Lathered by a lama

» Waikiki

It was the night that was over in the twinkling of an eye and lasted 10,00 years. Making tantric love with the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa was unlike anything Bodhicita Guzman had ever known, and yet she'd always known it. She'd known him forever. She always would.

And this, she realized as she stepped out of the shower toweling off her thick, black hair, would be her life for the rest of their days.

She looked in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Same body, different Bodhicita.

She cracked the door to the master bedroom's bathroom, called "Jey, can you come in here, please."

She wrapped the towel discreetly around her like a pareau.

As the young lama entered wearing a hotel robe, he seemed to glow.

Bodhicita kissed his cheek, stepped back, tousled her hair.

"So what do you think about this hair?"

"I have never seen a more perfect head of hair," he replied.

"But in that image of us I saw on Joe's computer screen, the image that you meditated, both of us had shaved heads."

"Ah, yes, that is traditional. In our other incarnations it was a sign of devotion to Buddha, and to one another."

"Well, then, mister, you want to do the honors?"

She reached into her overnight bag, produced a small pair of scissors.

He ran his fingers through her just-conditioned hair, damp, thick, smooth to the touch, smelling slightly of ginger blossoms.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, as a sign of devotion to Buddha, and to you. Besides, think of the money I'll save on shampoo and conditioner."

She handed him the scissors.

"Cut it as close to the scalp as you can. I was reading the other day about an organization that uses human hair to make wigs for kids who lose their hair from cancer treatments."

"I admire your compassion," he said, and began to cut away the dark locks. After 10 minutes, she looked weed-wacked, all spikey and uneven.

"Time for the razor," he said.

Bodhicita didn't know if there was such a thing as a tantric shave, but she relaxed, closed her eyes, focused on Jey's gentle touch as he lathered her head and began to shave. Her head began to tingle, the movement of double-blades across her scalp and then his fingers gliding over the smooth, soapy skin. It was, she had to admit, erotic.

"What a beautiful head," Jey said, and she felt a wet towel at her forehead as he wiped away soap and hair.

Bodhicita opened her eyes. She'd been born with hair, had never imagined herself without it. "I like," she said, removing the towel. "And I love how you did it. Why don't you join me in the shower and I'll do you."