A secret is revealed
—————— Jackson ——————-
It was almost 3 pm when we were done eating breakfast. Orkideh’s plane was at 6:45 and mine was at 7 pm. We joked and laughed to keep from letting the emotion of our pending good-bye overtake us.
We decided to take a walk and go out to get some sunshine on our faces. From our window in the hotel we could see that it was a beautiful autumn day. We dressed quickly and headed out, anticipating that we would have time to come back, share a bit more intimacy and clean up before it was time to go. We stopped at the front desk and asked where we should go. The concierge explained that there was a nice park not far from the hotel and pointed us in the right direction out the back entrance.
We started out from the Hampton Inn, walking down Conduit Ave toward 150th street. While we walked, even with all of our laughing, Orkideh seemed nervous and continuously looked over her shoulder. It was as if she expected that someone may be following us. I had not forgotten about our experience the previous night, jumping out of the cab and running nervously into the CVS.
I asked Orkideh about her nervousness while we walked and she started telling me about the role she played in the Green Movement, beginning with the “where is my vote?!” mantra that erupted after the incumbent president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stole the 2009 presidential election from the reformist Mir Hossein Mousavi.
“I was living in London then and I kept a blog where I continuously posted updates and articles about the corruption of Ahmadinejad and the Supreme Leader, and the people they had murdered to suppress our movement,” she explained.
“I tried to do it anonymously but somehow the Iranian authorities found out. This got me in a lot of trouble and put my family still living in Tehran at risk. They put me on a list of ‘people to be silenced.'”
“But how would the guy in the cab have recognized you?” I inquired. It just didn’t add up to me.
“I don’t think he recognized me as a dissident, Jackson. I think he was a religious hardliner who saw an unmarried woman without the proper modest clothing on, out on a late night date and he jumped to assumptions. I think he also guessed from my accent what part of Iran I was from and that I may be from an upper-class family.”
“How would he be able to tell how much money your family has?” I asked, confused. “We didn’t talk about anything having to do with class.”
“Poor people generally do not make it out of Iran,” she answered simply.
“Ok, but why would all that matter over here?” I pressed further.
“There are financial rewards for turning people in, and if he were to figure out who I am he could try to bribe my parents in exchange for not turning me in,” she explained, looking down nervously.
“But Orkideh, I still don’t understand how he could possibly figure out who you are?”
“There was a camera in his cab — many New York taxis have them mounted behind the glass on the driver’s side these days. I think when he started messing with his little computer that he was taking my picture. I may just be paranoid but I had someone following me while I was in Malaysia and it really spooked me! I can’t be sure but something about the look in his eyes told me that he really wasn’t happy to see me out with you.” She said the last part quietly, the implications clear but left unstated. I felt an old, familiar pang in my chest.
We turned left on 150th and walked up to Rockaway Blvd., where we ran into Baisley Pond Park. We walked in silence for a little while, both obviously deep in thought. She held my hand nervously. I couldn’t tell if it was further nervousness about being spotted by someone like our cab driver from the night before or from taking our affair out into the public streets.
We had both been to New York before but neither one of us had heard of, or ever been to this park. We found an entrance on the east end of the park and quickly stumbled upon a sizeable pond with a nice walking trail around it. There were a number of migrating ducks and geese swimming around which made for a really romantic stroll. We walked around until we found a nice secluded bench tucked away under a group of oak trees. For the longest time we just sat and held each other, telling the odd story about our childhoods.
Eventually a strong hunger grew in me and I tried to seek out her lips, missing their taste and their feel against my own. I could feel her body tense up as my lips claimed hers and as my tongue sought entrance past her teeth. It became clear to me that Orkideh seemed real uncomfortable about excessive PDA.
I teasingly asked her why, given how secluded we were. It wasn’t just about her fear of being seen, she explained, but about a lifetime of growing up under such intense scrutiny. “Even married couples don’t really kiss in public. A young woman would never allow her boyfriend to kiss her like this where anyone could see.” I held her close as I tried to imagine growing up in such conditions.
“It’s silly for me to still be so scared,” she continued, nuzzling into my neck. “It’s just that I have grown used to needing to hide my true self from ever being revealed. The events of late have not done anything to ease those old fears, even six thousand miles away from home. It’s something I have been trying to work on with Brian, my fiancé.”
I bristled at the mention of her betrothed and she could feel it. It was if she had violated our little fantasy bubble by mentioning his name, and she knew it from the way my muscles tensed beneath my skin. “Sorry,” she said softly into my neck, giving me a brief kiss just under my chin.
I don’t know why it struck me so hard in that moment. There had already been a number of instances when he had been mentioned and I had acted quite maturely. Maybe it was the fact that it was so close to when we were going to say goodbye. Maybe I was having trouble accepting the advice I had given her the night before, about letting this day be separated from the rest of our lives as one moment in time.
I rose to my feet, pulling her along. I suddenly had an irresistible urge to get her back to our hotel and put her body through some serious convulsions. In reflection, I guess you can say my primal instincts kicked in at the mention of Brian’s name. I wanted to remind her in a raw, almost violent way that for that day she was mine and mine alone. I resolved to put her on that plane back to Boston with a sore pussy full of my cum, and she could sense it by the look of determination on my face. She walked briskly along side of me, clinging to my arm, in total acceptance of her fate.
We took a different path walking back to the hotel and approached it from the front instead of the back entrance as we had left. When we were almost there Orkideh stopped me in my tracks. I turned toward her to see a look of horror on her face.
“What is it?”
