In Ellis's opinion, Sheryl was perfect. Gorgeous, tall, with long legs that would wrap easily around him when they fucked. She was intelligent, fun to talk to, and had plenty in common with him. There was just one problem.
She was blonde.
Ellis had nothing against blondes. Or brunettes, or grey-haired women, or even women who dyed their hair colors that would never be found in nature.
But he could only fuck red heads.
It had started young. His first love had had red hair. Beautiful, long, auburn hair that he would have loved to have run his hands through if she would have let him. But she never acknowledged his existence.
When he'd gotten older, his first sex partner had been a red head. Carrot-orange red, but still red. He'd fucked her silly for a few months, until she'd decided she was sick of people teasing her about her hair and dyed it brown. After that, he hadn't even been able to get hard for her.
The same thing had happened ever since. He would meet a woman who showed interest, but unless she had red hair, he couldn't have sex with her. It had been going on for years, and he'd gotten used to the idea that he could only fuck red heads. Mostly it didn't matter.
But Sheryl was perfect. They had so much in common it was scary. They'd met at work and had hit it off almost immediately. After a few weeks, they'd moved things out of the office, going out for coffee or a drink after work once or twice a week.
Now Ellis had asked her out on a real date. The dinner had gone well; the conversation had flowed easily. Now Ellis desperately wanted to want sex with her. But she had blonde hair.
"Earth to Ellis. Come in, Ellis."
They were on his couch in his apartment, and for the life of him Ellis couldn't remember why he'd invited her here. After the time they'd spent together and the flirting they'd done, it was only reasonable for her to expect that he'd asked her over for a fuck. Assuming that was what she did think; he hadn't quite dared to ask her yet. "I'm listening," he said.
"No, you're about a zillion miles away," Sheryl scolded. "I asked if you wanted me to stay any longer. It's getting late."
She sounded irritated. If he wasn't going to make a move, he would at least have to explain to her why. Which wouldn't be easy. He'd never told anyone about his red head fixation. He'd never had a reason to. But he didn't want to lose her, at least as a friend, which was all they were likely to ever be.
"I do want you to stay, but I have to tell you, this is pretty much all we're going to be doing," he said. "I have some movies if you want to watch anything."
"Is there something wrong with me?" she demanded. "I've never known a man as long as I've known you without him making some kind of pass at me. You haven't even tried. I know you're not gay; I've heard that you date women. So what's wrong with me?"
"Nothing. You're a wonderful person. You're incredibly sexy. It's just me."
"You're not interested in women who are wonderful and sexy?"
"Of course I am. I just..." He took a deep breath and decided the direct approach was best. "You're wonderful and sexy, but you have blonde hair."
"And you don't like blondes? Why'd you bother asking me out, then?"
