his accomplishment.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his cock now pulsating almost painfully as he gave his standard reply to offers of threesomes. “There’s plenty of ponytail to go around for everyone.”
“I’m sure there is,” Tiffany said, smiling evilly as she took one half of his treasured blonde tresses. He mistook her look as one of lust, but there was something else in her eye as she seized the ponytail.
That’s when Aaron’s world came apart. Suddenly and without warning, the two girls pulled the separate ends of his ponytail violently.
“Ah!” he screamed loudly as they released it and it fell like a wounded animal across his shoulder.
“My ponytail!” he said in disbelief. “You pulled my ponytail!”
His greatest trait had been assaulted, and it was a horrible shock to him.
“Shut up,” Tiffany said abruptly, taking hold of the ponytail once more and bringing him to the floor.
As he fell on his knees howling in pain, his unzipped pants came down from around his waist to reveal a penis that stood tall and hard, now not out of arousal but of fear. It was bright red, the color of a cherry, and hot to the touch. The girls could almost see the heat emanating off of it.
“Put your ponytail in your mouth!” Tiffany, clearly the more belligerent of the two, commanded. Aaron hastily obeyed, shoving the precious locks between his own open lips. Blonde hair filled his cheeks, laying dryly on his tongue and brushing uncomfortably against the back of his throat.
“Eat it! Fucking eat it!” Tiffany yelled, growing more enraged by the minute.
“I can’t get it all in there!” Aaron said in desperation, long strands of blonde hair hanging out of his mouth from where they’d curled within and then reemerged through his lips. “It’s too long!”
“Yes, it is,” Amanda agreed, tearing it out of his mouth and unexpectedly wiping it against his penis.
“Do you jack it like this?” she asked, rubbing the blonde hair furiously against the blood-red cock.
He could only gape as Tiffany launched into a tirade about his various disposed and disenchanted lovers, whose hearts were done with accepting hurt and were now ready to inflict some of their own.
“Get up!” Tiffany yelled scratchily, pulling him to his feet by his beautiful long ponytail with a grunt. “Let’s go!”
Her hand holding his ponytail, Tiffany dragged him out of his bedroom, ignoring his screech of agony as his painfully inflated cock banged against the bedroom door on his way out.
They went up the stairs and out the front door, Amanda getting into the driver’s side door of a car that was waiting at the curb. Aaron, with his pants still down, was forced to sit in the passenger’s seat.
Behind him, he could feel Tiffany fiddling with his ponytail.
“What are you doing!?!” he asked, terrified. “What are you doing!?!”
That’s when he felt it, the sickening brush of hair on hair; Tiffany had tied his glorious ponytail into a knot around the head guard.
“My ponytail!” he yelled. “You tied it into a knot! No, please don’t! It’ll get tangled!!!”
“Shut up,” she repeated coldly.
“Where are we going?” he asked anxiously. “Where?”
Now it was Amanda’s turn to smile maliciously. She didn’t say another word until less than two minutes later, when the pulled up at a small shop. Aaron looked out the door to read the sign. It said simply “Barbershop.”
His nose grew hugely and his mouth opened in horror. All of the blood drained out of his face and seem to fall to his groin, as his penis expanded now to beyond anything it had ever been, very nearly exploding in its fear.
“No, please not that,” he said, by now more desperate than he’d ever been in his life. “Not that!!!”
Tiffany untied his hair and shoved it rudely forward. He immediately clutched it in his hands and begged pathetically, “Please, please not my ponytail. Please, not my ponytail! I’ll do anything, literally anything!”
Tiffany’s sole reply was, “If you try to do anything in this store I’ll lift your shirt up and show the whole world your huge cock.”
His penis was still engorged to unnatural proportions, and now it grew still further. He could not zip his pants, and, if exposed, would surely be arrested. He realized with a thrill of rabid fear that he’d be forced to go through with whatever their plans were, whatever that meant for his precious, enormous ponytail.
“Not my ponytail,” he plead desperately even as they set foot in the barbershop. “Please not my ponytail.”
When they entered the establishment, every gaze was immediately on the fantastic blonde thing that lay so defenseless before them. The barber eyed what he saw as a teenage boy’s unconscionably long ponytail with something akin to malice, greedily snipping his scissors and imagining the silky labor of Aaron’s entire adolescence within their rusty clutches.
