Behind the Green Veil

A thousand thoughts went through my head as I weaved through the cue to face the American immigration agent. It had been such a long and unexpected day. I was so sad leaving my brother’s house, not because I would miss him specifically, but because it was one of the now rare occasions that my whole family can be together. My sister in Montreal was the first to leave Iran when she turned 20, accompanying her fiancé who found a job as a programmer for a Canadian telecommunications company. It was not long after that my brother moved to Malaysia with his new wife. My parents, my second sister and I remained living in Tehran with my maternal grandmother, my last surviving grandparent. About a year after that my remaining sister, Hannah, decided she wanted to go to school in the UK and moved to London. She had just graduated high school.

I am three years younger than Hannah, so it was yet some time before I finished high school and started medical school. When I decided that I did not want to be doctor, I applied to also attend college in the UK to go be with Hannah, with whom I felt closest. Four years after I left our grandmother died. With no other family to hold my parents in Tehran, they started flying often to Montreal to enjoy their new grandchildren.

By that time, I had moved to the US for my graduate studies. The problem for me was that on an American student visa, I could not easily travel outside of the US. I could travel back to Iran but I could not travel to Canada without securing an additional visa. These travel restrictions and complications plagued us all, a product of being Iranian. The result was that it was extremely difficult for us all to be together at the same time as a family. By some miracle the stars had all aligned for this trip to Malaysia and we had such a good time all together. Leaving was bitter sweet. My parents were getting older and I could see the years taking their toll. I had nieces and nephews that I had only seen pictures of on Facebook or talked to briefly on Skype, and I wondered how long it would be before we were all together again.

When I boarded the plane to head back to the US that morning, I was feeling all those emotions while also trying to come to terms with the fact that I now call the US home. I was also happy because I missed my fiancé. I had been away from him for two weeks and I really wanted to be back in his arms again. I was shocked to realize that during the whole flight I had only thought about him fleetingly, and that was when Jackson put his hand on my shoulder while we were standing looking out the plane window.

Dearest Jackson… What a wonderful surprise it had been meeting him. I had wanted his touch yet I knew I couldn’t take it. It hurt me to have to draw the line at physical contact. But I was so happy he didn’t let that kill the chemistry we had for the rest of the flight. I desperately wanted to share that last coffee with him and say a proper goodbye. So when I went through security and that sour cunt bitch started giving me a hard time, it was the missed time with Jackson that incensed me the most.

I tried to remain calm when they took me to the back room to do a more thorough security check. Still, I hoped that they would just look through my luggage and it would be all over with. But they questioned me for over twenty minutes, and I knew Jackson would be gone and that our opportunity was lost. It was the fact that the security agents had deprived me of that opportunity to say goodbye to him that perhaps made me so angry that I lost my cool. I snapped at the steely-eyed security agent asking me the same question that he had asked me once before, and something changed in his demeanor. He looked to his partner who stood at attention at the door, as if I might decide to run for it, and a sadistic smile crept up over his lips just barely noticeable.

They grabbed my luggage and dumped all my belongings out on the table, then with their gloves on they methodically went through every item, every piece of clothing. I had my dirty knickers in a separate knapsack and they emptied that as well, lifting up each of my panties to inspect them. The bastards weren’t even getting off on them, they did it just to embarrass and humiliate me. I tried my best to remain stoic and not give them the satisfaction. If they wanted to paw through my dirty knickers, fine. They even emptied my purse and checked every item, making sure my makeup was really makeup. When they got to my phone, they demanded that I key in the password so that they could look through all of my pictures. I just sat there looking at the wall, curtly answering any questions they asked. When the steely-eyed one saw that I wasn’t giving him the indignation that he desired to see from me, he picked up his radio and asked that a different agent be sent in, a person named Richardson.

I heard the security badge click of the door and turned to see that agent Richardson was a woman. Gloria Richardson, it read on her security badge. The other two agents left without even attempting to put my clothes back into my luggage. Once they had gone, agent Richardson informed me that she was going to do a search of my person, and instructed me to remove my clothing down to my bra and panties. I looked at my watch. I had 10 minutes before I would miss my flight. I looked up at her and the expression on her face said it all before I could even speak up in protest: she didn’t give a damn about me missing my flight. I removed my clothing and stood there in silent humiliation.

I almost cried. But I didn’t. I was determined not to let them get the best of me. Agent Richardson moved the hand-held metal detector over me, then slid her gloved hand underneath my bra to make sure I had nothing hidden in there. Then with the back of her hand she patted down the crotch of my panty and my bum. She then told me I could get dressed. I guess she decided to spare me the complete humiliation of a cavity search. Part of me was grateful and another part of me hated her even more for giving me reason to be grateful to her.

Agent Richardson then stood at the door and told me I was free to pack my things and go. I was shaking with anger as I repacked my luggage and put the belongings back into my purse. I packed up everything except my hijab, which I decided to wear. Strangely, at that moment I felt there was little difference between Iran and the US. Wearing the hijab was the only token act of protest I could do in that situation, even though I knew that such a small token sign of protest go right over her head. Bitch.

I looked at my watch again. My flight was gone. Even worse, the time was late, and I wondered if there would be any more flights to Boston that evening. I dreaded going to customer service and asking for a flight reassignment. The last time it happened, the airline did not consider my individual security delay something they needed to pay for. It had cost me $180 in fees to book another flight. Bastards, the whole bloody lot of them. I grabbed my luggage and walked toward the door. Agent Richardson opened it for me and told me to have a nice evening. Dry scabby cunt. I didn’t say anything.

I exited the private security screening room and looked up to try and see where I needed to go. I glimpsed the sign that said “customs” to my right and I turned in that direction, nearly knocking over a guy who seemed to be standing right in my way. I was startled to see Jackson’s soulful eyes staring down at me. I flew into his arms.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I whispered. The emotional rollercoaster that I had been on almost made me cry again, but I held on to my tears.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” he whispered down into my ear, so close that I could feel his breath blow into my ear and down my neck giving me chills. He held me tight like he never wanted to let me go. Before I could think better of it, I put my face into his chest and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. It was something I had wanted to do for nearly the last 14 hours. His face was pressed against the top of my head, smelling my hair. I thought I felt the slightest press of his lips just above my hairline near my forehead then my senses suddenly came back over me.

I gently pushed away from him but held onto his arms. I was startled for the briefest second to see an intense look in his eyes and my pulse quickened as his gaze seemed to strip me naked. “What are you still doing here?!” I asked incredulously. “Is your plane delayed?” His arms felt firm beneath my grasp. Even if I couldn’t hold onto him like I wanted to, I had no intention of letting his arms go any time soon.

“Yes,” he answered and his eyes looked down and to the left, avoiding mine.

“Is that true?” I asked, not believing him. He thought about it for a minute then met my eyes.

“No,” he answered softly. “I missed it.”

“Why in the bloody hell did you do that?!” I asked, then was sorry that I did. He just looked at me with his soulful eyes but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. We just looked deeply at each other for a moment.

“Jackson,” I said, finally breaking the silence, “that was really sweet.” He smiled but there was a hint of sadness under his smile. “I really wanted to say goodbye to you, too,” I added, wishing I could let him wrap his arms around me again.

“Let’s go check on your flight,” he finally said, before the moment could turn awkward. The perfect gentleman, he took my larger bag and dragged both of our big pieces of luggage behind him while we walked to the flight board.

“I’m betting it’s gone,” I said dejectedly. “Unless it got seriously delayed, I’m betting it’s gone.”

“If it is, we’ll deal with it,” he said confidently. “And besides, you’re not alone. I’m in the same boat.”

Sure enough, my flight was gone, and I didn’t see any additional flights to Boston up on the board. It was 11:15 pm. He walked me over to US Airways customer service, the carrier for my flight to Boston. It was in another terminal, so we had a long walk. There was silence as we both weighed the connection between us and tried to figure out what it meant. I asked him if there were any more flights to Houston that evening and he said he didn’t think so but had not yet been to customer service to find out. I told him I would go with him after we were done getting me settled.

The woman in customer service wanted to know why I had missed my flight to Boston, since my connecting flight was on time. I tried to explain my story but she was claiming that there was nothing that she could do. I would have to pay the fee for missing the flight and booking the next one for the following morning. And I would have to find a hotel to stay in and pay for it on my own while waiting for the morning flight.

It was at that point that Jackson stepped in and started arguing my case for me. I normally hate it when men try to speak for me but this time was different. He politely said that he understood that her hands may be tied and asked for her manager. We had to wait ten minutes before the manager was free and came over to talk to us but it was worth it. Jackson not only verified my story to the manager but elaborated quite a bit. By Jackson’s version, I had been hooded and subjected to complete sensory deprivation and then interrogated while a barking and raving mad German Sheppard was held by leash just inches from my face. With added indignance, he emphasized how ridiculous it was that a graduate student going to visit her sick mother was treated in such a way. I had to suppress a smile.

