Lavro
Sun-kissed. That was the word they used to describe his skin. It was a rich hue, toned by countless hours under the Earth’s big star, among the rocks and gentle, salty waves. That much sun, he knew, would age him, but it hadn’t yet begun in that cruel process. Rather, it deified him, making whole his perfection, coating his slender body and hair with a layer of gold.
He was a renegade. He never spoke of what brought him to the sea, to abandon a life of modern comfort for a decrepit, stationary camper decaying among the sun-scorched rocks. To cook his meals on old cast iron upon a sputtering propane stove or open fire under a burning moon. To bathe in the salty sea. To work in the distant town only when necessary, riding in on a dirt bike spewing black smoke, no longer met as a stranger, but as a welcome helping hand.
He could not deny himself who he was: a young man made of seawater, of sun rays, and moonlight. His body was sculpted by the waves, embracing them ritualistically every morning and evening when the weather allowed him to. It was, after all, a matter of spirit and devotion.
He would step into the sea, waves lapping against his long toes, rising to his calves, higher still to his thigh, which was always exposed in his very short shorts. His slender fingers and strong hands embraced the water, running it through his hair, which was long and uncut since he came there over a year and a half ago. Like his body and mind, his hair too was transformed from the flat, light brown fringe of his mortal life, to the sensual waves turned blond by sun and salt, covering his neck, ears, and cheeks. It was neither greasy nor dirty, but healthy and wild, nourished by and reflective of its environment. It was an object of his vanity, an aesthetic that brought him pleasure when he caught glimpses of himself in the reflection of the water, or in his mirror.
His face too, long and handsome, sprouted a patchy beard which he shaved smooth with a straight razor about once every month. He used that razor on his arms and legs, relishing in the tingle that came when he entered the sea with his body shaved smooth. He has time to do this. Another ritual.
He would swim along the rocky coast as far as he could, and sometimes he would visit the other renegade: Another young man, but one confined to a tent under a rocky outcrop, one he had turned into his abode by covering the cavern in spray paint and constructing small rooms from various materials. This was indicative of his chaotic nature, a whimsical personality that that attractive. They had met many times, and even ate together when they could. His name was Nikos, and the young men only knew parts of each other’s spoken languages. That did not prevent them from practicing languages of the body and soul with one another, emblazoned by the lustful powers upon which they based their lives. Even that ritual sometimes found itself happening in the sea.
Nikos, who similarly swam, fished, and labored, was taller but had a parallel physique. His hair remained dark, coiled into a mess of curls that weighed on his head like a helmet. They too smelled of salt water. Nikos always expressed his pleasure by saying his fellow renegade’s name with a dashing smile and thick accent: Clay.
Clay was fascinated by Nikos and their time spent together, slowly learning to speak to one another with new words and expressions. They shared food, gave one another company, and even taught each other handy tricks, or brought one another to jobs in town for extra money.
They did not spend every day together, although Clay would like to. The young men had a bond, physical, fluid, and emotional, one shared within their enclosed world of maritime simplicity.
On a warm clear day after Clay had swam his morning swim, passing by Nikos without stopping, he found himself back at by camper lying nude on a rock in the late afternoon sun. He wished he had seen Nikos that day, craving his affection. Lying there, the bright light burned against his eyelids. He could imagine Nikos, wet and nude, with a muscular torso sculpting sharp diagonal lines across his pelvis. Perfect. The thought gave rise to Clay’s anatomy, which summoned an irresistible call to his hand.
The sound of shuffling rock broke his trance. Someone was approaching. Clay made no motion to conceal himself. He simply raised his head to see that familiar silhouette of Nikos approaching.
“Clay,” he smiled, dressed only in a pair of loose shorts and flip-flops.
“Hey, Nikos,” Clay sat up on the rock letting his feet dangle. They stared at one another for a moment before Nikos began to speak slowly.
“Do you… have, uh…” Nikos made a motion with his hand, signaling scissors.
“Scissors?” Clay made the motion back.
“Yes. Scissors.” He pronounced it slow and deliberate. “Do you have… scissors? I don’t have.”
“I do,” Clay hopped to his feet and took a couple of nude strides toward his camper. “Why?”
“To cut,” Nikos replied, pulling on one of his curls and using his scissor fingers to mime cutting it.
“You are cutting your hair?” Clay asked with surprise.
“Little bit,” Nikos shrugged. “You want?”
“Do I want what?” Clay had quickly run into his camper and retrieved the scissors, bouncing back out with the door flapping closed behind him. “Do I want to cut it for you? Or do I want a haircut too?”
Clay extended the scissors to Nikos. They were not proper haircut scissors, he knew, but were large and completely metal with a large handle. They were also sharp, since Clay was always sure to take care of all of his belongings, especially things with as much utility as scissors. Nikos did not seem to understand the question, nor did he take the scissors from Clay. He just pointed at him, a way of asking him to do the cutting.