Aaron stood frozen in horror the whole time as Amanda talked quietly to the barber. He had almost begun to weep as he envisioned his ponytail being severed, and was astonished when Amanda and Tiffany turned and walked out of the store.
They got into the car wordlessly, and Aaron dared not say a thing. Instead he was acutely aware of every inch of his seventeen-inch ponytail as it rested on his back. He could also see some kind of cloth wrapped in Amanda’s hand, though he couldn’t make out what it was. They got back to his house, and Tiffany marched him into the basement and into his bathroom.
Tiffany turned on the light above his shower as Amanda headed into the other room. Aaron caught a glimpse of his ponytail in the mirror and was struck as never before with how very long and incandescent it was. At the same time, it looked strangely limp now, by far less invincible after such a close brush with death. Aaron realized for the first time that it could really be cut off, and he shuddered.
At that moment, Amanda came back into the room with a chair, which Tiffany put in the middle of the shower. Aaron was puzzled.
“Sit down,” Amanda instructed. He did, his beautiful blonde ponytail touching the back of the chair.
It was so long, he thought, looking at again in the mirror. So long.
It was then that Amanda unfurled the fabric in her hand, and he saw, aghast, that it was a cape. As he shook with panic and fright, Amanda tied the gown around his neck. She reached beneath its black embrace pulled out his incredible, wonderful ponytail, now falling across his back for the last time.
Tiffany took a small pair of scissors from her pocket. They were so small, only three or four inches long. Yet they could devour a foot of hair like nothing else.
“No, not scissors,” Aaron said, looking around frantically, his ponytail jumping from shoulder to shoulder. “Please, not my ponytail!”
“Please, no!” he shrieked. “Not my ponytail!!! Please, anything but that!!! Not my ponytail!!!”
Amanda seized it roughly at its based and turned to him, asking, “How long did you say it took you to grow this again?”
“Oh, yeah,” she continued mockingly, imitating his adolescent voice. “‘See this ponytail? I’ve been growing it for four years. I haven’t had a real haircut since I was fourteen.’ Well, let’s see how long it takes to cut off.”
She seized the ponytail roughly in her hands, deliberately pulling it, using its own massive length against it.
At that moment, Aaron saw the many years it had taken him to attain his stunning braid. He saw himself as a thirteen-year-old boy, distastefully eyeing his short-cropped hair in the mirror; now as an older thirteen-year-old boy, proudly observing bangs that were just beginning to curl above his eyebrows; now as a fourteen-year-old boy, growing his hair for one year and able to touch his bangs to his upper lip, then finally, with a rush of exultation several months later, into his mouth; as a fifteen-year-old boy, cultivating those locks for two years, bringing his bangs down to his chin and tossing a pouf of blonde hair that reached his jaw-line; as a sixteen-year-old boy, proudly tying his tresses into their first tight ponytail on a summer afternoon, pushing back stray blonde pieces that fell out of the tail; as a seventeen-year-old boy, increasingly cocky as his bangs reached his throat and his ponytail reached his shoulders; now, at last, an eighteen-year-old with uncontrolled hubris, his fantastic bangs descending an incredible eighteen inches to his very chest and his ponytail falling halfway down his back. That hair was his pride and joy. Sometimes he took it out, spread it across his chest, and just watched the long blonde tendrils with wonder.
“Dude!” he said to himself in the mirror. “My hair is so fucking long!”
And now here it was, his ponytail, helplessly prostrate in all its jaw-dropping length and beauty, about to be slashed off.
“Please…” he begged once more.
With that, she brought her lethal scissors down and hacked savagely into his ponytail as Tiffany joyfully counted, “One, two, three four five!” He could feel the crunching and tearing as the scissors cut through his blonde hair, and then within an instant he felt nothing.
His ponytail had been quickly sawed off, and at the five-second mark Amanda threw it spitefully onto the floor of the shower.
Aaron could only scream, looking at the long blonde thing, once the crowning jewel of his physical appearance and an impressive mane of hair, now simply a dirty blonde rag lying helplessly and insignificantly on the floor. It looked haggard and thin, not like a cascade of hair that he’d spent four long years pruning and perfecting into a golden titan.
