Ever since he was a kid, Steve had wanted to be a big-time reporter with a national newspaper. He dreamed of moving to LA or New York, breaking the news on political or sports events. Sadly for Steve, he ended up working for his local paper, the Springwell Star. As a 20 year old photojournalist, Steve still dreamed of better things, but the simple fact was that nothing happened in this small leafy town in the Midwest. His daily routine would never seem to change; he was always reporting on small crimes, cats getting stuck up trees or the local kindergarten nativity play. Nevertheless, one event on a quiet Tuesday afternoon was to change his life forever.

"Steve!" hollered his editor, "I want you to go and report on Miss Wilson up at the farmhouse on the edge of town. She has just won an award for the longest hair in the State."

Steve sat, jaw agape, before jumping at the chance. You see, Carol Wilson was once the object of Steve's young dreams. As a child, some twelve years before, he had discovered his fetish for long hair when Carol used to visit his mother and occasionally baby-sit. Often, she would let the young Steve brush her then waist length hair. However, since her husband divorced her a few years later after a short marriage, she had become reclusive. She stopped visiting, and would offer venture out into town just once or twice a week. When Steve did see her, her hair was piled up into a thick bun, in such a style that said that she didn't want anyone to see it. Steve thought it was a shame; she was only fifteen years older than him, and he felt life was passing her by.

Steve drew up to the farmhouse in his car. He got out and knocked on the door. He could hear footsteps in the hall, before Carol opened the door.

"Steve! Is that you?" she exclaimed, "Then you must be the photojournalist here to do my shoot!"

"Yeah," gasped Steve. He had noticed that her hair was down, but he couldn't determine the length as she was facing him. "Shall we go in?"

"Oh, yes. I've got everything set up in the dining room."

With that, she turned around. It was then that Steve noticed the full splendour of her hair. It was not waist length anymore as he had remembered. Oh no, it was longer than that. In fact, it was so long, about a foot of hair trailed behind her on the floor. Steve was transfixed by the sight - long, straight, shiny light brown hair. He was already turned on, but tried not to show it. He followed her in, attempting not to step on the foot of hair trailing on the floor!

"So how are you Steve?" she enquired, "I haven't seen you since you were a child."

"I'm fine thanks," Steve replied.

"So you've made it as a journalist, I see?"

"Yeah."

"This must be an interesting story for you?"

"You could say that!"

Carol walked into her living room. She lifted her hair and sat down on the sofa. "So what is the plan of action?" she asked Steve.

"Well, um, I thought I would firstly ask a few questions, then take a few photographs. It's going to be a page article in the 'fashion' section about how you have got the longest hair in the State."

"That is true!" she exclaimed, giving her mane a quick shake. "We'll make a start then!"

Steve began asking the questions. He was amazed at how confident she was when answering them.

"How long have you been growing your hair?"

"Since I was a little girl. I haven't had a proper cut for 15 years, and don't plan to!"

"Why?"

"Because I love it this long - it's unusual I think."

"Um... what do other people think?"

"I don't really care about them."

"What made you decide to grow it?"

"Well, I grew it to waist length until I married, and then my husband wanted me to cut it short for HIM. So I told him, no. Then I grew it longer to piss him off!"

Steve made notes in his notebook, all the time getting more and more turned on. Occasionally, Carol would run her fingers through her hair and smile at him, or give it a quick shake; it was as if she knew the effect it was having on him.

"Ok, um, I think that's enough questions. Shall we do a quick photoshoot?" asked Steve.

"No problem," replied Carol. "I'll just quickly brush my hair and we can get on with it."

With that she stood up, and picked up a hairbrush which was conveniently sitting on the table in front of her. She walked over to the mirror in the corner and began to brush her hair for a couple of minutes. Steve watched, transfixed.

"You know, I used to let you do this to me when you were a kid!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, I remember," laughed Steve. Oh, how he wanted to be doing it now. "Are you ready for the shoot?"

"What types of pictures do you want?" Carol enquired.

"Oh, just natural poses," Steve replied. "I'll take one or two of you with your hair down, then you could maybe wear it up for a couple more photos."

"OK!" replied Carol.

Steve told Carol to stand up. He took three pictures of her facing him in different poses; one just simply standing up straight, one with her tucking one side of her hair behind one ear and on with her brushing her hair.

"That was great!" Steve exclaimed, delighted with the poses. "Could you go and put your hair up while I change the film?"

"Sure!" replied Carol, "What style do you want?"

"Um... just a simple bun perhaps?"

"Ok," she replied, "I'll be right back."