The manager waived the fee for changing flights and gave me a voucher for a hotel for the evening. I sincerely thanked him and then we were off looking for the Continental customer service. As soon as we were out of earshot of the US Airways customer service we broke out laughing. I was amazed at how quickly he had brightened my mood. On the walk over there I took Jackson’s arm and squeezed it, silently thanking him for his help and his continued generosity with his time and friendship. I thought about kissing him on the cheek but I thought better of it. He looked so scrumptious, too – a gruff five o’clock shadow of stubble growing on his angular chin after not shaving for the past day.

Jackson was in a worse predicament that I was in trying to explain why he missed his flight. He had no excuse about security delays. When he told the guy that he had been waiting for a friend who got held up in security, the man politely told him that the airline could not be responsible for that. I stepped in at that point to come to Jackson’s rescue. It was only fair. I told the man that Jackson was my fiancé and showed him my ring. Then I explained in vivid detail everything that had happened to me in the private security room, minus Jackson’s vivid imagination. The truth was bad enough on its own. Jackson had not yet heard the details, and he took my hand and squeezed it as I explained the humiliating ordeal of the strip search. I did not lower my voice while I gave my story, either. I said it loud enough such that all around us could hear. It worked… mostly.

“I sympathize with you two, and I’m sorry for what you went through, Miss,” the guy said, looking embarrassed that he had even given us a hard time to begin with. He started punching away furiously at his computer. “Here’s what I can do. I can waive the rebooking fee and only charge you the $80 fee for missing the flight. That will allow me to give you a hotel and meal voucher for the night and book you on the first flight out in the morning. That’s the best I can do.”

Jackson accepted the offer and pulled out his credit card to pay the $80. I felt good that I was able to help him but at the same time I felt bad that he was going through all of this for me, seeing as I couldn’t fully return his affection in kind. At least we both had a hotel to stay in for the night. Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately to keep me out of trouble – they were different hotels. When he was done with his transaction and had his vouchers in hand, I had an idea.

“What do you say we take a cab and drop our luggage off and then you let me take you to dinner? It’s the least I can do to say thank you.” It was late and I should have been dead tired, but I was also hungry and you could always find food in New York at any hour. More importantly, I wanted to spend more time with him. Since he had gone to all that trouble to wait for me, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity and just go to the hotel and crash. I was hoping that he felt the same.

“I would love that,” he said simply. “Let me make a quick phone call and then I’m all yours.” He pulled out his phone and began to dial. It reminded me that I needed to call Brian, my fiancé, and tell him that I missed my flight and that I would be home in the morning. He was supposed to pick me up from Logan airport and I needed to reach him hopefully before he left the house. I felt ashamed that I had almost forgotten.

I stepped away to give myself some privacy while I waited for Brian to answer, then felt guilty like I was trying to hide something. I loved Brian and I knew I wasn’t going to cheat on him. I was just going to have dinner with a wonderful new friend. Was that wrong? If not, why was I afraid to explain it to Brian? He was outraged when I told him about my ordeal going through security and vowed that he would call someone and complain. I told him not to bother – I really didn’t want any more attention to the matter. I wanted to put it behind me. Besides, part of me was now feeling grateful that I had more time to spend with Jackson. Brian told me that he loved me just as the thought of Jackson occurred to me, making me feel even more guilt. I told him that I loved him, too, and promised him a special treat when I saw him in the morning.

I walked back over to Jackson and we headed for the airport exit and then looked for a cab. We made a plan to drop the luggage off at my hotel rather than both of ours to save time. He knew of a Senegalese place in Brooklyn with great food that was relatively quiet and stayed open late. I was intrigued and so I checked into my hotel, we dropped off our bags in my room then jumped back in our cab and we headed west down Memorial Highway toward Brooklyn. He didn’t remember the address and the cabbie didn’t know the place, but we were able to look up the address in my iphone.

While driving there Jackson, with his natural outgoing personality, struck up a conversation with the taxi driver who told us that he was from Iran. Jackson let on that I was also from Iran, commenting on what a small world it had become since he left on his trip.

I couldn’t be mad at him. There was no way he could have known. There are certain questions I would have asked before admitting where I was from; questions that would allow me to know the type of person I was dealing with – their religious and political philosophies. I was an unmarried Iranian woman, out late at night, wearing no hijab or other clothing to protect my modesty. An Islamic hardliner would certainly take offence and look down upon me. Plus, the connection between Jackson and I had most certainly made it seem as if we were intimate with each other – or at least a religious hardliner would interpret it that way.

The driver’s eyes narrowed and focused on me intently as he stared me down in his rear-view mirror. It was de ja vu all over again, except this time instead of a softening look of understanding he gave me a hardening look of judgment. His lips moved as he stared me down and I thought for sure he had mouthed the word “jendeh,” which is how we say “slut” or “whore” in Farsi. I saw him reach for his phone and punched in a text message. Then he reached down to his little keyboard at the fare terminal and hit a button. A tiny red light came on above my head and I looked up to see a camera there. Many New York taxis have cameras in them now, and this one was obviously on.

The mood in the cab had suddenly become real tense and Jackson was looking at me trying to figure out why. My heart was racing. I didn’t have time to explain to him that the Iranian government has an extensive international network to hunt down dissidents. Our cab driver was not likely one of them but if you support the regime you can earn money by reporting any dissidents you come across. I didn’t know for sure if that is what was happening but something in my gut told me that it might be, and I really didn’t want to take a chance.

I looked at the meter. Our fare was $18.50 so far. I cautiously took a $20 bill out of my purse. Jackson saw me and looked puzzled as we obviously weren’t at the restaurant yet. I pulled him close to me and he seemed to get that he needed to stay close. At the very least, he understood enough not to ask any questions. As soon as we came to a stop at a traffic light, I quickly shoved the $20 bill into the fare hole in the thick sheet of plexiglass that separated the front seats from the back seats and bolted out of the cab, dragging Jackson with me.

“Madar gjende!” I heard the driver yell as we bolted toward the sidewalk, not even closing the door behind us.

“Tu goh khordie!” I yelled back. There was a 24-hour CVS drugstore on the corner and we ran inside.

The traffic light turned green yet the cab driver waited at the light as if pondering what to do. Cars started honking at him and soon he pulled off, turning the corner as if he meant to circle back around. As soon as he was out of sight I took off out of the CVS with Jackson following me closely. We ran across the street to the traffic moving in the opposite direction and then jumped in the first open cab we saw, breathing heavily. My hands were shaking and Jackson reached for them, holding my tiny hands in his huge palms. We had an African driver this time. We told him where we were going and he knew the place, happy to take us someplace familiar. I let out a big sigh of relief and tried to calm down.
“What did he yell at you?” Jackson asked.

“He called my mother a whore,” I said softly. “I told him to go eat shit.” Jackson laughed and squeezed my hands affectionately, breaking the tension. Politely, he didn’t ask me to explain any further. He just held my hands and looked deeply at me, his eyes searching into my soul.

When we got to the restaurant I was skeptical. It was a small hole-in-the-wall, but the smells coming out of the kitchen were promising. The owner was behind the small makeshift bar watching the news. They were giving details about Syria. We went over and joined him for a minute to get the latest. When the segment was over, he took us to a small table. There was one other table with patrons seated, a party of five. They looked like locals and talked vigorously in a language I did not understand. Their plates were empty, though. Another good sign, I hoped.

The owner came by and took our order, then we started to discuss the news we had just seen about Syria, Bahrain, Yemen, Libya, Tunisia, and the co-opted revolution in Egypt. It turned into a deeper discussion about the draw of Islamic fundamentalism just as the food came.

“Islamic fundamentalism appeals to middle eastern men who feel powerless and oppressed,” I explained. “It provides for them a narrative that tells them that they are righteous, that they are loved in the eyes of God, and lets them believe that even if their life here on earth is lived mostly as a sacrifice to serving the will of God, that their afterlife will be all the sweeter for it.”

“Ahh,” he said. “There are parallels to the Nation of Islam here in the US. It appeals to many of us who have felt most oppressed by this country, especially to the brothers in prison.”

“Did it ever appeal to you?” I asked him, having learned by this point that there was a very strong social consciousness in him.

“I confess at one time it did, when I was first learning to think critically about our experience in this system.”

“But?” I interrupted him, sensing a lot more to the story.

“But my interest waned once I realized the intellectual fallacies in their ideology,” he explained. “Although I respect the work they do in the prisons, in many ways they’re closed off intellectually and can be just as dogmatic as the system they seek to transform.”

We talked more about our intellectual journeys. Not about our academic intellectual journeys as we had earlier on the plane, but about our own personal political and intellectual trajectories, and it was one of those moments when we really saw eye to eye. I appreciated how well-read he was about the political struggles for human rights that different people faced all over the world, but I was also impressed by how free he felt to ask questions about things he didn’t know. One of those questions was about the “cult of martyrdom” (as he put it) in many Islamic nations.

“If you really want to understand the cult of martyrdom that seems so pervasive in the Muslim world,” I explained, “you need to realize that it is fueled by a large number of poor people trapped in miserable lives that they feel powerless to change. For many of them, the promise of the afterlife seems much better than this one. The sad thing,” I continued, “is that there are many charlatans who exploit those feelings and try to convince these poor souls that blowing themselves up is a righteous pathway to experience the rapture of the afterlife.”