Almost since he’d hit puberty, he’d grown his long ponytail. Now, it had been cut off in a mere five seconds.
“My ponytail!” he screamed, descending from the chair and onto his knees. His pants, still loose from the trip to the barbershop, fell around his ankles as he knelt in abject terror, cradling his severed ponytail in his hands with an expression of mingled agony and disbelief.
“My ponytail!” he yelled again, his eyes so wide that they looked as if they might pop out of his head. “My ponytail!”
“Here,” Amanda said, taking the great golden thing from his shaking hands.
“Wear it now.”
And then, using the black elastic with which it was still tied, she affixed the mighty blonde tail he’d grown for four years to his erect penis, by now so glutted with lusty blood that it was quivering in anticipation of something to come.
Looking down and seeing the flowing pride of his adolescence hung so indolently from his sweating penis, Aaron looked straight ahead and started to cry.
Not only did he cry; he wailed. Watching him, both Amanda and Tiffany were suddenly struck with how childlike he appeared; so cool and sophisticated, so unbearably arrogant with his ponytail, he now seemed sniveling and pathetic without it. Those two girls gazing upon him saw Aaron as he truly was: a skinny boy, one might even say scrawny, with a pubescent face that, at present, was rendered pitiable by the tears that streamed from his eyes and clung to the pink brims of his widened nostrils.
Sticking out from behind his ears in awkward tufts were twin bushes of yellow-blonde hair, that, to be frank, were rather unattractive. Long, but too short to be held back, his hair now rose outrageously, a tangled and frizzy blonde halo that surrounded his weeping head. It looked messy and unappealing. And had it not been for that unmitigated mass of hair, he would have been completely unremarkable. It was amazing how the feature that had once made his sex appeal had now been transformed into something that was actually a dramatic turn-off for any girl who might happen to look out him.
“My ponytail,” he gasped and stammered. “My p-ponytail!”
The ponytail had taken years to grow, as anyone who had even a cursory look at the thing could have attested. It was unique among boys’ ponytails, however, in that, while its length was ultimately what made it such an alluring asset, that length was not its only attraction.
Aaron was blessed with sun-kissed hair, sparkling blonde locks the color of a vibrant yellow autumn leaf that tumbled down his back in voluptuous curls and waterfalls. His hair ties held back not just a mass of exceptionally long hair, but a dense jungle of gorgeous platinum waves.
In the end, of course, Aaron’s hair was distinguishable primarily for its length, and in that area he excelled more than most. As an eighth-grader, the boy, shorn of several months of growth by overbearing parents, decided to let his tresses fall unabated, expanding as far as was possible. Since then he’d never had any more than a few inches of hair taken off (and then only with grimaces of horror and shudders at the thought of losing his mane), and now, as a Freshman in college, he sported a massive ponytail that extended seventeen inches from the base of his hair tie to its swirling tip.
The ponytail attracted all manner of female attention, and he was sure to utilize it for all it was worth. More interested in casual sex than in any type of lasting relationship, the boy used his tremendous braid as an anchor with which to pull young girls to his other, more appealing organ.
His penis throbbed every time a coed worshipfully stroked his thick ponytail, and in almost every instance his erect cock was satisfied with a plunge into the pants of a scantily-clad, well-endowed young woman. In the mornings after these escapades, his ponytail would lay fully stretched on a pillow, stray blonde pieces perhaps caressing the face of a nighttime partner who would reach gently for that lovely tail of hair.
Yet the thing of great beauty inevitably caused hardship in the feminine party to the event, as it would abruptly be yanked up off the bed with its owner, who, after tossing it arrogantly over one shoulder so that it rested on his chest, would exit the room.
Aaron went through innumerable partners, at least one hundred since his sixteenth birthday, and as his ponytail became ever larger so did the scope of his conquests and his subsequent reputation.
He was extremely proud of his ponytail, often to the point of great arrogance, and enjoyed it as an end in and of itself, not just as a means to sex (although this was certainly an added bonus).
Typically, merely telling a girl how long it had taken him to grow was enough to woo her. Tiffany and Amanda were not typical girls, and this was not a typical day in the life of Aaron. The lovers he had seduced were grown unhappy, in fact, furious, with the scornful boy toy who’d so heartbreakingly dismissed them, and they collectively sent their minions to do vengeance against Aaron—and against his incredible ponytail.
