The perfect souvenir by Manny

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“I’d like to speak to the manager," I said to the hotel’s front desk attendant as I tapped my finger impatiently.

The handsome young man looked up and replied in a soft, halting voice, “I’m the manager."

He seemed to blush, and I instinctively wondered whether he was telling the truth. I glanced at his nametag that simply read “Himanshu" â€" with no identifying title.

“You’re a very young manager," I noted, which intensified the blush on his creamy olive skin.

Himanshu blinked and swallowed nervously. His thick dark lashes fluttered with a unique beauty; his full lips of pinkish rose added to his prettiness.

“How can I help you?" Himanshu asked, averting my gaze in a discreet posture of submissiveness.

His thick, well-coiffed hair, was so black it almost had a blueish luster to it.

“I’d like to show you something in my room," I replied curtly.

“Yes, of course, as Mister says," Himanshu replied. “Anything to make Mister’s hotel stay enjoyable and pleasing."

His lean body sported a perfectly-tailored navy suit, paired with a crisp, white shirt and maroon tie for the expected professional look. Himanshu did not ask any questions as he walked through the long corridor, accompanying me to my executive suite.

I opened my hotel room door, and Himanshu followed me in.

After the door closed, I asked, “Are you really the manager, Himanshu?"

He blinked, unable to conceal a guilty look.

His silence was an admission.

“I’m just a front desk clerk," he confessed softly, looking down to avoid my gaze.

“I only wanted to speak to the manager to tell him how helpful you had been, resolving my problem. I wanted to praise you to him," I explained.

Himanshu’s nervous look transformed into a relieved smile.

“Mister is kind," he murmured.

I reached to unfasten his tie, and he stood submissively while I took it off. Then, he let me remove his jacket.

I stroked his soft, thick hair. It was a treasure of comfort and beauty. Himanshu seemed to enjoy my tender caresses. The forelock was long and bulky but stayed as it was arranged away from the large dark eyes.

“You are very handsome," I said as I unbuttoned his shirt.

A thick, furry pelt on his chest was revealed.

Himanshu watched me taking liberties with him in a posture of acceptance.

I ran my fingers across his silken chest pelt and then resumed stroking his amazing locks of ebony.

“I love your hair; it’s so thick and soft," I murmured.

“I’m sorry that I lied to you about being the manager, but I was afraid. You seemed upset," he said.

“Then, kiss me," I said. “And, all will be forgiven."

“But…." Himanshu’s eyes flashed with fear.

His body tensed as I drew him into my arms.

“My parents have arranged a marriage for me, to a girl from my mother’s village," Himanshu explained, with pleading eyes, but making no effort to exit my embrace.

I pressed my lips to his and he gave way to my desire for intimacy â€" at first, tentatively….then, more confidently….and then, passionately.

“They need not know how you enjoyed yourself with me today," I replied, stroking his beautiful hair.

Himanshu agreed and smiled shyly.

“Our time together alone will be our private pleasure," he said. “I have just finished my shift."

Then, he began to undress me.

“Thank you for bringing me to your room, sir," he said, dropping to his knees.

All shyness and hesitation was gone. I was the only person who mattered to him. He brought me along steadily and with an unexpected passion. Finally, I exploded in delight.

Himanshu beamed as I collapsed in exhaustion. Then, he finished undressing me and led me to the bed.

I admired his youth and beauty, his simple form of submission….his tasty lips and soft hair. My hand explored his furry body and then returned to his thick silken mane. I manipulated his well-groomed forelock.

“I would like to have this cut," I suddenly said, as I stroked his shimmering locks. “To take you to a barber and have it cut."

“Cut?" he stammered.

“Yes. Short! Very, very short!!" I exclaimed. “To watch your beautiful hair falling to the barber’s cape. Lock, after lock, after lock….until you’ve been shorn like a youthful schoolboy."

“Like a schoolboy?!" he repeated, surprised by my plan and desire.

“You, sitting quietly, with your head bowed down, while a street barber takes the manual clippers to your lovely hair and we watch it fall like tears from weeping eyes," I said, drawing him into a loving embrace.

He kissed me, then whispered in a hoarse, dry voice, “My hair displeases you?"