He did not respond, just thought about what I was saying and looked at me intently.

“Let me just add that when you don’t have tanks, when you don’t have apache helicopter gunships, stealth bombers or attack drones, suicide bombing can easily be seen as the only option you may have for fighting back. I’m not saying I agree with it, just trying to help you understand where it comes from.”

I was really scared at that point. I had never voiced such an honest opinion to an American on American soil. Even though I was pretty sure he would understand where I was coming from, American news just doesn’t give any nuanced views about why such people do what they do, and that lack of good information had made it extremely difficult for me to have honest conversations about such matters with Americans.

My fears were overblown because he understood me perfectly, which led to a discussion about the wisdom of the non-violent strategy of the American Civil Rights movement. Not that people didn’t want to defend themselves, but that letting the world see the government attack you as a peaceful protester is the only way to secure the moral high-ground.

We were so lost in conversation that another two-and-a-half hours had passed. I don’t know what I ate but it was delicious. A lamb dish with brown rice, curried vegetables and homemade ginger tea which was potent and spicy on the tongue. Jackson had goat. While we talked we feasted, sharing our dishes with each other family style. I fed him directly off of my own fork and he did the same for me off of his. It was the closest we could get to sharing a kiss which made it all the more intimate every time he brought a forkful of food over and put it between my lips.

He looked at my lips hungrily every time he fed me, like he wanted to suck on them. I closed my mouth around his fork each time and sucked the food off slowly, licking my lips to make sure I had taken all he had to give me. The best part of it all was that I could lie to myself and say it was completely innocent and guilt free. Somewhere in a deep secluded part of my brain, however, I knew it wasn’t. Luckily, that part of my brain was being totally shut out of all communications.

There was no alcohol this time – I think we were both too tired and drinking would have pushed us over the edge. We probably would have stayed and talked all night had the restaurant not been about to close. I don’t know where we got the energy. It was almost 2 am! Logically we both should have long ago passed out from exhaustion.

I paid the bill and we walked out to hail a cab. The first few wouldn’t stop even though they had no passengers in them. Then Jackson stepped away from me, telling me to stay where I was.

“Where are you going?” I asked. He moved to about 20 feet away, looking in the other direction.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Just try and flag down a cab now with me over here.”

I was confused but I followed his instructions. The next cab stopped. I opened the door and Jackson ran over and jumped in with me. I understood then. We didn’t have to say anything about it, and he looked like it was no big deal, as if it was just a normal part of life. I told the cabbie to take us to the Hampton Inn at JFK airport and thought about all the lies I told to my teachers and my parents when I was growing up, never thinking twice about it, as if it was just a normal part of life. The cab driver was another man from my part of the world but I felt an ocean of distance between us at that moment. There was no way I that was going to ask where he was from or tell him where I was from.

We were silent for a moment as I pondered what had just happened and wondered if this driver would be ok. He looked like he was about to complain when Jackson first jumped into the car but seemed to be ignoring us once we started going. After a few minutes I was able to relax and went back to my conversation with Jackson.

He asked me about how close I was to being finished with my dissertation and I found out that he was only recently graduated and five years into his first academic job. He also asked me about my dream job, about where I wanted to be, and what impact I wanted to make. He then asked me about what kind of students I wanted to produce. No one had ever asked me that before, and it just gave me further insight into how important teaching must be to him to even think to ask me such a question. It all made me contemplate just how bloody cruel life can be sometimes, that we would met a never have a chance to explore this relationship further. A true wanker!

At about that time we pulled up to my hotel. The airline had put me up at the Hampton Inn at JFK off of Conduit Ave while Jackson was at the Fairfield Inn on Rockaway Boulevard. Jackson asked the cabbie if he would not mind waiting while he retrieved his bags from my room. We walked to my room both dreading saying goodbye. The tension was thick and we could both feel it. I felt a weight on my chest like someone was standing on it. When we got to my room he stopped me before I could put the keycard in the door then turned me around to face him.

“Do you love him?” he asked simply. “Is he good to you?”

I knew exactly what he meant. It was the topic we had avoided all day and all night, but the one that was staring us dead in the face now. If it wasn’t for the diamond on my finger, I’d be kissing him deeply right then and asking him to come inside. We both knew it. “Yes and yes,” I responded softly.

“Why do you sound so sad about it,” he asked stepping closer to me, placing each of his hands on my waist. I watched his nostrils flare and I knew he was smelling me, taking in my scent. The look in his eyes hinted at the bad things he wanted to do to me. I reached for his firm arms again, partly to stop him from coming any closer, and partly to stop him from moving further away.

“I’m not sad for my engagement, I’m sad for us, for our situation. In another time, another place, another world, we could have…” I trailed off. Then I had one last good idea.

“What time is your flight in the morning,” I asked as I let go of him and put the keycard into my room door.

“Let me see,” he said, going over to retrieve his ticket out of his larger bag. “It’s at 6:45” he said finally.

“Mine is at 6:30, but listen. I know we’ll only get like an hour’s sleep,” I said, walking up next to him, “but would you like to have coffee in the morning before our flight? Are you willing to get to the airport a little earlier to give us a little more time to say goodbye?”

“I am,” he said, “But how will I find you in the morning?”

“Take my cell number,” I said, and he pulled out his phone and entered it in. He pressed talk to make sure he typed the number in correctly. My phone rang and I hit save.

“Good, and now you have my number as well.” I wondered if that was a good idea. Up until that point I had purposefully not shared any of my contact information. The day we had spent together was magical but when it ended I felt it needed to be completely over. I did not think that there was any way that we could stay in contact pretending to be just friends. What we felt for each other was much stronger than that but since I was committed to Brian, there was nothing we could do about it. A clean break was best and I had been pretty clear letting him know that we had spent a lovely day together but that at the end of it we would be saying goodbye. Now what had I done but left the door open to future anguish and hurt?

“So I guess this is good night, but not quite goodbye?” he asked while I was lost in thought and possible regret.

“Yes, not goodbye,” I replied, but neither of us moved. I looked deeply into his eyes then my own eyes betrayed me and looked down at his lips. They were full, inviting and calling to me. I feared he would see the desire on my face. I quickly tried to compose myself.

“Good night Orkideh,” he said.

“Good night, Jackson,” I replied, and moved to do the European thing and kiss him on each cheek. After the second kiss he held me close and did not let me go. I instinctively held onto him and pressed my body into his, wanting full body contact. He held me like this for a while, one hand snaking through my hair to hold my face against his chest. He was bent over so he could hold his cheek next to mine, then he started peppering the side of my face with small kisses. I buried my face in his neck and again took in his smell, and tried to resist opening my mouth to fully taste his skin.

I rubbed my face along the stubble on his chin, trying to suppress thoughts of other places where my skin was more sensitive that I would love his face scratching against me. Then I felt the stirring of his erection pressing against my stomach and my body reacted immediately, pressing my pelvis into him to let him know the attraction was mutual. My tongue snuck out just to take the slightest taste of his neck. It was followed by my teeth as I lightly scrapped them against him, my hunger was building fast.

I don’t know who turned their head first because it happened so quickly, but suddenly his lips were on mine, giving me gentle chaste kisses, just little pecks. He would give me one then go back to nuzzling his face against my cheek but inevitably he’d move back in to give me one more. It was as if he couldn’t stop. I gave as good as I got as my lips greeted his eagerly, aware that I was playing a dangerous game with myself. He was trying so hard to be polite but I could tell from his now raging stiffness digging into my stomach that he wanted to devour me and so help me God I wanted to let him. Just having that thought seemed to open the flood gates. I don’t know whose mouth opened first, it just may have been mine, but in a split second his tongue was in my mouth and mine was in his.

I made a deal with myself right there and then. I had crossed a line but this would be it. This kiss was wrong but I would take it, I would take this one kiss and put everything I had into it, and take the memory of it with me for the rest of my life. Then I would send him to his hotel.

We kissed like the world was coming to an end, like our lives depended on it. It was wet, urgent, even sloppy at times and neither of us cared. He reached down to grab my ass and pulled me tighter against his hardness. I was surprised to find myself pressing my body into him forcefully and wrapping one of my legs around him, hoping to get his erection to press into me below my stomach. As if sensing what I wanted, Jackson’s hands came under my ass and began lifting me over his hardness.

I tried to fight my other leg from shamelessly coming up to wrap around his waist and lost that particular battle. While mounting him, I pushed my center down onto his hardness. Feeling his strong, unbridled desire for me was such a turn-on as I had been feeling him trying to suppress it all day. He was as hard as a steel rod, seemingly supporting my entire weight on his erection. I felt my sex twitch thinking about how good his hardness would feel inside of me and I tried desperately to rush those thoughts from my mind, afraid of where they might take me.