Amanda and Tiffany were themselves the models of female sexuality. Both nineteen, both with long blonde hair that sat in rivulets and curls atop ripe breasts, which breasts strained mightily against their constricting tee-shirts, they were fully equipped to handle Aaron, that little boy whose ponytail had garnered his penis far too much action.
Aaron was expecting Amanda—but he wasn’t expecting Tiffany. Amanda entered his basement (he’d deliberately let her in by leaving a key in a specified place), and immediately the young man found himself highly aroused by her.
Her tan skin shone and shimmered as if doused in perspiration, though of course she was flawlessly clean, right up to the long legs that ascended into perilously short cut-off shorts. If he looked at an angle, he could almost see the vagina that he so longed to penetrate.
“Hi,” he said cockily, tossing his ponytail, in all its glory, through the air. For a moment it caught in the light and Amanda could see the individual hairs as they glimmered and undulated. The huge thing landed on his shoulder as he approached Amanda, his nostrils inflating as they often did when he was particularly stirred.
“Hey,” he said again, advancing on her with a rock-hard penis that was almost bursting through his pants.
“Hey,” she cooed, reaching to hold his ponytail in her hands. It was remarkably soft for being so thick, each curl like a roll of silk on her palm. In spite of their tenderness, however, these locks were clearly strong, great fat circles of hair that threatened at any moment to envelop the hair tie that could barely contain them.
His ponytail was truly a magnificent thing to behold.
“See this ponytail?” he asked her of the remarkable object that she now lovingly fingered. “I’ve been growing this for four years. I haven’t had a real haircut since I was fourteen.”
At eighteen, this was quite an achievement indeed. Amanda, despite the objective of her visit, could see why the tendrils had ensnared so many women within their fiery grasp.
He swaggered and further protruded his penis as he announced with pride the amount of time he’d put into the long ponytail, clearly now himself aroused even more than she was.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go into the backroom.”
He grinned broadly and then took his ponytail into his own hand, twirling the huge thing and saying nonchalantly, “Okay.”
Aaron backed into the room, and so did not see the second girl who awaited him.
Suddenly, a second hand had wrapped its delicate fingers around his supple ponytail, and cooed admiringly. Momentarily startled, Aaron quickly recovered and looked on in delight at his accomplishment.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his cock now pulsating almost painfully as he gave his standard reply to offers of threesomes. “There’s plenty of ponytail to go around for everyone.”
“I’m sure there is,” Tiffany said, smiling evilly as she took one half of his treasured blonde tresses. He mistook her look as one of lust, but there was something else in her eye as she seized the ponytail.
That’s when Aaron’s world came apart. Suddenly and without warning, the two girls pulled the separate ends of his ponytail violently.
“Ah!” he screamed loudly as they released it and it fell like a wounded animal across his shoulder.
“My ponytail!” he said in disbelief. “You pulled my ponytail!”
His greatest trait had been assaulted, and it was a horrible shock to him.
“Shut up,” Tiffany said abruptly, taking hold of the ponytail once more and bringing him to the floor.
As he fell on his knees howling in pain, his unzipped pants came down from around his waist to reveal a penis that stood tall and hard, now not out of arousal but of fear. It was bright red, the color of a cherry, and hot to the touch. The girls could almost see the heat emanating off of it.
“Put your ponytail in your mouth!” Tiffany, clearly the more belligerent of the two, commanded. Aaron hastily obeyed, shoving the precious locks between his own open lips. Blonde hair filled his cheeks, laying dryly on his tongue and brushing uncomfortably against the back of his throat.
“Eat it! Fucking eat it!” Tiffany yelled, growing more enraged by the minute.
“I can’t get it all in there!” Aaron said in desperation, long strands of blonde hair hanging out of his mouth from where they’d curled within and then reemerged through his lips. “It’s too long!”
“Yes, it is,” Amanda agreed, tearing it out of his mouth and unexpectedly wiping it against his penis.
“Do you jack it like this?” she asked, rubbing the blonde hair furiously against the blood-red cock.
He could only gape as Tiffany launched into a tirade about his various disposed and disenchanted lovers, whose hearts were done with accepting hurt and were now ready to inflict some of their own.