“Over there,” she pointed in an urgent whisper. Parked in front of our hotel was a yellow cab. Our first driver from last night was standing in front of it, talking in Farsi to two other men who did not look friendly.
“Fucking hell!” Orkideh hissed under her breath. We turned around and tried to walk as fast as we could in the other direction while still looking normal. I could feel her heart beating violently in her chest as we walked. I held her hand tightly and tried to resist some of her own fear infecting me.
We made it back to the rear entrance of the hotel and used our key card to enter there. When we got to our room all we could do was stand in shocked silence. Her stuff was all over the floor and so was mine. The bed linens were everywhere. We had been doing some serious fucking but we had not left a mess like that. All the drawers were open in the main room and the bathroom was also turned upside down.
“What the fuck?!” was all I could say. Orkideh went to start gathering her things and putting them back in her suitcase. I stopped her as the realization hit me that there was a lot going on that she hadn’t told me.
“Orkideh,” I said, exasperation in my voice, “they busted into our room and searched it! What were they looking for?”
“I don’t know,” she whined, her eyes looking down and to the left. I followed her nervous eyes and saw that the contents of my tote bag were also turned out all over the floor. Papers that had my name on them were everywhere. My laptop was flipped over and the hard drive was taken out of the bottom.
“Please don’t lie to me,” I said, shaking her shoulders. “People don’t break into hotel rooms and search through all your stuff over some blog or an unflattering dissertation. They are looking for something,” I said, the fear building in my voice, “and they think you gave it to me!”
“Jackson, I’m so sorry I got you into this,” she pleaded, her eyes tearing.
“Tell me what this is!” I implored her. She hesitated. “Orkideh, they have my information! My name, my address, where I work… This is not just your problem any more. Like it or not, I’m mixed up in it now.” There was a long silence as she worked through her thoughts.
“I do know what they are looking for,” she said finally, letting out a huge sigh. She took a seat on the edge of the bed drawing me down next to her. I could tell a big story was coming. “About two months ago a friend of mine from Tehran sent me an encrypted file. She did not just send it to me, she actually sent copies to all of her friends outside of Iran. She got it from a man she knows who actually works high up in the government as one of Ahmadinejad’s personal staff. The file contained a top secret memo from the president’s office detailing a secret agreement between the US, Israel, and Iran. The agreement was to enter into a controlled war.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I exclaimed.
“I wish I was,” she said softly.
“But why would Iran want such a thing?” I asked incredulously, “and what the hell is a ‘controlled war’?”
“Iran doesn’t want war any more than I’m sure most Americans don’t want war. It’s the Ahmadinejad government that wants war.”
“But why?!” I asked, still confused.
“As the memo explains, Ahmadenijad wants a war to increase his waning political power and increase his clout over the Supreme Leader, Grand Ayatollah Khamenei. When he can say that he’s standing up to Western aggression, his popularity skyrockets. For Israel, their government wants a war to deflect from the shifting international opinion that is increasingly against their treatment of the Palestinians. The U.S. wants a war with Iran because the war against Iraq is over and the war against Afghanistan is drawing to a close. In order to please all the private military contractors whose lobbying money runs Washington, and to also please the Israeli lobby, they need a new enemy to fight.”
A sick feeling came over me as she spoke, that kind of sick feeling you get when some of your worst fears have just been realized.
“They want a ‘controlled war’ to limit the casualties on both sides,” she continued. “A high casualty count on the Iranian side would make both the U.S. and Israel look really bad and further erode their international standing. If Iran were to inflict a high casualty count on either one of them, international public opinion could shift in the opposite direction against Iran. They all agreed that with limited casualties on both sides they could spin the war in a way that works for all parties.”
“Shit!” There was silence as what she was telling me completely sank in. “Do you have the file on you?” I asked finally, my tone now more fearful than angry.
“No. I have it safely hidden and I haven’t told anyone where it is, for their own safety. Not even Brian knows about this.”
“What are you planning on doing with the information?”
“We were going to try and get it to some major international news organizations, maybe Wikileaks, but then the guy who gave the file to my friend turned up dead and she has been taken into custody. No one has seen her since. We’re all scared to death. We all have friends and family still in Iran. We want the information to get out but we don’t want to put our families’ lives at risk.”
There was more silence as I thought for a second about what a shitty position she was in. What would I do in a similar situation? Release the file, perhaps stop a senseless war but lose members of my family and possibly my own life? It was easy for me looking in from the outside to want her to release the file, but I couldn’t say with any certainty what I would do in her shoes.
“Is that why you were detained entering the country?” I asked finally, putting it all together.
“I don’t think so — the homeland security agents never asked me any questions about it. I doubt the U.S. knows that it has leaked. The Iranian government is trying desperately to contain the leak before it gets out.”
Then I shot up like lightening. “Shit, Orkideh, we have to get out of here, NOW!” I said, pulling her to her feet and realizing that whoever ransacked our room was still looking for us and would likely be back.
“But what if they are still outside waiting for us?”
“You start packing up our stuff,” I said, “and I’ll go scout. Put the lock on the door while I’m gone and don’t open it up unless you know it’s me.”
“Jackson,” she said about to begin an apology.
“Save it,” I said. “We need to get out of here first, then we can talk.”
—————– Orkideh ——————–
There was a sick feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach as my whole world felt like it was about to come crashing down. The Iranian government had sent some goons after me, I had cheated on my fiancé whom I loved dearly, and now I had gotten Jackson mixed up in the whole ordeal that sounded as if it came out of a cheesy spy novel. Every thing I did seemed to make a bigger mess of my life. I felt like collapsing on the bed and just crying but I knew I could not. Instead, I drew on the strength that had seen countless women before me negotiate through worse. I thought of the courage shown by Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani, the Iranian woman on death row for being convicted of adultery and scheduled to be executed by stoning. If she could stand up with courage to face her ordeal, surely I could get through this. I began to pack.
The inner linings of our luggage had been torn out but luckily our bags were not destroyed to the point of being no longer useable. I folded Jackson’s clothes and tried to pack them neatly, smelling each article of his clothing to get my fill of his scent that I would miss so dearly. I would have loved to keep one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear when I wanted to think of him and remember this time we spent together but I knew I couldn’t.
Jackson returned about fifteen minutes later and knocked briskly but with a rhythm that let me know it was him. I recognized the rhythm from the Bob Marley music we were listening to together on the plane the day before. I checked the peep hole just to be sure then let him in. He surprised me as he walked in dragging another suitcase.
“Unfortunately, they’re still out there,” he said, acting totally nonchalant at the fact that he was now in possession of some luggage that he had not left the room with. I gave him a confused look.
“But I’ve got a plan,” he continued, throwing the new luggage up on the bed. “At least I hope so,” he added softly.
“Jackson, whose bag is this and where did you get it?” I implored. He unzipped the bag before he answered. Inside was a host of women’s clothing, makeup and toiletry items, a curling iron and a few novels. Jackson quickly removed those items and kept digging like he was searching for something. Tucked and neatly folded underneath all the rest of the contents and wrapped in dry cleaner’s plastic was a flight attendant’s uniform: a skirt, a blouse and a jacket. A shoulder pin attached to the jacket read Qatar Airways.
“There was a large group of international flight attendants checking in downstairs,” he finally offered. “We got lucky in that one of the groups was from Qatar airlines.” He said the last bit as if that explained everything. I was more confused than ever. He lifted up the outfit and held it in front of me and I began to get a clue, though still confused as to how I could pass for a flight attendant, or why it mattered that this uniform was from Qatar Airways.
“Flight attendants for Qatar are one of the last flight crews who still wear hats,” he said finally, pulling out the cute little hat from the bottom of the bag. I had to admit the outfit was cute. I do not know how to say the color in English, the closest I can describe it is as the color of a merlot. With both jacket and skirt worn against a white blouse along with the matching merlot hat, it made for a smart look. And it looked to be about a size 6 which was also my size. The skirt came up to just above the knee. The uniform was a total throwback to the days when flight attendants were called stewardesses and were hired to be sex objects. I should have been troubled that women were still made to wear such outfits. Instead I was happy that my disguise would at least be stylish and cute. I was such a bad feminist.
“My goodness, Jackson, did you steal this from one of those poor girls?!” I exclaimed once I got over the fact of how cute the uniform was and put it all together in my head.
“Orkideh, we’re desperate! We’re not getting out of here without a disguise.”
“But what will that poor woman do? She is without clothes!”
“I thought about going up to one of them and asking if I could buy one of their uniforms but I don’t have enough cash on me. Besides, think about that for a minute. What would they think?” he asked me. I pondered the scenario and realized he had a point.
“They would have said no and called the police, assuming your goal is to sneak someone past airport security.”
“Right,” he said emphatically, “they would think I was plotting some kind of terrorist activity. Now quick, strip and let’s see if this fits. I tried to take the bag of the woman who looked closest to your size.”
“I still feel terrible about this,” I said, taking off my clothes. When I was down to my undies I saw a look pass over his face that said he might pounce on me before he shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. I knew it was the last thing we had time for but I was also relieved to know that he wasn’t so mad at me that he didn’t want me any more.
“Look, how much cash do you have on you?” he asked while pulling about $60 and some change out of his wallet. I grabbed my purse and handed him $49. He took my money and combined it with his and stuffed it into one of the hotel envelopes. Then he stuck the envelope in the stolen bag. He back toward the desk and found one of the hotel notepads. On the notepad, he scribbled a brief message.
“We’ll stash the bag in the vending room or in a closet somewhere, and when we get to the airport we will call the hotel and let them know where to find it. That way the woman won’t lose the rest of her stuff. This $109 won’t likely replace the cost of her uniform but at least she will know that we are sorry and we tried.”
“I can change clothes and take this off if we make it to the airport,” I said, painfully reminded of how I started my journey in a burqa from my brother’s house in Malaysia thirty-six hours ago. “Maybe we can send it back to her.”
“Good idea,” he said, pulling the envelope back out and writing an additional note on the back. “We can leave it in one of the restrooms and let her know to check with lost and found or search the baggage claim restrooms in the terminal with U.S. Airways.” That made me feel a lot better. The cash would be an added bonus for her inconvenience. Moral dilemma solved, I went back to trying on the outfit.
“I don’t know, Jackson” I said, pulling on my getaway clothes. “I fear that they will still recognize me leaving the hotel.”
“Orkideh, what happened to all the things you were telling me about yourself yesterday? I know you know how to hide. Just imagine you are back in Iran.”
He was right. I pulled out a scarf and tied it around my neck then I pulled on my large-rimmed sunglasses. Finally, I tucked the cute little cap over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. “This just might work,” I said, turning to him to give him a view. I saw a flash of lust in his eyes as he looked me up and down and my heart ached at the fact that I didn’t have time to take him inside me one more time. He approached me with a pair of the woman’s stockings, a slight bulge protruding from the front of his pants.
“The outfit has to be complete to be believable,” he whispered. I sat down on the bed and he kneeled in front of me to help me put them on. In pulling each one up my leg he took time to rub his hands up my inner thighs in the process. In an instant I was wet. I saw his nose twitch as his keen olfactory senses registered the first hint of my arousal which by then he was thoroughly familiar. His eyes closed as he moved in closer to inhale more deeply, his scruffy cheeks tickling the insides of my thighs. He pushed my legs apart slightly to place a soft, gentle kiss against my panty-covered lips and then slowly, reluctantly rose to his feet. I was so scared that he was going to be angry at me for getting him into this mess — it was a huge relief to feel affection from him again.
I realized we had no disguise for him and I started to panic all over again. “What are we going to do about you?” I asked softly, looking up to him.
“I’m gonna have to hope shaving is enough,” he said, finding his toiletry bag on the floor and walking toward the bathroom. “When I shave off all my hair and my goatee I look totally different. If I add a shirt and tie and some sunglasses, I just might make it out of here with you.”
I watched him in the mirror as he took off his shirt and then took out his shaver. It was an opportunity to study his upper body but all I could “see” at the moment was the man who had taken on my problems as if they were his own and who was coolly preparing to shave off all of his hair just to help me escape. I stopped him for a second before he could begin, trying to memorize his features with hair.
When the hairs of his goatee fell into the sink I looked up into the mirror and caught his eye, amazed at how much younger he looked. He ran the shaver over his chin and under his neck until all of his facial hair was gone, all that hair that felt so wonderfully rough against the sensitive tender skin of my inner thighs. I shivered at the memory.
As he started shaving off the hair on his head, I went to the other room and brought back a chair, instructing him to sit down. “You’re missing some spots in the back,” I said, “so let me help you.”
He did as I instructed and I took the shaver and began to methodically run it up from his neck to his forehead, watching as the cut wooly hair began to pool on the floor. After quite a few passes his bare skin began to show through. As I continued shaving him, Jackson felt a few drops of what felt like water hit the back of his now smooth head. He looked up at me in the mirror and saw the source of the moisture streaming down my cheeks. His left hand came back to stroke my leg; not in a sexual way, but in a soothing way.
Fatigue, frustration, fear, guilt, love, exasperation… you name it and I was feeling it at that moment. The symbolism in cutting off his hair was just too much for me. He wasn’t just changing his appearance, but potentially his whole life was changing because of me and he seemed to be accepting it without being livid at me. Emotionally it was all just overwhelming.
I tried to finish quickly, knowing we had to get out of there as soon as possible. I went to make sure we had packed everything while Jackson brushed the hair off of him and got dressed. He put on a white shirt and tie which made him look quite preppy. Once he added his sunglasses he announced that he was ready. He didn’t look like a flight attendant, but the difference in his appearance from only 20 minutes ago was striking.
He looked like he was maybe 20 years old, a big difference from his true age of 37. The hair on his head had tiny flecks of grey as did the hair on his chin, giving him a distinguished look of an older gentleman. It was a look that I very much appreciated as I’ve always had a preference for men a bit older than myself. But even with the vast difference in the appearance of his age, I could still tell it was him. We would just have to take the chance. It would have to do.
Jackson called for a cab and left a false name. The dispatcher told him that it would be five minutes. Jackson gave his phone number and asked for the driver to call when he was downstairs. The next four minutes felt like the most stressful stretch of time in my life. I fussed around, chattering nervously about nothing while Jackson paced across the room, peeking fearfully out of the window at every pass. The tension was thick in the room and I think we both realized how scared we were at the same time. As if on cue Jackson stopped pacing and put his arms around me.
“Jackson I’m―”
He shushed me by putting his fingers against my lips before I could tell him how sorry I was. “Save it for when we make it through this,” he said, caressing my face. I nodded.
We grabbed our bags and headed out of the room after the call came. Jackson spotted an ice and vending machine alcove and stashed the stolen bag in there, then we headed for the elevator. Once inside I turned to Jackson.
“When we get outside, don’t look over in their direction,” I explained. “If there is one thing I learned growing up in Iran is how to hide in plain sight. When someone is searching for you or chasing after you they are looking for someone nervously trying to get away. They never believe that you would be bold enough to walk directly in front of them. If you can manage to walk care-free and pay them absolutely no attention, it never occurs to them that you might be the person they’re looking for.”
He just nodded, his face cracking an approving smile.
“Don’t smile,” I admonished him. “I hate that I have to know this, how to sneak, how to lie, how to deceive. It’s exactly what I was talking about on the plane yesterday.”
“Orkideh, you’re a survivor,” he said as the elevator doors opened and we stepped into the lobby. “That’s something to be prou―”
Jackson stopped us in our tracks and immediately turned us back around. In all of our plotting for the perfect escape plan, we had failed to anticipate that the woman who had her luggage stolen would have called the police and would be telling her story to an officer right in the middle of the hotel lobby.
“Fucking hell!” I said under my breath.
“It’s ok,” he tried to calm me. “We can just go out the back door and walk around to meet the cab in the front.”
“But that’s going to look strange,” I told him as we hurried out of the back exit into a rear parking lot. “Being out of place is what gets you noticed.”
He took my hand and kissed it, looking up and down the empty back street. “I don’t think we have a choice, Orkideh, unless you have any other ideas. This doesn’t look like a street or an area where available taxis come regularly.”
“We could walk to the other hotel up the street and catch a cab from there,” I countered nervously, “but I fear we will look just as conspicuous dressed like this and walking. If anyone is canvassing the neighborhood looking for us, we will stick out for sure.”
“We need to make a decision quick or the cab is going to leave us,” he said. I thought about it for a minute.
“I should go,” I said finally.
“Without me?” he asked incredulously?
“Yes, I should go to the cab alone,” I continued. “I am better disguised than you, and the two of us together might catch their attention.”
“I’m not leaving you, Orkideh,” he said emphatically. His eyes burned into me.
“It will be just for a minute,” I tried to calm him. “I will instruct the cab driver to drive around the back of the hotel to pick you up.”
“We either make it together or we don’t,” he insisted, “but either way I’m staying by your side.”
“Jackson, this is no time to be chivalrous. If you think about it, you know I’m making sense,” I reasoned. “If I walk out there alone and jump in that taxi no one will look twice. But they are looking for two people. If you walk out there with me we stand a higher chance of being noticed, especially since we are coming from around the side of the hotel.”
“Orkideh,” he said slowly, taking my hands in his own, making mine look tiny.
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “It will be just like walking down the streets of Tehran in a burqa. I will be in my element, hidden in plain sight.” His shoulders slumped and a look of defeat came over his eyes. He knew I was right. “Now come on,” I continued, “I need you to peek around and make sure the cop is not out there.”
We walked to the side of the building and Jackson peeked his head around, then turned back to me and let me know that the coast was clear. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He kept my larger bag and I rolled my smaller bag behind me, trying to imitate my best flight attendant stride. As I got closer I noticed that the police car was parked out front as well. Also, the cab driver who had given us the hard time the night before and his two goons were now all sitting in his taxi, watching the hotel exit. I would have to walk right past them to get to our cab. My heart beat nervously as I tried to hold my cool demeanor, trying to break out of my chest.
‘He must have taken a picture of me,’ I reasoned, just as I had feared. ‘It is the only way for him to have known to call someone to come after me.’ I was stupid and should have acted on my instincts, I told myself. He had picked us up from this hotel on our way to dinner, so I should have known that he would remember where to find us. I admonished myself for not having the foresight to insist that we go to Jackson’s hotel later that night.
The new cab that Jackson had just called, tired of waiting, was preparing to pull away. I strolled up to the car with confidence, blocking his exit, and indicated that I was his delayed passenger. I was standing directly in front of the other cab with the goons inside but I stood there confidently and never looked their way. The new driver got out to take my bag and loaded it into the trunk, then he opened the door for me. He looked African and I felt relieved. I stepped quickly inside. I looked over at the hotel doors and saw the police officer through the glass, giving his card to the woman who had her bag stolen. It was a sure sign he was about to leave.
“I need you to pull around the back to pick up my friend who is waiting in the parking lot,” I said as the driver plopped down in his seat. “And then we are in a hurry to get to the airport,” I finished.
“International terminal?” he asked, taking note of my uniform.
“Uhh, actually,” I stammered, “we need to go to the US Airways terminal first, and we can take the airport terminal shuttle from there.”
I watched the rearview mirror as we pulled away and caught a glimpse of the officer just as he walked out of the hotel. I was shaking yet trying to look carefree. I saw the officer look in our direction and pause, just as the cab turned around into the back parking lot. We spotted Jackson and I instructed the taxi driver to stop for him.
The driver got out to help Jackson load the rest of our bags in the trunk and Jackson slipped into the back of the car next to me. I grabbed his hand nervously, still watching the rearview mirror. The driver re-entered the car just as I spotted the front of the police car turning the corner behind us, coming around into the back parking lot as well. My heart caught in my throat.
“Don’t look back, Jackson” I whispered nervously. He squeezed my hand, probably more out of fear than affection.
I felt the cab begin to take off and then stop abruptly. “Shit,” I heard Jackson say under his breath as I heard the hum of another car engine pass us by. I looked up from where I lay, my head buried in Jackson’s lap, and saw him looking steadfastly forward. I held onto his muscular thigh, his solid quadriceps muscles alive under my cheek. I almost peed myself, I was so nervous. I heard the car passing by outside stop for a second and then move on. As it did, I felt Jackson exhale.
“Is everything OK?” I heard the driver ask in a thick Nigerian accent, clearly suspicious of how he had picked us up, how I was acting, and then with the cop car checking us out.
“We’re cool,” Jackson responded matter-of-factly. He gave him that nod, the one I often see Black men in America and in the UK give each other randomly on the street or in greeting. Then I felt the car take off.
After about five minutes Jackson squeezed my shoulder to let me know it was ok to sit up. He wrapped his arm around me and held me tight to him as we rode the rest of the way to JFK airport. It was the longest five minutes of my life.
I was trembling as we got out of the cab in front of the US Airways terminal, nervous that something would go wrong any second and we would get caught. Jackson grabbed our bags while I paid the driver with a credit card. The card reader seemed to take forever. When the receipt finally printed out I wrote in a generous tip and we hurried inside. We looked for a restroom down by the baggage claim, figuring it would be less crowded. I began making my way to the ladies room when Jackson grabbed me and stopped me.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight, Orkideh.”
“Jackson, I think we’re ok now.”
“NOT OUT OF MY SIGHT!” he said again between clenched teeth. “Let me take you in the men’s room with me.”
I went up to him and stood on my tip toes to give him a kiss. “I’ll be OK,” I said while rubbing his chest, “as long as you stand guard outside the door.”
He agreed and I went inside to change. There was another woman in there, in the first stall. I went to the back stall built for wheelchair access where I would have more room. I heard the other woman flush and then leave the stall to wash her hands. A few seconds later I heard the door swing open and the click of her heels grow distant and then silent.
Two seconds after that I heard the door swing open again but this time it did not close right away. I froze, stripped down to just my bra and the skirt. Then I heard footsteps and they weren’t a woman’s. I feared the worse, that they had got to Jackson and were coming for me. My heart was beating so hard I felt like it was about to explode out of my chest.
“Jackson, is that you?” I asked nervously, praying that it was. I promised Allah that I would be the most faithful Muslim woman in the world if he would only let me live and keep Jackson safe. I only heard silence broken by more footsteps as they grew closer to me. I was about to scream when I saw his feet below my stall door, and I recognized the shoes. I yanked open the door, ready to curse him for scaring me half to death. Before I could get a word out he slammed into me, his lips taking mine in a savage kiss.
My tongue shot into his mouth as all the tension that had built up from our escape exploded out of the both of us. He pulled our bags into the stall and kicked the door shut behind us as our kiss intensified. His hands violently pulled the skirt down off of me, leaving me standing in my bra and panties, my stockings and my heels. I couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough, ripping a few buttons as I clawed at it, in a hurry to run my hands over his chest.
He gripped my rear and pulled me into his steely erection and I chewed on his bottom lip, desperate to have the feel and taste of his flesh in my mouth. His hands came up to my back to undo my bra while I struggled to unleash his belt and unbutton his pants. My mind was screaming ‘no.’ The last place I ever wanted to have sex was in some dirty airport restroom. It was such a tawdry cliché but my body had other plans. I leaked shamelessly into my panties as his mouth claimed one of my nipples; biting, chewing, and then soothing it with his tongue. I creamed even harder when his mouth switched over to claim my other breast, his sinful touch burning my flesh.
With his pants finally open I reached into his boxers to stroke the turgid flesh stretching to reach me. I was amazed that he could be so hard again, throbbing with a frenzied sexual energy. In our two years together Brian had never managed to make love more than three times in a 24 hour period. Jackson was about to take me for the fourth time in a little more than 12 hours. I was still slightly sore from how hard and how deeply he had fucked me the night before but my body craved him back inside of me all the same. I don’t know from where either of us pulled the strength. We had only slept for about 5 hours after being up for more than 24. I was dripping in anticipation regardless, ready to climb on top of him right there in the stall.
One of his hands found my shamefully leaking sex while his mouth continued its assault on my tender nipples. His fingers began to massage my lips through my panties, making my juices seep through and waft through the air around us. I moaned loudly and I couldn’t help but lick at his bald head, tasting the thin film of sweat that had developed there, mixed with the natural oils from his scalp.
Soon his hands were yanking down my sodden kickers. He stopped just below my knees and held onto my waist so I could step out of them without letting them touch the dirty floor, leaving on my shoes so my feet could also stay clean. He held them up to locate the wet spot and then rubbed it all over his face as he inhaled deeply. Meanwhile I worked on pulling off his pants completely. I wanted to get my fill of his musky scent one more time. I also wanted his lower half unencumbered for the work we needed to do.
I wanted to taste him but Jackson impatiently pulled me up and spun me around as he pushed me up against the stall door. I glanced over my shoulder to see my lacey blue thong dangling from his lips, the wet part stuffed into his mouth. My God, I loved the way he needed to taste me. He made me feel so desired, so sexy, so naughty, and so loved all at the same time. I also loved his body’s strong visceral response to my smell and my taste. It was just as strong as my reaction to his. It was like the chemical composition of our bodies’ respective pheromones were perfectly matched to the neural receptors in the sex centers in each other’s brains.
Jackson wasted no time. Pulling my hips out as he pushed down on my lower back, he slammed his dick into me, forcing the air out of my lungs. He rammed me desperately, pounding my pussy with a feral urgency. He did not start off slowly or gently. He was not making love to me. He fucked me bent over like a farm animal with an iron grip on my waist, my hands up against the stall door for support.
I could tell by the urgency of his thrusts that he was trying to own my body and make it his, both angry and sad that it couldn’t be. I could feel his strong hands controlling me, his fingers dug deep into my hips. My body couldn’t help but respond and slowly my ass started thrusting back into him. I heard grunting noises reverberate throughout the stall and I realized it was me. It was at that point that we heard the clicking of a new set of heels walking across the tiled floor, signaling that another woman had joined us in the restroom.
I know Jackson heard the footsteps but instead of stopping it only made him redouble his efforts. His iron grip on my hips tightened as he pulled me back into his lightening thrusts with greater force. The footsteps abruptly stopped and I knew it was because the stranger’s ears had picked up on what was taking place in the last stall. My mind was horrified that another person was listening as I got royally buggered in a public restroom. It went against my every instinct which had been bred in me from as long as I can remember to hide my sexuality at all costs.
Even though my brain was aghast at what was taking place, my body betrayed me. While I could feel the heat rise up all over my face as I turned flush with embarrassment and shame, my pussy was on fire and flushed with excitement. I could hear my juices sloshing around each time Jackson pierced me to my core. I could smell myself, too. The strong musk of my arousal was wafting through the air all around us and I knew the stranger outside of our stall could likely smell me as well. At one point I looked down between my legs and saw light reflected on the wet streaks making their way down the inside of each of my thighs. Just shameless.
The stall door began to rattle loudly as I braced myself against his onslaught. Combined with my moans, his grunts, and the smacking sound his hips made every time he slammed his crotch into my ass, it was an x-rated cacophony of noise we were making.
Jackson’s strong grip moved from my hips to dig into the flesh of my butt, spreading my cheeks lewdly so he could get a better view of his cock slamming into my sodden pussy as my juices leaked down my legs. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the raw lust on his face as he stared down at what he was doing to me. Having my cheeks spread exposed my tiny anus to the cool air and to his hungry eyes. The cold air blowing over my little forbidden hole made it twitch, and I knew he was watching me there, too.
I was appalled to suddenly realize that I desperately wanted his fingers in me back there while he fucked me, so I could feel full of him in every way like I had in the shower earlier. What had his teasing play with my anus done to me? I wondered when and how I had become such a slut over the past 36 hours, aghast at my kinky desire.
I didn’t have the courage to voice it, to beg him to finger-fuck my ass while he pounded my hungry pussy. In fear, shame and embarrassment the words stuck in my throat and I could not get them out. Just the thought of him watching my anus as it spasmed uncontrollably was enough to increase my arousal, though. I heard him inhale deeply, taking the scent of my sex into his body. The pheromone-charged air was so saturated by that point that I was sure he could nearly taste my pussy just by breathing.
I felt drops of water hitting my butt and some splashing in the crack of my ass and I knew Jackson was sweating from the maniacal way he had been fucking me. I was shocked when I turned my head and learned that the drops of his sweat were actually tears. Tears of joy? Tears of sorrow? Both? I wondered but I had no answers. He caught my eye as I watched him crying and in an instant, I knew. Seeing the emotion in his eyes and on his face sparked such an intense emotional response in me that it opened my floodgates and I felt a massive orgasm begin rising from my toes.
I began to cry out as the raw physicality combined with the emotional nakedness overwhelmed me. Then I felt a line of fabric being stretched between my lips and around my head to muffle my cries, held tight by Jackson’s hand. My nose told me immediately that it was Jackson’s boxers being rapped around my head to muffle my cries. Their scent was strong with his musky maleness. He held me like that, my head pulled back and my back arched as he rutted into me savagely. Each thrust lifted me up on my toes and nearly off my feet.
I knew what he was doing, being rough with me to compensate for the fact that I had seen him at his most vulnerable, but it was just what I needed. I needed him to punish my pussy for my sins. I needed him to own my body and make it his. I needed for both of us to hold nothing back in our final hour together before saying goodbye and never seeing each other again.
The next thing I knew I was cumming uncontrollably. The combination of the force of his thrusts hitting me at just the right angle, the kinkiness of him stuffing his underwear in my mouth, and the fact that he was so consumed in fucking me that he didn’t care that there was someone right outside the stall listening to us, all tipped me over the edge. I came violently, my body thrashing about to the point of collapse. My legs turned to jelly but his hands continued to hold me up as his relentless dick delivered the sweetest punishment a girl could ever get.
The intensity of my orgasm triggered his own. I felt his cock swell and then felt his hot cum exploding into my pussy, searing my inner vaginal walls when he was on the down stroke and splashing directly into my womb when we was on the up stroke. He grunted and yelled something unintelligible as he emptied himself deep inside my body. My orgasm was still going, and my contracting pussy muscles milked him of every sweet drop. I tried my best to squeeze my lips tight to prevent even one single drop from leaking out of me. I knew it was a losing battle but I could not help but try anyway.
Jackson held me up for as long as he could before he himself began to collapse. My legs were still jelly so he let go of his grip on his boxers gagged in my mouth and raised that hand to hold onto the wall of the stall, his other hand holding me up by my waist. When I finally gained some functionality in my legs I pushed him back until he slipped out of me and then had him sit on the toilet. I turned and straddled him, taking his now only three-quarters erect penis and sliding it back inside of me. We removed our underwear from each other’s mouths simultaneously and then our lips found home as they connected.
My lips stayed entangled in his for nearly five minutes as we moaned softly into each other’s mouth. I could feel his cum starting to leak out of me and I looked down to see a river of our juices running down his shaft to pool in his pubic hair. The effect of the visual was too much for me and my hunger grew. I made him stand while I assumed a seat on the toilet. I reached around and grabbed onto his ass, loving the feel of his taught cheeks in my palms. Squeezing, I pulled him to me and he knew what I wanted. The smell of his spunk was pungent and invaded my senses immediately, making me salivate.
I concentrated while licking and sucking every millimeter of his cock, cleaning it of all our sex juices. The kinky flavors jumped in my mouth and I experienced a head rush from the heady flavor of our combined tastes. It was a full indulgence of one of my most secret desires and I felt so free and beautifully alive.
Next I placed his entire shaft in my mouth, still half erect, and just loved it with my tongue, my cheeks and the opening to my throat. I even shamelessly sucked at his pubes to get all the juices pooled around the base of his cock underneath his thicket of coarse curly hairs. His testicles were next in my mouth which were also wonderfully slimy with our juices. I rolled them around in my mouth gently while I used my tongue to find any errant juices hiding in between the wrinkles of his heavy sac. I sucked him lewdly, making obscene noises as I slurped up all of our flavors. His cock twitched against my forehead as I worked on his balls but I knew he was spent. I knew I had taken all he had to give.
When I was satisfied that all of our juices were in my stomach and not on his body I released him from my mouth and stood up so he could sit down, then I retook my perch upon his lap. That’s when we heard the slow applause begin from outside our stall. I turned beat red, so caught up in our passion that I had forgotten someone was out there. If it was at all possible, I turned an even deeper shade of crimson when the applause grew louder, accompanied by multiple women who had joined the first but whom we never even heard enter the room.
Jackson, completely nonplused by the situation, put his face into my breasts and just held me as tight as he could for as long as he could. The footsteps outside the stall resumed as people went back to doing what they came in the restroom for. Soon we heard toilets flushing and water running, and the occasional giggle. I felt like a filthy whore. A deeply satisfied whore, an emotionally overwhelmed whore, but a filthy whore nonetheless.
I glanced at my watch and saw that we had just over 50 minutes to go get my boarding pass, get through security and then make it to my gate. Reluctantly I got off of Jackson’s lap and began to gather the flight attendant outfit to hang it on the back of the stall door. Jackson began to dress, putting back on the boxers that had been in my mouth and slipping my panties that had been in his mouth into his pocket. It was the least I could give him after all he had sacrificed for me, for us to have this day. I would have loved to hold onto his boxers too, loved to have something of his that had his smell, but we both knew I couldn’t.
Jackson took out his camera and took pictures of me while I dressed. He continually snapped every picture he could of me, from ruffling through my bag for a change of clothes until I buttoned my last button. Once I was dressed we took a couple of pictures together, one of us smiling with our faces pressed together and another one of us locked in a deep kiss. I was sad, wishing that I could take a picture to keep as well, but again, I knew I couldn’t take any trace of our time together back to the apartment I shared with Brian in Boston. I had some of his seed in my tummy but that would be all I could keep.
“Jackson, you must promise me that you won’t post any of these pictures online, or share them by sending them electronically to anyone else.”
“I won’t,” he said. “They will be just mine to cherish.”
“I mean it, no sending any of these to your best friend in an email saying ‘look at the cool girl I met on my way back from Malaysia’.”
“I won’t violate your trust, Orkideh. This day will stay between us.” Perhaps foolishly, I believed him.
I exited the stall and looked in the mirror above the hand washing basins. I was a mess! I looked and smelled like sex. I would have to spend at lest 20 minutes in the plane’s lavatory trying to clean myself up and wash the smell of sex off of me. I also knew that I could not look too polished because I would have to sell Brian on the idea that I had been deathly sick with some food poisoning or stomach virus over the last 18 hours.
The flight from New York to Boston would be short, less than a full hour. Considering the restricted time when we would be unable to get out of our seats just after takeoff and right before landing, I realized that I would be lucky to get a full twenty minutes to properly clean myself. I figured that I would somehow make it work because we had no time for me to get clean right then. I would just have to go through security looking and smelling like sex. Cue all the thoughts of me feeling like a whore to wash back over me. I couldn’t decide if I was mortified or if I was on such a sexual plateau that for the first time in my life I just didn’t care.
For once we caught a break as the security line in our terminal wasn’t very long. We were also fortunate enough that Jackson’s flight was leaving out of the same terminal so he could print his boarding pass and walk me to my gate before leaving for his own with enough time to make it. Once through security we walked briskly in silence, nervous about missing my flight but even more nervous about saying goodbye.
When we were almost at my gate I remembered we had one last bit of business to take care of. I thought for a second about how to pull it off, worried about using my own phone in case they could trace the call.
I had an idea! I stopped us in front of a group of people waiting at another gate, and then I pulled my phone out of my purse along with the sheet of paper that had our hotel information on it. I made a show for the benefit of the people standing next to me pretending that my phone’s battery had died.
“Jackson, does your phone have any power left?” I asked loud enough for the others to hear. “I need to call the hotel to check to see if they found our bag.”
Catching on, he took out his phone and told me that his was also dead, since he forgot his charger. With the context set, I asked a nicer looking older gentleman standing near us if I could borrow his phone to make a two second call, showing him my reservation sheet so that he would know that the number was local. I gave him one of my best flirtatious smiles. He returned my smile and agreed.
When the hotel desk answered the phone, I asked the clerk if he could check on a lost bag for me. I told him that I thought I had left it n the place where Jackson and I had stashed the stolen bag, but I gave him a completely different description. I was hoping that when they found the different bag that they would be able to figure out that it was the stolen bag and get it back to the woman who owned it.
The clerk agreed to send someone to check and put me on hold. While on hold, though, I continued talking as if the conversation were drawing to a close. I hung up the call, gave the phone back to the older man who smiled at me, and thanked him for his generosity. Then I grabbed Jackson’s hand and we quickly walked off.
“Well done,” he whispered down into my ear. “You’re a natural at this.”
“I know,” I said sadly. “It’s terrible.”
“It’s awesome,” he said to correct me. “I’m impressed… and I’m turned on.” I thought about the world he must come from for such an ability to be so praised and embraced. At last we arrived at my gate.
“I’m sorry that I got you mixed up in this mess, Jackson,” I said somberly, turning to him once we saw passengers still boarding alerting us that we had a little more time.
“Orkideh,” he paused, searching for the right words, “I wouldn’t trade these past two days with you for anything. I’m sad that it’s over but I’m even happier that it happened.”
“Jackson, don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, taking his hands, “but you can’t try to contact me once I walk through that door.”
“But Orkideh, a text or an email to say hello every once-in-a-while, just to let me know that you are safe, would mean so much to me.”
“Just hear me out, love,” I said, pulling on his hands to let him know that I meant what I was saying. “I will always carry you in my heart. Know that I will. But I have to go tell the biggest lie of my life to a person I love dearly, then I have to maintain that lie for the rest of our lives. I can’t do that if you and I stay in contact. Like you said, I have to think of these past two days as one moment in time separated from the rest of my life. In order to fully do that I need a complete break.”
“Yeah, I guess you do,” he affirmed softly.
“So promise me?”
“I promise you, Orkideh, and I promise to keep this promise.”
“I’m so glad I met you, Jackson William,” I said, tearing up. He didn’t respond verbally but instead took me into his arms for one last kiss. He did not let me go but kept kissing me until the airline made their final boarding call.
“I wish you happiness,” I whispered, breaking the kiss. I then ran over to hand the gate checker my ticket. I turned around to wave goodbye but he was gone.