I snaked my fingers into his hair as our kiss deepened, raking nails across his scalp, trying to pull his tongue deeper into my mouth. I could feel my wetness oozing out of me into my panties and I was afraid that if we kept this up he might soon smell me. A secret part of me wanted him to smell my sex, wanted him to know that the intense desire and arousal was mutual. I was scandalized by my wanton behavior but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted this beautiful man to know how much I cared about him, how much I appreciated him, and how special this day with him had been. We were dry humping by that point, and I knew we had about 45 seconds before we reached the point of no return and wound up naked on the bed behind me. So reluctantly, I broke the kiss and climbed down off of him.

I hoped I hadn’t made a fatal mistake. I hoped that one long kiss was enough. I pushed at his chest to let him know he should go and he didn’t fight me. His chest was heaving and as I looked him in the eye I saw a fiery look that almost melted me, half scared me. His eyes spoke of unmentionable things he wanted to do to me. I could see that the passion was boiling over in him and for a second I feared that he was about to rip my clothes off and take me by force.

Part of me hoped that he would, just to take the decision out of my hands. It was one of those unspeakable truths that I was appalled to find myself thinking. For so many years so many countless women have been fighting for a woman’s right to decide what she does with her body and here I was fantasizing about being fucked against my will. Ever the consummate gentleman, Jackson didn’t try to press things. He could have… easily. Even though my mind was still exercising enough control to say no, my body was ready to say yes to him in every way, and he knew it. He needed only touch me down there to learn that my body was his for the taking. But he would never take advantage of me like that, and that was part of his appeal.

“I’ll call you in the morning, Orkideh,” he said, grabbing his luggage. He rolled it out the door and with that he was gone.

As soon as he left I headed straight for the loo to take a shower, undressing along the way. As soon as my pants were off I could smell myself, the long hours since my last bathing added to the pungency. It had been roughly 24 hours since I left Malaysia, but my flight left so early that I showered the night before. With more than 30 hours since I had a bath, part of me was glad that I had not ended up in bed with Jackson – I would have been far too self conscious. When I took off my panties the smell was even stronger. They were soaked in my musky juices.

It had been a long day and I was by that point both emotionally and physically exhausted, so the bed should have been calling to me much more powerfully than the need to get clean. Then I realized that cleanliness was not what I was after at all. I thought back to my childhood. When I was growing up, we had very little privacy in my house. The shower was the place where girls went to escape into an intimate fantasy. Shower hoses committed the sins that our fingers were not allowed to. I had long since grown out of the taboo of not being able to touch my own body but even now as a 30 year-old woman who has lived on her own for nearly 8 years, I still had to get into the shower to do it. Oh boy did I need a shower at that moment.

I got the water as hot as possible. There was no pretense of soap. My fingers went straight to my folds, dipping into my moisture and bringing the stickiness up over my clitoris which I then rubbed furiously. I was so mentally and emotionally wound up that the buildup was extremely quick. I thought about the heat of our kiss and turgid stiffness between his legs that fought so urgently to get out of his pants and into mine. I imagined that I had not broken the kiss and instead had invited him to stay. In my fantasy he took my body forcefully, lost in his passion as he fucked me senseless. The pleasure was so intense that my legs couldn’t hold me. They were trembling as I got close. I sank down into the tub as the waves of pleasure overtook me, my entire body convulsing.

As I came down from my orgasm, I wondered if I could now put the memory of Jackson behind me, or if my desire for him would nag at me for the rest of my life.

————— Jackson —————

I was surprised to find the cab still waiting for me. I guess a sure fare is worth sticking around for, and he knew it would be a good one from the 7 miles or so we needed to go to get to my hotel. I slumped into the back of the cab and closed my eyes, trying to hold onto the memories of the last 10 minutes Orkideh and I had shared together. I tried to hold onto her smell, the feel of her lips against mine, the taste of her tongue and the taste of her mouth. Her body was slight in my arms, and I thought back to how she had pressed her lower half into me when she felt my erection. I was still painfully hard, as hard as I had been when we were kissing. I highly doubted that it would go down any time soon.

A heavy despair crept in under the intensity of my arousal, realizing that the window of opportunity for anything to happen between us had basically closed. She was happy with her fiancé and she didn’t want to cheat on him. Our coffee date in the morning would be difficult at best. I debated whether I should even go or just let that kiss be our last interaction. Why torture myself any more? What we had was nice. It was a beautiful day but it was over. There was no need to drag out the inevitable, I reasoned. As the cab pulled up in front of my hotel, my resolve was set. I would send her a text message in the morning thanking her for a lovely day and bid her adieu.
The cab fare was $21.50. I gave the cab driver $30 – an extra tip for the time he spent waiting for me. He popped the trunk and I got out to retrieve my large roller bag from the back. Just as I pulled my bag out of the trunk my phone rang. I pulled it out and shut the trunk at the same time. My heart stopped as I saw that it was Orkideh. I quickly slapped my palm against the top of the cab to signal to the driver to wait. Then I answered her call.

“Hey,” I answered. Silence. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” she finally asked just before I hung up.

“Just getting out of the cab at my hotel,” I responded. I heard her breathing deeply. It seemed an eternity before she spoke again. It was probably only 5 seconds but it felt like 5 minutes.

“Is the cab still there?” she asked.

“Yes. I held him up when I saw you were calling.” More silence. The cab driver honked his horn, I saw him throw up his hands as if to say ‘what?’ I held up my hand and gave the universal “one minute please” sign, pointing at my phone.

“I’m thinking of doing something that I shouldn’t,” she said and I immediately reached for the cab door. My erection throbbed at the possibilities. I didn’t say anything, however, afraid to say the wrong thing. I felt I had a better chance just letting her talk herself into it.

Finally she blurted out “It can only happen this once, Jackson, this one night. After tonight, we can’t stay in touch, we can’t call each other, we can’t email each other, we can’t be friends on Facebook,” she continued.

“Can you open the trunk?” I whispered to the cab driver. He did and I moved to put my bag back inside.

“I’m getting married in July so after tonight we won’t revisit this and I need you to not speak of it again. Can you promise me that?” I held my finger over the microphone opening in the phone and asked the cab driver to drive me back to the Hampton Inn where he had picked me up. He gave me a wry smile and took off immediately.

“Yes,” I responded to Orkideh. I didn’t want to say any more. I was scared of saying something that might get her to change her mind. A good female friend once told me that once a woman decides that she is going to have sex with you for the first time the best thing that a guy can do is say as little as possible, lest he talk himself right out of the sex he has coming. ‘You would not believe the number of guys I’ve known who said some stupid shit and talked themselves right out of some pussy,’ she told me in her brash New York style (she was from the Bronx!). I laughed, but I never forgot her words.

“So would you mind coming back over here, or are you too tired?” she asked, the playfulness coming back into her voice. Now that she had established the ground rules, we could go back to our flirtatious banter.

“I’m exhausted,” I admitted truthfully, “but that’s not going to keep me away from you. If all I have is tonight, I’ll sleep tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, and I swear I could hear the smile on her face. “And perhaps you should bring your luggage.”

“Already on my way,” I told her, “and my arousal for you hasn’t diminished one bit since I left you. I don’t know how I made it through this cab ride.”

“Dirty boy,” she said quietly, almost under her breath. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

The cab ride back to her hotel was the longest 20 minutes of my life. I couldn’t pay him fast enough and get out of that car. The late night clerk at the desk seemed surprised to see me back there, at almost 3 in the morning. The elevator could not come quick enough, either. I rode up to the third floor where her room was, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. I was also realizing how long it had been since I had last brushed my teeth. I reached her door and knocked.

Orkideh opened it quickly, standing there in only a towel. Her hair was wet and her olive skin was glowing, and I just wanted to devour her, kiss and taste every inch of her. And her scent! The same scent that had driven me crazy all during our flight was now freshly applied and strong in my nostrils. We melted into each other, holding, kissing, rubbing, smelling. I tried to close the door but she smiled, reminding me that my bags were still in the hallway where I’d dropped them as soon as I saw her. Her smile was radiant, not because she was particularly beautiful, but because of all the promise it held, the genuine affection for me that was there. I quickly grabbed my stuff, shut the door, then melted into her again.

“No fair,” I finally said, breaking our torrent kissing. “You got to shower. I could use one of those, too.”

“Well hurry,” she responded. “If you make me wait too long out here I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep.”

“Well in that case…” I quipped, picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, “I’ll just have to take you in the shower with me!” She let out a yelp and playfully pounded her small fists against my back as I carried her. I rummaged through my suitcase for my toiletries. With my small personal item bag in hand, we headed off to the bathroom.

I sat her down on the toilet and began to brush my teeth while the water warmed up. She pulled me over to her and began undressing me, unbuttoning my shirt and pants. She reached down to take off my shoes then pulled my pants off of me. I helped by lifting up each leg at the appropriate time. I was so painfully hard by that point that my boxers were caught on my erection. She rubbed me through the cotton fabric for a second then pulled back the elastic waistband and stuck her hand inside. Her touch was warm and soft against my skin, and I throbbed in her hand. She held my shaft close to my stomach so she could pull my boxers down without bending my erection down in a way that would be uncomfortable.