“Get up!” Tiffany yelled scratchily, pulling him to his feet by his beautiful long ponytail with a grunt. “Let’s go!”
Her hand holding his ponytail, Tiffany dragged him out of his bedroom, ignoring his screech of agony as his painfully inflated cock banged against the bedroom door on his way out.
They went up the stairs and out the front door, Amanda getting into the driver’s side door of a car that was waiting at the curb. Aaron, with his pants still down, was forced to sit in the passenger’s seat.
Behind him, he could feel Tiffany fiddling with his ponytail.
“What are you doing!?!” he asked, terrified. “What are you doing!?!”
That’s when he felt it, the sickening brush of hair on hair; Tiffany had tied his glorious ponytail into a knot around the head guard.
“My ponytail!” he yelled. “You tied it into a knot! No, please don’t! It’ll get tangled!!!”
“Shut up,” she repeated coldly.
“Where are we going?” he asked anxiously. “Where?”
Now it was Amanda’s turn to smile maliciously. She didn’t say another word until less than two minutes later, when the pulled up at a small shop. Aaron looked out the door to read the sign. It said simply “Barbershop.”
His nose grew hugely and his mouth opened in horror. All of the blood drained out of his face and seem to fall to his groin, as his penis expanded now to beyond anything it had ever been, very nearly exploding in its fear.
“No, please not that,” he said, by now more desperate than he’d ever been in his life. “Not that!!!”
Tiffany untied his hair and shoved it rudely forward. He immediately clutched it in his hands and begged pathetically, “Please, please not my ponytail. Please, not my ponytail! I’ll do anything, literally anything!”
Tiffany’s sole reply was, “If you try to do anything in this store I’ll lift your shirt up and show the whole world your huge cock.”
His penis was still engorged to unnatural proportions, and now it grew still further. He could not zip his pants, and, if exposed, would surely be arrested. He realized with a thrill of rabid fear that he’d be forced to go through with whatever their plans were, whatever that meant for his precious, enormous ponytail.
“Not my ponytail,” he plead desperately even as they set foot in the barbershop. “Please not my ponytail.”
When they entered the establishment, every gaze was immediately on the fantastic blonde thing that lay so defenseless before them. The barber eyed what he saw as a teenage boy’s unconscionably long ponytail with something akin to malice, greedily snipping his scissors and imagining the silky labor of Aaron’s entire adolescence within their rusty clutches.
Aaron stood frozen in horror the whole time as Amanda talked quietly to the barber. He had almost begun to weep as he envisioned his ponytail being severed, and was astonished when Amanda and Tiffany turned and walked out of the store.
They got into the car wordlessly, and Aaron dared not say a thing. Instead he was acutely aware of every inch of his seventeen-inch ponytail as it rested on his back. He could also see some kind of cloth wrapped in Amanda’s hand, though he couldn’t make out what it was. They got back to his house, and Tiffany marched him into the basement and into his bathroom.
Tiffany turned on the light above his shower as Amanda headed into the other room. Aaron caught a glimpse of his ponytail in the mirror and was struck as never before with how very long and incandescent it was. At the same time, it looked strangely limp now, by far less invincible after such a close brush with death. Aaron realized for the first time that it could really be cut off, and he shuddered.
At that moment, Amanda came back into the room with a chair, which Tiffany put in the middle of the shower. Aaron was puzzled.
“Sit down,” Amanda instructed. He did, his beautiful blonde ponytail touching the back of the chair.
It was so long, he thought, looking at again in the mirror. So long.
It was then that Amanda unfurled the fabric in her hand, and he saw, aghast, that it was a cape. As he shook with panic and fright, Amanda tied the gown around his neck. She reached beneath its black embrace pulled out his incredible, wonderful ponytail, now falling across his back for the last time.
Tiffany took a small pair of scissors from her pocket. They were so small, only three or four inches long. Yet they could devour a foot of hair like nothing else.
“No, not scissors,” Aaron said, looking around frantically, his ponytail jumping from shoulder to shoulder. “Please, not my ponytail!”
“Please, no!” he shrieked. “Not my ponytail!!! Please, anything but that!!! Not my ponytail!!!”
