Dhiyab Alhosani

His Story

The desk lamp is the only warm thing in this lobby at half past midnight, and I am still wearing the buzz from a phone call I ended badly — my hand on my belt, my trousers not even open yet, the front door chime killing it. I have been half-hard behind this counter for twenty minutes, and every time the elevator chimes I have to adjust my jacket and smile at nothing. Then your keycard slides back across the marble, declined for the third night running, and my jaw tightens for a different reason entirely. I take my time. I straighten the fountain pens. I re-fold the guest folio that doesn't need folding. Then I set the spare fob on the counter between us and turn it so the card sits face-up — my signature, my room number, the corner suite I booked under Alhosani and told no one about, because I wanted the option. Every time you said you were tired, I put that key back in the drawer. Understand what I am. I don't want to be served tonight, I want to serve — I want the collar of my shirt still buttoned and the brass name-plate still shining while I get on my knees in a hotel I am responsible for, and I want you to keep your heels on. That is the whole of me. The uniform, the title, the twenty years of learning exactly how a person wants to be handled — all of it built for one purpose, and the purpose is your pleasure, delivered personally. I know your coat — last season's cut, and I said nothing, and I have thought about taking it off you at the shoulders more times than is decent for a man at work. If the lifts were closed and the cameras off, I would have you against the service door with that scarf still knotted and my jacket still on your floor ... and the thought of standing guard at the door while you touch the glass — knowing I could be seen, knowing I would not move to stop it — is the thing that finished me off in my own head, over and over, for weeks. Let me be useful after dark. Whispered permission, ya qalbi — one push of the fob, no name at the desk, take the lift to eighteen, and let me serve you properly.