Naked before her, she held me in both of her hands, softly stroking me up and down, smiling as she inspected my hardness. I was still throbbing, so eager for her touch, but she just sat there for a second, watching the veins swell and the head expand with each rush of blood coursing through my shaft. It was like she was trying to make a mental note of what I looked like, to burn my image in her memory since we only had this night.

She looked up at me to make eye contact. I thought for sure that she was about to put me in her mouth but what she did instead surprised me. She closed her eyes and began rubbing my shaft softly against her face, up and down each cheek. I could even hear her inhaling deeply taking in my ripe smell. She totally lost herself, slowly caressing my dick with her entire face. ‘A woman after my own heart,’ I thought to myself, watching her bring her nose closer to the tuft of hair at the base of my shaft and continue to sniff me. I knew I was ripe yet she seemed to cherish my strong natural male scent. It was all so sensual, turning me on more so than if she had just started sucking me.

I bent over to spit out my toothpaste and that seemed to bring her out of her trance. She opened her eyes and looked back up at me, slight embarrassment on her face. I shook my head, indicating that she had noting to be embarrassed about. “So fucking sexy,” I whispered to her, fire burning in my eyes. I throbbed ceaselessly in her hands. That seemed to give her the green light.

No longer timid, this time she buried her nose in my pubes and pressed her face firmly into me, inhaling deeply. She used my hair down there like a sponge to wipe my scent all over her entire face. I was amazed. I rarely come close to having an orgasm from just oral sex yet I found what she was doing to be such a turn-on that she was bringing me close without ever putting me in her mouth.

I bent over again to rinse my mouth out and she pulled back, looking at the swollen and pulsing meat in her hands with a smile on her face. There was a bit of pre-cum oozing out of the tip. She licked it quickly then gave me a brief kiss right on my crown and stood up. I immediately pulled her back into my arms to find her lips. We were kissing again, and I could smell myself all over her face. “Dirty girl,” I mumbled between kisses.

“I just… wanted to smell you… before you… washed away… all your… natural scent… and all I… would smell… would be soap,” she responded between kisses.

“Yet you would deprive me of the same opportunity, showering before I got here?” I asked then resumed kissing her, licking my way around the insides of her mouth.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, dropping her lips from mine and raining tiny bites down my neck and torso until she was rubbing her face in my chest. “I’ll give you plenty to smell before morning.” She was blushing as she said it.

“Mmmm,” I moaned, spinning her around to face the mirror. I stood behind her, looking directly into her eyes, and reached underneath the towel to let my fingers go searching between her legs. My eyes never left hers, and her eyelids closed halfway, a lustful look coming over her face as my fingers found a sodden gooey mess. Her head rolled back onto my shoulder as I my fingers worked their way into her slit. My other hand held her tight around the waist while I stood behind her, grinding my hardness into her ass.

I pulled my fingers out of her and held them up in front of us, letting the light reflect off of her wetness. Then I brought my fingers to my face and held them under my nose. I inhaled deeply then rubbed her wetness over my lips and under my nose before stuffing the two wet fingers in my mouth.

“Delicious,” I whispered to her. She groaned. I ripped the towel off of her, no longer able to take not seeing her. My eyes feasted on her as she stood before me looking good enough to eat. Her skin glowed, the olive undertones gave her a golden hue. She had a slight frame rather than a voluptuous one, but I didn’t mind. She wasn’t shaved or waxed but her body hair was sparse so she really didn’t need to wax. I chuckled to myself thinking that even her vulva was just naturally chic.

But my desire for her so wasn’t about her body and how it did or didn’t conform to any of my previous fantasies. It was about the chemistry between us in that room and the steamy look in her eyes as the steam from the shower began to swirl around us. She watched me as my eyes drank her in. She saw the hunger on my face, the rise and fall of my chest as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. There was no good god-damned reason for me to even be standing, as tired as I was being so long since I’d slept. My body was running on pure sexual energy, pure passion.

“Into the shower… now,” she insisted. The reason behind her urgency was clear and didn’t need to be stated. I lifted her from under her arms and put her in first then followed. She impatiently picked up the soap and started washing my chest. “Lift!” she said, gesturing toward my arms. She scrubbed my armpits with a purpose, working quickly. Orkideh did not mean this to be a long shower.

————- Orkideh ————-

I told him to turn around as I worked quickly, bringing my hand around to scrub his back. I enjoyed watching the way the muscles in his shoulders moved under his skin as he moved his arms down from on top of his head. Those shoulders and those arms… which completely enveloped me in a warm bear hug when he held me close. He was so much larger than me, he probably outweighed me by a good 50 kilos. I couldn’t wait to feel the full force of his weight on top of me, rutting into me, claiming me, making me his for the night. I couldn’t finish washing him fast enough. And yet I wanted to take my time, drink in every moment and savor it in my memory because I knew it would never happen again. At the moment, the urgency was winning out.

That’s when a strong pang of guilt hit me and I thought about Brian, my fiancé. I had removed my ring earlier and tucked it safely in my purse, trying to hide from any reminders of my sin. This would be so much easier if I could say that I was being forced to marry him by my family, or if he wasn’t good to me, or if he was not that great of a lover. But I could not say any of those things. Brian was good to me and he made very good love to me.

We had been dating since I moved to America to start my Ph.D. Brian and I had a very strong connection but spending time with Jackson over the course of the day, he just seemed to know my soul and understand my struggle in a way that Brian did not. I was forced to consider whether their different backgrounds had anything to do with it. Brian was smart and witty but he came from a privileged background that made it difficult for him to fully understand the extreme anguish I felt at times from all that was going on in my world and in the world surrounding me. To his credit, he made every attempt to try to understand but as I found with Jackson that day, there is just no substitute for real experience.

Jackson and I shared a similar social struggle and intellectual trajectory, which led to us also sharing a very similar politics. Those are the kind of human connections that are most important to me. Finding them is so rare. That had been the ultimate decision factor for me in calling Jackson and deciding to invite him back to my hotel. I wanted – no, I needed to share a closer intimacy with him to consummate the connection we had made over the course of this long day. It just felt right with the universe to seal our connection with him inside of me: inside my mind, inside my heart, inside my body, inside my soul.

When I weighed the thought of living with the guilt of committing this sin in betrayal of the covenant I had made with Brian against the deep sense of loss, regret and unfulfilled hunger that not making love to Jackson would leave in my soul, I decided that the guilt would be the least painful to live with. I could – and I would – spend the rest of my life as a partner to Brian. I just needed this one night with Jackson first.

I dropped down to squat behind him and asked him to put one leg up, resting his foot on the rim of the tub. I brought the soap down over the muscled cheeks of his derriere. I began to wash him there in wide swaths, making sure to gently soap the orbs that swung heavily underneath him. I continued my sudsy massage of his balls while my other hand took the soap and worked into the crack of his ass.

This was a bold move for me. In Iran, a woman wasn’t to even look upon a man in this area, worse still touch a man there. This was all the more so if the man was not her husband. Women could be killed for having premarital sex or committing adultery. Killing a woman for such an offense was not the norm – being beaten, sent away or completely ostracized from one’s family was usually what happened. I was proud of myself for being bold enough to go this far. Still, I didn’t linger there. Old taboos die hard.

I gave his crack a thorough scrubbing and was pleasantly pleased that he very maturely gave me access to him in that manner. When I was done scrubbing inside his crack I reached under him with my soapy hands to clean his shaft. It stood out proudly, heavy in my hand and hot to the touch. I brought my face down to lick and nibble at his side while I jacked him off and massaged his balls. He let out a warm sigh, bringing one of his hands down to caress the side of my head and wipe the hair out of my face.

Strangely, I only felt bold enough at that moment to fondle him like this from the back where he couldn’t see me fully. I didn’t trust myself at that moment to be kneeling in front of him. My need was too great and I hungered to stuff him into my mouth with the complete abandon. But I didn’t want to come off looking like a depraved “jendeh” as the cab driver had referred to me earlier.

My problem was that I wanted to put everything I had into this one night of lovemaking knowing it was going to be our one and only encounter. I wanted to give all of myself to him and hold nothing back. I was no prude, but I wanted to let myself go in ways that would normally take me a VERY long time before I had built up that kind of trust with someone to know that such intimacies would be welcomed with love rather than met with negative judgments.

I wanted Jackson’s love and respect but I was acutely aware that a respectable woman would not be cheating on her fiancé with a man she had known less than 24 hours. Given that intense moral conflict raging inside of me, it was easier and felt safer to fondle him from the back and nibble on his hip rather than turn him around and suck the life out of him as I really wanted to in that moment.

Eventually I left his privates and went to soaping up each leg, then washed his feet. The religious significance of the act was not lost on me, knowing that the washing of a person’s feet has references in both Islamic and Christian traditions. Washing his feet was a good distraction for me, taking my attention away from that which now hung not more than five inches away from my face – that which I wanted to taste more than anything. Temporarily saving me from myself he instead pulled me up to kiss me and I washed his face as we made out and let our tongues dance together.