“You do not want me to cut your hair,” Clay said with a laugh. “I have never done it before.”
“Please?” was all Nikos said, piercing Clay with a look of mischief from his deep brown eyes.
“Ok ok, I’ll try,” Clay sighed with a touch of anxiety, pointing to his small fold-out stool that was next to his empty fire pit.
He did not want to ruin Nikos’ beautiful hair. At the same time, it was not like he had any social obligation that he needed to look good for. There was something about being asked to help with grooming that excited Clay too. He went back inside quickly to grab his comb and take his small rectangular mirror off the wall, bringing it outside and placing it upon a dark green tarp that covered his firewood. Nikos swiveled in his seat to face the mirror, and scooted himself closer to it.
“How much do you want me to cut?” Clay asked, still naked, and still aroused.
“Hm. Little bit?”
Standing behind him, Clay began to comb through the curls that grew long down the back of Nikos’ neck, resting on his trapezius muscle. Clay could feel excitement rising in him, and nerves. He took one of the dark curls in his fingers and hoped that he was not about to take too much off. He cut through with the scissors, the sound causing goosebumps to raise across Nikos’ body. Clay had cut off a nearly two inch lock with a grin. Instead of letting the lock fall, he held it, showing it to Nikos.
“Is this enough?” Clay asked.
“Enough… no. More.”
“What is more? How much?”
Niko responded by raising his rand to the back of his neck, just below his ear. He wanted his hair taken off his neck completely it seemed. Clay felt a moment of reservation, but went back to his task, this time less tenderly. He did not comb or hold any locks of hair, but instead opened the scissors and slid them into his long hair right where Nikos’ hand had been before. They shared a look of affirmation in the mirror, and Clay closed the scissors, easily cutting through the mass of hair that was caught between the blades. Severed curls slid down Nikos’ back and onto the rocky floor, and into Clay’s toes. He continued his work, cutting through the bulk until he saw the elegant notches of Nikos’ spine revealed, and the gentle curve of his neck.
Nikos’ expression was one of relief, as if his hair had been taxing him in those hot days. He raised his hand to feel the liberated space on his neck, nodding in approval. He then pointed next to the top of his ear, and Clay set to action. With one finger, he held Nikos’ ear down. With his free hand, he began to snip off the thick curls that covered Nikos’ ear, watching them fall onto his lap. The scissors glided around his ear in an arch motion, one cut then another, each severing heavy chunks of hair and depositing them on Nikos’ body.
Even when Clay had finished, the hair on the top and sides slightly covered the tops of his ears when it was allowed to fall into place again. With his neck and ears no longer hidden, Clay realized the look was rather handsome. Clay stepped around to the front, his manhood right in front of Nikos’ face.
“What about your fringe?” Clay asked, tugging on the hair so Nikos understood him.
Falling well past his cheekbone and nearly to his jaw when pulled taught, Clay was surprised when Nikos drew a horizontal line with his finger across his eyebrow. He thought it would be too short indeed, but he could not really argue. The hair snagged for a moment as Clay combed it forward, covering Nikos’ eyes.
“Are you sure?” Clay asked with hesitation.
Nikos responded with another motion of his finger, a mock cutting motion across his eyebrows. Clay was hesitant to oblige, but opened the scissors anyway, feeding them under Nikos’ fringe, the blunt side resting at the top of his eyebrow. Clay held it there for a moment, knowing how much hair he was about to cut off. The pause was long enough that Clay was unsure if he could cut that much of Nikos’ hair off. His hands began to sweat.
But Nikos reached out gently, holding Clay’s ever-attentive manhood, caressing it with his delicate touch. Letting out a deep breath, Clay closed the scissors. Nikos’ long locks fell quickly to his thigh, leaving his left eye exposed, the remaining curl recoiling up his forehead with a blunt edge. Another cut, straight across, then a third, and a fourth, until Nikos’ fringe was severed. He could not see himself in the mirror due to Clay blocking it with his naked body, but due to the texture of the curls, they rested much higher than his eyebrow.
Clay tried to focus as he was being touched, combing through and cutting any unnecessarily long hairs that went over the ear or onto his forehead from the top. Leaving some length on top was necessary, because Clay knew that Nikos was beginning to look choppy. Yet, with the hair gone from blocking his neck and face, Clay noticed an amplification of Nikos’ slender features, full lips, sharp nose, and piercing eyes.
Nikos released Clay from his hand, allowing him to step aside and offer him a glance at himself. His mouth opened in surprise. It lingered for a moment before turning into a smile. He allowed his hands to run through his newly cut hair, ruffling it so that the curls fluffed out, looking both wild and contained. To Clay, unreasonably attractive. He stood up to shake the cut hair from his body, joining the large pile on the floor. Clay noticed in his shorts, Nikos was excited too.