Amanda seized it roughly at its based and turned to him, asking, “How long did you say it took you to grow this again?”
“Oh, yeah,” she continued mockingly, imitating his adolescent voice. “‘See this ponytail? I’ve been growing it for four years. I haven’t had a real haircut since I was fourteen.’ Well, let’s see how long it takes to cut off.”
She seized the ponytail roughly in her hands, deliberately pulling it, using its own massive length against it.
At that moment, Aaron saw the many years it had taken him to attain his stunning braid. He saw himself as a thirteen-year-old boy, distastefully eyeing his short-cropped hair in the mirror; now as an older thirteen-year-old boy, proudly observing bangs that were just beginning to curl above his eyebrows; now as a fourteen-year-old boy, growing his hair for one year and able to touch his bangs to his upper lip, then finally, with a rush of exultation several months later, into his mouth; as a fifteen-year-old boy, cultivating those locks for two years, bringing his bangs down to his chin and tossing a pouf of blonde hair that reached his jaw-line; as a sixteen-year-old boy, proudly tying his tresses into their first tight ponytail on a summer afternoon, pushing back stray blonde pieces that fell out of the tail; as a seventeen-year-old boy, increasingly cocky as his bangs reached his throat and his ponytail reached his shoulders; now, at last, an eighteen-year-old with uncontrolled hubris, his fantastic bangs descending an incredible eighteen inches to his very chest and his ponytail falling halfway down his back. That hair was his pride and joy. Sometimes he took it out, spread it across his chest, and just watched the long blonde tendrils with wonder.
“Dude!” he said to himself in the mirror. “My hair is so fucking long!”
And now here it was, his ponytail, helplessly prostrate in all its jaw-dropping length and beauty, about to be slashed off.
“Please…” he begged once more.
With that, she brought her lethal scissors down and hacked savagely into his ponytail as Tiffany joyfully counted, “One, two, three four five!” He could feel the crunching and tearing as the scissors cut through his blonde hair, and then within an instant he felt nothing.
His ponytail had been quickly sawed off, and at the five-second mark Amanda threw it spitefully onto the floor of the shower.
Aaron could only scream, looking at the long blonde thing, once the crowning jewel of his physical appearance and an impressive mane of hair, now simply a dirty blonde rag lying helplessly and insignificantly on the floor. It looked haggard and thin, not like a cascade of hair that he’d spent four long years pruning and perfecting into a golden titan.
Almost since he’d hit puberty, he’d grown his long ponytail. Now, it had been cut off in a mere five seconds.
“My ponytail!” he screamed, descending from the chair and onto his knees. His pants, still loose from the trip to the barbershop, fell around his ankles as he knelt in abject terror, cradling his severed ponytail in his hands with an expression of mingled agony and disbelief.
“My ponytail!” he yelled again, his eyes so wide that they looked as if they might pop out of his head. “My ponytail!”
“Here,” Amanda said, taking the great golden thing from his shaking hands.
“Wear it now.”
And then, using the black elastic with which it was still tied, she affixed the mighty blonde tail he’d grown for four years to his erect penis, by now so glutted with lusty blood that it was quivering in anticipation of something to come.
Looking down and seeing the flowing pride of his adolescence hung so indolently from his sweating penis, Aaron looked straight ahead and started to cry.
Not only did he cry; he wailed. Watching him, both Amanda and Tiffany were suddenly struck with how childlike he appeared; so cool and sophisticated, so unbearably arrogant with his ponytail, he now seemed sniveling and pathetic without it. Those two girls gazing upon him saw Aaron as he truly was: a skinny boy, one might even say scrawny, with a pubescent face that, at present, was rendered pitiable by the tears that streamed from his eyes and clung to the pink brims of his widened nostrils.
Sticking out from behind his ears in awkward tufts were twin bushes of yellow-blonde hair, that, to be frank, were rather unattractive. Long, but too short to be held back, his hair now rose outrageously, a tangled and frizzy blonde halo that surrounded his weeping head. It looked messy and unappealing. And had it not been for that unmitigated mass of hair, he would have been completely unremarkable. It was amazing how the feature that had once made his sex appeal had now been transformed into something that was actually a dramatic turn-off for any girl who might happen to look out him.
“My ponytail,” he gasped and stammered. “My p-ponytail!”