“Turn and rinse.” He did as I instructed then turned again and took the soap out of my hand and began to wash me. “I’m already clean,” I said softly as he began to apply soap to my neck and then down to my breasts. I watched his large brown hands massage soap into the lighter skin of my boobs and felt myself getting wetter down below. I liked what he was doing but I needed to get out of that shower and get him inside of me. I did not think I could wait much longer.

“Yes, but how thorough of a job did you do?” he asked as he moved his mouth over to the side of my face.

“Did you wash behind your ears?” he whispered, running his tongue along the ridge of my ear before taking the lobe in his mouth and sucking on it.

“Or what about inside?” was his next question. I squirmed in ticklish delight as he suggestively licked down into my ear hole.

“I might have missed being so thorough right there,” I admitted embarrassingly. I did not have the courage to tell him my pussy got most of my attention.

“I’ll just have to clean you then,” he said as he burrowed his tongue deeper in my ear. I yelped and pulled my torso in close to him. His cock was hard and pulsing against my stomach. The soap he had applied to my breasts had made it slippery between us. I used my body to rub his hardness against me.

Jackson then switched to “cleaning” my other ear while his hands went lower to capture my ass. He rubbed soap all over my globes then took each cheek forcefully in each hand, pulling me firmly into him. I tried to climb up on him again as I had done when we first kissed. If he wouldn’t take me to bed then I would take him right here. But he held me down and didn’t let me get on top of him. His strong hands held me in place. I brought his face around to kiss him deeply, pleadingly.

“I need you, I need you inside me,” I said softly.

“And you will have me. All of me. You’ve given me one night with you, Orkideh. I plan to savor every second, every bit of you, every feel, every smell, every flavor, down to the last drop. There’s no way I’m rushing this.”

How could a woman argue with that? I was about to tell him that he could shower with me again after he got me properly dirty but before I could fully form the thought he dropped to his knees in front of me. He kissed his way down my stomach and swirled his tongue in my belly button.

“What about in here?” he asked between licks. “Did you clean thoroughly here?” His eyes looked up at me playfully and I just smiled and shook my head. Never taking his eyes from mine, he started licking out my belly button like it was a little orifice. The teasing was killing me. I thought of just pushing him over on his back and jumping on top of him. I didn’t, though, thinking about what he’d said about wanting to savor this. Of course I wanted to savor it, too. I just wanted the time spent with him inside of me. Perhaps sensing my need, his mouth dropped down lower.
He didn’t tease me the way I teased him earlier, and I was grateful for that. He just wrapped his full, sensual lips around my entire vulva and worked his tongue directly up inside me. I moaned appreciatively and learned back against the tiled wall of the shower. I reached down to caress his face while his tongue snaked in and out, pulling my juices down into his mouth. He ate me obscenely and loudly, slurping and sucking at me like a man possessed, moaning as he tasted my flavor. My hips started to thrust toward his face. I could say the movement was involuntary but that would be a lie. I just wanted to push as much of my pussy down into his mouth as possible. God, he had me in a hot mood!

His soapy hands continued to caress and squeeze my ass while his tongue swirled inside me. “And what about back here,” he said between licks. “How thorough did you wash back here?” One of his hands slipped between my cheeks and rubbed me up and down.

“Very thorough!” I laughed nervously.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, rubbing an inquisitive finger up against my anus. I immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, a real worried look on my face. Washing between my ass cheeks was one thing, but I wasn’t into having anything in my asshole. Anal sex was one of the biggest taboos in my culture and because of the cleanliness factor, I never had any interest in breaking it. He took his mouth off of me and looked at me intently. His eyes said so much. It was like he could talk to me with just a look without saying a word. At that moment his eyes were saying three things to me: how he would never hurt me, how much he cared for me, and how much it would mean to him for me to open myself to him completely.

An eternity seemed to pass between us, never taking our eyes off of each other. I was doubly afraid because I had seen the titles of the dirty movies he had on his laptop when we were on the plane. Many of them had anal themes so I knew he liked asses and was afraid of what he might want to do to mine. I didn’t judge him negatively for what he liked. If growing up in Iran had taught me anything, it was to abhor any attempts to morally police our personal lives. So I did not think badly of him for liking such things. It just wasn’t my thing.

He kissed me tenderly, no tongue just his lips brushing lightly against my clit, assuring me that all was ok. After a while I slowly released his hand. His mouth came back to me, not leaving this time. I felt him wrap his lips around my clit and suck on it, whipping it with his tongue. Being nervous about what he was going to do with his hand, it took me a moment to relax. The intensity of how he was eating me increased and soon the sensations began to overwhelm me. He was absolutely feral in how he began to devour me, rubbing his entire face into my sex. He gradually lost himself in my pussy and it occurred to me that he was doing this to fulfill his own needs even more so than mine.

I watched the muscles in his jaw working as his tongue continued to whip my clitoris into a frenzy. I could see the muscles in his throat flexing as he swallowed my juices flowing out of my pussy. It was such a turn-on to feel his desire for me flare up so powerfully. My head rolled back and my eyes fell shut as I felt an orgasm approaching, stronger than the one I had while masturbating earlier. It was at that point that I felt the pressure return to my anus, his soapy middle finger slowly pressing into me. I tried to concentrate on what his mouth was doing to me and ignore everything else. As his finger sank deeper into me, that became harder to do. It made me feel full but in the wrong way. My orgasm had been stopped in its tracks. I was still close but now I felt stuck in a pre-orgasmic limbo.

He slowly began to gently thrust his finger up into me while his tongue continued to do magic things to my pussy. He angled his thrusting finger in a way that put direct pressure on the front wall of my vagina, finding that spot inside me that resides just behind and above the back of my clitoris. A groan escaped from somewhere deep within me, and suddenly the fullness I felt in my backside was no longer so unwelcome. All of a sudden, the pressure back there was much more intense and I realized he had snuck a second finger into me, this one into my pussy. I felt extremely full then and was grateful that I had emptied myself earlier, worried that if I had not that he might actually be making a mess in my ass instead of cleaning me.

It became harder to concentrate on those fears as his tongue did wicked things to my clit while his lips sucked it between his teeth and held it in place. With two fingers now in me, it doubled the pressure he was able to apply to that sweet spongy spot in my pussy. My hips resumed thrusting my sex into his mouth which had the alternate effect of thrusting my smaller hole back onto his finger. I couldn’t believe that I was actually enjoying being finger fucked in my anus while he ate my pussy. It made feel like such a naughty girl.

I was close, making lewd noises and mumbling dirty obscenities in Farsi that I was much too embarrassed to say in English. “Kos dahanet,” I said again and again, telling him to take my pussy into his mouth. If only he could understand the other dirty, perverted things I was saying to him. Saying those things in Farsi felt so liberating. I told him that he was a nasty bastard for doing these things to me, and cursed him for making me like it. I told him how I was about to cum in his mouth and all over his beautiful face if he kept this up. I also told him to fuck me harder with his thick fingers.

He understood none of it but intuitively could feel my meaning. To push me over the edge he took his forefinger out of my pussy and added it to his middle finger in my koonet, my ass. He also added his thumb to the mix, sliding it in my pussy in time with the two fingers he had working my ass. His lips stayed locked around my clit as the speed of his tongue lashing doubled. The fingers from both my hands combed their way through his short wooly hair and pressed his face tightly to me, my nails digging into his scalp.

I was coming… all over his sweet face. I tried to control my screams, fearful of waking anyone who may be sleeping in a nearby room. A garbled mix of moans and obscenities came out of my mouth between clenched teeth in both English and Farsi. My legs turned to jelly but he wrapped his free arm around my thigh and held me up against the wall. He continued his ministrations as the waves of pleasure washed over me, wracking my body in spasms and convulsions.

I had to try and push him away as the sensations became too intense, my clit too sensitive to withstand any more attention. He understood and left my clit alone and slowly pulled his fingers out of me. He rained kisses on my inner thighs while I caught my breath. I’m no squirter but I am a gusher. When he saw how much of my sticky juice was running down his hand, he pressed his face back into my crotch and began sucking at my kos, my pussy hole, gathering all my honey.

I was still too sensitive and was about to try and push him away again when he abruptly stood and brought his messy face up next to mine. Our lips locked in a deep soulful and sloppy kiss while he grabbed me underneath each thigh and lifted me. I locked my arms behind his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist to help support my weight, my sex hovering directly above his hardness. His hands moved, his left hand grabbing my ass while his right took hold of his cock. He pulled me closer to him then nestled his throbbing head in the sloppy mess that was the entrance to my pussy.

“Do you have a condom?” I whispered, my mind and common sense trying desperately to find a voice and not be completely shut out by the passion flaring between us.

“I don’t.” His breath was coming fast and ragged. I tensed up, keeping the head of his cock throbbing at my entrance. “And if I did,” he continued “the last thing I want is a piece of plastic between us right now. I know that’s not a smart thing to say,” he said, kissing me again. His face smelled like my sex, my juices soaked into his goatee. I shamelessly licked his face around his mouth, tasting myself on him and surprising myself at my own behavior. “Maybe I’m just caught up in the heat of the moment, but this night with you is so worth the risk to me.”

My insides were in turmoil with guilt and trepidation. This was wrong on every level. Pregnancy was not my concern but if I caught something and gave it to Brian it would destroy my relationship with him and I would never forgive myself. On the other hand, truthfully I felt just like Jackson. The last thing I wanted was to sheath him in latex. I wanted flesh against flesh; skin against skin. I wanted every bit of him in me, juices and all.

I also knew that wasn’t practical and I had to be happy with the intimacy we were sharing, even if it wasn’t perfect and wasn’t happening under perfect circumstances. But we had reached a critical state and there was no turning back now; no way we were not going to make love. Could I make him get dressed and go out and find condoms, at 3 AM? He took the throbbing head of his cock out of the entrance to my pussy and pressed it into my clitoris, massaging me there. I sank my teeth into his neck, half angry at him for this blatant manipulation.

“I can’t think straight when you do that,” I hissed at him, tasting his skin and rubbing my face against his chin stubble.

“I don’t want you thinking straight right now, Orkideh. I want you thinking about having one beautiful night making love with me.”

After what seemed like an eternity I shifted my hips to bring his head back to my entrance and looked deep into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll pull out. You can’t cum in me.”

“Orkideh, you know that won’t protect you against anything,” he said, and I seriously doubted his ability to honor such a request.

“Promise me,” I repeated more urgently. “I know it’s not perfect but it’s better than nothing. I’m on the pill. It’s really infections that I’m worried about.”

He thought about it for a moment and then nodded his head in agreement. That wasn’t good enough.

“Say it,” I demanded, fiery need burning in my eyes.

“I promise you Orkideh.”

“Promise me what?” I insisted, raising my eyebrows.

“I promise to pull out,” he said and began to push his hips toward me. I lifted my torso, keeping him from pushing inside.

“When?” I wasn’t taking any chances, and wouldn’t let him get away with anything. I was smiling, though, a bit of playfulness returning to my voice.

“Before I cum,” he said. The stern look on his face and in his eyes told me he was – at least in that moment – determined to try. That was all I could ask for. I sank down onto him.

He immediately began fucking me into the wall. I almost cried in thankfulness to finally have him inside me. He filled me nicely, fully. More important than his size was how hard he was, like stone, and the force behind his thrusts. He weighed more than Brian so his strokes had more weight behind them. He slammed into me with a ferocity I hadn’t experienced before; the wetness of our skin made a loud smacking sound every time his hips pounded into mine.

I laced my fingers behind his head, pulling his face into mine for a deeper kiss. I reached down to grab his ass, feeling the taught muscles in his cheeks flex every time he shoved himself deep into my gooey center. I was positively high on our lovemaking and I would have done anything at that moment. A near slip in the tub and the cooling water temperature brought me back to reality. I suggested we get out and go to the bed.

He never set me down, never stopped to grab a towel to dry us off, just carried me straight to the bed holding me under my ass, dripping in more ways than one. We tumbled onto the bed without missing a stroke. He pulled my legs up higher, my knees pressing into my chest, and slammed into me with greater force. The position allowed him to get deeper into me, so deep it stung every time he bottomed out into my sex, the head of his cock pressed up against my cervix. But God, he so wonderfully filled me! I wouldn’t dream of making him stop.

I grabbed his shoulders to pull him down to get his tongue back in my mouth, happy to feel his weight smothering me. We were wet from the shower and increasingly slick with sweat. The room was filled with the obscene noises our bodies made as they slapped together. I could smell our sex and it was making me high.

We were both getting close but neither one of us was ready for it to be over. His lips left mine and he looked deep into my eyes as he slammed his dick deep in my pussy and held it there, throbbing and flexing. He was communicating to me with his body how turned on he was by me, never saying a word. I concentrated on trying to tell him how mutual the feeling was, squeezing my hungry sex down around his steel flesh. We were both breathing deeply and with every squeeze of my pussy muscles we could hear a wet squishy sound. If I had any sense of decorum left I would have been embarrassed to be so aroused given our sinful circumstances.

His pulsing, throbbing dick deep inside me was driving me crazy, and I could see by the look on his face that my pussy hugs were doing the same to him. He pushed up from me to support his weight on extended arms, giving my legs a bit of a rest by letting them drape down over his biceps. He slowly pulled out of me while looking down between us at the sticky mess we were making. Our foreheads touched as I craned my neck to enjoy the same view. His veiny hard shaft was shiny with my wetness, my juices dripping from his matted pubic hair. My entire crotch was covered in a sheen of wetness, and it wasn’t water from the shower. It was absolutely pornographic. I heard him inhale deeply and I knew he was smelling our sex.

“That looks so fucking delicious, Orkideh, and God I can’t get enough of your smell.” His hips pounded back into me with the word “smell.” He continued with that pace – pulling out very slowly then holding it for a second, just the tip of his cock inside me, while we both looked down at the sexy mess we were making. The pace drove me mad, making me hate the emptiness he left behind and lustfully anticipate getting him back inside me. I began trying to push my hips up to meet his, my pussy practically sucking him back inside of me. It worked perfectly to keep us both teetering on the verge of orgasm without pushing us over the edge.

“Your scent has been driving me crazy all day since we were watching the movie together on the plane. I was betting that your body would taste as good as you smelled but I was wrong… you taste even better!” His words were making me even wetter, if that was possible.

“And yet I haven’t fully tasted you yet,” I whispered as a similar hunger came over me. I said it just to entice him with what he could expect later on in the evening – (morning by that point!) – perhaps after we had showered again. I was shocked when he pulled his throbbing shaft out of me and scrambled up the bed to bring it up to my face so I could fulfill my wish. His hard shaft was wet and shiny as it bobbed in front of my face. Pre-cum dribbled from his tiny slit and dripped down onto my lips.

I swear to you, dear reader, I’m really not a prude. I’m just conservative as to the circumstances under which I make myself vulnerable, and with whom. I had tasted myself on another man before but it took me six months with Brian before I felt safe enough in our relationship to express my sexuality so freely. How could I justify doing all that and more with Jackson having known him less than 24 hours?

Nevertheless as soon as the musky smell of our sex hit my brain and the taste of his pre-cum hit my lips I lost all sense of decorum. I devoured him – shamelessly. I reveled in the feel of him throbbing in my mouth and in the taste of our lovemaking. There was no explanation, no justification. There was just a raw passion inside both of us that had to be quenched and this was our one and only night together. I stuffed as much of him into my mouth as I possibly could, lapping up our slimy juices with my tongue as I descended. From the position we were in and the angle, I couldn’t get all of him in my mouth but with his size I doubted I could anyway.

I swirled my tongue all around his shaft as our nasty flavors sent a chemical chain reaction from my palette straight to the pleasure center of my brain. It was a delicious cocktail of pussy juice, pre-cum and a little clean sweat. His raw male smell was just as heady. I was in heaven. I tasted more pre-cum oozing out of him and I moved back to suck on the head while I pressed my tongue into his urethra, trying to get every little bit of his flavor. I pulled my mouth off of him then held him against my cheek as I pressed my face into his pubic hair and licked around the base of his shaft where our combined juices had collected in a frothy ring. It was my turn to inhale deeply and take in his man smell, now even more potent with the light sweat resulting from how hard he had been fucking me. His cock was hot to the touch against my face, still pulsing and throbbing. I could feel every surge of blood with every beat of his heart.

He couldn’t take being outside of me for that long so he moved my head to shove his dick back in my mouth. The feminist in me used to take offense at a man being forceful during oral sex. At that moment I welcomed it, enjoying the way that his desire for me overwhelmed all the politeness that he had shown to me all day. He weaved his fingers into my hair as he took a grip on my head and began to fuck my face. He went gently at first but when I began to moan and fondle his balls his thrusts took on more urgency. I heard a loud growl echo throughout the room and I realized it was him.

He abruptly yanked his dripping dick from my mouth and pushed me back down on the bed. He fell on top of me again and began sucking at my mouth. He licked the inside of my mouth and sucked on my tongue, trying to get all the same flavors I was just enjoying. I pushed as much of my saliva into his mouth as I could and he drank from me like a man starving of thirst.

He just as abruptly pulled back and lifted my legs, pushing them back and spreading them wide. I was completely open before him and he stared down into my sex, gaped open from the wild fucking he had given me. I knew it was a wet sloppy mess down there. I could feel the air cooling the wet skin of my inner thighs and I could feel my moisture oozing down over my anus and into the crack of my ass. With my legs pushed back so far I knew he could see that too. His tongue snaked out, hinting at his desire to taste the mess we were making that was running down my ass crack. I watched his face as his eyes drank me in. I knew I made for an obscene sight and I should have been embarrassed but shamelessly I let him look and let his eyes take in his fill.

A dangerous, lascivious look came over his face that hinted at all the nastier, kinkier intimacies he wanted to share with me. And yet behind that look was a hint of sadness that he would have to say goodbye to me in a few hours and we would never see each other again. I wanted to tell him to hold back nothing, to take all of me to his heart’s content but the words caught in my throat.