“You look great,” Clay said, scanning him up and down. “Hot.”
“Hot…” Nikos moved his hand to the back of his head, feeling his fresh cut curls, flexing his muscular arm and exposing his armpit to Clay. He knew his fellow renegade liked that. He gave him a side eye. “And you?”
“And me what?” Clay thought he knew what he was saying but was too nervous to admit it. Too turned on.
“Sit,” Nikos said, pointing to the stool.
“I don’t want my haircut,” Clay said, stepping forward and putting his free hand on Nikos’ chest. “I want something else.”
Nikos’ body pressed against his. He brought Clay in closer, slowly advancing toward his lips, on the cusp of letting them lock together tenderly. Before they could meet in swelling passion, Nikos put a hand on Clay’s shoulder. He lowered him into the seat and gently took the scissors and comb from his hand.
“You need too,” Nikos said sternly. Before Clay could protest, Nikos dropped his shorts, revealing his exposed body.
“Shit. Yes, ok. Not short though. Do not cut it short.”
“Short,” was all Nikos said in return. Clay did not know if that meant he understood.
Clay could feel his chest expanding as Nikos began to comb through his blonde locks, likewise needing to be unsnagged due to the texture from the sea salt held in it. Clay’s nerves unsettled further when Nikos began to comb his fringe forward. He felt his hair touch his bottom lip as it blocked his vision completely. The plastic comb passed over several times before the sensation was replaced by his large metal scissors sliding in well above his brow, at the height of his upper temple. Alarmed, Clay raised his finger to part the hair from his eye to look at Nikos, to tell him not to cut it that short. Nikos’ glance did not meet his, however, as it was fixated on his task at hand. He closed the scissors.
Clay felt his heart sink, even as the strands from his long blonde fringe fell severed onto his ceaseless erection. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Nikos opened and closed the scissors again high across Clay’s forehead. Then again. In an unexpected instant, Clay’s fringe was nearly completely cut off. Clay was not angry, but in shock, daring to glance down at his midsection to see just how long the strands were that fell.
Unlike Clay who sat frozen, Nikos moved quickly, unhesitant to continue his work. He brought the comb under Clay’s hair and cut off anything that hung over it, leaving him only an inch or so of hair. He did it quickly too, taking all of Clay’s hair off of one ear, then the next, snipping off anything long that he came into contact with. Between his paralysis and the allure of Nikos’ perfect body, Clay sat motionless.
At the back of Clay’s head, Nikos unapologetically cut the hair all the way up to Clay’s neckline, grabbing handfuls of his hair and hacking it off, then dropping it to the floor with a smile. One section at a time, he cut all of the blonde hair off, leaving only the spread of darker hair below, unkissed by the gleaming sun. Clay sat still in erect numbness as Nikos even cut through all of the hair on top, aggressive and methodical. Clay only began to refocus when Nikos stopped cutting, observing Clay’s head for areas he would have to go over again. Reading that Clay was ready to protest at last, although too late, Nikos stepped up to him, pressing the head of his penis against Clay’s lips, which yielded and opened to it.
The erotic distraction did not stop Clay from feeling the scissors go for his bangs again, cutting them off at his hairline this time, all the way across again. Clay did not have to be able to see himself to know that his hair was cut very short. Nikos swelled in his mouth. The shorter he cut Clay’s hair, the more excited Clay could feel him getting. At least he was enjoying it.
It felt like a thousand more snips of the scissors passed, cutting the short hair even shorter. Now shorter chunks of severed hair falling onto the long locks that fell before them. As Nikos grew closer to his own climax, he seemed to cut indiscriminately, leaving behind small patches where scalp showed through. But Clay did not know that, not until his haircut came to a blinding finish. Nikos’ salty ecstasy exploded in his throat, his own dripping onto a mix of brown curls and blonde waves.
***
The next day, Clay was alone in the early darkening of the oncoming evening. He stopped looking at his reflection that day. His hair was not only severely short, Nikos had massacred. But he wasn’t angry with Nikos. His sacrifice was worth the reward, the thirty seconds of toe-curling bliss. He reflected on the day before as he completed his monthly ritual, where he took his freshly sharpened straight razor and peeled away the hair from his face and his body.
He walked his shaved, naked body to the edge of gentle sea, letting the stinging water wash over his sensitive skin. This time, for the first time, he brought his razor with him. He ran his hand through what remained of his hair, feeling the shortened locks here, and the close-cropped patches there. Clay opened the blade of his razor and placed it gently against his butchered hairline, thinking long and hard, contemplating a new ritual.
