"You look so good with long hair," he says to me, clearly a little drunk.
"Thanks," I respond with a smile. I'm not against giving a guy a smile when he compliments me, even if half the time I get a compliment I think the person must be lying to me.
"You don't look like a girl at all," he says a little louder. It is less of a compliment and more of a statement of awe at this stage.
I roll my eyes before turning again. This is something I hear quite a bit, the surprise that a guy with long hair might actually look masculine. The idea seems to be new for some people. Strangely enough, I got it less out in Ohio and the Midwest where I was one of the only guys with long hair than I do here in New England. And here, I'm not in much of a minority. I frequently see at least one guy with long hair when I'm out and about, but people still seem surprised.
"Yeah, I know. Strange how something that is supposed to be girlie can actually make a guy look more manly," I reply to him. My standard reply for that statement.
He paused and I thought he was going to walk away, so I turned back to my own business. But he wasn't finished. "Why do you put it in a pony tail? You should let it hang down."
I was starting to get bugged with this guy. I looked him up and down quickly, taking in the smell of him, which wasn't pleasant, and the sight, which was definitely a mess. He was wearing a coat and a hoodie, neither of which were on straight. His eyes were glazed over, and his pants were sagging down further than anyone could ever have wanted. I didn't know if he was flirting with me or not, but either way, I wanted nothing from him.
"I tie it back so it doesn't get in the way, or if it is windy. I don't like it blowing in my face."
"Oh," he said. I waited a moment to see if he had anything else to throw at me, but he shuffled away. I once again ignored him and, after settling myself a bit from my irritation, even began to forget about him. But he hadn't gone for good. He left his group of friends and came back up to me, this time tapping me on he shoulder to get my attention before asking, "What would you do if I cut your pony tail off?" He had a dumb grin on his face suggesting he was barely holding back some laughter, and he breath was making a quick line for my nose.
I looked him in the eye and very calmly said, "I would punch you so hard that you'd swallow your teeth."
At that moment a few of his friends came to save him from himself, dragging him away from me. One of them stayed to apologize to me, however. This guy was handsome. He had a nice square jaw, one that you used to see on all the old movie stars. His black hair was playfully mussed and just begging me to run my hands through it. His shoulders were broad and his clothes fit in all the right places, giving me a nice hint as to what might lie inside his jeans, waiting to be set free.
I started fumbling my words in my acceptance of his apology. Of course I forgave his friend, he just had too much to drink. We all do blah blah blah. I was babbling. Saying as much as possible to keep him there. When I realized this fact, I had to stop and wonder why I was doing it. I awkwardly told him to have a good night, and stared at his ass while he walked away, and then it hit me. I had a crush on him. It wasn't just that I wanted to fuck him, but I was actually charmed out of my pants by him. I felt like a school girl. And then I was struck again, this time by the realization that I was comparing myself to a school girl when the whole incident had started with the drunk guy telling me I looked like a man. I started laughing out loud and went through the rest of the night with a smile on my face and a chubby in my pants thinking about that sexy guy.