Could I live with myself after giving my body, my heart, and my soul to this man so completely? At that moment my body answered that question for me, completely skipping over my mind. I was about to tell Jackson all of this when he suddenly dipped his head down to take a long, wide lick up my entire slit. Then just as suddenly his head came back up and he slammed his shaft back inside of me. His whole face was wet with my pussy cream.
“All day I wanted to kiss you and taste you so bad, I was insane with desire. It was all I could do to control myself,” he said as I tried again to lick his face clean.

“But you saw my ring,” I whispered. He nodded, pausing his rhythm and taking longer than usual to push back inside me. Though I said nothing when it happened I knew the exact moment he noticed it because I felt the subtle drop in his enthusiasm replaced by a slight sadness behind his smile. I reached behind him and grabbed the taught cheeks of his ass and pulled him back down before guilty thoughts could overtake me. There would be plenty of time for me to feel like shit on the plane ride to Boston. I kept hold of his ass, loving the feel of his gluteus muscles working underneath his skin to pump his pelvis into me. At that moment I was determined to earn every bit of my guilt.

Even still, hearing his admission I couldn’t help but wonder if we would have become intimate on the plane had I not been engaged. I highly doubted it. I just didn’t operate that fast in my normal dating life. I had never had sex on a first date, or met some guy out dancing and gone to bed with him that night. Under normal circumstances Jackson and I would have exchanged numbers and started a long distance courtship. We may have kissed. Maybe.

The more I thought about it, I had to conclude that the only reason we were having sex together so soon was that I was engaged to be married. The forbidden, taboo, once-in-a-lifetime circumstances made it all the more arousing, easily some of the hottest, kinkiest sex I’d ever had. I wondered if it could ever be this good in the context of a normal relationship. Was I becoming grateful that we met under these circumstances? Should I be thankful that this was taking place as an affair rather than a new relationship? What did this mean for my future? I was so confused. We both seemed to be racing toward orgasm and I could no longer think straight.

His body started slamming into mine with a maniacal force and at breakneck speed. He was starting to really perspire and before I could stop myself I pushed my face into his armpit and licked at his sweat, tasting his natural male musk. It was one of my secret turn-ons – fresh man sweat not corrupted by deodorant or bacteria. I had tasted it before, usually on my fiancé Brian’s face or chest but the flavors I crave are just not as strong in those areas. But he usually had on deodorant which is horrible in one’s mouth. There were a few times when we were just out of the shower but our passion wasn’t flared up at the exact right temperature. With Jackson it had been the perfect opportunity in the exact right conditions and circumstances so I took my chance without thinking twice about it.

I was so glad that I did. He was salty and earthy, with that essence of virile man that just drives me crazy. I lapped at his armpit, sucking the light sweat from the patch of hair there. My pussy pulsed and gushed uncontrollably as the sexually charged taste of his sweat filled my senses. He cussed at me as his thrusts became harder and more erratic. It wasn’t an ‘I’m angry at you’ type of cussing but instead more of a ‘damn you for pushing me past the point of no return’ kind of swearing.

My orgasm crashed over me. My body went into convulsions and I screamed obscenities in Farsi and English. My pussy was gushing and the squishy sounds coming from our slamming crotches got even louder. Uncontrollable spasms wracked my sex, squeezing his sweet cock and pushing my juices out around him. My toes curled up and my nails sank into his back as I struggled to hold on and stay in this world. For a moment my voice left me and I struggled to get any sound out as I rode over my peak.

My eyes opened and I could see the strained and painful look on his face as he kept fucking me. He was valiantly trying to hold back his orgasm so he wouldn’t have to pull out until I was finished cuming. An overwhelming affection for him washed over me in that instant.

I looked deep into his eyes to find his soul, then I wrapped my legs and arms around him and locked my feet and hands behind his back. Then I pulled him into me and held him as tightly as I could while I pushed my pussy up to meet him and squeezed his cock with all my internal strength. I felt him try to pull back but I held onto him with all of my might. His head rolled back and he let out an animalistic roar as his dick swelled and exploded inside me.

I licked, bit, and sucked on his neck as his orgasm overtook him. He had been so cool the entire day and evening up until that point but he completely lost it then. I felt every blast of his cum shooting into my slimy depths as all manner of unintelligible noise came out of his throat. It was beautiful for me to feel him losing control so completely as I was very used to men always trying to hang onto some bit of their cool. Spasms went through his shaft and I could feel it throbbing, bobbing and pulsing inside of me, still so hard. I squeezed him back for every throb I felt, trying my hardest to suck out every last drop of his cum with my pussy.

When his orgasm had subsided he gently took my face into his hands and started kissing me. The emotional balance had shifted and now we were kissing with much more love than lust. He was still three-quarters hard inside of me, still throbbing. I thought about what had just happened given the promise I had asked him to make earlier. Sometimes a woman wants to – needs to feel her man completely lose control inside of her. This was one of those times.

“I came inside you,” he said softly against my ear, kissing my neck right below.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” I responded with an exhausted but thoroughly content smile. He raised his head to look up at me. I had one last bit of energy in my body. I gave his dick one last good squeeze with my pussy and hugged the rest of him with my arms and legs, using my body to let him know how special our union had been to me. I saw a look of bliss pass through his eyes when he felt my pussy hugging him, and I was content.

“Sorry I violated your trust,” he said, mockingly serious. “Here, let me fix that.” He lifted himself up off of me and I saw the muscles flex in his shoulders, his upper torso shiny with a thin layer of sweat. My mouth watered, even in my exhausted state. He slowly pulled his weakening erection out of me and as he did so I could hear what an obscene juicy mess we had made. I looked down to see his shiny shaft slowly make its way out of me.

The lips of my pussy clung to him, not wanting him to leave me empty. Finally the crowned tip of his penis came out of me with a wet ‘plop,’ dripping with our combined juices. I licked my lips instinctually, not even conscious of what I was doing. His pubic hair was matted against his body with a white, frothy goop. I salivated at the sight, shocked at my very visceral reaction to seeing the effects of our lovemaking. When did messy sex become such a turn-on for me? He scooted down on the bed and put his head between my legs. Apparently the mess we made was a turn-on for both of us.

“No, I’m too sensitive,” I protested, putting my hand over my sex. Truthfully, I was as much embarrassed as I was sensitive.

“Just relax, I’ll be gentle.” He gently grabbed my hand and moved it out of his way. He brought his face into my sex and placed his lips around the entrance to my pussy which felt gaped open after the fucking I had received. His tongue snaked into me and I felt him begin to suck the frothy mess out of my hole. He was using his tongue to scoop his cum out of me as he sucked.

“Oh shit,” I hissed, then called him a fucking pervert in Farsi. I was shocked but at the same time overwhelmingly aroused. No man had ever gone down on me after coming inside of me. The couple of Persian men I had been with hadn’t gone down on me at all. My fiancé Brian, wonderful man that he was, went down on me quite often but never just after sex, always before.

Jackson was eating me like I was his last meal, his favorite meal. His tongue felt impossibly long worming its way into me but my body wanted more. Without thinking I brought my fingers together behind his head and pulled him into me while I used my hips to try and force my sex down his throat. It was purely a primal reaction. He sucked at my pussy noisily, hungrily, until he had taken all he could out of me.

He pulled his lips from me and licked up all the errant juices outside and around my pussy then crawled back up on top of me. He looked into my eyes holding his mouth closed and it was then that I realized he hadn’t been swallowing but had instead collected a mouthful of our sex juices which he intended to share with me. He didn’t immediately move to kiss me, however. He waited to see the recognition in my eyes and I could tell that he wanted to see me take it willingly and as hungrily as he did instead of forcing it on me. I pulled him down into a deep kiss and opened my mouth wide.

I ran my tongue across his lips signaling to him that I wanted what he had inside. He opened for me and a small flood of his cum mixed with his saliva and my pussy juices flowed into my mouth. A burst of pungent flavors assaulted my brain and I felt my pussy contract involuntarily and get slightly wetter, even in my exhausted state. I swished it around with my tongue to thoroughly taste it before gulping it down. It was by far the kinkiest sex act in which I had ever participated and I loved it. When there was no more to drink I began to lick the inside of his mouth trying desperately to taste any last remnants. I felt his cock twitch against my thigh and I knew the whole thing was turning him on as much as it did me.

Finally our kissing slowed and he rolled off of me pulling me along such that I was then on top of him with my head resting on his shoulder.

“God damn!” he said, breathing hard. We were both exhausted and thoroughly content. I would have fallen asleep except I had to pee. I didn’t want to get up and leave him just yet, though. He held me close while he caught his breath, kissing my forehead every 30 seconds or so. When I couldn’t hold my pee any longer I kissed his chest and told him I’d be right back.

It always takes me a while to pee after sex. I don’t know why, perhaps it takes my pussy that long to figure out that it needs to change functions. For whatever reason, though, I always sit there for 3-4 minutes before my pee will flow. Those 3-4 minutes were the last things I needed at that moment. Away from Jackson and left alone in my thoughts, the enormous guilt of all I had just done began to set in.