“Not at all. It delights me," I explained as I tenderly caressed the silken locks. “But it will be the only part of you I can take with me to remember our private afternoon."

Himanshu swallowed hard, “Like a souvenir of our time together?"

I nodded.

He finally agreed, “Yes, I want all my hair cut off, if it is your wish, sir. I want you to remember me and these moments."

He stifled a tear.

“This lock, in particular, will be a prize," I noted as I fondled his forelock. “So long and elegant."

“Before we leave, though, I want to be fully known…." Himanshu said awkwardly.

“Known?" I asked.

“Known - as a man knows a woman," he explained as he turned to prepare for the bottom position.

I smiled and was more than willing to oblige him.

“I don’t want you to go," Himanshu said after surrendering himself to me. His huge dark eyes pleaded with me to stay and I stroked his creamy olive skin.

“I wish you could come away with me, but…." I tried to break the news to him gently. “….I will have my souvenir."

“I don’t want the arranged marriage, but I understand," Himanshu replied in a soft, meek voice. “We can go straight to the street barber. There is one not far from here."

I kissed him repeatedly. Then, I examined his forelock, which was at least five inches in length. I would have a four-inch souvenir lock of my romantic interlude with Himanshu.

“You are so sweet to surrender your beautiful hair as a memento, Himanshu," I said.

My fingers lingered on his furry chest.

“Would you like me shaved smooth from head to toe?" Himanshu asked. “To see me bald and innocent like a newly born baby?"

“No, what I’d like you to do is run down to the front desk and get a pair of scissors. I want to take off the forelock myself," I said.

Himanshu dressed himself quickly and then brushed his thick dark hair into place.

“Me here by myself and my forelock in a distance country," he murmured in a disturbed tone.

Instantly, he was gone. A few minutes later he returned with scissors in hand. He primed them open and shut. In his other hand he held a small paper bag from the gift shop.

“These are for you," Himanshu said, handing both the scissors and the bag to me.

Out of the bag I took a beautiful carved alabaster box decorated with colorful inlaid semi-precious stones.

“I want you to keep my cut lock in it," Himanshu explained.

I opened the elegant, small box and set in on the table. Then I motioned for him to sit in a chair, facing a mirror.

I brushed his thick forelock and held it captive with one hand.

“Can I take it?" I asked, feeling a bit sorry for Himanshu.

“Yes, I want you to," he replied softly, his face surprisingly serene.

With the scissors, I began to cut off the prized forelock, quite near the scalp. It was thick and beautiful. A tear streamed down Himanshu’s cheek as I lifted off my trophy souvenir.

I lay the lock tenderly in the alabaster box.

“It’s beautiful," I said, as we both studied the black lock in the white box.

Then, I looked at Himanshu’s butchered hair. “We need to get you to the street barber!"

Himanshu touched the short tuft were his prized lock once hung. Then he looked inside the alabaster box again and smiled broadly. “You will never forget Himanshu…."

We scurried out a back door of the hotel so no one would see us, then cut across the back parking lot.

Within minutes, we arrived at the street barber.

Himanshu spoke quickly to him in a dialect I could not understand as he climbed up onto the uncomfortable makeshift wooden chair. He pointed at a few schoolboys with their clipped heads and hint of straight bangs.

The barber smiled broadly as he cast a ragged cape over the crisp white shirt.

He would lose his adolescent prettiness and take on the innocence of a young schoolboy, I thought.

The barber shoved his head forward and began manipulating a manual hand clippers, open and shut. He clipped Himanshu’s hair, tight up the back. Clumps of shiny ebony fell to the sidewalk. Himanshu kept his head prostrate for the barber. The cape slowly collected his cut hair. Again and again, the manual clippers traveled across almost the whole of Himanshu’s head.

Finally, the barber whittled the bangs down to virtually nothing.

Himanshu cracked a shy smile as I took a picture of him with my phone. I rubbed his clipped head, to the delight of the barber.

“Do you like my new haircut?" Himanshu asked me.

“Yes, it suits you, my friend," I replied.

“After you leave, I am going to undergo a ritual shave from head to toe, as an offering, in the hope that you will send me a ticket to follow you to your home," Himanshu said.

“In the meantime, let’s go back to my hotel room…." I whispered.

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