Carol left the room, her hair still trailing behind her. Steve sat back on the sofa almost exhausted, his heart beating heavily. Of course there are other poses he wanted to take of her, such as her throwing her hair forward over her face, but he knew that it would have caused problems. He was quite happy with the poses he had. He only had to wait ten minutes; Carol re-entered the room with her hair piled into a huge bun. Steve was once again shocked and transfixed.

"Will this do?" she asked, almost as if she wasn't entirely happy with it. "It's only got one large pin holding it, but it seems tight enough."

"That's perfect!" replied Steve. "I'll take a few more pictures."

With that, Steve got his camera out again and took a few more shots. He felt satisfied with his work, and collected all his belongings.

"Thank you Carol, you'll be in the newspaper in a few days."

"Ooohh, I've always wanted to be a proper model!" she replied.

"You possibly could, with hair like that!" Steve laughed. "Anyway, I'd better go." Steve stood up to leave.

"Wait!!!" gasped Carol.

Steve sat down again, and looked at Carol.

"You know, this bun is a little uncomfortable." Carol sighed. "Why not, for old times sake, I let you brush my hair again?"

Steve sat still, his cock twitching once again.

"Um... I really must be getting back to work. My boss will kill me," Steve replied.

"Look Steve," Carol sighed as she got up. "I know you love my hair, and would do anything to brush it again."

"Yeah, well... I was just... a kid back then..."

Carol ignored him. She took Steve by the hand.

"It's your choice," she said. "You can stay here for a while longer, or go back to work and think about what you COULD have had for the rest of the day."

Steve was astounded by this ultimatum. Should he stay and have possibly the most enjoyable afternoon of his life? Or go back to the office and get another silly story from his editor?

Steve chose the former. "OK!!!! You've persuaded me!!!" laughed Steve.

Carol smiled. "Follow me into my bedroom," she replied.

Carol walked into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed. Steve sat on behind her on the bed.

"Ok, bow your head forward," Steve asked. Carol did so. Steve felt the back of her hair for any pins. He found a long pin which appeared to be holding her hair in place. He felt around for the top of the pin. It was now or never... once again he felt a twitch in his cock. He pulled the pin out. Suddenly, all her hair fell forward in one go. Over six feet of hair was now hanging in front of Carol. He ran his fingers through her hair to feel for any more pins. He got up from the bed and faced Carol. She was still sitting with her head bowed. He picked up the hairbrush from the bedside table and began brushing her hair. He started at the back of her neck and brushed down to the ends, which took some time! Most of her hair was spread along the carpet and almost out the door of her bedroom. Steve felt it with his hands as he brushed it; it was wonderful. He stood up and moved back to admire the view.

"You can take a picture if you want!" laughed Carol. So Steve ran into the dining room and picked up his camera. He took two pictures of the pose.

"OK," he sighed, almost exhausted. "Throw your head back so I can brush it from behind!"

With this, Carol leaned forward on the bed slightly, then tossed her head violently backwards.

Steve took a picture of her as she did so; that would be an INCREDIBLE photo, he thought!

Carol pushed the stray hairs which had not cleared her face back over her head, and gave it a quick shake. She stood up from the bed. Steve moved behind her and began brushing, this time starting at the top. He began by brushing her hair straight back so that it was soft and silky. He formed a center parting, then brushed the left side of her hair first, then the right. Once this was done, he stood behind her and spent almost twenty minutes brushing her hair from behind. Once he had had enough, he faced Carol to admire his work.

"Mmmm, that was wonderful!" Carol replied, "You did an excellent job!". She turned to face the mirror, and gently ran her fingers down her hair so not to spoil it. "You'll have to do this again sometime!" she laughed.

"Yeah, maybe I will!" replied Steve. "Thank you!"

Carol showed Steve to the door. He was almost shaking from his experience. However, he had to get back to the office to type up the story and develop his photographs. On arrival back at the office, his editor was livid.

"Where the hell have you been?" he screamed, "I've been looking for you."

"Oh, I was at Miss Wilson's house. Some of the poses, um, took a while to sort out" replied Steve.

"Well process all the information, and quickly! I need that story on my desk at 6pm!"

With that, Steve typed the story, and went to the darkroom to develop his photographs. He was especially diligent as to the photos he wanted to keep; when he had processed them, he stuck them in his briefcase.

Finally, at 5:45pm, everything was finished. He put the article and the photos on his editor's desk and got ready to go home. As he was putting his coat on, he felt in his pockets a piece of paper. Opening it up, it simply said: