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Behind the Green Veil Ch. 01

By: Jayded_Lust



Chapter 01

A Persian Woman Unveils a Hidden Passion after a Chance Encounter

----------- Orkideh ------------

"Fucking hell!" I exclaimed as I slapped at my I-phone with dread. Four a.m. was just a cruel and inhuman time to have to wake up. I was tired and also frustrated wondering why all the good dreams always seem to wait until the last few minutes of deep sleep before they come into our consciousness. I was dreaming of my fiancé waiting for me back in Boston and dreading the twenty three hours of flying I had ahead of me before I could get to him.

The dream I was having was graphic in its detail and in my mind I could almost smell the sex we were having in the dream. I woke up feeling the wetness in my panties and could not help the feelings of embarrassment and shame that came over me. Even though I was a grown woman, being in a home with all my family around put me back in the mindset of being a teen in my parent's house where any notion of my sexuality was strictly forbidden.

The rest of the house was still asleep and would be for some time. We had all just gone to bed at 1:30 or so. We so seldom have an opportunity to get together as a family. It had been five years since the last time we had all been together so no one wanted to go to sleep on our last night. As the wine flowed, we stayed up talking and laughing until the wee hours. I spent most of my time playing with my nieces and nephews. At 3, 5, 6, and 8, these were their formative years that I most regretted missing out on. It had been so long since I had seen each of them last that they were just getting comfortable with me again and here it was time to go.

As I laid out my clothes for my return trip I wondered what I would wear. My long, conservative dresses were old and looked as much -- I never buy new ones because I only have to wear them when I come home. I wished that I could just wear the jeans, blouse and a sweater that I would usually wear when flying these days. Even though my family was asleep and would never know, the cab driver might refuse to take me to the airport, where I could also run into additional trouble dressed too casually Western.

More importantly, I had the distinct feeling of being followed since I had come to Malaysia two weeks ago. My entire family was gathering here where my brother now lives, celebrating my father's 75th birthday. It was easier and safer to gather here in Kuala Lumpur rather than try to go back to Tehran where my parents still lived. The Iranian government was angry with me and I had no idea how far they might go to insure my silence. It was not unheard of for Iranian government agents to come after dissidents even when they are outside of Iran, especially when they are in another Muslim country.

I decided that to be safe, I would be a so-called good Muslim woman and wear the ultra-conservative burqa that would cover me head-to-toe with only my eyes showing. I would take it off once I was safely past security in the airport. As a consolation, I picked out my green underwear and green bracelets that I would wear underneath my other clothes underneath the burqua -- my small symbols of protest.

What most Westerners refer to as the "Arab Spring" actually started in Iran with a Persian winter waged by the Green movement. Before the uprising in Tunisia and the overthrow of the 23-year dictatorship of Ben Ali -- sparked by the self-sacrifice of Mohamed Bouazizi setting himself ablaze in December of 2010 -- the Green movement in Iran started an uprising demanding that President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad step down from office after the fraudulent elections of 2009. While the governments in Egypt, Libya and Yemen had fallen in similar uprisings inspired by Tunisia, the Green Movement in Iran had been brutally crushed, as did the protesters in Bahrain and Syria.

I had only recently moved out of Iran to the UK when the Green Movement really began to take off. I went to the UK to study for my Master's degree but I had taken part of some of the early organization against Ahmadinejad's government while I was still an undergraduate student in Tehran. But living abroad had actually allowed me to help my friends in struggle back in Tehran when the protests broke out. They were able to send me information and pictures that I was then able to post online, on my blog, on facebook, and twitter accounts, without fear that one of Ahmadinejad's thugs would break into my home and throw me in prison.

My actions, however, (both online and in my academic scholarship) had caused increased attention to come to other members of my family and with my parents still living in Tehran, we all feared for their safety. They supported me fully, though, and I tried my best to keep my online activities anonymous. My parents were devout Muslim's who shared many conservative views but they did not believe in the oppression of women. It helped that they had three strong-minded daughters and one son. It also helped that my mother was a brilliant tactician at negotiating gender politics in the home and my father loved her deeply. Many of his conservative tendencies melted under her manipulations.

Apparently my discretion in my online activities had not fully worked as I got a mysterious call right before I left Boston telling me to watch out and that the Iranian government was searching for me to ask me questions. The call had left me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I never found out who it was. To make matters worse, I felt like I was being followed my whole time in Malaysia since I stepped off the plane. I couldn't make it back to Boston and into the arms of my fiancé fast enough.

No sooner than I was dressed my phone rang, startling me. I answered it quickly so as not to wake anyone else in the house. It was the taxi driver, waiting for me outside. I grabbed my luggage and headed toward the door. Before leaving I stopped and tip-toed into my nephew's room where all the young children were sleeping soundly sprawled out all over the floor. I gently kissed each one of them, trying to remember all the little details of their faces to keep with me until I saw them again.

As I stepped out of their room I was startled half to death to see my mom standing there in her robe. She had set her own alarm to see me off, even though I had insisted she not do so. She seemed a little surprised to see me in my full burqua but then a knowing look said she understood. We just hugged each other for a long time without saying a word. I am her youngest daughter -- she had so much parenting experience already under her belt before I came along. I always felt so exposed around her, like she could look right through me and see everything I was thinking. This time was no different. She knew I was sad to leave but happy to be going home to the arms of my fiancé.

As soon as I sat down in the back of the taxi I felt a set of headlights come on behind us. When the driver took off for the airport, the set of lights continued to follow us. It was still dark outside and we were pretty much the only cars on the road so they were easy to spot. My heart started racing a bit and I didn't know if I was being silly or rightfully paranoid. I kept checking behind us nervously.

"Someone following you?" the driver asked casually.

"I don't know," I replied, a slight hesitation in my voice. "But if it's all the same to you, the sooner we get to the airport, the better."

The driver studied me intently in his rear view mirror for a minute. Since I was wearing a burqua, he could only see my eyes. His eyes narrowed as they met mine, and after a few seconds they softened with understanding. He nodded and stepped on the accelerator. The car behind us kept pace with our increased speed. I slumped down in my seat trying to keep my mind calm. I had all sorts of panicked scenarios running through my head -- about being shot, or about them attaching a sticky bomb to our car like the Israelis had done to an Iranian nuclear scientist recently. I laid down fully in the back seat and just prayed.

When we got close to the airport the driver asked me what airline I was flying. I told him and we headed to the international terminal. There were other cars on the road now, a number of people who had early flights so I felt a little less nervous. Even still, I asked that the taxi driver let me out near a police van where a group of armed airport security men stood chatting.

As we stopped there was a car that had stopped behind us. I could not tell if it was the same car that had been following us as I had only been able to see its headlights before. The windows were darkly tinted and I couldn't see inside, which made me even more anxious. I hesitated for a second but decided that with the armed security just outside, I could risk it. The driver helped me load my luggage onto a cart. The car that had been stopped behind us seemed to sit for a second watching me, assessing the situation, and then drove off. I let myself breathe, not realizing I had been holding onto my air this whole time. I tipped my driver generously and ran inside, eager to go through security. I couldn't get through fast enough.

I slipped into a restroom and took off my burqua. I had worn black pants underneath that were much more comfortable and warm for 23 hours of flying. I had also worn a light shirt in case I got warm and brought a sweater in case I got cold. I wrapped my hijab around my face and looked at myself in the mirror. The burqua was great for anonymity in public but not good for going through airport security. I let my shoulders relax a bit -- felt the tension ease in them, and then went back outside. I was safe... at least for a while.

-------------- Jackson --------------

A depressed feeling came over me as I boarded the Malaysia Airlines Boeing 737 headed to Tokyo. I was ultimately headed back to Houston, where I live and teach at Rice. I had a grueling 26 hours of travel ahead of me, however. I was leaving Kuala Lumpur and after I landed in Tokyo I had a four hour layover until my next flight to JFK airport, and then from there I would head to Houston. Tokyo to JFK would be the longest leg of the flight -- a full 14 hours. It was going to be pure hell on my lower back and on my tailbone, and I was not looking forward to the torture.

That, however, was not why I was feeling low. I just wasn't looking forward to going home. There was something ugly happening in America, something very hateful that was getting worse and worse. For the past two weeks being abroad I had not felt any of that, and I was grateful.

I had a wonderful time and met some great people, yet I didn't think I was saddened just because I was leaving. I had been gone for a little over two weeks and I would normally be excited to once again sleep in my own bed after being gone that long. I couldn't quite put my finger on what exactly was troubling me.

I found my seat and settled in, Sudoku and ipod in hand. It was god-awful early in the morning and I anticipated I would be sleep before too long. Even though this was one of the shorter legs of my trip, it was still a 6 hour flight to Tokyo. There would be plenty of time to pull out my laptop and watch movies later. I had a window seat, and soon a middle-aged Japanese couple settled in next to me. They seemed nice enough -- they smiled and we bowed at each other, but a language barrier kept us from communicating any further from that. Didn't much matter, after the flight crew served us breakfast, I was knocked out.

I woke up drooling and disoriented. I looked at my watch and was stunned to figure out that I had been asleep for almost four hours! It was shocking because I never sleep on planes. It's not because I am too uncomfortable, but more because I just don't ever sleep in a public place due to a phobia of mine. You may think that odd, but you will understand once you hear my reasoning. It all started during the first month of my first year in college. An article in the school news paper gave the details of a warning issued by the campus police to all students who studied late at night in the library. They had received numerous reports that some sick bastard was hanging out late at night in the stacks and would prey on students who had fallen asleep while studying by jacking off on them and into their hair. It was a while before they caught the guy but after reading that story, I never fell asleep in public again.

Which is why I was so shocked to find that I had slept for 4 hours on this flight. I must have been really exhausted from all we had done on this trip. When I first saw the announcement for the conference in Singapore, I knew I had to go. Though my travels had been wide, I had never been to that part of the world. Though the conference was only three days, my friends and I made plans to stay for two weeks: one week in Singapore then take the train up to Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia for the final week.  

Being in Singapore felt like being in an alternate Manhattan without the rats and the piss, plopped down in the middle of a tropical rainforest -- just beautiful. In the US, we mostly know Singapore for the rumors we hear about people being caned for spitting their gum out on the sidewalk. I never actually saw or heard about anyone getting the cane, but apparently just the fear of it was enough to keep the city spotless with gorgeous lush greenery everywhere.

Culturally, however, the place was not as conservative as one might suspect. If they were strict about cleanliness, they were permissive about sex and gambling. Prostitution was legal and they had a huge casino that seemed like it was a mile high in the sky. Alcohol was extremely expensive, taxed heavily to pay for their amazing infrastructure with subways that go all over the city and an extensive network of underground malls, food courts, and shopping. And you had perfect cell phone reception wherever you were underground. Whoever heard of full bars of reception while buried deep in the middle of the basement of some conference center? The gambling was also taxed, but only for local residents. It costs them the equivalent of $50 just to get in to the casino. Foreigners could walk in for free. I guess that's one way to cut down bad gambling habits.

The people their trace their heritage to a number of countries throughout south-east Asia: China, Laos, Vietnam, India, Cambodia, Malaysia, and various other parts of Indonesia. I don't have any particular fetish for Asian women, but the mix made for a very beautiful population. The women were chic: not Euro chic and not New York City chic, but stylish all their own. And the food! Imagine different food options from all those different regions of the globe, all in ready supply seemingly on almost every corner. We ate well!

An economic and trade hub for the western pacific, I did not know that Singapore was one of the few places on earth that is both a country and a city until planning to make the trip. Cost of living was high there like in Manhattan, too! I was on an expense account, but as a university professor I sure didn't have an unlimited per diem, so I had to keep my spending in check. That changed quite a bit once we took the train up into Malaysia.

Being in Malaysia was my first time being in a predominantly Islamic country. The first thing I noticed was that almost all the women wore hijabs, and then I was surprised to discover how chic and stylish all the different styles of hijab were. They were all manner of stylish silks in vibrant colors and cool designs. It became immediately apparent to me that they stood in for different hair styles, a way for women to express themselves in a culture when it was tradition for women to keep their heads covered in public. And most everyone was incredibly friendly, interested in talking to me to learn about what brought a person like me to their part of the world.

This was true of everyone, male and female, except the small percentage of women who wore the full body burqa with only their eyes showing. They did not speak to me at all, nor nod or give any kind of acknowledgement. And I did not get the feeling that it was because they were snooty or didn't want to, but instead it seemed like they were literally forbidden. You rarely saw these women out alone, they usually had a man who I assumed was their husband accompanying them, and they always walked three or four steps behind him. You could just feel an oppressed energy coming off of them. It was very sad.

Then I wondered, how does anyone tell them apart with everything all covered up like that? One day I sat for a while eating lunch and just people-watched, trying to figure it out. Then it hit me: it was their shoes and their purses! These women in the full burqas had the loudest shoes and most stylish purses out of all the women in Malaysia. With such a limited canvas for self expression, they got it in with those two accessories.

I soon also figured out that there was no pork in any restaurant in the entire country, and alcohol was scarce. I surprised myself by going the whole week without drinking. I don't drink very much in my personal life but I generally let myself cut loose when I'm on vacation. However, the people I met there were so cool that I genuinely didn't really miss it. By the end of the week, though, I was seriously contemplating asking around to see if there was a black market for pork products!

It was really the breakfasts where I missed it most. There were beautiful breakfast/brunch spreads in the hotel and not one single piece of bacon, sausage or ham to be found. Just criminal! For the life of me I can't figure out why a group of people would ever deny themselves the joy of some really good thick-sliced bacon. Oh well, to each their own. They take their Koran seriously. To be fair, Christians are technically not supposed to be eating pork, either, or shrimp or lobster... at least according to Leviticus. That chapter of the bible seems always conveniently forgotten. Can't say that I'm mad about that, though. There is no joy in this life quite like a smoked pork rib.

Where Singapore was expensive and squeaky clean, Kuala Lumpur was much poorer and umm... grittier. New Yorkers would feel right at home. But by far the best attraction was the people. You had much of the same people who were in Singapore with the addition of many more people from the Middle East. The people were so nice, so generous, so personable. I loved the experience of every new person I met. And the women were also beautiful, their skin a few shades darker than the people in Singapore. With the conservative Islamic culture, I knew there was slim chance of meeting anyone and hooking up but I had one experience with an Indian woman that was, in many ways, more satisfying.

This woman was a chef in our hotel. One day my friend JB and I complimented her on one of the dishes she had made: "beef rendang," the most tender, melt-in-your-mouth beef slow-cooked in a blend of rich spices and coconut milk. She asked us if we would like to learn how to make it. We were totally surprised but not quite sure how she was going to teach us. Nevertheless, we said yes. She explained that the next day was her day off and if we wanted, she would take us shopping for the ingredients and then we were invited over to her family's house where she would teach us how to prepare it. We were blown away with such an offer of generosity. It wasn't a flirtatious come-on in any way, just good-natured generosity.

We tried to politely refuse, telling her that surely she had better ways to spend her day off. She wouldn't hear of it, though, and insisted that it would be her pleasure. So the next day we went and had an absolutely wonderful time getting to know her and then getting to know her family. And we laughed and laughed and laughed. We bought enough spices to take back to the states with us (yes, we smuggled them past customs!) and then she even showed us where to go shopping for some cool clothes. It was a great day, clearly the highlight of the trip.


Behind the Green Veil Ch. 01



Back on the plane, remembering these beautiful experiences, I continued to ponder why I was feeling so down. I still couldn't put my finger on it. I looked out the window and saw that the sea below us was about to become land. That's when the captain came on and told us to prepare for landing. This part of the trip went blessedly quick. I doubted I would be so lucky for the next phase.

Three hours later I was finally boarding the Boeing 777 for the long flight to New York. Just the thought of how torturous this was going to be was turning my low mood into a grumpy one. I fortunately had an aisle seat, because I knew that I would be getting up to stretch often. Seat 19C, I was the first person to make it to my row. I figured I would wait to take out my laptop until the other people in my row arrived and got settled in. I did not have to wait long before an elderly gentleman gave me the universal nod that says "I'm in your row." I stood up and let him in. He unpacked a couple of novels and then put his carry-on in the overhead bin, which seemed to take him forever. There was a line of people that had built up behind him. He finally moved in to take his seat by the window and I moved to resume my seat so the other people could pass me by.

"I'm sorry to ask you to get up again but I'm in the middle there," the voice said with a slightly off British accent. I had just plopped back down. I looked up to see a Middle Eastern woman wearing a hijab indicating that she needed to get into my row. "No worries" I said and stood to let her in. She moved past me into our row, giving me my first whiff of her amazing scent. For her, it was an I-Pad and a bunch of books, journals, and magazines that she removed from her bag. There was an anthropology journal, and journal of the Middle Eastern Studies Association, a few heavy books like Foucault, Franz Fanon, and John Paul Sartre, and a French edition of Elle. I knew right away she was an academic. Lastly she pulled out a copy of Cosmo, and I could not help but start to chuckle.

She looked up at me with a surprised and defensive look on her face and asked, "Are you laughing at me? I know I'm taking a long time but I'm about finished."

"You take whatever time you need but that's not why I'm laughing," I responded.

"What then?"

"All that heavy intellectual reading, and Cosmo? Really?!" I could barely contain how tickled I was by it.

"I know, it's a weakness," she said, softening her defensive posture, "but don't embarrass me. Don't you ever have times where you want to shut your brain off and occupy yourself with something mindless?" she asked as she took her seat.

"I guess I do," I said, moving in to sit next to her. Playing Grand Theft Auto came to mind, but I didn't let her in on that much detail. "I'm not judging, but it is funny."

"Uh huh," she snickered, "You say that now, but I'm sure you will be asking me to borrow it before these 14 hours are up." She could give tease as well as she could take it. I liked that.

From looking at her, I could tell why she had the fashion magazine. Every article of clothing she wore all the way down to her shoes was a designer brand designed to look stylishly casual. She wore black thin-strip corduroy pants, a green shirt, a silk knit scarf, and a black light sweater. The sweater looked plain at first but one could tell by looking at the stitching that it was soft on the skin and pricey. Complimenting her outfit she wore a hijab of beautiful dark green silk with black streaks patterned throughout. So her reading Elle made sense. The Cosmo must have been just pure mindless indulgence.

I stood back up to grab my laptop and headphones out of my bag in the overhead bin then sat back down. "We'll just see what kind of mindless entertainment you bring up on that thing and then we'll talk," she further teased back at me.

"Nothing but high-brow content here," I lied. "A documentary on Darwin, another on post-structuralist philosophy, one on the fallacy of post-modernity, and finally one on great women thinkers throughout history." She looked at me sideways with one eyebrow raised, trying to assess if I was telling the truth. I tried to hold in my smile but I could feel the corners of my mouth betraying me, moving up ever-so-slightly higher on my cheeks.

"If that were true I wouldn't know whether to be impressed or sorry for you," she said, reassessing me with her eyes. She knew it wasn't true but the content of my assertion told her that I was likely an academic.

We were now taxiing to the runway. Members of the flight crew started going over safety instructions, disrupting our conversation. I tucked my laptop away in the seat pocket and prepared for takeoff while she did the same with her books and magazines. I have always loved the rush of liftoff when flying. It wasn't quite the same on big jets because the acceleration isn't as fast, but it was still fun. She looked tense, a look that stayed on her face throughout the takeoff. Once we were in the air I decided to change the subject.

"Are you heading home or are you visiting?" I asked. A pained look came over her face.

"Funny you should ask..." she said softly, "A few years ago I would have answered that I was visiting. Now I'm not so sure."

"You make that sound like a sad thing," I observed.

"It is sad for me... not because I'm really unsure but because increasingly I am fairly sure. I just don't like..." she paused to reconsider her words. "I'm not sure about how I feel about the answer."

"O-kay... I won't pry if it's a touchy subject."

"I'm from Iran," she explained and left it at that as if that said it all.

"I see. I think I get it."

"Do you?" she challenged me.

"Well, I know my government labels you as part of the so-called 'axis of evil,' and I also know that the US and Israel are foolishly trying to start a war with you guys right now, pushing for sanctions that will hurt the basic citizen more than the government. All part of the global war on terror. That can't be easy for you," I concluded.

She just looked at me cautiously, so I decided to continue.

"There is also all this turmoil right now in the Middle East with the Arab Spring but I also know that there was the Green movement in Iran that preceded these uprisings, though Ahmadinejad crushed them pretty thoroughly."

She looked at me with either increased skepticism or renewed respect, I couldn't quite tell. Maybe it was both. "How do you know so much about what's happening in Iran?" she asked finally.

"I keep up on my international news," I said coolly.

"Yeah, but most Americans do not," she observed. "What makes you different?"

I raised my hand slightly and looked down at my dark skin covering it. "I know what it's like when they try to make you out to be the boogie man," I finally told her. "Lately, Arabs have been catching it pretty bad."

She didn't say anything for about a minute, reassessing me. It felt like five minutes, and I realized how quickly I had become concerned with what she thought of me. Then something in her demeanor changed and she finally let the tension out of her shoulders. "That's only the tip of the iceberg of my story," she began. "My name is Orkideh, by the way." She offered her hand and for the first time I saw her engagement ring.

"Jackson," I replied as I took her hand and shook it, contemplating life's small cruelties. "Jackson William," I repeated, giving her my full name.

"Is Jackson your first or last name?"

"My first. William is my last name."

"Isn't Jackson usually a family name?" she asked. "Your mom got that little backwards," she teased.

"You know, you're the first one to ever make that observation" I replied in a mocking voice. She laughed and gave me a slight elbow to my arm.

"It's nice to meet you, Jackson" she said, her laugh fading into a beautiful smile.

"It's nice to meet you as well," I replied, trying to pronounce her name to make sure I had it right.

"It means 'orchid' in Farsi," she continued. "You can call me Orchid if that's easier for you."

"Not a chance," I said. "I will not dumb down your name, Orkideh."

"Very good," she said, complimenting me on my pronunciation. "Farsi is the most widely spoken Persian language, and so first let me share with you that we're not all Arabs. Most Iranians are Persian. We have Arabs and Turks in the minority in Iran, but most of us are Persian."

"Secondly, your observations are half right -- but it's not so much the threat of war that really worries us. Though the US, Israel and the EU claim that we are isolated and want to cripple our economy with sanctions, Iran actually has strong economic and historic ties with China, Russia, Korea and Japan, none of whom will strictly adhere to sanctions. More recently Ahmadinejad has built strong ties with Venezuela, Brazil, and a many other countries in the southern hemisphere.

"The real danger for the Iranian people is in how this treatment by Western powers emboldens Ahmadinejad and the Ayatollah to take a much harder line stifling any dissent and crushing dissidents. Islamic fundamentalism is typically seen as the answer to Western aggression and the attempts to emasculate Middle Eastern leaders. It's these kinds of policies that make our lives hell."

"So it's not always being regarded with suspicion as terrorists that causes you the most problems?" I asked.

"I don't want to make it sound like that's not also a pain, especially when I travel and the treatment I've received in the US over the past three years that I have been living there. But over the past 30 years since the Iranian revolution, Western threats have had a much more profound affect on our daily lives," she explained, "and that's very much related to the spread of Islamic fundamentalism."

"Like how?" I inquired.

She thought for a moment then reached to remove her hijab from around her hair. For the first time I got to take in her full beauty. Her thick black hair was run through with dark golden highlights. Her high cheek bones gave a regal beauty to her face. She wasn't flawless -- who among us is? Now in my 30s, my physique wasn't what it used to be in my 20s. I work out occasionally but I prefer to keep in shape by staying active -- playing tennis, shooting some hoops, riding my bike, or better yet building something. I like to play carpenter on the weekends.

My problem was I didn't have the time to do it often enough. I eat healthy most of the time, stay well groomed, but I'm not the kind of man to maintain a six-pack. Physical perfection is not what I look for in a woman, either. I value intellect and a strong, passionate personal connection, the strength of the chemistry between us. With Orkideh, I was becoming increasing drawn into her personality. The fact that she was soft on my eyes only made me regret more that she had an engagement ring on her finger.

"From the youngest age, I remember learning that the most important skill was lying. We lied because we had to. At school you were supposed to cover your hair with these tiny scarves," she said, holding up her hijab. "When I was younger we could only wear black ones but nowadays white or bright colors are permitted. Our teachers would ask us if we were always wearing our scarves, and we quickly learned to lie and say we were.

"The questions did not stop at our attire. We were also constantly asked about what kind of music we were listening to and what kind of movies we were watching to make sure that we were not being exposed to anything that was forbidden. Even though we learned to deny it, when at home we could easily have access to video tapes - considered illegal then - containing musical videos and banned movies, all kinds of stuff.

"Most foreigners find this funny or rather unbelievable, the issue of restrictions in my country. I am not talking about the basic rights of human beings to live their personal lives -- about which too much has been said already -- but rather how all this has created a culture in which we learn to speak a dual language, and the psychological toll that takes on us. That dual culture requires little kids learn to lie at school about our moms wearing or not wearing a hijab in front of men, to lie in high school about our favorite writers, favorite book or favorite song, to lie in the uni about what we do when we are not studying, and to lie at home to our parents about our friends, relationships and what we do when we go out."

"Yeah, but most kids learn to do that when they're growing up," I replied.

"Sure they do, but not with their lives depending on it, or the lives of their family members. What happened in Persia in the last century was an abrupt change of values after the revolution in 1979. Religion was the key point of this power shift, however this is only the surface of a much more complicated story. After the revolution, all expression and communication became couched in religious terms. Our personal lives became subject to scrutiny to insure that we were living in concert with the religious themes of the revolution. This did not mean that we all became ultra religious. The pressure of the investigations into our personal lives and the consequent discrimination we face when we fail that scrutiny ends up in the formation of a language in which things have dual meanings. We learned to use religious prose with multiple meanings to convey what we are trying to communicate.

"In this dual language, we live two lives and speak two tones. We are religious at school, we take part in the prayers held in the school yard, we celebrate the anniversary of the revolution. But once we go home we change our clothes, dress up, attend parties, drink and dance. In a fraction of a second we forget about school or work, like our minds just switch to another channel," she explained.

"There is a similar phenomenon in Black culture in the US," I interjected. "Du Bois called it 'double consciousness' and more recently we call it 'code switching.' Basically there is an alternative universe that we live within, in terms of how we communicate and express ourselves, depending on the context and who else is around."

"Yeah, I think all oppressed people must learn this skill, and it has certainly become well-developed in Persians in the past 30 years. We can't be proud of this ability though, which is based on pretending to be what others want you to be. This 'Other You' is your key to survival, it's our way to get accepted by the rulers as a citizen. Don't you think it's unhealthy to have to live like that?" she asked.

I thought about it for a minute. "On the one hand, you're right. On the other hand, a lot of creativity comes out of living in that kind of liminal space. When I think about our music, our styles, imitated all over the world... all that creativity has come from our experiences."

"I never thought about it like that," she reflected.

"I bet there is a lot of creativity in you, as well," I wagered. She thought about it for a moment.

"I write poetry," she admitted finally, "But it doesn't mean that I'm grateful to live like this!" she was quick to assert. "The worst is not about the dual language thing, but the violence we face when our dissent becomes known. It's the threat of that violence that does the most damage to us mentally."

"You're right, Orkideh," I admitted, looking deep into her dark brown eyes, "and the threat of violence we face is not what it used to be. Yet still, many of us still get randomly shot by the police, and we have to be the most incarcerated group of people on the planet. We live with that threat constantly."

"I've known 5 people killed in the last two years," she said softly, not in a way to try and prove who lived under the biggest threat, but just as a statement of fact. A silence hung in the air.

"Were they all part of the Green Movement?" I asked finally.

"Some were, if only tangentially. One was a writer, an older man, who had been writing political dissent pieces for many years. But the regime is cracking down on people much more harshly than they have done in the past, and that scares so many of us."

"What kind of poetry do you write?" I asked, connecting the dots between the sense of fear that I picked up from her in recounting this story.

"The themes in most of my poetry have been pretty subtle, hopefully not enough to get me in any trouble. Plus, I've written them on a blog using only my first name. But I have a second blog where I write commentaries on political events. That blog has focused on the Green Movement and the rest of the Arab Spring and I write under a pseudonym, but I fear that I might have recently been discovered."

"I'm guessing you're an academic in addition to the poetry, so what do you work on?"

She gave me an affirming nod. "Very perceptive of you, Jackson. Are you an academic as well?" she asked. Then before I could answer, "No, let me guess! Political Science?"

"Almost," I chucked. "I'm a historian."

"Anthro," she said. "And you're right, it's my academic work that will get me into trouble, and it's why I can't go back home to Tehran." She paused for a second. "The threat to me isn't even the worst part. I have family that still lives there."  

"Do they support you, even with the risk?"

"For the most part, everyone except my brother, whom we were all visiting in Malaysia. He lives in Kuala Lumpur with his wife and two kids. We all gathered there for my father's birthday. My parents are the ones who still live in Tehran. They are the ones facing the greatest risk, yet they are most supportive of my work."

"Is he your only sibling?" I asked.

"I have two older sisters, the one closest to my age in London and an older one in Montreal."

I teased her about being the baby. She gave me a playful elbow in my side then asked me about my family. I had to admit that I, too, was the youngest. Then we shared stories about how all of our siblings give us shit about being spoiled. It was about that time that the service cart came around. We had been talking for over an hour. Our conversation continued over the meal and after we had both had some wine, we began to do a lot more laughing.

It was about that time that the older guy sitting by the window instructed us that he needed to get out and go to the restroom. Orkideh said she needed to go as well, so we all decided to get up and stretch. We stayed standing for a while to let the circulation run thoroughly through our legs, chatting by the serving station. After about 20 minutes we could see that our laughter was starting to bother some people near-by trying to sleep, so we decided to return to our seats.

"So let's see what movies you really have on that thing," she asked once we sat down, gesturing toward my laptop. "I want to watch a movie, and the ones that the airline has available never really interest me."

"S-u-r-e-..." I said a bit hesitantly. I had some good movies on there that she definitely might like, but I couldn't exactly remember the names of the ones I had downloaded. I also had some other, uhh... "private" movies of an adult theme on there. I was afraid that if I opened up the window with all my video files on it that she would see a little more than I was ready to share. Things were really going great between us and I didn't want to risk putting her off. Then I remembered that she was engaged. I had purposefully not asked her about it the whole time, and we were three hours into the flight by that point. She had also not mentioned it at all but I did not know if that was because she didn't want to or simply that it hadn't come up.

It's always a tense moment, when a man first shares his taste in porn with the woman he's dating... if he ever dares to at all. Not all of my girlfriends had been so open-minded about it, but three of my five last girlfriends were. We would watch it together sometimes, figuring out new things we wanted to try. One of my ex-girlfriends worked in a lab during the week and in a women's-themed adult bookstore on the weekends. Her job was to take home new porn movies they received and evaluate whether they were "woman friendly." Why did I ever break up with her?!?




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 01



Nevertheless, there's the vulnerability that comes with admitting to someone your own specific kink that gets you off more intensely than anything else. Everybody has one, like a favorite flavor of ice cream. Sure, we can all enjoy some vanilla ice cream on a piece of pie but once you get out of the basic flavors of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry (missionary, oral and a few different positions)), then you get into those specialty flavors that are like heaven for some people but turns others off completely.

I had one girlfriend in fact that I likely would have married had our respective 'specialty flavors' not been so drastically different. I was able to go without fulfilling my deepest sexual desires for two years while we were together but I knew enough about myself to know that eventually I would need it so bad that I would be tempted to cheat, and I'm a man who actually believes in monogamous relationships. I don't want to cheat on the women I love. If I begin to feel unfulfilled in a relationship, and if there is no resolution with that person to fulfill those needs (and I'm talking needs way beyond just sex), then that's a sign that its time for the relationship to end.

All of this was going through my head as I opened up my laptop and turned it on. We both lowered our seat trays and I set the laptop down right between us so we would both share a good view. Orkideh was right on my shoulder, waiting eagerly. I was really enjoying her closeness and her scent filled my nostrils, really increasing the desire I had to be close to her. Her perfume was subtle, more musky than flowery, but it wasn't just her perfume that smelled so good. She had only put a little on. Instead, it was the chemical mixture between her perfume, scented lotion, and her own natural body oils. She had chosen the perfect scents to compliment her natural pheromones and her resulting smell was absolutely intoxicating. I could not help but wonder if she would taste just as good. I shook my head to clear it and thought again of her engagement ring. 'Fuck it,' I said to myself. Trying to avoid having her look would be even more awkward. I decided I just needed to man up.

I opened my "downloads" folder so we could look over the movies I had. I had downloaded a mix of movies and TV shows to tie me over for the trip. Boardwalk Empire Season 2, Contagion, Columbiana, the entire second season of Game of Thrones, Incendies, Beautiful Lies, The Last Mountain, the six episodes of Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, and finally Tucker & Dale vs. Evil. I explained each one, skipping over the few porn titles interspersed between those as if they weren't even there. She gave me shit about Columbiana and Spartacus -- "typical guy stuff!" -- and she had seen Beautiful Lies in its original French, but she got excited about Incendies: a heart-wrenching story about what happens to one woman over years of war in the Middle East. "I heard it will break my heart but that it's such a great film," she explained. I had heard the same.

"This 'Tucker and Dale vs. Evil,' what the bloody hell is that?" she laughed. It was a film I had found totally by accident but the online forums said it was hilarious -- an instant cult classic. I decided to take a chance on it. She gave me a skeptical look that said she doubted my judgment. Other than that she didn't say a word about the adult titles. I was near sweating in my seat as I enjoy some pretty raunchy stuff. We decided we would watch Incendies and then see what we were in the mood for afterward. We were going to share my headphones, so I gave one ear piece to her and put the other in my ear. Just before the movie got started I heard her mumble "Dirty boy" under her breath. I turned to see a slight grin on her face.

Throughout the movie she stayed glued to my shoulder. We were almost cuddling. Feeling her warmth pressed into my side while smelling her body's natural scents was sweet torture. I wanted to turn my head and bury my nose in her hair or wrap my arm around her. The arm rest between our seats was driving me crazy just for being there, as I really wanted to pull her into me. But resting there between us was her hand with the engagement ring on it, reminding me of her unavailability.

We were only 4 hours into the flight, with 10 more to go. If I read the situation wrong and made a move that got rebuked, the rest of the flight would suddenly become extremely uncomfortable and awkward. So I tried to stay cool even though she was driving me crazy. What helped was that the movie was incredibly tragic. By the time the movie was over there were almost tears in her eyes. Our playful mood had definitely grown somber. We talked for the next 45 minutes about the movie and about the different injustices women face in her part of the world.

Eventually we got up to take another walk and use the restroom. We snagged some more wine from the serving station on our way back to our seats. After we had both downed our small bottles, our playful mood had finally returned.

"OK, I'm feeling adventurous," she finally said, "and I want to watch something funny. This Trucker and Earl --"

"You mean Tucker and Dale?" I corrected.

"Yes, this Tucker and Dale better be funny." So we pulled the laptop out and started another movie. Luckily it was, and we had a hard time controlling our laughter and not disturbing the other people around us. Why are things so much funnier when you are trying not to laugh? The guy next to us was sleeping, and so were the people on the other side of the isle from us. We were trying hard to be considerate but not doing a very good job of it. It didn't help that the movie was actually laugh-out-loud hilarious.

At one point we woke up the older guy sitting next to us, and he gave us a dirty look. We giggled together like little kids. Trying not to wake him again, Orkideh started burying her face in my shoulder to muffle the sound every time she laughed really hard. Every time she did I brought my face down toward her head to take a deep whiff of her hair and the natural body musk that emanates from one's scalp. She smelled so good that my mouth was actually watering and I was desperate to taste her.

To make matters worse, she had taken hold of my arm and it felt like her tender breast was pressed snugly into my side. She was driving me crazy but it all seemed so innocent. I really didn't think she was trying to tease me. I struggled not to get an erection. I decided to play it cool. With her engagement ring right in my face, she would have to give me an unambiguously clear signal before I risked making any move.

------------ Orkideh ------------

By the time the movie was over the flight attendants were coming by with another meal and beverage service. We were just past eight hours into the flight with around another six to go. They had practically flown by with how much Jackson and I were enjoying each other's company. The wine had helped keep things loose, and we both asked for more. I knew that there was an attraction between us and our banter was just on the verge of being flirtatious. He was devilishly handsome but in a very unconventional way. What really attracted me to him was his intellect and his wit. But he had seen my ring and knew I was engaged. So for me, it was good safe fun I was having with Jackson.

During the meal, I quizzed him more on his history. I wanted to know what he studied as an academic. He told me about the twisted winding road that brought him to a career as a college professor. Ironically, Jackson started college with plans to become an engineer and he had hated all the history classes he had before. I laughed at the strange irony in the fact that he had become a historian.

As it turned out, the political reasons that brought him to the study of history had also led me to the study of anthropology from a planned career in medicine.

"You went to medical school before this?" he asked, shocked. A mischievous look in his eye told me that he was tempted to ask me if we could play doctor. Some boy thoughts are universal.

"In Iran they start you in medical school after you graduate from high school," I explained, "so I completed four years of medical school before I decided that I had intellectual interests beyond the medical curriculum."

"But you never did a residency program?" he asked.

"No I did not," I replied. "I was quite certain by that point that I did not want to practice medicine. Plus, I had all this poetry dying to come out of me. I knew I needed something different."

Jackson thought for a second, contemplating what I had just told him about my intellectual journey.

"So, poetry is my artistic expression, I'm betting you have one too?" I inquired.

"Music," he said simply. "Music, and I also like to build things, but primarily music."

"You write music, Jackson?"

"I've written some but I have more love for playing."

"What instrument?"

"I was first trained on piano but I developed a true passion for the bass, and now that's all I play."

"What makes you passionate about it?" I quizzed him. "Why that instrument?"

"It's the low frequencies," he explained. "It's about how the low frequencies speak to your body. You hear low frequencies with your body more so than with your ears, and so they evoke a different kind of bodily response. They tap into something raw and primal, something deep... at least for me."

It was my turn to contemplate. I gave him a look with a sly grin. I saw his gaze shift down from my eyes to my lips for the briefest of moments, looking at them lustfully. His tongue peeked out to briefly wet his own lips, which were nice and full and seemingly crying out for me to kiss them. "I never thought about it like that," I said finally, "but now I really want to hear you play to test your theory." I tried to keep my tone light to distract from the sexual tension building up between us.

"As I also wish I could read some of your poetry. I don't suppose you have any..."

"Unfortunately I don't," I answered before he could finish asking. "But if you google me you can find my poetry blog. Most of my poems are written in Farsi but there are a few in English."

"You know," I continued, "Persian dancing has a lot of hip movement in it, but it is the percussion in our music that speaks to our bodies, not the bass."

"Percussion and bass are first cousins" he told me.

"Really? Did they evolve as cousins or are you just saying that?" I asked, skeptically. The anthropologist in me was clearly piqued, though.

"The drum was first instrument that humans invented. The men drummed while the women danced. The beats and the rhythms spoke to their bodies. The dances were all about the metaphysics of fertility: the fertility of the people, the fertility of the earth, or the fertility of the gods. Over time, people started to make drums with different tones to communicate differently, a way of adding melody on top of or under the rhythm, depending on if the drum was small or large. Larger drums have deeper tones that resonate at lower frequencies. The bass evolved as a way to further add tone and melodic structure under the beat and the rhythm."

"And I thought I was the anthropologist," I said, playfully challenging him.

"I told you, I'm really into music" he said as a way of explaining the nerd-like amount of knowledge he apparently carried around in his head about all things musical.

I asked him about his favorite artists and so we talked music for a while. I am really into music too, and our interests had some overlap but not much, as so much of Western music was banned in Iran as I was growing up. There was an extensive black market for all kinds of Western media, but most of it that got through was the most popular pop stuff. He explained that he hadn't been into much pop since he was in high school, so a lot of the music he had was new to me.

The fact that we had different musical knowledge, though, was a good thing, as before long we both pulled out our Ipods and started playing music for each other, introducing the other to what songs really moved us. It was a surprisingly intimate way to continue to get to know each other. Some of my music was in Farsi, and I explained what some of the artists were saying, but it was actually more interesting when I asked him to guess what the songs were about from the melody, the rhythm, and the tone of the singer's voice. Impressively, he guessed right most of the time.

After little more than an hour of this, we discovered three things about each other: that we both loved to dance, we were really turned on by music with a strong political message, and that we were both hopeless romantics. These commonalities were solidified as we started singing Bob Marley and Al Green together.

"You can't carry a tune to save your life," he teased me as my pitch oscillated back and forth to hit every other note but the correct one. I knew I couldn't sing but I was feeling free enough not to care.

"You're one to talk!" I shot back, elbowing him in the ribs again. "I would expect better of a musician."

"That's why I play an instrument," he laughed.

We went on like that for about another hour until we got up to stretch again and use the lavatory. After we both came out of the restroom, we went to stand over in the opening by one the cabin doors, where we would not be in anyone's way. We took a second to look out the window. We were passing over the eastern coast of Canada which was covered in snow, making our way south down to New York. I had learned a while ago that if the flight destination was far enough away on the other side of the globe that airlines would take a flight path over the North Pole because the distance is shorter that way due to the fact that the earth is wider at the equator.

------------ Jackson --------------

Since I was considerably taller than her, I stood behind her so we could both look out at the same time. In order to look down, I had to move in close. I put my nose close to her hair to take more of her scent inside my lungs. It was like her smell cast a spell on me and I just couldn't get enough. I drew closer, bringing our full bodies in contact with one another, and I put my left hand on her left shoulder as I peered over her right. I was taking a big chance. It was a position I could only get away with for a few seconds. I reminded myself that I didn't want to make a move on her if she really didn't want it, and make the rest of the trip awkward for the both of us. On the other hand, her intoxicating scent was driving me crazy with desire. She felt so good up against me, so right. It took all my willpower to resist completely wrapping my arms around her to hold her tighter up against me.

If I didn't stay up against her for too long I could back away and we could both pretend that the contact was innocent. My next move depended on her reaction, and she knew it. If she snuggled her body into mine, those would be signs to let me know the intimacy was welcome. If she turned her head toward me in the slightest we would be kissing... deeply. For a few seconds she did nothing, seemingly thinking about what she would do. I could see the wheels turning in her head and I felt her breathing quicken a little bit. To the slightest degree I felt her lean back into my chest then she caught herself, as if thinking better about it. After what seemed like an eternity -- which truly only lasted like one minute -- she raised her hand to place it over my own hand on her shoulder. She rubbed it for a few seconds and then squeezed it before gently moving it off of her. I backed up. She turned to me and smiled, but her smile had a tinge of sadness behind it. I bravely smiled back as my insides melted.

"Let's go back to our seats," she said softly. Before we went back she walked up to one of the flight attendants standing in the serving station and asked if we could have two more of those small bottles of wine. Perhaps she sensed that I would need it.

Once we returned to our seats, she made a concerted effort to remain warm and friendly with me as if nothing had happened. I was thankful for that. The new bottle of wine went down faster than the previous three. Soon we were laughing again.

For the next hour we talked about every aspect of each other's lives that we possibly could. It was like we were trying to put the absolute most into the time we had together, knowing it would end when the flight was over. The one topic we avoided was current relationships. When we talked about relationships it was always in the abstract, never mentioning the current state of our love lives. It was on purpose for sure, not wanting to ruin the little bubble we had created for ourselves. Until the end of our flight there was no outside world, just us getting to know each other and becoming closer and closer. To talk about outside love interests would be to shatter the pure joy that comes in meeting someone new and falling in love -- which is clearly what we were doing -- and replace it with the sadness of our actual reality.

Is there value in meeting someone new and falling in love with them, even if you know it can't go anywhere? Is the euphoria worth the sadness? I don't know. For the moment, we had both decided that it was. So we went on, learning more about each other's lives and becoming closer.

It was at about that time that the flight crew came through the cabin to distribute the immigration/customs cards. I could feel Orkideh's mood tense up as she pulled out a pen from her purse. She was silent as she took out her passport and student visa and started filling in all the information. She handed the pen to me so I could fill mine out. When I was done I asked her about her mood shift. She took a big sigh before she opened up.

"I've been doing this for about 3 years now, coming back and forth to the US, and I get nervous because I never know how I am going to be treated going through security," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Can't they just look up your student visa and see that you are legit?"

"Yes, they can. But each individual immigration agent has an incredible amount of flexibility in how they treat you. They are given an enormous amount of discretion as to what counts as 'suspicious.'"

I got it. It was the way police had been treating Black men for years.

She continued, "the border agents always ask me to explain what I study as a kind of test, to see how comfortably I can talk about being an academic. They ask many random questions, but that is the main one. If I stammer in any way, they would take it as a sign that I might not really here for school. Obviously, after talking to me for the past 12 hours, you know I have no trouble talking about my work.

"So for some agents," she went on, "I am clearly a student and therefore not a suspicious person who needs to be investigated or interrogated further. However, there are a few border agents for whom just being an Irani makes me suspicious, no matter how well I can talk about what I do."

"What happens to you when they decide you are a person of interest?" I asked her softly.

"They may decide to give me a hard time in a number of different ways. They may take my fingerprints, search through my luggage, or make me sit for an extended interrogation of where I've been traveling and who I saw or who I talked to while I was there. It can go on for a long time, and a few times it went on so long that I missed a connecting flight. The most frustrating thing is that while it is happening the worst thing I can possibly do is to get angry or agitated, as that would only make me more suspicious. So I just have to take it."

"How often does this happen to you?" I asked.

She went on to share with me different stories of her treatment crossing the border into the US and I shared with her my stories about my treatment by the police. We bonded over our respective war stories of hyper surveillance, racial profiling and harassment. We felt the slight dimming of the engine noise and the slight drop in altitude that let us know we were getting close. Then the captain came over the intercom and announced that we had started our initial descent into JFK. Our fourteen hour date was coming to an end. She was transferring to catch a flight to Boston and I was flying to Houston. We both had about a 2 hour layover. She suggested we try to share a cup of coffee if we got through customs quick enough. She didn't want it to end either. I stowed my computer for landing.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 01



The pilots brought the plane down without incident, and the passengers in the cabin erupted into applause. I had been on many international flights yet each time I am always taken off guard when it happens, as the custom just doesn't exist on American domestic flights. It always brings a smile to my face, however, the fact that people in the rest of the world don't take landing safely for granted the way Americans do.

We grabbed our luggage and slowly filed out of the plane. All of my luggage was carry-on but she checked a large bag so I waited with her to claim her luggage before heading through the customs/immigration lines. Not surprisingly, even her luggage was chic. When we got to the security clearance area, there was one set of lines for US citizens and another set of lines for foreign nationals. Before we split up we stood there a moment contemplating whether we should say goodbye, just in case she got held up by the immigration agents. I told her that I would wait for her on the other side so we could grab that coffee -- we wouldn't even entertain the possibility that she would not make it. She smiled, and we split up to go through our separate lines.

I kept an eye on her the whole time as I moved through my line. I could see her getting nervous as she moved through, but trying to stay positive by sending me smiles every time our eyes met. Her line was shorter but moved slower. Consequently, I went through a little before she did.

The border agent asked me a few quick questions about my trip then nicely welcomed me back home before sending me on my way. I took my luggage and went over to stand near where Orkideh was just coming up to submit her documents. I saw her smile and try to appear friendly. The woman inspecting her passport and visa did not look so friendly. I saw them exchange words for almost five minutes. At one point, Orkideh shot me a look of despair to let me know that it was not going smoothly.

The agent instructed Orkideh to look into an iris scanner, and then they took her finger prints. The agent typed some things into her computer for a few minutes and then picked up the phone. Orkideh looked over at me again. There was sadness and a hint of anger on her face. She looked at her watch. I pulled out my phone to see the time. Almost an 45 minutes had passed since we de-planed, waited for her luggage and then worked our way through the lines. There was still customs to go through after immigration. That would hopefully be quick, but it looked like time was running out on us sitting together for one last cup of coffee.

What happened next really scared me. Two TSA guards came out and asked Orkideh to go with them. One grabbed her documents while the other grabbed her luggage. The one with the documents walked in front of her, leading her away. She looked over at me one last time. "I'm sorry," she mouthed silently. She pointed to her watch and then gestured with her hands that I should go. She blew me a kiss. "Bye Jackson," she mouthed. I stood there looking shocked. They walked her over to a locked door. The agent in front scanned his badge over the card reader and a little red light turned green accompanied by a loud click. He pulled the door open and the three of them disappeared inside. The door read "Authorized Personnel Only." She was gone.

I found a bench in the large corridor and took a seat. I looked at my phone to see the time. I had one hour before my connecting flight took off, and a half hour until boarding. I sat and waited for 30 minutes and the door never opened; no one went in and no one went out. I walked down the hallway to find a flight board to check the status of my plane. It was on time. I walked back toward where they had taken Orkideh and retook my seat. Ten more minutes went by as I thought to myself about the last 14 hours. Had she been lying to me about who she was? Was she really some kind of security threat? No, I trusted my impression of her.

I went back to the flight board to look and see if there were any more flights to Houston leaving that night. I didn't see any. There were five minutes left until boarding, and I had a long walk to another terminal ahead of me. I walked back toward the security area to look for Orkideh one more time. Even if we couldn't sit for coffee, I really wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to see her face one more time. I really wanted to give her a hug and smell her one more time. I checked the time once more. If I waited any longer, I would miss my flight for sure. I had no choice but to leave if I wanted to make it home.

---------------------------- End of Chapter 1 --------------------------



Behind the Green Veil Ch. 02



------------ Orkideh --------------

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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 02



"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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 02



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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 02



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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 02



"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. 



Behind the Green Veil Ch. 03



Chapter 3

How will she deal with the guilt?

--------- Jackson --------

I tried desperately not to fall asleep before she came back from the bathroom. I slapped my face a few times trying to stay awake but she was taking forever. I would have naturally wanted to fall into a deep sleep after sex like that which drained so much out of me. Combined with the fact that I had been up for over 24 hours and I wanted to fall into a good 14-hour coma. I looked over at the clock. It had been over 10 minutes and I got a little worried. I somehow managed to crawl out of the bed, walked over to the bathroom and knocked, asking if she was ok. I got a muffled response that said that she was fine. I didn't believe her.

Her face registered shocked surprise as I walked into the bathroom and found her sitting on the toilet, face in her hands.

"Hey! I'm peeing!"

"I heard you finish peeing five minutes ago," I said, spreading her legs and kneeling on the cold floor in front of her. "Now you're sitting here feeling guilty, regretting what we did." She tried to smile at me reassuringly but it was a sad smile.

"Am I that obvious?"

"You're a good woman, Orkideh, and you don't strike me as the kind of woman who would cheat on the man she loves."

"Yet here I am," she said, taking my face into her hands. She looked deep into my eyes and I saw a mix of emotions play across her face. "I don't regret what we did," she said finally, "but yes, I do feel incredibly guilty. Brian has been really good to me and I do love him. He didn't deserve this."

"No one deserves this," I interjected, "but something really special happened between us today, Orkideh. I couldn't bring myself to go get on my plane without saying goodbye. By the time I was dropping you off at your hotel after dinner I was aching to take you in my arms and kiss you... kiss you until our lips got sore. That ache would have remained like a weight in my chest, haunting me for the rest of my life if we hadn't done this," I told her, kissing the inside of her palm that was caressing my face.

"I think I would have felt the same way, too. But now I fear I'm going to live with this guilt for the rest of my life. My problem is that I don't know which is worse -- living with the loss I would have felt if we didn't get together, or living with the guilt because we did."

"You can't think like that," I told her. "You have to think of this moment as separated in time from the rest of your life. Look, I know I have you on borrowed time and that you've made a commitment to another man. I know that in a few hours you will get on a plane and I will be a part of your past. It hurts but I've made peace with that. But you know what Brian deserves? Instead of concentrating on the guilt, concentrate on being a good wife to him. Be the best wife to him you can possibly be. Love him, honor him, and when he's at the end of his life let him look back on the life that you two have shared and be happy. He deserves that more than your guilt. It's what I would want."

"Yeah, but I'll be living a lie. Is that what you would really want, a wife who was living a lie?"

"If you love him, yeah. The lie is your problem, not his. If I was in your fiancé's shoes and you still loved me and wanted to spend your life with me, I wouldn't want to know. Now, of course I wouldn't want you cheating on me. But I wouldn't want one night of infidelity to prevent me from having a lifetime of happiness. So if after tonight you are sure that you can love him and be faithful then swallow your guilt and just be the best wife that you can be."

She put her face in her hands and sighed. "What you say makes sense," she said, looking at me with blood-shot eyes, "but it feels like a pretty self-serving way to deal with it."

"I'm just telling you the truth about how I feel, having had a few years to think about such things. Would I want a faithful wife? Of course. Would I want a truthful wife? For the most part, yes. But there are many truths that we often don't want to hear. When I'm dating someone new I don't want to know details of her sexual past. That's her personal business and I don't want to know. As far as this one instance of infidelity, if I had my choice I would prefer a life of happiness never knowing that you had been unfaithful because once I know something like that I can't forget. I could never feel completely comfortable with you again, never completely trust you again. It would essentially ruin our relationship. Knowing the truth would make me miserable both with you and without you. So if your love is true, I would prefer that truth over the truth of fidelity or infidelity."

There was a long bout of silence. "That sounds pathetic," she said finally, "and also extremely wise."

"Probably some of both," I chuckled. Her mood seemed to soften then, too.

"I'm really so happy that I met you, Jackson. I will try to take your advice and be a good wife to Brian. But I don't regret what I've shared with you today, I don't regret it at all."

"We still have a few more hours," I said, getting up off of my knees and helping her to her feet.

"Oh God, I'm exhausted! I'm going to pass out before my head hits the pillow. Don't tell me you still have energy left?" she asked incredulously.

"Do me a favor and sleep on the plane tomorrow. I have two more hours of happiness with you, Orkideh. I don't want to spend them asleep."

"Yes, but I would also love to go to sleep snuggled up next to you and wake up in your arms."

"I would love that, too," I said, running some warm water and wetting a washcloth, "but if I have to choose between having two more waking hours with you or spending those two hours asleep so we can wake up together... I'll choose the two more hours awake." I used the warm washcloth to wipe any urine residue from her pussy.

"Yeah," she sighed, spreading her legs a bit to give me full access, "definitely not regretting having this night with you. You even give a good wipe down after sex. I'll try to stay awake for these next two hours but I can't make any promises."

We kissed, and I tried to usher her out of the bathroom so I could then take a pee. She wasn't having it.

"If you can barge in on me while I'm peeing then I'm staying right here," she insisted, hands on her hips. Standing there fully nude, she was a sight. I liked her spunk.

"Suit yourself," I said, lifting the toilet seat and preparing to let go. My dick was still slimy from our lovemaking. Then, as if she had a sudden epiphany, Orkideh ran over to stand behind me. She reached around me, moving my hand out of the way to take hold of me and waited for me to release, giving me a little shake. It was a new one on me. I was surprised and slightly nervous which made it difficult for me to release right away. I wasn't shy about her holding me while I peed, but I was scared that her aim would be off and that I would pee everywhere but in the toilet. Eventually my bladder released its contents and all my fears were realized. We laughed hysterically as my urine flew everywhere. We continued giggling while we cleaned it all up.

She took the same washcloth I had used on her and dabbed just the very tip of my penis but left the rest of it slimy with our sex juices. I wondered why until she led me back into the bedroom and sat me down on the edge of the bed then crawled between my legs, pushing her suitcase that sat on the floor at the foot of the bed out of the way. The look in her eyes spoke of a deep hunger and she licked her lips lustfully.

I had long since lost any semblance of an erection but Orkideh wasted no time taking me into her mouth. I heard a moan escape from deep within her chest as her tongue bathed my flesh and swirled my penis around in her mouth. She pressed her nose far down into my pubes, inhaling deeply as she cleaned all the messy sex juices off of my cock. Her nails pressed into my thighs, pushing them far apart to maintain her access.

My body could not help but respond but at the same time a sense of sadness came over me as I realized how alike we were when it came to expressing this kind of intimacy and how much I would be losing when she walked out of my life in a few hours. The way she sucked me spoke of a dark, untapped need for really intense and edgy sex that was going on unfulfilled in her regular life. I recognized it in her because I had the same needs. Our perfect chemistry freed us both to express those needs and desires.

As my erection grew in her mouth I missed having her close enough to me to smell, kiss or taste. I craved the olfactory stimulation she had been giving to me all day to compliment the physical stimulation her lips and tongue were providing. I spotted the light sweater she had been wearing earlier, discarded on the corner of the bed presumably when she stripped to get into the shower. I picked it up and brought it to my face so I could fill my senses with her. She looked up at me and shook her head disapprovingly, never taking my dick out of her mouth. She reached for her sweater.

"I want to smell you while you're loving me," I said in protest. The motion of her tongue on the underside of my cock suddenly stopped, telling me that she meant business. I reluctantly gave up the sweater and she rewarded my compliance by pushing her mouth down on my cock as far as it would go. I was now fully erect. She couldn't deep throat me, but it wasn't for lack of trying. In fact, it was sexier watching her try desperately to cram all of me down her throat, fighting her gag reflex and losing. I saw her reach down toward the floor and fidget around for a second before her hand emerged with a tiny piece of green fabric in them. She put the garment in my hand. It was a pair of her panties. They were damp.

"Brian gave that sweater to me," she said, taking her mouth off of me briefly but offering no further explanation. "Use these instead," she insisted between licks to my swollen head, "they smell even more like me." A sly smile broke out across her face and she swallowed me again. Somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom she let go of her trepidations about our encounter and decided to leave every inhibition behind. I was turned on beyond belief.

She was right about the smell of her panties. She had boldly given me the pair that she had been wearing all day, knowing how ripe they were and correctly guessing that their pungency would excite me immensely. They were ripe but not foul -- she hadn't been sweating but her pussy had been leaking into them for quite a while, judging by the size of the wet stain and the strength of her scent. I found the damp crotch and pressed it right up to my nose as Orkideh went back to blowing my brains out.

She alternated between sucking the life out of me and licking my balls while she rubbed my dick all over her face. It was by far the best blowjob I had ever had but not because of her skill or technique but purely because of the intense emotion she put into it. She wanted to be the best for me, wanted this to be something I remembered for the rest of my life, just as I had tried to do for her earlier.

Even sexier than what she wanted me to get out of it was what she wanted for herself -- I sensed a lifetime of repressed desires that were exploding out of her; a long yearned-for freedom to make love without fear of moral judgment. Once she had made the decision to cheat, there was no more immorality left to be afraid of.

Her mouth was driving me crazy and I couldn't take it any more. My cock was so hard it could barely bend. I could tell she would have gladly swallowed all I had to give her if I decided to let myself cum but I really wanted to be back inside of her, to feel her legs and her pussy wrapped around me one last time. So I gently pulled my dick out of her mouth and pulled her up onto the bed. She climbed on top of me and immediately sank her pussy down onto me while she snatched her panties away from my face and sucked my tongue out of my mouth. She was sopping wet, just as excited as I was.

She rode me sensually, her hips doing a Persian dance as she undulated on top of me. She worked her pussy on me in a way that pushed the head of my dick right into her g-spot and I looked on in rapture as she took her pleasure unabashedly. It was mesmerizing watching her move. A moist glow of perspiration broke out all over her, making her olive skin shine. I wanted to lick every inch of her.

She alternated between leaning down to kiss me briefly but spent most of the time high up above me with her hands on my chest, arms extended supporting her weight. Her head started to roll back, whipping her hair to and fro. I tired to think about my mother and all the ugly women of my family -- anything to distract me to hold back my orgasm as hers fast approached. It wasn't working, so I tried to think of the men, then the old men. I thought of my 80 year-old uncle, thought of him naked, and bit the insides of my cheeks as she came, thrashing about until she collapsed on top of me.

I rolled her over and just slowly made love to her as long as I could. It was soft and sensual, all the urgency worn out of us. We expressed the deepest sentiments of love without saying a word. I so didn't want it to end. When I felt myself getting close I slowed down and just pressed my full length inside of her, letting her feel me throb. I did this three times and on the fourth time she threw her arms around my neck while thrusting her pussy up into me, and squeezed her pussy around me with all her might. I exploded, crying out loud with my toes curling behind me. I felt like my entire life had been drained out of me.

I collapsed next to her and brought her into my arms. "Don't go to sleep," I begged. She looked over at the clock. It was 4:37, about one hour before we needed to get up and shower to head to the airport.

"I don't think I can stay awake for the next five minutes, never mind the next hour."

"We can just talk and cuddle," I said, pressing my lips into hers.

"Sounds good in theory," she said but her eyes were already closing.

"Just don't cheat me out of my last hour with you," I said, my eyes extremely heavy as well.

The next thing I remember is hearing her exclaim "fucking hell" as the alarm on her phone woke us up. Our bodies were all tangled together and slightly sticky from our lovemaking earlier, so it took her a moment to disentangle herself and scramble over to her phone. She shut the alarm off and looked at the time with a groan. We had about fifty minutes to get to the airport to make her flight, which was slightly earlier than mine. The hotel was close to the airport and they had a shuttle so getting there wouldn't be a problem. No, the problem would be getting up out of bed on only 1 hour of sleep after being awake for slightly more than 24 hours, not to mention all the "strenuous activity" with which we capped off our night.

"We fell asleep," she mumbled, crawling over to the center of the bed where I lay and collapsing back on top of me. My arms enveloped her instinctively, having missed her for the 10 seconds she was away. "I think sleeping one hour makes it worse than had we not slept at all... I'm bloody exhausted."

"You were right, though," I said, pressing my lips into the top of her head and smelling her hair, "waking up with you in my arms is a wonderful thing. I'm glad I got to experience it."

She shivered and I could feel goosebumps breaking out all over her skin. We had been hot and sweaty when we had fallen asleep so the feeling of the cool air in the room blowing over our naked skin was welcome. Now feeling cold, Orkideh pulled the comforter up over us and snuggled deeper into my chest, draping her leg over mine and rubbing her sex against the top of my thigh. The warm, damp sensation made my cock twitch against her tummy but I was much too exhausted to get hard. But getting fully aroused wasn't the point. She was letting me know with her body that she shared my sentiment. We just held each other like that in silence for about five minutes, barely conscious because of how tired we were. When I felt her breathing take on a regular rhythm I knew she was falling back asleep.

"We have to get you to your plane," I said softly, sadly. She stirred.

"I'm SO not ready to leave you yet."

"If it was up to me you would never leave but..." I trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid. She was silent for a moment.

"How can you be so sure you would never want me to leave after knowing each other for such a short time?" she challenged me. "We know we have a strong attraction to each other and we know we deeply care for each other, but we've only showed each other our best faces today."

"If I were younger I might agree with you but I've been around long enough that I can sense right away when I'm really compatible with someone. I just feel it. You just feel right to me."

"Yeah but we don't know any of each other's bad habits. I could have some that really get on your nerves, and vice versa."

"Do you know how much I would give to be with you long enough to learn some of your bad habits? Besides, you've seen one of mine already," I chuckled.

"When?"

"On the plane... my computer. You didn't say anything but I know you saw those other movies I had."

"Oh yeah, you naughty boy." I couldn't see her face because it was buried against my chest but I could feel her cheeks and lips curl up into a smile. "But I don't think badly of you because of that -- I'm not your typical academic feminist in that respect. In my country, many women -- and gay men sometimes -- get beaten and killed because of how our morality gets hyper-policed. So as long as someone isn't raping children and being dishonest with their lover, I don't pass moral judgment on their sexual expression. Although if we were together," she added, "I would hope that I fulfilled all your sexual needs." She rubbed her body against mine and pressed her pussy down into my thigh for emphasis.

"Of that, I have no doubt" I said, pulling her head up for a kiss. "I think the bigger challenge for us would be our cultural differences. Intellectually, politically, sexually -- we'd be fine. I suspect that culturally and socially we have some great differences that may take getting used to. But I would so love to try..." Sadness crept back into my voice as I realized I would never get the opportunity to find out. "We need to go," I said finally, "or you're going to miss your plane."

One would think that I would be the last person to remind her that we needed to get going. Deep down inside, I knew that saying goodbye to her was going to hurt me tremendously. Of course I didn't want her to go but there was another part of me that wanted to get on with it and avoid putting myself in a situation where I would lose my cool.

I knew she could feel the tension in me and I could feel the same tension in her as she lay there for a moment, contemplating what to say. "I think I have an idea," she said finally, a mischievous smile on her face. She pushed away from me and reached for her purse on the night table by the bed. She pulled out her ticket and grabbed her phone then dialed. I could just barely hear an automated computer answering system on the other line. She pushed a few numbers and then finally spoke to a live person.

She changed her voice a bit, sounding like she was in great pain. Over the next few minutes I heard her explain to the airline representative about some horrible food poisoning she had which was causing her a great deal of illness which would prevent her from flying that morning. For extra emphasis, she explained to the person how she doubted she could stay in her seat for more than five minutes at a time without needing a trip to bathroom, "lavatory" as she called it in her Persian/British accent. She asked if her reservation could be moved to a flight later in the evening to give her system time to flush itself out in order that she might be able to fly.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 03



Apparently, the person wasn't going for it, as I heard her complaining that she should not be charged so much to change her ticket. "Oh well," she said, "I'll just have to take my chances and fly this morning... I hope I don't get everyone on the plane sick as well." I could barely hold my laughter, even in my still exhausted state. There was a long pause. "They have me on hold for a manager," she whispered. I smiled and crawled over to where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. I couldn't stand being away from her, not touching her, so I wrapped my arms back around her as she spoke. She re-told her lie to the manager and within a minute she was thanking him for his kind consideration. When she finally hung up she turned around and flew into my arms, kissing me deeply.

"We have twelve more hours!" she exclaimed with a radiant -- if still very sleepy -- smile. "Now you have to call your airline and tell the same lie. Make it believable!" she said, handing me her phone. I called and they bought it, and we were kissing again in celebration. She eventually broke away with a pained look in her eyes.

"Now I need to call Brian," she said somberly, "but I can't do that laying here next to you. I'm going to go into the lavatory for some privacy, ok?" I nodded. She gave me one last kiss. "Be right back."

From the bed I could hear her in the bathroom telling Brian the same food poisoning story, though there was a great deal more she said which I could tell would have been indeed hard to say in front of me. I heard her tell him how much she missed him, how much she wished he was here to take care of her, how sorry she was that her feeling ill would ruin any plans for intimacy they had for that evening, and then finally how much she loved him. It was hard for me to hear. I knew the thoughts were genuine, even if interlaced with a big fat lie to cover up her infidelity. When she came back to bed her face was sad, almost angry.

"I feel like shit for what I just did," she said, crawling into bed with me and pulling the covers back over us. She turned away from me and curled into a fetal position. I pressed my chest into her back and spooned, wrapping my arms around her. I said nothing. There was nothing to say. "Let's just get some more sleep," she said finally. Within five minutes we were out.

---------- Orkideh -----------

We stayed tangled up in each other's arms as we slept. Whenever one of us would stir we'd share a lingering kiss before finding a new position and falling back asleep. I could still smell my sex on his face which made each kiss that much more enticing. My pussy had a dull throb, slightly sore from how deep and hard he had fucked me but the sensation was a welcomed reminder of the beautiful time we'd shared. I had no doubt that I would be even sorer by the time I boarded the plane that evening.

That's when a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My pussy would be sore, loose and awash with another man's seed by the time I made it home to Brian that night. Even though I loved and missed him terribly, there was no way I would be able to make love to him when I got home. Even if I was somehow able to hide the guilt in my face, my body would give me away. I doubted if just taking a bath or shower would do the trick. Jackson had cum so hard and so deep inside of me that I would need one or two days to let my body cleanse itself and let the walls of my pussy regain their snugness. I was going to have to lie and play sick for a long time. Just the thought of it brought genuine disquiet to my gut.

Sometime just before 1 pm the hotel phone started ringing, waking us up again. I scrambled to answer it. It was the front desk alerting us that we had missed the checkout time by nearly an hour and that if we didn't come down right away we were going to be charged another day. I asked if we could do a late checkout but the woman said that housekeeping staff was only on duty for another hour and after that there would be no one around to clean the rooms. Hearing the conversation unfold, Jackson reached over and took the phone from me, rattled off his credit card number and expiration date and asked them to charge the extra day to him. Then he hung up and collapsed back on the bed.

"What's a $100 for an extra day with you?" he asked rhetorically. I kissed him in response, lingering for a second to enjoy his soft, plush full lips. I was going to miss those.

"You rest," I said, feeling movement in my lower abdomen, "I need to go use the bathroom, as you Americans say." I stretched, yawning as I got up from the bed and walked over toward the lavatory. I hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep and my body felt like a truck ran over me. I heard Jackson turn in the sheets as I walked away from him. Looking over my shoulder I saw that he was watching me as I walked, lustful eyes focused on my butt. "Sleep!" I insisted, "You're going to need your energy for later." I blushed and shut the door.

My body had a consistent schedule no matter what the circumstances. First thing every morning my bowels were ready to empty the previous day's food. That day was no different. Though it wasn't morning any longer my body didn't know the difference with all the time changes I'd been through. When you find a new lover the last thing you ever want them to do is smell your shit. There's an old saying, 'the lover who follows a woman into her private spaces risks being disillusioned.' Even though shitting is one of the most basic parts of being human we always try to hide the fact that we do it when it comes to new relationships. So I was feeling very self conscious about releasing my bowels with Jackson lying in the other room.

I turned the fan on and it was very loud so I turned it right back off. I debated, wondering what was more embarrassing, the loud sound of the fan alerting him to the fact that I was in here releasing my bowels or the risk of him smelling it afterward. I decided to go without the fan since I was going to jump right in the shower afterward, anyway. The smell would be long gone once I was done bathing.

As I sat there I became lost in thought, reflecting on the last 24 hours. My emotions were torturously conflicted. On the one hand, I was so happy to have met Jackson and I would cherish the short time we spent together for the rest of my life. I also felt amazingly liberated -- meeting a man with whom I shared a very close connection and making love to him as if there was no tomorrow without all the anxiety and stress of being morally policed and threatened with violence if I failed to be a good Muslim woman.

On the other hand, that liberation came at a terrible price. I believe in love, loyalty and fidelity so I felt extremely disappointed in myself for betraying my fiancé. I feared that living with this betrayal and the lies to cover it up would tear me apart inside for the rest of my life. But I also kept thinking back to what Jackson said earlier, that going back to Brian and being the perfect wife to him from this day forward was the best way to truly honor him. What would Brian prefer, to know I cheated or to live in ignorant bliss? There was no way to find out.

Brian was a wonderful man and I loved him dearly, so I struggled over what it meant that I had achieved a sexual chemistry with Jackson more intense than what I had achieved with my fiancé. Was the taboo nature of our affair responsible for the higher intensity or was it that Jackson and I were just perfectly matched sexually? But that could not be the whole story because the way I worked, I could have never opened up to him sexually if we had not made a strong connection intellectually and socially.

It left me doubting whether a lifetime with Brian would be truly fulfilling for me or whether there would always be something missing. I finally reasoned that because Brian and I had continually made our relationship stronger over the past four years that if there was something missing we could build on it to improve. I resolved that I would go back to Brian and work on achieving that perfect sexual chemistry and anything else missing from our relationship. He deserved that.

A knock on the door brought me out of my deep contemplation. "You're taking all day in there, my love, and I have to use it too. I've been holding it for 30 minutes and I can't hold it any longer."

'Shit,' I thought to myself. I wanted to shower and cleanse the air in there but I knew I couldn't make him wait that long. "Give me one sec, babe," I said, flushing and turning on the fan. I took an extra long time washing my hands. Looking in the mirror I saw that I was a hot mess. My hair was all over the place, like I had been fucked senseless throughout the entire evening. The thought brought a satisfied smile to my face. I turned off the water and took an equally long time drying my hands, trying my best to delay and let the fan take all the stinky air out.

"O-R-K-I-D-E-H," I heard him say, drawn out. I could here him running in place trying to hold back his pee. I chuckled to myself and nervously opened the door, trying to close it behind me.

"You might want to wait two minutes," I said softly, blushing. He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick kiss.

"Don't worry about it. I have some of my own kids to drop off at the pool," and with that he rushed me out of the way and raced into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

"I want to take a shower," I yelled behind him, not yet getting his joke. With English as my third language, so many things often went over my head.

"We'll shower together," he shouted back through the closed door. I said OK and went to lie on the bed. I finally got the joke and I started laughing. He didn't take as long as I did, only about 10 minutes. When I heard the water from the shower I knew it was OK to go back.

I found him inside brushing his teeth. I grabbed my toothbrush and started doing the same. He made room for me at the sink, stepping back to let me stand in front of him. He wrapped his free arm around me as we stood there, watching each other in the mirror. It was a pregnant moment as I thought about how my life might have been different if I had met him four years ago. I wondered what it would be like if we were standing in front of the mirror brushing our teeth together every morning, instead of just this one time. By the look in his eyes I guessed he was thinking the same.

He moved to spit and rinse out his mouth and while he dried his mouth with a towel I did the same. When finished he spun me around and kissed me so deeply I felt it in my toes. I kissed him back just as passionately, our tongues sliding together in a sensual dance. It was the one time in our lives that we would be able to kiss each other good morning and we both wanted to make it last. We stayed lipped locked for nearly 3 minutes enjoying the minty freshness of our mouths, breathing in each other's breath and drinking each other's saliva. We broke only long enough to step into the shower which had grown very hot and was now steaming up the room. As soon as we were under the water our lips found each other again.

Every minute or so he would break from kissing me and just hold me tightly to him, my face pressed into his chest. Squeezing me almost too tightly, his thick, muscular arms held onto me as if he never wanted to let me go. Each time this happened I took the opportunity to rub my face in the hairs on his chest while pushing my pelvis into him. Then suddenly, as if his mouth missed mine, we would be back kissing again.

We kept that up for nearly 10 minutes. Every kiss we shared still had the fire and intensity of our first. I could literally get lost in his plush lips. I loved sucking each one of them into my mouth, trying to keep it as my own. It was a precursor for everything we did that morning, drawn out to make it last, to make it special.

We were finally able to stop kissing and start washing after we had somehow managed to satiate our appetites for tasting each other's mouths. Perhaps we were just hungry for other things. He certainly was, with a strong erection now pressed against my stomach. He had not touched me down below to see how wet I was but I'm sure he could tell from how hungrily I was kissing him. He washed me first this time. I pointed out my different products and he grabbed my shampoo and started washing my hair. It was very sensual and yet we were playful at the same time, joking like small children and laughing hysterically. I turned around to rinse my hair while I playfully rubbed my ass against his shaft which was hot to the touch, practically searing my ass in every spot it touched my tender skin. He then put conditioner in my hair and left it in to soak while he began to wash my body.

I gave him one of my exfoliating gloves and watched as he forced one of his large hands into it. It would never sink back to fit my hand again and I knew I would need to buy a new pair when I got home. It was a small price to pay for such a wonderful day. He started with my arms, lifting up each one to scrub my armpits. It tickled and I squirmed. He then washed my neck and my breasts. He took his time, a look of concentration on his face as he made sure to be gentle with my nipples. He attended to each one until they were hard and protruding, swollen dark purple with the blood surging within. It was the first real attention he had given to my breasts which surprised me.

My fiancé was a breast man; my boobs turned him on more than anything. They were only B cups, sometimes C if I was bloated. I never thought they were much to get excited about. Brian loved licking, sucking and cuming on my breasts and he particularly relished rubbing his cum into my skin afterward.

I liked how excited he got by it and I loved making him happy but it was never something I would desire if I didn't know that he liked it so much. I'm the kind of girl who prefers her man to cum inside of her -- either my pussy or my mouth -- I just love the idea of keeping his love in me long after our lovemaking is over. But because of Brian's tit fetish I had grown used to my breasts getting constant attention.

Jackson, on the other hand, seemed much more into smelling and tasting me which was more in line with my own personal deepest desires. I always thought that it was just the poet in me who loved to have my sense of smell and taste stimulated during sex, hungry for all my senses to be aroused. I got some of that with Brian but I never got to fully indulge my desires and gorge myself on those sensations, mostly out of fear that he would think that I was strange or worse, kinky and promiscuous. This was a first for me. I felt safe in my indulgence because Jackson seemed to relish doing the same to me.

I gently ran my fingers through his woolly hair to complete my sensory stimulation while I watched him pay careful attention to my breasts. When he was satisfied that they were clean he pushed me back further into the shower spray so that the water was just cascading over my shoulders, rinsing the soap off of my nipples. Jackson brought his face just under the tip of each of my breasts and let the water run into his open mouth.

I found it so erotic, his mouth teasing me with the prospect of closing around my nipple at any moment. Finally I couldn't take it any more and showed one of my tits deep into his mouth. He sucked at my nipple hungrily, bathing it in long slow licks with his tongue. He lightly scraped my swollen nub with his teeth which drove me crazy. Then, holding my nipple with his teeth he began to whip it with his tongue at lightening speed.

He continued to do the same to my other breast, then switched again, breaking into a rhythm. While he put my nipples through this sweet torment, his fingers from the hand that was not sheathed in my exfoliating glove found my sex. They rubbed the slick wetness that was by that point covering my entire vulva and he knew it wasn't water from the shower. Two of his fingers found their way inside of me and I moaned. They swished around inside me for a second then he pulled them out once they were nicely coated with my juices.

He stood fully upright and brought the fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply. I inched forward, the look on my face letting him know I was eager for my turn. I grabbed his shoulders and stood on my tip-toes as he leaned down to give me access. When his face was close to mine we both just smelled his sticky fingers together. I could smell all the cum he had shot deep inside me in addition to my own musky odor. He put one finger in his mouth and began to suck on it but held the other out for me. Because the angle wasn't right I couldn't get it into my mouth so I began to lick it. I could still taste his cum from our sex the night before. It was by then stale and a little sour but it was still the result of our lovemaking and I relished it all the same. The look in his eyes told me he did as well.

"Dirty girl," he said after we had finished cleaning my juices off his fingers. "You still taste like our sex from last night. I guess I will have to wash you thoroughly."

"Why, so you can get me dirty all over again?" I asked coyly.

"Precisely!" he said, giving me a deep but brief kiss. Then he went back to washing me. This time he started on my abdomen, making sure to clean out my belly button, then moved down to my legs skipping over my pussy. While washing my legs he felt my stubble and asked if he could shave me. The hair on my body is very faint and I don't need to shave that often. But it had been four days which is about how long it takes to begin to really feel that there is hair growing there.

No man had ever asked to shave my legs before, it had always been something I handled on my own. My razor wasn't even in the shower with me but in my bag on the sink. I was a little hesitant because I didn't want him to cut me. It wasn't that I was scared of being cut -- I was scared of having to come up with a story to tell Brian if he found a cut on my leg. I never cut myself shaving, so he would think something was very strange if I showed up home with a shaving cut. But as I thought about the careful attention he was paying to my body while he washed me, I finally acquiesced.

I stepped out of the shower dripping water everywhere and retrieved my razor before rejoining him. I thought about asking him if he had done this before but thought better of it. I didn't want to know. I just told him what direction to shave in and at what angle to hold the razor and then let him have at it.

He got down on his knees, sitting on his heels in the shower and asked me to bring one of my legs up, placing my foot on his thigh. He then lathered up my leg and began shaving me, taking his time, starting at my calf and working his way up. He went slow, feeling my calves, squeezing them with his large hangs, and concentrated deeply as he moved the razor along my skin. I couldn't help but smile watching him. I would have been done with both legs in the time it took him to shave the bottom half of just my right but it was sweet watching him savor the experience. It was like he was worshiping the very skin I'm in -- not because of its smoothness, its color or its hue, but just because it held me.

Every minute or so he would pause to kiss the inside of my thigh. Each kiss lingered, his tongue snaking out to lap at the skin around where his lips landed. Then he would go back to shaving me. Each time he broke to kiss me, his lips would come closer to my sex. I boldly spread my thighs to give him all the access he desired. Once he had switched legs, his kisses were so close to my sex that I could feel his cheeks rubbing against my outer lips, his chin stubbly and also in need of a shave. The sensation sent shivers up my spine.

By the time he was done shaving me he had done away with the pretense of kissing my thighs and was simply rubbing his entire face in my sex without ever using his lips or his tongue in my pussy or on my clit. It drove me crazy with need. I needed to cum. I wanted to flood his mouth with my juices but the bastard wasn't ready to stop teasing me yet so he took his face out of my sex and went to washing my feet.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 03



He basically gave me a foot massage with some soap. Still on his knees in the tub, he thoroughly kneaded the muscles in each of my feet, bringing me to a state of total relaxation. He carefully washed between each of my toes then rinsed them so he could suck on them. I was grateful that I had just painted my toenails mauve the night before I got on the plane. A flash of guilt then went through me, remembering that I had done that to look my best for my homecoming with Brian.

He brought me out of that guilt when he asked me to turn around so he could wash my back. He stood up behind me and I pressed my ass back against him to feel if he was still hard. I groaned as I felt that he was, indeed, still happy to see me. I stood up on my tiptoes, arching my back, hoping that he would just fuck me right then and there. With all the teasing and foreplay, I was more than ready. My pussy was ravenously hungry for him and I could tell by the strength of his erection pushed into the small of my back that he wanted to be inside me as well. He spread his legs and bent his knees a bit so he could get lower and slid his dick between my legs. His head slid easily between my slick folds but the angle wasn't quite right for him to slide inside of me.

I tired to arch my pelvis some more to let him in but he didn't work with me, preferring instead to continue sliding the head of his shaft back and forth between my folds, teasing my clit at the end of every stroke.

"Fuck me," I moaned softly, crazy with need. My hips began undulating against him. I felt his lips press into my shoulder in response. He worked those succulent lips up my neck and to my ear.

"You know I will," he whispered, "but let me savor you some more."

"But I want you inside me now. I need you inside me now."

"You know there's no place else in this world I want to be," he replied, but instead of thrusting into me like I wanted him to, he pulled his shaft from between my legs and slid it up between the cheeks of my ass and left it there while he began scrubbing my back. At first I was nervous that he was trying to be inside me in a different way. Thankfully that was not his intent. I tried to hug him by squeezing and releasing my ass cheeks. Each time I did I felt him throb, his shaft swelling with excitement.

It was very intimate which made it enjoyable so we stayed like that while he took his time washing and exfoliating my shoulders and below. With his free hand he reached around me to play with one of my nipples. I was going to die if he didn't make me cum soon.

Perhaps sensing my need for greater stimulation, he decided it was finally time to wash my sex. He didn't turn me around, though, but instead kept his throbbing shaft pressed between the cheeks of my ass while he did it. He took off my exfoliating glove and got his hand all lathered up then reached around me and brought it to my sex. He knew not to put soapy fingers inside of me and just used his hand to sensuously wash the folds of my pussy. He carefully let his fingers slide through my lips, all the way back to my perineum then back up to my clitoris. He did this several times, spending extra time on my clit with each pass. I pushed my hands against the shower wall for support, closed my eyes and just let him masturbate me under the pretense of cleaning me. My pussy continued to leak her juices faster than he could wipe them away.

When I was just about to cum with one more rub of my clit he stopped to rinse me. He spun me around to face him and then pushed me backwards until the water from the shower head was cascading over my shoulders again, running all the way down my body. Then he got down on his knees in front of me and watched as little rivers of water found their way down my stomach and through my sparse pubic hair to rinse my sex.

I was so close to pushing him down on his back and raping him right there in the shower, he just didn't know. I looked down to glare at him, the feral look in my eyes making him chuckle. The thought occurred to me that if I sat on his face and forced my pussy down his throat that I could wipe that smug smile off of his face, and I wondered who the woman was having those thoughts.

His rinsed fingers sliding deep inside my pussy brought me some temporary relief from the need to violently rape him. Yet still he wasn't completely finger fucking me. He kept pulling his fingers out and rinsing them, then sliding them back inside of me. Each time he slid two fingers into me he curled them up to press against that spongy spot on the front wall of my pussy, just enough to torment me, then removed his fingers to rinse them again.

The palm of his hand pressed into my clit each time, adding to the sweet torment. I was impressed that he knew how to properly wash a vagina but he was still driving me crazy. I desperately tried to fuck my pussy down on his hand each time his fingers found my opening. My hips shamelessly rocked back and forth and down on his hand, trying to make myself cum.

I thought he was finally going to give me some relief when his face approached my hungry pussy with an open mouth. But instead of devouring me like I needed him to, he just held his lips open under my sex and let the little rivulets of water drip into his mouth from my pussy lips, his eyes locked onto mine. When his mouth was full of water, he sealed his lips around the opening to my sex and shot warm water inside of me. I gasped. This was certainly a new experience for me. Then he pulled his face back a few inches and let my pussy rinse water run back into his mouth and then he swallowed it. I gasped again -- this time not because of the sensation but because of the powerful and taboo visual imagery it made.

It looked like I was peeing in his mouth on his chin, and he was swallowing it willingly. Eagerly. Hungrily. Knowing that it wasn't pee but just water mixed with my pussy juices made it incredibly erotic rather than disturbing. Seeing my reaction, he let his mouth fill back up with water and did it again, this time pausing to give my clit a teasing lick before pulling away and awaiting my return deluge. By the third time I couldn't take the teasing any more and the passion took over. I reached down and grabbed the sides of his head after he had filled me with water. Next, I tilted my hips and squeezed my pussy muscles to squirt it out all over his face. Then I pulled his face into my sex forcefully and started grinding my pussy all over it and into his mouth.

To make sure he got the message that I couldn't take his torment any longer and that I needed to cum, I decided to go further on the offensive with words.

"I can't wait until I'm washing you," I moaned as I fucked his face. "Get that dick all lathered up with my hands, wash you with my breasts... wash your balls so I can suck on each one of them, swirl them around in my mouth." He groaned and dug his fingers into my ass. I knew I was getting to him. "Get you nice and clean so I can suck the head of your sweet cock down into my throat. You didn't let me finish last night but you won't get away from me this time. I'm going to drink every last drop of you," I said breathlessly, amazed at myself being bold enough to talk so dirty to a man I had only met a day ago.

That did it. I came in an instant, grinding my pussy into his mouth as my juices gushed out of me, flooding his mouth with my nectar. He drank me thankfully, hungrily, and I held onto his head while I rode out my orgasm on his face. No sooner had the first one subsided then another one ran through me as a string of obscenities escaped my lips.

He hissed and stood up before me. I felt his cock swelling and throbbing with excitement as it bobbed between us, searching for my opening where it wanted to make a home. He forcefully pushed my back against the shower wall and impaled me on his shaft. I wrapped my legs around him in happy preparation for the onslaught I thought was coming.

He did not immediately begin to pound the bloody hell out of me like he had done the night before. Instead, he just held himself inside me while looking deep into my eyes. He was throbbing furiously. I tried to use my pussy to squeeze him back for every throb but it was hard to keep up.

He began taking deep breaths, looking like he was trying to regain the control of his body that I was clearly making him lose. I both admired it and hated it at the same time. When he seemed to have regained control he finished washing my body. He pushed me against the shower wall to help hold me up while he took the soap back into his hands. There wasn't much left of me to wash but remembering the previous night I thought I knew what he was thinking. He surprised me instead by taking my face into his hands and gently washing it while he kissed me. All the while his cock throbbed inside me and I squeezed him in return.

When he was satisfied that my face was clean he reached underneath me to grab my ass. He walked us closer to the shower spray until just my face was underneath the water. While I rinsed my face his lips found me again, more passionately this time. That's when he started fucking me. That's also when one of his soapy fingers slid into my anus.

He took his time to wash me thoroughly. Last night with his lips and tongue torturing my clit the intensity built pretty quickly. But after two orgasms my body was relaxed enough to endure the prolonged stimulation. The feeling of his finger thrusting inside me while his dick was in my pussy had me feeling delightfully full of him in every way.

Beyond just fingering me he also seemed to really enjoy the exploration of my rectum. I could feel his finger wiggle around inside me, not just thrusting in and out. Occasionally he would switch fingers to his other hand, getting a feel for my insides from different angles. His tongue swirled in my mouth to match the action of his fingers while his cock continued to slowly slide in and out of me. It was kinky and naughty yet sweet and sensual at the same time. I loved every second of it.

I insisted we stop before he came when the water began to get cold. He had a look of slight disappointment until he saw the mischievous look in my eye that hinted at what I wanted -- a promise fulfilled. I rinsed my bum and then we turned the water off and reached for towels. While he dried me, I dried off every part of him except for his cock, purposefully leaving it slimy with my juices. Then I led him back to the bed.

I positioned him sitting up with his back against the headboard with his legs spread wide. I crawled between them, licking the insides of his thighs as I went. I could feel his strong muscles inside and I resisted my sudden urge to lightly sink my teeth into one. I made my way to his balls and gently sucked them into my mouth. I used my tongue to slowly swirl them around as bathed them in my saliva. His cock bobbed and bounced against my forehead, literally jumping with impatience. I thought about cruelly making him wait just the way that he had done to me earlier but after one deep inhalation smelling his musky scent my own hunger got the best of me.

I let his balls slowly slip out of my hot sucking mouth and licked a slow trail up the underside of his penis, tasting myself as I went. I felt like such a dirty whore having this lurid affair in this strange hotel room but it all felt so invigoratingly liberating at the same time. I had positioned us in a way that was purposely submissive, letting him gaze down at me from above as I serviced him. I had never sucked a man off like this before, I had always felt more comfortable and in control making them lay down so I could be on top.

It would be false to say that I assumed this position as a matter of practicality, hoping that I could bend my neck back enough to slide more of his beautiful shaft down my throat. Truthfully, I was getting off on being his dirty little slut so submissively. I wanted to do what would turn him on the most so that when he came in my mouth he would shoot the biggest load possible, filling my belly and nourishing my body with his seed. I wanted him to completely lose himself in me.

"Every drop," I said to him, looking up between licks to his swollen head. "I want every drop." Then I put his head between my lips and sank down on him as far as I could go.

There is nothing in the world quite like the feel of a hard penis in one's mouth. The velvety, spongy outside texture is a unique oral experience. I loved the contrast between the velvety soft exterior and the pulsing steely hardness just beneath. As young girls we were taught that righteous women did not use the mouth in lovemaking. What was so ironic is that such teachings were a radical departure from traditional Persian culture. Our pre-Muslim Persian ancestors had written books on how lovers should please each other with their mouths. What the strict Islamic teachings had actually done was plant in me a deep yearning to indulge in oral lovemaking. It was a deep secret that remained locked and hidden inside of me until I left Iran.

I have no doubt that my two Iranian boyfriends would have enjoyed what I secretly wanted to do to them with my mouth. The problem is that they would have treated me like a whore afterwards, and they wouldn't have even returned the favor!

Back in my present, I realized I had actually gotten lost in my secret indulgence in sucking off Jackson. My tongue lapped at him lustfully, hungry for my reward. His arousal fed my energy which seemed to feed his arousal even more. I could feel his blood pulsing inside, causing his girth to expand in my mouth. It made me doubt that I could fully satiate my appetite and cram all of him inside my mouth and my throat. It wasn't going to stop me from trying, though.

I looked up at his eyes to see how he was enjoying me. I saw the most feral look of lust staring back at me, almost making me blush. His eyes were half closed and his teeth were clenched, his breathing was ragged. I knew he was getting close and I redoubled my efforts, greedy for his pending explosion. Then he brought his hands down to move my hair out of the way so he could see me clearly and began to lovingly caress each side of my face while I sucked him.

I was getting off on his flavor, too. A steady stream of pre-cum oozed out of his tiny slit -- a sweet appetizer of things to come. I sucked ravenously at his head and ran the tip of my tongue through his pee hole, starving for the bigger deluge. His smell was driving me crazy with desire as well. The closer my nose got to his pubes the stronger was his scent. I wanted to bury my nose there and take the biggest sniff possible.

I vowed I would do so the hard way rather than take him out of my mouth. I moved back on the bed a bit and tried to straighten out my neck. I bent his shaft down to put it in a line with my throat and then started my first attempt at a full descent. I was no more than half way before I started gagging but the feel of his dick hitting the tightness of my throat elicited a gasp from Jackson. I wanted to make him moan so I backed up and tried again.

I kept trying, each time taking a little bit more of him. I started to tear up and each time a tear rolled down my cheek he wiped it up with one of his thumbs and then brought the thumb to his mouth for a taste. The gesture so moved me that I steeled my resolve and sank my mouth back down around his throbbing cock. I did not stop until my nose was buried in his pubic hair.

"Oh shit!" he hissed between clenched teeth and a dribble of pre-cum ran down my throat. I came up coughing and realized I had been so scared and nervous that I forgot to fully smell him while I was down there. No sooner than I had stopped coughing than I descended again, this time taking in his full musky scent. My right hand instinctively reached up under me to begin rubbing my pussy only to find that it was a sodden mess! I was so slippery that it was difficult to keep my fingers on my clit. They just slid everywhere.

I thought I heard him whisper something just under his breath and I stopped momentarily to ask him to repeat it. He didn't even hesitate repeating an obscenity that should have offended me. However, there was something about the loving way that he caressed my face in contrast to his talking dirty to me that ended up being a huge turn-on. I slammed my mouth back down on his cock, forcing my throat to take him fully. He moaned loudly.

Seeing my reaction to his dirty talk switched something in him. The perfect gentleman who had been lovingly caressing my face suddenly had an iron grip on my head with his fingers laced behind it. Those hands began to set the pace, pulling me onto his hardness while his hips began thrusting up off the bed to meet my lips.

They say to be careful of what you wish for. Well, I wanted him to lose himself in me but as he did I was suddenly scared for my life. Breathing was difficult but he seemed to be oblivious to my struggles at getting air in my lungs. His thrusts became more powerful and his low hanging balls began to slap me in the chin. He continued talking dirty to me, more loudly now, interspersed with groans and utterances that were indecipherable.

I guess you can say that he warned me that he was about to cum, however with a true warning one is given the chance to avoid what she is being warned against. There was no avoiding this and luckily I didn't want to. I looked back into his eyes and tried to tell him with my own eyes just how much I wanted him and how much it meant to me. He seemed to understand and in that mutual moment of understanding his orgasm overtook him.

His head reared back and he roared as a torrent of cum exploded into my mouth. I whipped my tongue along the underside of his head as he came, causing his body to twitch and contort to my delight. His hips lifted up off the bed and his ass cheeks were squeezed tight as his cum splashed against my tonsils. I swallowed hard before the head of his cock forced its way back behind my esophagus. Spurt after spurt flooded my mouth and I tried to swallow as fast as I could, sucking on his shaft to make sure I got every drop. All of the obscenities continued while he came until eventually he became too sensitive and pushed my mouth away. He collapsed and I smiled contently.

He immediately pulled me up to him and locked his lips onto mine. We shared a slow sensual kiss that lasted for about fifteen minutes. It was a different kind of kiss -- instead of being full of the urgency of lust it was instead full of the affirmation of affection. Because we were satiated we could just lay there cuddling and enjoy the kiss without feeling the need to move on to other things. It was only our growling stomachs that eventually caused us to stop and think about ordering some breakfast.

He grabbed the menu and picked up the phone while I went to go pee. When I came out he was ordering a huge American breakfast, with lots of bacon and sausage as well as fruit, waffles, and eggs.

"Hey, no pork, remember?" Some habits die hard with me, even if I wasn't a devout Muslim woman.

"Oh yeah, my bad," he said and switched up the order. Then he came to lie down next to me to continue our cuddling and kissing.

After a minute he moved me onto my stomach and began sensually rubbing my back and kissing me from my neck down my spine. I moaned in appreciation and settled into a position to allow him full access to my body to continue his message.

"Someone likes this," he chuckled to himself. But I quickly found out that giving me a message with his hands wasn't what was on his mind. He moved further down my body then lifted up my hips, leaving my head and shoulders down on the sheet. I felt completely exposed and extremely vulnerable. Every instinct in my body told me to roll over but I concentrated on trusting him and giving into the moment.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 03



His arms circled my hips bringing my butt into his chest and his lips down against the small of my back while he hugged me. It was very sensual and sweet. He shifted his position behind me and his lips left a trail of kisses lower, thankfully avoiding my crack and instead kissing down my hip to my upper thigh. His lips alternated between each thigh, his tongue occasionally snaking out to taste my skin. Even though I had wiped away all the juices running out of me when I went to go pee I knew he could still taste me where I had been dripping down my thighs.

He could smell me, too, and I heard him inhaling deeply, taking in my scent. I was turned on just thinking about the view, the taste and the smell he was getting, knowing how much it was turning him on. I reached with my foot to feel between his legs. He was getting hard again. The thought made my pussy ooze.

"Oh my God, look at you!" he whispered, using his thumbs to open my lips so he could watch my pussy leak out her excitement. What he did next surprised me. I was ready for him to taste me but instead he pressed his nose directly into my pussy and began to take deep inhalations, snorting my juices right into his brain. Then he began to move his head back and forth and up and down, coating his entire face in my wetness. His lips, chin and nose rubbed directly over my clit, driving my excitement even further. Finally, his lips began sucking at my pussy while his tongue snaked inside. I groaned in ecstasy.

He used his hands to spread my ass cheeks so he could press his face down into me, sinking his tongue deeper into my flooded pussy. This brought his nose down directly over my anus and I squealed in embarrassment, trying to wiggle away from such intimate contact. He would have none of it, and I felt the strength of his hands increase the power of the grip he had on my butt cheeks. He held me firmly in place while he continued to eat me, seemingly not caring about the fact that his nose was pressed tightly against my asshole.

My mind struggled with the conflict. It felt heavenly to have his tongue sliding around inside me but I felt extremely self conscious to have his nose pressed up against my dirty place. Even though we had just got out of the shower and he had cleaned me thoroughly, in my culture assholes are never truly clean enough to go anywhere near another person's mouth or nostrils. What made me feel even more self conscious is that I could feel him breathing through his nose. I could feel the warm air from each exhalation blowing over my exposed anus which felt quite... soothing, and then cool air from each inhalation blowing over me in the opposite direction making me tingle.

Despite the soothing and tingly feeling he was giving me, I was further mortified to know that he was smelling me there as opposed to my pussy. Even fresh from a bath, an asshole could never actually smell "good," so I didn't know whether to be disgusted that such smells didn't bother him or to actually be touched that he was so concerned with bringing me pleasure that he didn't care.

When his tongue dipped down to lick at my clit it pretty much ended the debate in my mind. Right or wrong I would have to figure it out later, as the pleasure at the moment was too divine to ignore. He took his time, going back and forth between sucking my clit and whipping it with his tongue and then moving up to drill his tongue down into my pussy.

When he was sucking my clit his nose sank back down into my pussy and while he was tongue fucking me his nose moved back up to press into my anus, leaving a wet trail of saliva and pussy juice over it. Being wet only served to heighten the sensation of the air moving back and forth over it, making me tingle even more.

I moaned my appreciation into the bed, hiding my face in the sheets from embarrassment. Then my body began to rock back into him, pressing my pussy back into him and making a further mess of his face. My body did this of her own accord... I had nothing to do with it, honest.

I was getting carried away. A few more minutes and I would cum all over his face. I hoped we could finish before the food came. My thrusts back against his face became more urgent and a terrifying thing happened. On one of its trips up from my clit to my pussy his tongue accidently went too far and swiped over my anus before finding its correct place down in my honey pot. I panicked and froze for a minute, fearful that my forceful thrusts had actually caused him to lick me there by accident. I prayed he would forgive me. The urgency of my pending orgasm was calling, though, so I gingerly began to thrust back against his sweet face again.

I was being careful not to get too carried away when I felt his tongue lick a trail up past the opening in my pussy and this time swirl around my anus before dipping back down to suck at my clit. This time I yelped. I couldn't tell if the sound was from being mortified or because the feel of his tongue back there felt... exquisite! Why is it that the things that feel most heavenly are the ones that get us sent straight to hell?

I had no time to ponder such existential questions, as the work that his tongue was doing on my clit had me close. The buildup was torturously slow but I was really going to explode when I finally came. I held absolutely still, wanting to make sure there were no more slips of his tongue to the wrong places. His whole face was pressed into me, his nose buried in my pussy hole while his lips sucked my clit between his teeth so his tongue could perform butterfly licks against it. My moans became louder. I was close, oh so close.

The bloody bastard took his tongue off of my clit again and sank it down into my pussy. He was driving me crazy! Then it happened again. I wasn't moving so I knew it couldn't have been my fault. Was he actually doing this on purpose? Did he want to lick me there? His tongue left my pussy and lapped over my perineum to center itself on my wrinkled little star and then tried to push inside.

"Nooooo!" I screamed and tried to get away. His strong hands still held me firm so all I could do was to squeeze myself shut and try to deny him access. He laughed but he got the hint and went back to sucking on my clit. This time he had mercy on me and didn't stop until my orgasm came exploding out of me, bathing his face in my juices. I mumbled incoherently with my face down in the sheets while my body contorted and my muscles twitched. It was one of those exhausting climaxes that seem to go on forever, truthfully lasting about two minutes.

Jackson sensed when my clit became too sensitive and moved his tongue to slide into my pussy and lap out my nectar. I could hear his own moans indicating how much he was savoring my flavor. I collapsed down fully onto the bed, my body in a total state of sated relaxation. Every muscle in my body felt like jelly. He kept hold of me and his face followed dutifully as my hips came down to rest. That's when the cheeky bastard seized his opportunity to force his tongue down deep inside of my now totally relaxed asshole.

It took me a minute to scream from the shock. It took me another minute to find the energy to try and tighten my sphincter to squeeze him out. His strong hands continued to hold onto me forcefully and we began to wrestle as I tried to get away and his tongue tried to stay in my ass. That's when we heard the knock on the door announcing that our food had arrived. Jackson pulled his face out of my ass just long enough to yell, "Be right there." In that split second his grip on me loosened and I made my escape, leaping out of the bed.

"Damn you," he said as I turned to look at him. He literally had a shit-eating grin on his face. Underneath that grin was a wild look that made my heart skip a beat. A feral hunger was in his eyes as his chest heaved with every breath. And he was fully hard again -- painfully so from the looks of it. His shaft stood up proudly, throbbing with energy as pre-cum dribbled out of his tiny slit. Had tasting me there excited him that much? My pussy twitched at the thought that it might have, in spite of my revulsion at the act itself.

For a second, looking at the hunger in his eyes I thought he might just pounce on me and fuck me senseless while the person delivering our food just stood outside and listened. My pussy twitched again at that thought as well, realizing that I would let him. That really surprised me, as the thought of having sex before an audience never appealed to me before.

As I thought about it more, the turn on wouldn't have been the person listening to us go at it. Instead, what was getting me hot was the thought that Jackson wanted me so bad and needed me so urgently that concern for anything else and all sense of decorum would be thrown out the window. I wanted the passion between us to make him lose control and drop his cool demeanor. I had gotten a small taste of that earlier when he fucked my mouth and came down my throat, and I realized I was hungry for more. But how much more? Was I prepared for what he might do to me if I totally made him lose it?

I turned red with embarrassment and ran to the closet to see if the hotel had robes. Luckily they did. He covered himself up in the sheets as I let the bellman in to deliver our breakfast. Even though I'm sure he had seen couples fooling around before, he could not resist his own sly smile at me while I pulled a couple of bills out to tip him. Even if we didn't look guilty, the smell of sex was thick and heavy in the room. He was a total stranger and he was smelling my pussy whose scent filled the room, while my lover sat back in the bed, his erection making a slight tent in the sheets, and he still had that shit-eating grin on his face. I felt my face flush with heat as I turned all colors of crimson.

No sooner had the bellman left than Jackson was at my side, hugging me to him. He didn't kiss me immediately. We paused for a second just looking into each other's eyes. We didn't need to say anything. He knew that he had brought me to a wonderful and powerful orgasm but he also knew that I was uncomfortable with the increased level of anal play. I tried to convey to him with my eyes and with my hands stroking his chest that the experience was still special to me, the intimacy of it all. His face reeked of me and I saw his tongue dart out to lick his beautifully full lips; those lips that had brought me such pleasure. I couldn't take it any more, I kissed him deeply. Then we ravenously tore through the food.

---------------------------- End of Chapter 3 ------------------------



Behind the Green Veil Ch. 04



Chapter 04

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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 04



"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. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 04



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. 

------------------ End of Chapter 4 ---------------------- 



Behind the Green Veil Ch. 05



Caught between worlds, outcast Persian woman must choose

--------------- Orkideh ----------------

I graduated on a Saturday during the second week of June, almost nine months since I said goodbye to Jackson. I was both very proud and very disgusted with myself for how well I lived the lie after I returned to my life with Brian. My emotional state upon my return left me feeling ill deep in my gut, which actually helped me sell the story that some intestinal bug had kept me from flying and delayed my return home.

Brian's dedicated attention to me while I "healed" actually helped me reorient my emotions to focus on him and our future. On my third day after being home I made passionate love to him, tears flowing down my face the entire time. He thought my flow of tears was due to the fact that I missed him and loved him so. He was half right.

One month after graduating, Brian and I were married. It was actually a beautiful day on which I was genuinely happy. It was not a conventional wedding, however. Our original plan was to hold a western wedding ceremony in the US and also fly to Tehran and have a Persian wedding there. Of course, the best laid plans always get shot to hell. My student visa was about to expire. Both Brian and I had secured new jobs at the University of Chicago but the U.S. was instructing me that my application for a green card would take months to complete and I would need to go back to Tehran while they processed the request.

It was totally political and outside of the norm. There are thousands of international students earning degrees in the U.S. who get jobs here after their graduation, and never are made to return home while their green card applications are processed. The reason it was happening to me was because the war rhetoric was quickly heating up, and I wondered if they suspected that I had information detailing the secret agreement between the U.S., Israeli, and Iranian governments.

Faced with my deportation and the danger that it posed to me if I were to return home to Iran, Brian and I decided to alter our plans and have a rushed courthouse wedding to secure my residency, keeping our plan to later fly to Tehran to have a Persian wedding that my parents and extended family could attend.

Since it was only going to be a courthouse wedding we did not go out of our way to invite anyone or make any special plans. But our friends from graduate school surprised us. They all flew into Chicago and planned an impromptu mini reception to celebrate our union. The girls also took me shopping for a nice dress and then took me for a spa treatment and to get my hair and makeup done professionally. My middle sister also flew down from Montreal.

The guys took Brian out to rent a tuxedo and to the barber shop so they could all get hair cuts. As Brian later confided in me, they also made a stop at a strip club for a 20 minute bachelor party that consisted of one round of shots and one lap dance. Throughout the day we took tons of pictures which our friends ended up putting together for us in a wedding album. It turned out to be a really special day and I cried genuine tears of joy.

Brian and I thought there would actually be time to make our plan for a second wedding in Iran a reality but the universe had other ideas. On the day of our courthouse wedding in Chicago, Israel and the U.S. began a bombing campaign of Iranian nuclear enrichment sites, starting a war and bringing my life into further turmoil.

The outbreak of war felt like a particular failure for me and my friends who had been sent the secret "controlled war" memo. Part of the reason for my guilt was that we had essentially been paralyzed by fear. Our first strategy had been to send the file to Wikileaks and to The Guardian, the UK paper that had co-published many of the leaked U.S. diplomatic cables back in 2011, along with the New York Times and the German paper, Der Spiegel.

We decided that our friend in Ontario would send her copy of the file and the rest of us would keep ours hidden for safekeeping. However, the intensified persecution of Wikileaks had destroyed their ability to get out any new information, and The Guardian said that they would not publish the memo because they couldn't authenticate it by having a separate source verify its contents. There were no other U.S., Israeli, or Iranian government officials who knew or were willing to acknowledge that such an agreement had been made. What did happen, however, is that our friend in Ontario soon disappeared. It left the rest of us scared to death and feeling that war was just inevitable.

Iran retaliated after the initial bombing wave by blowing up a few American ships in the Persian Gulf and bombing American bases in Iraq and Afghanistan from which America was launching its aerial bombardments. Casualties were moderate on both sides but many more Iranian citizens were dying and being dismissed as collateral damage. But when American service members started dying the atmosphere for Iranians living in the U.S. became very tense and dangerous. Mosques started being burned and vandalized on a regular basis while gunmen started entering Islamic places of worship and going on shooting sprees.

Brian and I were living in Chicago where I felt relatively safe. When I found myself in areas outside of a major city, it was a different feel altogether. Even though I didn't wear a hijab in the U.S., "towel head" and "rag head" were phrases I started hearing regularly in reference to me, often ending by telling me to "go home." Brian and I vowed that we would take no more road trips until things calmed down, only traveling to major cities by flight, never by car.

My parents had to flee Tehran because the conditions there had gotten so bad. Leaving in the night, they ran north to the Caspian Sea and from there caught a boat to the small country of Azerbaijan. From the coast of Azerbaijan they coordinated with a larger group of refugees who paid a truck driver to smuggle them west across the country to the border of Armenia. At the Armenian border they were only allowed to cross if they gave up all their money. Before the war, the money my parents had would have been more than enough to bribe the border guards. However, the Iranian currency had depreciated so much since the sanctions started and then became virtually worthless once the war started.

Penniless, they somehow made it through Armenia and into Turkey. From there, my brother had friends in the Turkish consulate's office in Malaysia who arranged to fly my parents out of Turkey so that they weren't living in one of the tent cities that lined the Turkish border with Iran, where all the other refugees were sent.

For the rest of our family the ordeal had been nearly 180 days of pure hell. We knew that our parents were going to try and leave but we didn't hear from them the entire time they were on the run. We did not know if they were alive or dead or captured or in a refugee camp somewhere. My father wouldn't tell us what they had to do to survive, and he forbade my mother from talking about it to the rest of the family. It was all so stressful for me that I started seeing a therapist, afraid my anxiety would tear my life to shreds if I didn't get it under control.

Even though my parents were safe with my brother in Malaysia, for which we were grateful, they had to leave Tehran with nothing. They had to leave the home where they had raised our family and all that was in it. All of their belongings, all of our childhood memories -- gone. We knew dozens of families who shared the same fate. We knew hundreds of people who fared far worse.

Perhaps as an escape from all the turmoil of war, and certainly because we were genuinely in love, Brian and I made love all the time over the next two years of our marriage. As the war dragged on and the mainstream media outlets lost interest, I stayed glued to my computer hungry for any news from home. Often Brian would peel me away just after I read some bad news, making love to me as a way to distract my thoughts.

Brian also wanted to start a family right away hoping that a child would bring a new source of joy into our lives. I loved children and missed my nieces and nephews terribly, but I was much more ambivalent about having a child of our own. Many mornings taking my birth control pills Brian would ask me if I really wanted to do that. I would just smile and tell him that I was still enjoying "practicing" making a baby with him, not ready to do so for real.

Occasionally my thoughts drifted to Jackson during our lovemaking. I always berated myself when it happened because I really loved Brian and I was happy to be married to him. As much as I tried not to think about my affair, however, there were a few things that I just really missed. I missed the euphoric feeling of falling in love with Jackson because of the intense connection we shared. I missed his unique perspective on the world and the philosophical conversations we had, so drastically different from the ones I have with Brian. And, I missed the thing that I tried to suppress most of all: the raw, feral passion with which he owned my body and made it his. I missed the insatiable hunger in his eyes when he went down on me. I missed the maniacal way that he slammed himself deep inside me. Perhaps most of all, I missed how we both were able to indulge our deepest, most secret desires for all the smells and tastes of each other's bodies.

Increasingly, my mind was also drawn back to the naughty, kinkier things he did to me -- how hard I came as he devoured my pussy while his soapy index finger invaded my rear under the pretext of cleaning me, and how wickedly divine it felt when he attempted to kiss me back there. Despite the instinctual shame I felt in realizing we had an audience listening to us while he fucked me in the airport restroom, I could not help but reflect on how liberating it was to not have to hide my sexuality for threat of persecution. I wanted desperately to feel those sensations and emotions again.

After the second year of our marriage, the frequency with which Brian and I made love slowed down and I began masturbating in the shower to thoughts of Jackson tasting my body all over and not resisting him when he began licking my taboo spot. I fantasized about having his finger back in my tinier hole then imagined him ravishing me and fucking my brains out. In this secret fantasy life, those kinky acts came to symbolize the ideal of good foreplay and a closer intimacy. Nothing got me hornier, nothing made me wetter, nothing made me feel guiltier.

When I realized that I had lost the battle to fight off these fantasies, I tried to channel them in a positive direction. I often came out of the shower after masturbating to my secret desires and pounced on Brian, sucking him until he was hard then laying him down on his back and riding him until I had fucked myself senseless. After an explosive orgasm I would roll over and let him finish however he wanted. Invariably, he fucked me hard and fast in either missionary or doggy style until he pulled out and came all over my breasts.

A part of me felt guilty every time for using him to satisfy a fantasy I had about being with someone else. Ironically, I must admit though that channeling all my pent up sexual desires in that way strengthened my marriage. Brian was always pleasantly surprised and went to campus smiling those days when it happened in the morning and he went to bed with a smile on his face when it happened in the evenings. He would always treat me like a princess for the next few days afterward, sending me sweet and flirtatious text messages during the day and randomly buying me little appreciation gifts. He was such a good man, and my guilt was abated a bit knowing that I was making him happy.

I discovered something about myself in this new form of our sex life, however. In my previous sex life I had been a mostly passive lover, letting the guy dictate our lovemaking. An electric charge came over me when I was assertive with Brian, putting him on his back and taking my pleasure and dishing out his. As much as I love it when my man loses control and fucks me senseless, I discovered that I also love to give just as good as I receive.

This was solidified in my mind one night when I was riding Brian and didn't roll over and let him drill me after my first orgasm. I was so feverishly worked up that I kept grinding on top of him until he lost control. It was beautiful and thrilling for me to have him thrashing and contorting uncontrollably underneath me, completely overtaken by the orgasm that I gave him.

Two sides of me had gradually developed: one side that loves to be ravished by my man and another side that loves to do the ravishing. The problem with my new-found assertiveness was that I felt more and more entitled to my secret fantasy life where I was having more soulful, edgier and kinkier sex with Jackson. And that just left me feeling more and more guilty.

As guilty as I may have felt, I couldn't stop my mind from continuously drifting back to that time with Jackson and wishing that I could capture those feelings again. My rational mind knew that the intensity of the interaction I had with Jackson was at least partially dictated by the fact that all the passion, respect and admiration we felt for each other had to be expressed in a concentrated 36-hour window. I knew that in spending a life with someone you just don't maintain that level of intensity. At least that's what I told myself. Armed with that knowledge I wasn't tempted to break up my marriage and go looking for Jackson. I resolved that it was okay to have a secret fantasy life, I just needed to feed her hunger enough to keep me from doing something stupid that could wreck my relationship and hurt Brian.

By the third year of our marriage, I began reading erotica in the bath tub in the evenings and using that time to feed that hunger. I searched for romantic stories that had any hint of my secret desires. Stories of forbidden love that eventually boiled over into an intense fire also were favorites. By far, I received the most pleasure from stories where couples break through their mental taboos and include some foreplay that involves a little butt play preceding the actual sex. Invariably those stories made me cum the hardest. I felt like a teenage girl again, using the shower hose to spray against my clit until I came, thrashing about in the bath water.

My only problem with the stories that had a little anal foreplay was that they often progressed to full anal sex. I skipped those sections because they just didn't appeal to me. A finger or a tongue felt nice back there but I couldn't imagine Brian or especially Jackson putting his whole cock in my tiny orifice. That would surely hurt. I also couldn't imagine ever being clean enough given how much deeper a penis would be in me. I just couldn't imagine getting his cock all the way in me without making a dirty mess.

One day having lunch with a gay male friend my curiosity got the best of me as to how they dealt with those issues and I asked him about the cleanliness and the pain. He gave me a sly look that made me turn beat-red. I protested, insisting that my curiosity was nothing more than random. He just grunted. He knew I was lying.

"Orkideh, I've known you for years. The woman I used to know would have been squeamish at such thoughts," he insisted, his eyes piercing mine, trying to discern my true feelings. I continued my protests but he was not convinced.

"The look in your eyes says it all, girlfriend! If I didn't know any better I would swear that you are having your own personal 'behind the green door' moment, Orkideh" he said to me. I didn't get the reference.

"'Behind the Green Door' is this famous adult film from the 1970s about a woman who comes out of her shell and totally loses herself in debauchery," he laughed. I punched him in his arm feigning anger but my blushing gave me away. He teased me for a little while but finally gave me the details. He explained to me the different and extensive preparation that clean anal sex requires. He also explained how one needed plenty of lube combined with slow gradual stretching to lead up to the size of a fully hard penis in order to avoid any pain or discomfort. He then confided in me how some people get off on the pain but I stopped him before he could go any further. I just needed to satisfy my curiosity as to whether it was possible to do it cleanly and pain-free.

I still wasn't quite convinced that I wanted to try it, though. I know men have a prostate so it can feel good to them, good enough to ignore those other issues, but I couldn't understand how a girl could get any pleasure out of it. Those doubts began to change when I started reading more stories with anal foreplay authored by women. As women explained the psychological thrill they got from being so naughty, the physical pleasure they got from being so full, and the emotional pleasure they received from the greater intensity of anal sex, the mental blocks I had against it started to crack.

I started masturbating to all manner of anal stories and I had a visceral flashback to my time on the plane watching movies with Jackson, and seeing the titles of the adult films interspersed with all the other movies he had on his computer, all with anal themes. I suddenly felt like I understood him better, understood the passion he was trying to achieve with me when he started cleaning my dirty little hole in the shower and then when he tried to stick his tongue in there while he was eating my pussy. I also remembered the last time we had sex in the airport and how desperately I wanted his fingers in me back there but was too afraid to voice the desire.

I yearned to be back in that hotel with him again, to give into those desires and to achieve that intensity so I could at least have experienced it one time in my life. After a while, that became the only fantasy that could get me off. I lay in the bathtub every night dreaming that I never made him stop, that after licking me back there Jackson had pinned me to the bed face down with my but raised in the air then slid his cock into my forbidden hole by "accident." Only I never stop him. In the fantasy his breath is hot and ragged in my ear sending tingles down my spine as he fucks me hard and deep, groaning at how tight my hole feels. He demands I tell him how much I love it, too, how I wanted it, and he gets off on making me ask for it. Nothing made me cum harder and nothing made me feel guiltier, because in my entire upbringing only filthy whores did the kind of things I was dreaming about.

On one occasion, when the desires flared up in me to the point where I was desperate for release, I got out of the tub and practically ran naked through our house looking for Brian. I found him in our study and fucked him senseless while he sat in his chair, a bit out of guilt but also because I needed to be filled as my fingers just did not satisfy me that day.

Soon I began to invite Brian into more of my showers, urging him to wash my back hoping that he would go lower on his own. He never did and I knew it was partly my fault. When we first got together he had learned of the taboo nature of anything sexually related to anuses in my culture and my own revulsion at anal play. To be fair, how could he then realize how much I wanted him to play with me back there?

He always started out demanding to wash my breasts and he would get rock hard after playing with my nipples, letting them run between his soapy fingers and taking the time to tweak and twist each one. He loved the look of my breasts when they were all soapy and I knew it made him think of cumming on my chest which he craved more than anything. Usually on days when we shared a shower like this he would fuck me afterwards until I came and then pull out to cum all over my chest. Then he would rub his cum into my skin while he kissed me, leaving my breasts shiny and sticky.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 05



When I would ask him to wash my back I began wiggling my ass back against his erection, moaning as his hands went lower. But inevitably he would always stop. One day I got up my courage and moaned to him to go lower and wash me completely. I finally got his fingers in the cleft between my cheeks but still he never attempted to push inside to wash my tiny hole.

One Saturday morning after he had spent time working my nipples and getting me all excited with his erection pressing into my back I whispered to him that he should wash me thoroughly, inside and out. He took the hint and did it as I leaned against the shower wall with my eyes closed, almost cumming from the long neglected stimulation. It was all I could do to not start rubbing my pussy and let my fingers dance over my clit while he cleaned me. I needed to know his reaction first, if this was turning him on. He stopped and I turned to thank him for his gentle care of my body and pushed myself into his arms. The throbbing erection he had a second ago from washing my breasts had depleted. My mood went from sexy to feeling dirty, and not in a good way. My heart sank.

I never asked him to do it again. I couldn't enjoy it if it didn't turn him on as well. I appreciated him being a willing lover but I knew that the only way our expanded love play was going to work was if I got him to take the same pleasure out of doing things to my ass as I did in having them done. For a while I wondered if I had become some kind of sick pervert. After all, why should any rational person enjoy sticking their finger or their tongue in someone's anus? In the end, it didn't matter. I had a thirst that wouldn't go away and it wasn't going to be quenched at home. The battle was on to see if I could live the rest of my life without ever getting that hunger fulfilled.

I lost that battle on my 35th birthday in the third year of our marriage. It should have been a beautiful day. I had just completed a successful third year review with my department chair who proudly told me that I was on a good pace to receive tenure. But Brian and I were fighting because he really wanted to start a family and I was starting to think that I didn't want to have kids. Perhaps I would adopt one day, but I really wasn't feeling like making the total life transformation that brining children into the world requires -- at least not yet. There was something in me just not ready to give up my current life just yet and make the transition.

There was a broader context to this fight. Back in Iran, the government was trying to reverse the trend of declining birth rates and had decided that the best way to do so was to ban women from studying certain subjects in university. Around sixty percent of students in Iranian universities are women, due to how well women typically perform on the national college entrance exam. The government felt that by banning women from majoring in things like engineering and accounting that they would be less career focused and have more babies starting earlier in their lives. In all, women were banned from over seventy majors. It had made me so angry that I became even more insistent that I did not want to give my life over and put my scholarship on hold to start making babies.

On top of the fight I had with Brian, I received a letter from the Iranian embassy that day. Word of my dissertation's publication into a book had reached the Irani government. Since the war had broken out with Israel and the United States, our government had become even more intolerant of dissidents, if that was even possible. The Western aggression had, as predicted, strengthened the political standing of Ahmadinejad and increased the appeal of Islamic fundamentalism. The war had brought to pass everything we had been struggling against in the Green Movement.

It had put myself and others like me in an impossible position. I was living comfortably in the U.S. after completing my Ph.D. at an American university, but I was angry at the false accusations made by the U.S. of an Iranian nuclear weapons program that helped start the war and angry at my own government for how it had treated those of us who wanted to achieve change without fighting, without violence, without war. Now that my dissertation research, (which offered a critique of Islamic fundamentalism as a response to Western neo-colonialism), was published into a book in both English and Farsi, the Iranian government was trying to do everything it could to retaliate.

The letter warned me that there would be consequences for any Iranians who worked with me and also notified me that my permission to travel back to Iran had been suspended permanently. This I found pretty devastating, as a part of me had always hoped that since the Iranian government had gotten the war it wanted that their anger with me would blow over, and I may someday get to travel back there. My exile meant that the place where I grew up was now completely lost to me. I hated the Iranian government but I loved the friends and family that I left behind. The thought that I may never get to see some of them ever again just crushed me.

I also received the news that one of my dearest friends and a fellow poet back in Tehran had committed suicide in protest of his living conditions. He had been under house arrest and banned from writing publically or teaching in the university for the past five years, and finally he had just had enough. He had been a supporter of the Green movement and a dear mentor to me. The government had not outright killed him because he was so well known and well liked, but living in isolation had got to him over the years.

Trying to process all that had happened to me that day, tears ran down my cheeks as I sped home to meet Brian for my birthday dinner that he was planning. I was so lost in my thoughts that it took me a minute before I noticed something in my rear view mirror.

"Bloody fucking hell!" I yelled upon seeing the flashing red and blue lights behind me. I pulled over, continuing to curse under my breath. My heart was racing. Illinois had become a "proof of citizenship" state, meaning that the police were cross deputized as immigration enforcement. The officer took my license and read my name, fumbling the pronunciation. I tried to correct him, and that seemed to just make him angry at me. He asked if I had proof of citizenship and I pulled out my green card and handed it to him. When he saw that my nationality was Iranian, his attitude took a further turn for the worse. Ultimately he decided to write me two tickets: one for speeding and one for an expired inspection sticker. I was pissed off!

I called Brian to let him know that I was going to be late and told him how pissed I was at what happened. He explained that the second ticket I could get dismissed if I showed the court proof that I got an inspection. But for me, that wasn't the point. I was angry because it was an instance where a person has discretion as to how they will treat you, and the officer chose to try to screw me over as much as he could and I knew it was because I was Iranian. Brian sounded sympathetic but he didn't get my anger. As I hung up the phone I had a powerful flashback to a conversation I had almost four years ago with someone who would perfectly understand my anger and frustration.

I didn't even think it through when it happened. For the past four years I had often been tempted to call his number but I never did. I often told myself that I should delete his phone number just to avoid temptation but I could never bring myself to do it. That day, sitting on the side of the road after receiving two citations, I scrolled through my address book to find Jackson's name. I typed "miss you so much right now" into my phone then hit send.

I didn't even know if the number was still valid. I knew he had likely moved on yet my heart was racing nevertheless. When I didn't get an immediate response I figured that the number was probably no longer good or that he was probably married and living his life and really didn't want to be bothered. I told myself that I was relieved not to have started something that could only turn into a mess but honestly my heart sank not to hear back from him.

I went to dinner with Brian but my mood was really low. When I told him the other things that had happened he just took a minute to hold me. That night he made gentle love to me, our fight put behind us -- at least for the time being. I went to bed that evening with a weird mix of emotions -- grateful for Brian, depressed about my country, sad about the loss of my friend, and heartbroken that my Jackson was truly gone. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, and thought about all the things that had brought me to this day.

When I woke up the next morning I went to call my parents. It was just their bed time in Malaysia, and I needed a good cry with my mother. I went to where the phone was charging on the dresser and saw it blinking with a message. My heart stopped as I punched in my password and read it.

"Thought about u every day for past 4 years. Never thought I'd hear from you again. Couldn't stop shaking since I got your txt. Sorry I couldn't respond right away. U ok?"

-------------- Jackson ------------

For the first six months after we left each other in New York, I thought about Orkideh every minute of every day. I found her poetry online and downloaded all of it, even the poems in Farsi, and read one of them every day as a way of trying to be close to her and be in her head. Something in my heart always knew that the love we shared was too powerful for her never to come back to me. It took me two years to figure out I was wrong; two years to fully open my heart to another human being; two years to trust love again.

I came to that realization quite by accident. As it turned out, Orkideh and I have a friend in common, a woman who is also an anthropologist. One day while looking at this friend's facebook page I noticed that she had posted new pictures of herself with a group of other friends all dressed up. I began scrolling through the pictures to see that they were at a wedding. My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat as I realized that it wasn't just any wedding, but Orkideh's wedding. I didn't even know that they knew each other so I was doubly surprised. I shouldn't have been given how small the academy is -- probably less than three degrees of separation between any two of us. The pictures of Orkideh were absolutely beautiful. More disturbing for me was how happy she appeared exchanging vows with Brian, the man she had chosen over me. It looked to be a small wedding but a joyous one.

That day a small part of me died. In its place, something else was reborn. A new will to move on with my life and cherish our short time together but let it go. I continued to think about her all the time but it wasn't with the longing and expectation that once consumed me. Eventually I met Aisha, who turned out to be really special. We dated for two years and then got engaged.

Hearing from Orkideh caused me to go through some serious soul searching. We made plans to talk on the phone on a day where we could both find some private time on our calendars. I think we were both nervous -- I certainly was. My hands were sweating and shaking as I found her name in my phone and hit the talk button.

Hearing her voice for the first time in four years brought all my memories of our two days together flooding back into my mind. My emotions overtook me and I couldn't help but get aroused reliving the intimacies we shared. Orkideh seemed to feel the same way. We talked for two hours catching up with what had taken place in our lives since we left each other in the New York airport.

"It was harder to say goodbye to you than I thought it would be," I told her, "a lot harder." Admitting that broke the tension and signaled that the time for small talk was over. Catching up was nice but we needed to deal with our emotions that were still there and obviously still intense. Before we could get into it, however, she announced that Brian had just pulled up in their driveway and that we would have to continue the conversation later. I hung up the phone frustrated.

Late that night at around 2:30 AM I couldn't sleep. I snuck out of bed laying next to Aisha and gingerly tiptoed up to our upstairs closet to retrieve an office box labeled "files," tucked away in the very back. I took off the lid and lifted out the stacks of random papers that filled most of the box. At the very bottom I located a manila envelope that had "GREEN" written on it. I put the envelope aside, tucked the other papers back into the box and returned the box to the closet. I grabbed the manila envelope and headed into the upstairs bathroom and locked the door.

Inside I pulled out all of Orkideh's poems, the pictures I took of her getting dressed in the airport after we had sex for the last time, and the pair of her tiny green lacy panties that I kept from that occasion. I kept them in a small ziplock bag though they had long ago lost her scent. For the whole first year after we met, I would spread out her pictures before me and masturbate with her panties pressed into my face. Smelling her always got me off. Once I decided to move on, I put all my Orkideh memories in that envelope and tried to tuck them away. Once I had decided to marry Aisha I should have gotten rid of them but I just couldn't -- that was never an option.

We began talking on the phone once-a-week, laughing, catching up, lightly flirting, but never breaching the subject of taking it further. In hindsight, I think learning that I was engaged caused Orkideh to struggle with what she truly wanted. One day she finally blurted out that she wanted to see me. I was tempted but by the end of the conversation I made it clear -- I was happy in my new life and I did not want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Aisha. I could hear the excitement drop in her voice as I explained my intentions to uphold my commitments.

It was not an easy decision but I was nevertheless proud of myself for my strength. However for the next two weeks after our conversation my life nearly turned upside down. I couldn't stop thinking about Orkideh and it started affecting my sleep. If my waking mind was strong, my sleeping mind was weak. The memory of Orkideh invaded my consciousness nightly. I was strong enough to practice fidelity during the day but in my dreams I was a serial adulterer. I'd toss and turn all night and when I did manage to sleep I'd wake up aching with need for her.

Aisha got the best of it. Never before was I one to wake her up in the middle of the night for sex but suddenly I was doing just that every night. It never satisfied that hunger in me, though. On the contrary, it just made me feel guilty, making love to her while dreaming of Orkideh. Something had to give.

After three weeks of this it occurred to me that I had settled for less than true love in binding my life with Aisha's. I remembered the conversation I had with Orkideh when she was feeling guilty after we made love for the first time. After another week of soul searching, I picked up the phone.

"I'm thinking of doing something that I shouldn't," I said to her. She was silent, waiting to hear what I had to say. "It can only happen once, Orkideh, just once. After that, 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," I continued.

"Of course I understand," she said, excitement creeping into her voice.

"I'm getting married in June so after we see each other we won't revisit this and I need you to not speak of it again. Can you promise me that?" It was de ja vu all over again.

"Yes, my love," she answered simply. We began to discuss a strategy for seeing each other and finding a date.

----------------- Orkideh --------------

Our only question was when and how. I had an idea, however. My family was planning for us to all get together in Montreal for my sister's wedding and to celebrate the Iranian New Year on the Persian calendar, what we call "NowRuz." As a little girl, some of my best memories were of our extended family gatherings every year for NowRuz. The Persian New Year occurs on the first day of spring, early morning on March 20th in Iran and late night on March 19th in the US. But since my sister was planning her wedding for late April, we decided to combine the two celebrations.

It had been 8 years since we were last able to be together as a family for NowRuz and I cried every year only participating by phone from thousands of miles away from everyone else. This NowRuz was especially critical for us to spend as a family because since the war had broken out all of our lives had become engulfed in turmoil. Because I had family in Montreal the Canadian government was easier to deal with in terms of getting a visa. We planned for everyone to converge on Montreal for two weeks. I couldn't wait to see everyone again.

My sister asked me to come a week early to help her with her last minute wedding plans. I told Brian that my sister needed me two weeks early -- it was the least untruthful story I could com up with. I asked Jackson if he could meet me there so we could spend that extra week together. He agreed, and his excuse was that he needed to go to Montreal for a conference. Since I knew the city, I told him that I would take care of the hotel reservations, making sure to find a place on the other side of the city from my sister's house. With our plans all set, the only problem was that it was only February. I feared that I may lose my nerve before April, that guilt may get the best of me. I feared I couldn't wait that long even more.

When late April finally arrived I was a bundle of nerves, simultaneously giddy with excitement and sick with shame. I reasoned that it was just one week, one week for myself in exchange for a lifetime dedicated to another. I didn't for a second believe that made what I was doing alright, but it was what I could live with.

According to our plan, I arrived in Montreal a day before Jackson to secure our hotel room and do some of my own personal preparations. I treated myself to a manicure and a pedicure, then visited a hairstylist. I wanted to look and feel my best. The impulsive urge also came over me to do something I never do: wax. I'm not particularly hirsute and I don't like the prepubescent look so didn't want to remove all my hair down there. I nervously told the woman to just remove the hair from around my labia and the hair just below that, lying to the woman about the latter and telling her that it was merely for the sake of appearance. In truth I was relishing the still vivid memory of the fiery sensation that his fingers, lips and other appendages brought to my skin down there. I wanted to experience all those sensations again, with nothing between his skin and mine.

I met Jackson in the airport the next day wearing a hijab and big dark sunglasses. I was trying to be as disguised as possible lest any of my other family members were arriving early as well. Plus, my sisters had so many friends here and we looked so much alike, I couldn't take the chance that anyone could even think that they recognized me. So nervous was I that I was sure the people standing next to me could hear my heart palpitations thundering through my chest. My stomach was growling too as I was far too nervous to eat anything that morning.

When I saw him emerge out of the crowd walking toward the baggage claim area where a group of us were waiting, my breath caught in my chest. His piercing gaze scanned the area and when he zeroed in on my form he made a beeline for me with a hungry look in his eyes. He tried to kiss me and I had to put my hand on his chest to stop him.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 05



"You can't kiss me here in the airport," I whispered, trying to contain my own excitement and fight the urge to bury my face in his neck so I could taste and smell him there. "I have family in the city, more family flying in, and friends of family here, too. Plus, I look a lot like my sister. Someone may think they recognize me thinking that I am her."

He looked at me like I was crazy for telling him he couldn't touch me after all this time, coming all this way. And then there it was: that feral hunger in his eyes that I had missed so much. His tongue came out to lick his full lips and for a moment I feared that he would rip my clothes off and devour me right there in front of everyone in the airport. I felt my sex clench just at the thought. After four years the chemistry between us was still electric. One look from him and moisture was already forming between my legs.

He followed me to the elevator and we waited patiently, discretely holding hands among the crowd also waiting for the lift. When it arrived and the door opened he pulled me back, letting everyone else go ahead. He pushed the button again. When the second elevator arrived we were alone and he quickly rushed me inside. Jackson punched at the "close door" button frantically, anxious for the doors to close before someone else could join us. As soon as they did, we had a thirty second ride to the lower baggage claim level. When the doors opened again I was out of breath, panting with my makeup smeared all over my face.

His mouth slammed into mine and bent my head backwards as his tongue invaded my lips. He pinned my arm behind me so I couldn't push him away, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was not going to be denied my kiss or my taste. We both moaned as our meshed lips began to rediscover one another. I sucked his full and pillowy bottom lip between my teeth and chewed on it as my hunger grew. His tongue invaded my mouth first but only by a split second. My own appendage played urgently in his mouth, sliding sensually against his. I forgot about my caution and sucked at him, hungry for the taste of his saliva in my mouth.

"God, I've missed you," he growled into my ear as he inhaled deeply while sucking my neck. The rush of his exhale blowing into my scalp sent chills down my spine. Then his lips were attacking mine again as I felt his growing erection press into my stomach. My body's reaction to his stiffening shaft was immediate and my nipples reacted in kind as the dampness spread between my legs. I threw my weight against him to feel his hardness press into me even further.

When the elevator slowed to a stop Jackson pulled away from me just as suddenly as he had pounced on me a minute ago. The doors opened and there was a family of five standing there, waiting with two carts full of luggage to lift upstairs. If I was cooler I would have played like nothing was happening. But in my mind they knew from the guilty look on my face that I had just been making out and dry humping a split second ago. I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I grabbed Jackson's hand and ran out of there, unable to look any of them in the eye. Jackson was chuckling behind me, all the way to the parking lot.

I rented a car for our weekend together. During the ride to our hotel I would not let him touch me, not wanting to take any chances as to who might spot us.

"You're killing me!" he complained, "not letting me touch you, not letting me taste you."

I thought about for a moment then a wicked grin broke out across my face. I decided to tease him, knowing that I'd more than make up for it back at the hotel. I lifted the hem of my dress and spread my legs a bit. Jackson reached for me instantly and I slapped his hand away.

"You can look but don't touch," I scolded him.

"You fucking tease" he hissed at me but he was smiling, enjoying our little game. And look he did. I tried not to blush as his eyes drank me in and undressed me. I glanced down to see the view he was getting and almost died of embarrassment. I tried to clamp my thighs shut to conceal the wet spot breaking out over my red lace panties but a strong hand on my knee held my thighs firmly apart. Then I heard a rush of air going into his lungs. He groaned at the puissant aroma wafting up from my lap and permeating the small sedan. I smelled myself and got even wetter.

Seeing as I wasn't going to relent and let him touch me, Jackson took hold of my free hand and sat back in his seat, breathing deeply through his nose. With each breath his erection bobbed in his slacks, heavy with the promise of what he would do to me the second our hotel room door closed behind us.

The tension was so thick it was like we couldn't even talk. There were a million things I wanted to catch up with him about but every time I opened my mouth it seemed like all I could do was drool over how bad I wanted to be kissing him. We hadn't just missed physical intimacy with each other. We had missed our deep conversations and I had especially missed his sense of humor. But I found it hard to center my thoughts on those aspects of our relationship because my mind kept distracting to how much I also missed his smell, the taste of his skin, the taste of his sweat. It was like we were paralyzed to act on all the different ways we missed each other until some of the physical tension was released.

When we finally got to our hotel room our clothes came off immediately. Our tongues dueled while we clawed at each other's clothing. Finally naked, Jackson wasted no time on preliminaries. He pushed me onto my back on the king-size bed, grabbed hold of my ankles and then pinned them behind my head as he slammed his full length into me. The force of his initial plunge took my breath away even though I was so wet he slid into me without discomfort. His thrusts were raw, almost brutal as he worked out four years of frustration in me. I pushed my pelvis up to meat him, letting him know the frustration was mutual. My treacherous sex oozed its gratitude at finally consummating the adulterous act that had possessed my mind and body for so long, filling the room with a juicy chorus of sin.

We never changed positions and his thrusts never slowed, only became more powerful as our intensity increased. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead before rolling down his nose and landing on my face. I flinched initially then opened my mouth to catch the next one on my tongue, hungry to savor all parts of him before the weekend was over.

Watching me, a lascivious look came over his face as Jackson's own hunger got the best of him. In a flash his shaft was out of me, replaced by his face buried in my sex. He pulled up just as quickly and slammed back into me, his entire visage now slick with my arousal. I locked my fingers behind his head to pull his face down to me. My nose crinkled as the smell hit me. His entire face reeked of me. Instinctively I licked it clean. I felt his excitement surge inside me at the kinkiness of my act and just as suddenly he was out of me again. I thought he was going back for another taste but instead I soon felt a slimy slab of rigid flesh land across my face. His direction was unmistakably clear without uttering a word. I complied with his command greedily.

Before I could fully satiate my own hunger he just as quickly pulled himself from my mouth. I groaned my disapproval only to hear him give a sinister chuckle, soon muffled by my other lips as his tongue snaked deep into me. On like this we continued, licking, fucking, tasting, baptizing each other in sexual fluids.

-------------- Jackson ---------------

I was nearing the point of no return when I finally saw it: that slight grimace of pain that interrupted Orkideh's look of ecstasy every time I bottomed out in her pussy. I could feel it at my tip -- that point where my dick reached the back of her sex yet continued forward into painful territory. I don't know what came over me. Instead of slowing down or decreasing the force behind my thrusts, I let go of her ankles to let them dangle over my shoulders and cradled her head into my chest, then I slammed my hips into her with all the force I could muster. She screamed in my ear and I couldn't say whether it was from pleasure or pain or a mixture of both.

If I could have felt them, her nails digging into my back would have told me the answer. It didn't matter. As my ears took in the music of her screams, I fucked her with all my being, lost in the snug warmth of her body, until I flooded her passage with my seed in a vain attempt to mark it as my own.

It was only once my senses finally returned to me that I felt Orkideh trembling in my arms and gasping for breath with her face pushed tightly into my chest. I released my iron grip on her and allowed her legs to fall by her side. I knew I had hurt her but I struggled to find the appropriate words to express how I felt about it. I wasn't exactly sorry but I couldn't figure out why.

"Are you OK?" I finally asked. She nodded affirmatively, though she couldn't look at me.

"Did I hurt you?" I whispered softly. She shook her head at first then nodded in honesty. Her arms came up to hug herself about the shoulders, her body was still shaking slightly.

"Did I scare you?" I asked more seriously, moving her hair out of her face. Again I got an initial denial followed by an eventual affirmation. I looked down at her body to check for physical signs of what I had done and that's when I saw it. For both of us our entire pelvis regions were soaked. It wasn't sweat, it wasn't saliva, and it wasn't my cum splattering out of her. That's when I realized that she wasn't just shaking from pain or fear -- she was trembling because of how hard she came. I immediately pulled her back into my arms to rain soft kisses all over her face.

Orkideh reached to caress my face and then gasped in horror. I was perplexed until she turned her hand around to show me what had shocked her. The tips of her fingers were bloody, scrapes of dead skin underneath each fingernail. My blood, my skin. My back was still stinging and at that point I realized that she had given me more than just surface scratches. Orkideh didn't apologize either -- she simply took each bloody fingertip into her mouth and licked it clean. We shared another kiss, laced with the tint of iron.

As we lay we tried to make sense out of what had happened. Was my purposeful infliction of pain a reflection of my resentment toward her for choosing Brian over me? Did she desire the pain to punish herself for the guilt she was feeling? I moved down on the bed to lightly kiss the abused petals of her tender sex, gently licking up the mess we made. Soon we were like two big cats, licking each clean after sharing a kill. Only then after the tension release were we able to start a normal conversation. It was like we had picked up right where we left off four years ago.

-------------- Orkideh ----------------

Over the next four hours we talked and laughed and made love, then talked and laughed and made love some more. We reacquainted ourselves with each other's bodies, rebuilding trust. As we talked I kept rubbing my face in his neck or in his chest as he smelled my hair, I had just missed so much the feel of his body pressed into mine. He was built so differently from Brian -- more muscular in his thighs and in his backside, and the hairs on his body were coarser than Brian's. When he wrapped his legs and arms around me I loved the feel of those coarse hairs and hard muscles pressed into my soft skin. My body craved that feeling as I clung to him, like a favorite dish your mom used to make when you were a child. It made me tingle all over.

We fell asleep then woke up tangled in each other's limbs and talked about what I had been through that led me back to him. As it turned out, Jackson and I were struggling through similar feelings: genuinely loving our respective partners while trying to suppress a nagging ache from deep within that felt like something was missing.

Our growling stomachs dictated when it was finally time for us to get up. We showered together, reliving the memory of our first encounter. This time, however, I turned around and eagerly offered my ass for him to clean. He looked me up and down, marveling at the transformation that had taken place in me. The woman who was scared to let him touch me there four years ago was now bent over and offering this forbidden act of intimacy without hesitation.

Bastard that he is, he teased me and didn't go directly to quench the desperate hunger I had for his touch back there. Instead he began washing my shoulders and working his way down my back. By the time his hands were right above my rear I was up on the tips of my toes with my back arched, trying to get his fingers to go lower.

When his soapy digits finally breached my cleft I moaned in appreciation, my eyes closed, mouth agape, head leaning against the shower wall. With no shame I arched my back even more and spread my legs a bit to give him fuller access to me. His own desire got the best of him and I finally felt his index and middle fingers began to play around my forbidden orifice, rubbing soap into the tiny wrinkles surrounding the hole. My hips began to push back against him and he finally ended my torture when his middle finger slid into me. I sighed with relief.

I felt even better when I felt the searing heat of his erection press into my side as he took a step closer to me. He had just cum twice already -- there was no logical reason in the world for him to be that hard again so soon. I reached for it, groaning as I wrapped my fingers around his girth. A groan from his own lips resonated in my ear before I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder blade, his tongue soothing my skin between bites. I couldn't help but think back to Brian and how touching me back there had failed to excite him. I should have been overcome with guilt but instead all I felt was raw lust. But then again, it wasn't just lust. A huge part of me felt like I was where I belonged. My secret self, the part of me that I had kept hidden from the rest of the world all my life, finally felt at home.

Hunger and sore pussy be damned, I needed him back inside me. We rushed from the shower without bothering to dry off. Though aching with need, the nervous look on my face conveyed to Jackson that I need to take baby steps. Like always, Jackson seemed to understand my needs without me voicing them. He took me doggy style while his strong hands held my cheeks lewdly apart. Though I couldn't see it, I felt his intense gaze centered on the tiny aperture above my pussy, making it tingle and twitch in nervous anticipation.

I heard a slight slurping sound after one of his hands relinquished its iron grip on my left butt cheek. In a spit second the hand had returned, only now with one moistened digit dancing around my little pucker -- teasing, prodding, before finally demanding entrance. By my body's reaction Jackson had a clear indication of just how I felt about his thumb sliding up into my ass while he fucked me. The obscene sounds of his cock sloshing around in my sodden pussy made it obvious.

His thumb was much thicker than the middle finger he used on me in the shower, and my body took a moment to adjust to the increased girth. No sooner than it did, his hand was gone again, leaving my hungry little hole achingly empty. I whimpered in protest. A sharp intake of breath stunned me silent, as my ears tried to confirm what I was hearing. Another sharp intake of breath, this time followed by a low groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. He wasn't, was he? My face buried in the blankets, I was too afraid to look back.

More slurping sounds, this time louder, more frenzied than the last. My heart skipped a beat. Surely he was preparing a new finger to slide into me. He wouldn't possibly... would he?

I babbled indecipherable gibberish when I got my answer a second later, as the same thumb from the same hand slid back into my ass -- wetter than it was when it had left me last. My left brain was disgusted. No one would have ever known it though, because my right brain was on fire and sent urgent messages to my pussy to relinquish more of my juices.

I got so wet that Jackson's ferocious strokes were losing all their good friction. The harder he fucked me the wetter I got. He had a perfect rhythm going: slamming into my pussy while pulling his thumb out then forcing his thumb back in when he withdrew from my pussy. I felt a second set of hands come to my backside to hold my cheeks spread open for him and realized they were my own. This allowed him to concentrate on fingering me and to also get a better grip on my hip so he could fuck me harder. My pussy flooded with joy.

At one point I got so wet that Jackson withdrew from me and forcefully turned me around to face him. Then he took his dick and used it like a butter knife to spread my creamy slime all over my face. He never let me suck him, though, and again I whimpered my discontent. Just as suddenly he spun me around like a rag doll and started fucking me again.

I lost it and came all over him not two seconds after his pudgy digit and thick cock found their way back into my holes. He rode me through my orgasm, his loud grunts joining my screams as my body convulsed beneath him. I thought he was cumming with me but no sooner than I felt my orgasm begin to subside than he was spinning me around again before spearing through my lips.

He exploded in my mouth, yelling my name and bucking wildly into my throat. His legs gave out and he came toppling down on top of me. I hung on for dear life as his spurts continued, determined not to lose one drop, drawing blood with my fingernails dug into the firm cheeks of his ass. When my head hit the bed his hips came crashing down into my face, forcing his cock to slam down into my throat as his wiry pubes smothered me in the pungent smell of our union.

Worried that he was hurting me he tried to roll to the side but I held him in place. He lifted up on extended forearms and I knew he was looking down at me with my forehead pressed into his taught abs. I struggled to suppress my gag reflex while tears streamed down my face but I was determined not to lose that battle. I swallowed continuously, giving the head of his dick a nice throat massage in the process. I eased my grip on him when I finally needed to breathe. He raised his hips until just the tip of his now softening flesh was between my lips, dripping the last drops of his climax onto my tongue. He watched me take a lung-full of air through my nostrils, twitching happily at being filled with his raw male musk. I guess that triggered something as I was caught off guard when his hips slammed back down, smothering my face and filling my throat again.

Soon his hips started an involuntary rhythm and he was face-fucking me. He could tell from my reaction that I loved every second of it. Miraculously he started getting hard again but it became more difficult for him to slide comfortably into my throat and for a second I feared that he really might hurt me. Then, without taking his cock out of my mouth he turned around to face the other direction. We were suddenly locked in a 69 with his face buried back in my sodden pussy. Before I knew it I was being throat fucked again.

In that position the entry was easier but it was harder to breathe as his low hanging balls slapped me in the face and smothered my nose, blocking my nostrils. But Jackson was oblivious to my predicament, lost in the intensity of it all. I was so turned on by the passion with which he was taking my body that it didn't matter. His tongue and lips worked wonders on my clit. My pussy gushed while I slammed my hips up into his face, fucking his mouth while he fucked mine.




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 05



Three fingers found their way into me as his tongue ravished my clit: two in my pussy and one in my ass. My continually leaking sex and groans of pleasure let him know that I approved. My body's reaction lent fuel to his own lust and his oral assault intensified. I was choking, gagging, and struggling to breathe as his pubes came crashing down into my chin at a dizzying pace. It was rude, dangerous, and totally oblivious to my discomfort, safety or wellbeing. So why was I cumming so hard?

Convulsions wracked my body and my pussy flooded his mouth as I started in a death roll. My orgasm drove him over the edge, and suddenly his hips slammed his dick all the way down my throat and held it there as his entire weight crashed down into my body. I felt his shaft swell and expand just before it exploded in my throat. My breathing was totally cut off because his balls were pressed down tightly over my nose and my face. I panicked further, shocked at how my fright and asphyxiation only seemed to intensify my orgasm. Struggling beneath him in the most strange mix of fear and excitement, my legs kicked out and wrapped around his head, bringing him deeper into my pussy as I exploded all over his face.

When our orgasms had finally subsided, Jackson lifted himself up off me and slowly drew his dripping and totally spent manhood from my throat. I marveled that I survived the ordeal. Despite being frightened and in desperate need to fill my lungs, my lips were still reluctant to release him. An audible wet 'plop' reverberated through the room when he finally pulled free, accompanied by our heavy breathing. When he crashed down on the bed facing me a second later he was also breathing laboriously and I realized I had cut his air off as well. We said not a word: he simply engulfed me in his arms and kissed my forehead as we both tried to catch our breath.

--------------- Jackson -----------------

We were really starving by that point. Orkideh had made reservations at this small French bistro with two dinner seatings, one at 6 pm and one at 9. It was within walking distance of our hotel and we had just enough time to get dressed and head over to make it for the final meal. "We smell like sex," Orkideh protested as we stood up from the bed. She inched closer for a kiss with her nostrils flaring. "And your face positively reeks of me," she continued. "We should wash up again before we go."

"Not a chance," I told her, inhaling deeply. "I love being able to take a deep breath and just smell you."

"My god, Jackson," she said, pressing her hips into me and rubbing her face in the hairs of my chest, recognizing her own desires in me reflected back at her. "But everyone else will smell it, too. It's really strong all over your face. It's like you bathed in me."

"I want everyone to smell you all over me, to know exactly what we've been doing and exactly where my face has been buried, to know how completely I am yours and you are mine." She groaned indicating her internal conflict.

"Come on, Jackson," she pleaded. "I don't want to be obscene. And besides, it's just the smell of sex. If you are going to marry Aisha, I'm sure you get to smell her all the time." She was only half right.

"Orkideh," I said softly, tilting her face up to look into her eyes, "I had to go four years without you; without hearing your voice, without your kiss, without your smell, and without your taste. From the moment you sat down next to me on the plane all those years ago, your scent has intoxicated me. I saw the products you used -- I bought a bottle of your perfume, the moisturizers and the body lotions that you use, hoping to put them on a scarf or something and just have your scent. It didn't work, of course. There is something about your body's natural smell that I respond to like no other woman's. I don't know when we are going to have this opportunity again, so I'm going to relish every second of it."

"How did you become such a perverted bastard," she asked, moving up on the tips of her toes to kiss me.

"You just bring out the best in me," I smiled.

She didn't fight with me any more after that. We got dressed, our sexual tension still thick in the air but now tainted with a bit of sadness given that she had brought our real world lives, to which we would eventually have to return, into the discussion.

Orkideh put on a maroon skirt over some black, patterned leggings and black leather boots that came up to her knees. It was late spring -- almost summer in fact -- but the evening air in Montreal was still chilly, she explained, instructing me to dress accordingly. She had a black leather jacket to match. She looked delectable.

Just before we walked out of the hotel room I suddenly pushed her up against the wall and lifted her skirt. I got down on my knees before her and spread her legs.

"Jackson, what are you..."

"Shhh!" I cut her off. She wore a pair of lacy boy shorts that matched the color of her skirt. I pulled them down to her knees then studied her sparse hair down there for a moment as she wondered what I was about to do.

"We're going to be late,' she whispered.

"This will only take a second," I whispered back, determined to emphasize the point I made earlier. I used my thumbs to spread the lips of her sex that were slightly darker than the rest of her bronze skin. I exposed the pink inside, its wetness already coming out to greet me. Without any further warning I pressed my face into her, smelling her deeply, then I methodically wiped her juices across every inch of my visage. She hissed. When I was satiated I pulled her panties back up, adjusted her skirt and stood up.

"Now we're ready to go," I said.

"Such a kinky bastard," she sighed, trying to keep her balance on shaky knees. She was shaking her head in disapproval but the look in her eyes spoke of raw lust. For a second I thought she might decide that going to dinner wasn't so important after all. The moment was interrupted when both of our stomachs growled at the same time. We walked out the door with our laughter reverberating down the hallway.

--------------- end of chapter 5 ----------------



Behind the Green Veil Ch. 06



-------------- Orkideh -------------

Our hotel was not far from downtown Montreal near McGill University. I picked this location not because it was a happening area but because it was far away from my sister's neighborhood on the other side of the city. Jackson and I were walking downtown along Rue Sainte Catherine that is lined with shops and restaurants. 

It was a lovely spring day, bright and sunny with a slight breeze. I regretted that I couldn't dress appropriately for the weather. Instead, afraid of being recognized, I was covered from head to toe, complete with hijab and large sunglasses. Jackson was dressed casually in pressed jeans and a light turtleneck that hugged his broad shoulders and tight biceps perfectly. I had to stop myself from randomly pausing in the street to just kiss him. 

During our walk Jackson asked me about what had happened to the secret memo that had people chasing us and that put our lives in danger in New York. I filled him in on how all of us who had copies of the memo tried to devise a plan get it out and how news organizations refused to publish it because they couldn't find anyone to verify its authenticity. Then I also told him about our friend who had tried to send his copy of the memo and had disappeared, and how we all basically gave up, fearful for our lives and for our families' lives. 

"You guys were brave," he told me. "You did what you could."

"Then why have I felt like such a coward?" The question went unanswered. Jackson just squeezed my hand and kissed it as we continued walking, silently contemplating. "Isn't that the definition of cowardly?" I continued, "when you fail to do what is right because you are too preoccupied with protecting your own ass?"

"You guys didn't sit on the information, you tried to get it out but no one would listen."

"I didn't personally take the risk," I countered, "and expose my copy of the file. Even if the newspapers wouldn't publish it, I could have posted it online, tried other means to get the truth out."

"You know with all the information out there that just randomly posting it online would only have a very slim chance of making an impact, but it would have put you and your families' lives at risk."

"And that's exactly why I feel like a coward," I exclaimed, "because I was afraid to take a bigger risk. Plus, we all just got so demotivated. I think that's what makes me feel the worst. All the revolutions that gave us such hope during the Arab Spring were all either defeated or co-opted. They either remained puppet governments for Western interests or they were overrun by religious fanatics. It was the same folly that happened in Iran after the revolution from the Shah in 1979. I think that crushed me the most."

"Orkideh," he said, drawing my name out and stopping us on the sidewalk, "every cause worth fighting for needs people who are willing to dedicate their lives to it, perhaps give their lives. But just as important as having that commitment is knowing when you need to survive, to live to wage a smarter fight tomorrow, one that you might actually win."

We began walking again, in more silence as I contemplated what he said. His words were no doubt meant to make me feel less guilty, but I had to admit there was wisdom there. On the other hand, I knew all too well how easily the ethic of self preservation could freeze a person into inaction indefinitely. Iran was filled with those people and I had grown up with them all around me. It always seemed like cowardice to me and I detested it. But surely I didn't want to die in vain. How to strike a balance? 

At that moment we happened upon this cute little lingerie boutique called --. Jackson suggested that we go inside, sensing an opportunity to brighten our mood. I hesitated. 

"Let me treat you to some new sexy undies," he suggested as we stood in front of the store. He was being respectful of my need to remain discrete with our affection in public but the look in his eyes told me that he wanted to suck on my neck and tell me just what he would do to me back in the hotel while wearing some new lingerie.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I stammered. 

"Why not?"

"Do you really want to buy me something that I wear once or twice for you and then take home to wear for Br-... for someone else?" I asked, avoiding the mention of my husband's name. 

"I'm trying -- to think about that," he answered somberly, hurt clouding over his eyes. 

"Not that I would want to wear them for him," I tried to recover, "but it would look strange for me to return home with new sexy underwear that I never wore for him. They would be impossible for me to hide, and I sure wouldn't want to just throw them away after this weekend, good lingerie is too expensive." 

"Well," he pondered, "let me watch you try some on, then. Let me have that image to take with me. Let it be our foreplay for when we go back to the hotel afterward."

"As if we need it," I said softly. Truthfully, I was getting horny just at the thought of modeling for him. But I was also still hesitant -- extremely self-conscious about doing such a thing in a public place. In my head I could hear all my conservative uncles (and one or two of my older aunts!) back in Tehran railing against the negative influence that Western mores had on Islamic women. For them, such an act would definitely fall into the category of turning oneself into a whore. Almost immediately I felt a sense of shame come over me and I hated myself for still being so susceptible to their judgments even while 8,000 miles away. 

Jackson could see the conflicted turmoil on my face and rushed me into the store before I could change my mind. 

There were two women working in the store -- one younger who looked to be about 25, and an older woman who looked to be in her 40s and carried herself as if she were the manager or owner. Perhaps detecting my nervousness -- I suspect it was obvious from my dress -- the older woman gave her younger colleague a knowing look and came over to offer her assistance. 

This woman knew her craft. She was friendly yet spoke softly to me, aware of my fears about discretion. She introduced herself as Marie, and asked if we were looking for something specific or just browsing. Feeling comfortable, I took my hijab and sunglasses off and shook her hand. We explained that we were browsing. She briefly pointed out the different sections where we could find different kinds of panty and lingerie sets.

"Take your time and figure out what you like, what you may want to try on," Marie explained. "When you're ready, we have a private fitting area in the back and a 'hubby's couch' where he can wait comfortably until you are ready to show him what you're trying on." She said the latter part seeing the wedding bands on both of us, assuming that we were married. I wasn't about to correct her. 

"If you want to try on any corsets," Marie continued, "those can be a bit tricky at first and I can help show you. But take your time and enjoy yourselves, and just let me know if you have any questions." Seeing how her demeanor had put me at ease, she left us alone to explore. The fact that there were no other shoppers in the store also made me feel at ease. 

Jackson had an insatiable appetite to see me in all kinds of outfits, so it took us a while to gather everything I would to try on. He had impeccable taste in women's underwear, even though I found it hard to imagine ever wearing a corset or a bustier in my real life. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy wearing sexy bras and panties, it was just that the bustier and garters seemed a bit much. Nevertheless, I was getting turned on just watching Jackson's excitement grow from his anticipation. He was like a kid in a candy store, and I was the candy. 

When I was ready to try some things on, Marie led us back to the fitting rooms and pulled the curtain on the largest one for me. Jackson was about to follow me inside when Marie stopped him and directed him toward the couch by the entrance to the back hallway where the fittings rooms were. 

"Down boy," she laughed knowingly. "A little anticipation is a good thing. Let her call you in when she's ready." He put on a fake pout but complied with her orders. I couldn't help but smile and Marie gave me a knowing look that made me blush. Sensing the electricity between Jackson and I, she whispered to me to make sure that I left my current panties on while trying on any others. Then while still smiling, a stern look came over her eyes to let me know that under no circumstances were we to get carried away and start fooling around back there. I thanked her and tried to assure her with my own eyes that we would be good. 

When I was ready I called Jackson in. When he came through the curtain and saw me he gave me a look that made me feel foolish for ever hesitating to come into this store with him. A smokey, sinister look clouded over his eyes that spoke of all the bad and naughty things he planned to do to me. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked me up and down, shamelessly objectifying me, burning my flesh with his piercing gaze and making it blush. 

For a moment I doubted whether I would keep my promise to Marie about not fooling around in the fitting room, knowing that I would comply with anything Jackson demanded of me. My own reflected gaze instantly noticed the bulge in his pants and I half expected him to command me to get down on my knees and give him relief. I had to wonder just who I was in realizing how happy I would be to comply with such a command. 

Instead, Jackson walked up to me and attacked my lips with his own. He kissed me deeply, passionately for thirty seconds then just as briefly broke the kiss and stepped away, leaving me breathless and in danger of having to buy the pair of panties I was supposed to be just trying on. Moaning, he took out his phone and began taking pictures. 

The babydolls didn't turn him on as much as the bustiers and the teddies. To my surprise, he liked the lace boyleg panties more than he liked the thongs. I asked him why as he positioned me against the mirror and took a picture of me from behind. "I like the way the lace frames and hugs your butt," he told me, the bulge growing in his pants, "it makes you look even sexier than the thongs."

I asked him what he did with the other pictures he took of me in New York. Unabashedly, he told me how he masturbated to them with my panties pressed up against his face. The revelation made me throb between my legs. Bashfully I confessed to him how I did the same every time I was in the bath or shower over the past two years. If it was even possible, his erection grew stronger from my confession. I could see it, batting against the front of his jeans trying to get to me. I started getting wet, too wet. 

"Jackson," I whispered, "if you get me too excited I will leak through my panties and stain the store's merchandise, and we will have to buy everything!" 

"Well, we certainly can't let that happen," he said all too calmly, approaching me with a prowl. In a flash his hands were at my side, pulling down the boyleg panties and my soaked thong underneath it. In the next instant I felt his hand sliding over my glistening folds before two thick fingers were thrust inside of me. I hissed from both shock an appreciation at his touch. My hips started rocking all on their own, gyrating in a circular motion while mounted on his digits. But just as suddenly those invading digits were gone, leaving me pouting from the withdrawal. Jackson intently stared into my eyes as he brought his sticky fingers up to his nose, inhaled deeply, then stuck them into his mouth. 

"I can't decide what I want to do to you more, eat you or fuck you," he growled in my ear, his erection pressed into my belly, making me moan. 

The sound of new voices entering the store brought me out of my reverie and I froze. It wasn't just the fact that there were other people in the store, it was the specific tenor of the voices that worried me. I told Jackson to go out and see who they were. 

"Oh my goodness," I heard Marie exclaim, "do you two have a sister? There's a woman in the back fitting rooms that looks just like you two." I panicked. My heart was beating at a million beats per second. 

"We do," I heard my sister Fatemeh's voice reply to Marie, "but she lives in the states and won't be here for another two days," my oldest sister Naseem continued. Fatemeh is the sister closest to me in age, and we have been mistaken for twins in the past. 

"Uncanny," I heard Marie say. "Don't they look like your wife?"

"I do see the resemblance," I heard Jackson's voice answer, "but my wife's an only child." I could not help but smile. It was nothing to be proud of but I could not help but marvel at how -- like me -- Jackson knew how to lie with such smooth ease. Growing up in an ultra-religious autocratic theocracy, lying was a matter of survival. The irony was that he was the one person in the world to whom I never had to lie. I knew I was the same for him. 

"When she comes out, you will see what I'm talking about," I heard Marie say. Then I heard what I prayed were Jackson's footsteps coming back my way as my sisters explained that they were shopping for a week's worth of honeymoon outfits. A pang of guilt struck me as I knew I should have been with them, laughing together as we shopped and ran errands in final preparations for the wedding. More than feeling guilty I was scared to death. How in the fucking hell was I going to make it out of there without being seen?!

Jackson stepped back into my changing room and saw the look of horror on my face. The stunned smile on his face told me that he recognized that we had a problem. He was also surprised at how quickly I had managed to get dressed. 

"Wow! Your sister's kind of cute," he joked trying to bring levity to the situation. It brought back sore childhood memories of when all the boys I liked seemed to only pay attention to her. I wasn't amused. I hit him in his stomach to let him know as much.

"I will scratch your eyes out if you even look her way," I whispered to him, jokingly deadly serious. 

"Orkideh," he said softly as he came to embrace me, his own demeanor changing. "You have to know that no one else has ever come close to...," he sighed, gathering his thoughts. "I would have married you, in a heartbeat. I was ready to spend my life with you." He was letting me know in no uncertain terms that his eyes would have been only for me had I not walked away. I felt doubly shitty. 

As was becoming common, Jackson had a plan to save my ass. 

"There's a service entry door just to the right back here. I'm betting it leads to the delivery alley out back," he explained, picking up some the lingerie I had been trying on. "I'm gonna go buy one of these. While I have Marie distracted at the register you need to sneak out the back. We have to go quickly, though. If your sisters come back here and start trying things on, we are going to be stuck in here for a while."

"Which ones are you going to purchase?" I inquired. Jackson inspected the crotch of the boyleg panties he had in his hand then put them to his nose. 

"Definitely this one," he said with a grunt. I turned red with embarrassment. Through trial and error he found one more that was no longer clean. "Hand me the rest of them so I can take them up to the front, lest she think you are back here stuffing them in your purse or something."

"Why would she think that?" I asked perplexed.

"The back door has an alarm on it and it might go off. Don't panic if it does, just walk calmly and briskly away."

"I can do this, remember?" I assured him. "New York, our hotel, the taxi, the police?" 

"I was so impressed with you that day," he smiled. 

"Good, so you know that I've got this. Now go, before they come back here!"

"Ok, ok. Just give me two minutes. Wait until you hear me say, 'thank you very much for all of your help' and that will let you know I've completed the purchase. That way if the alarm does go off I can just skip out the front quickly."

"Alright," I said, giving him a quick kiss. "Meet me at the Starbucks around the corner -- I'll be there in ten minutes." He agreed and left to put our plan in motion. 

As luck would have it, the alarm did go off. I walked calmly out of the building as if nothing was happening. I heard a meek voice call out "hey!" just as I turned the corner and I quickly immersed myself in a crowd of people walking by. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I was a nervous wreck sitting in the Starbucks waiting for Jackson to arrive but no one would know it from just looking at me. 

I usually love coffee but it was the last thing I needed just then. When Jackson finally came through the door I hugged him tightly before dragging him to a bar I had spotted across the street along the way. The bartender looked shocked when I walked up to him and ordered three shots of Knob Creek: one for Jackson and two for me. The bartender looked doubly shocked when I downed them immediately. I guess he had never seen a woman wearing a hijab walk into a bar and order straight bourbon before. It was turning out to be a weekend of many firsts for me. 

The experience left me jarred. I just wanted to get away, to be someplace where I wasn't under anyone else's scrutiny. Instead, Jackson and I just made a beeline back to our hotel. It was a nice sanctuary but I was starting to feel claustrophobic spending all of our time in there. 

--------------- Jackson ----------------

At some point in the middle of the night/early morning, the raw power of a dream I was having about Orkideh woke me up. Upon stirring, I discovered why the dream had been so potent. Tangled up in each other, my senses were filled with her in every way. We were spooning. My face was buried in her hair and I had been breathing in her scent for a while. I had one arm snaked under her armpit with my hand pressed into her midsection, holding her close to me. My other arm was draped over her, cupping her breast in my palm. We slept naked and I could feel her soft skin pressed into me all the way down to my shins. The most erotic thing was that I had a raging erection, nestled tightly in the crack of her ass. When I stirred my hips were grinding into her of their own volition. I moaned, feeling the comforting warmth of her cleft. 

My stirring elicited her own rupture from sleep, and she groggily inquired as to what I was doing awake. In response I slid my erection almost out of the valley between her cheeks and then pressed it back into her, planting a kiss to the top of her head. She groaned, but I couldn't tell if it was one of arousal or frustration at being awakened. 

"I would think after last night that you would need a good ten hours of sleep to recover," she replied, pushing her ass back to meet me.

"Normally you'd be right, but it was the force of my dream that woke me up."

"Ooh," she cooed, as if I had a naughty secret. "Tell me about the dream."

"I don't know if I can," I hesitated. 

"Were you dreaming of someone else?" she demanded. I could feel her body tense up as she prepared to pull herself out of my embrace. 

"No, my love," I told her, holding her tight and raining more kisses down on top of her head. "Of course it was with you."

"Then tell me," she pleaded, relaxing back into me. She used her cheeks to squeeze and hug my erection for added incentive.

"Well," I hesitated further, trying to find my words through the fog of raw lust that was still clouding my brain. "We were making love... but not in the conventional way." My dick swelled in her cleft with just the thought of what I was about to share with her. She inhaled suddenly at the sensation, then pressed her backside into me even more. 





Behind the Green Veil Ch. 06



"What were you doing to me?" she whispered as her nipple started to stiffen in my palm. I gently began rolling it with my thumb and forefinger. 

"Well, I had just put my..." I trailed off, thinking better of how I wanted to explain it. 

"Tell me, Jackson," she pleaded again, her voice becoming raspier. I decided to give her the story from the beginning.

"We were at a movie theater," I began, "but we were sitting in the back. For some reason, there was a couch back there. My head was in your lap and you were feeding me fruit while we watched the movie."

"Then what happened?"

"Every time you put a piece of fruit in my mouth I sucked on your fingers, and soon I was hungry for more than just fruit. I guess you can say I was hungry for your fruit." That admission elicited another small moan and tight squeeze of her ass around my shaft. "I turned over on my side until I was facing your tummy. I lifted your shirt and began tonguing your belly button. You were so ticklish there that you had to pinch me to stop before you yelled out in the theater."

"I -- ticklish there," she confirmed. "It makes all the muscles in my abdomen jump when you do that to me." 

"I decided to leave your tummy alone because I had more devilish desires in mind, so I turned all the way over until I was face down in your lap. You were wearing a skirt, and I began massaging your thighs, inching your skirt up as I went. You protested, worried about the people around us in the theater. I ignored you. I was kissing and nibbling on your thighs which made it impossible for you to resist. I rolled your skirt all the way up until I could press my nose down into you, to see if you liked what I was doing to you."

"And? Tell me what you found," she said breathlessly as I moved my palm to take in her other breast. "Describe it to me."

"I didn't even have to take a deep breath," I said, grinding into her ass just a little bit harder. My hips started doing a circular motion. The heat between us was causing her cleft to get sweaty. Combined with my leaking pre-cum, she was just moist enough where my shaft could begin to slide up and down. "Your scent was unmistakable. I smelled your rampant approval of what I was doing to you. " There were more moans out of her, and her hips started to match my circular motion, grinding back into me. 

"My appetite fully stoked, I got off the couch and got down on my knees between your legs. Then you really started to panic, afraid that I was about to take things too far for a public place."

"You were being a naughty boy," she whispered. "I can't let you naughty boys do bad things to me," she said, reciting my dream as if she had the same one herself.

"You clamped one hand defensively over your pussy and tried to hold your legs shut, and you put the other hand on my head and tried to push me away."

"Did that make you give up and try to be good, respectful of my honor?"

"Hell no," I said calmly, now using both hands to twist her nipples as I relayed the story. "Your resistance just made me want you more. I licked and sucked at the tender inner flesh of your thighs. Within minutes you had spread them for me willingly, as wide as they could go. The next thing I knew you were scooting down in your seat, pressing the wet crotch of your panties directly in my face. I pulled the sodden fabric aside and began eating you earnestly, not caring that the entire theater could hear me devouring your sex, drinking your sweet honey." 

Hearing this made Orkideh shift in my arms, moving up higher in the bed next to me until my cock slipped from between the cheeks of her ass and slid into the wet softness of her inner thighs. It was my turn to groan, feeling her arousal. 

"Don't stop," she said impatiently, "tell me more." In our new positioning her head was level with mine. I moved her hair out of my way and pressed my face into her neck before continuing. 

"Then something strange happened. A guy who worked at the theater came walking through with his flashlight, telling everyone to put away their cell phones -- no talking and no texting. He walked right by us and shined his light directly on us. I could see his flashlight reflected in the wetness of your sex and all over your inner thighs. I thought we were busted and he was going to kick us out. But all he said was 'remember no cell phones' and just kept walking." Orkideh gasped, feeling genuine embarrassment. I continued, smiling to myself. 

"I kept eating you, lost in how good you taste. But I was frustrated because your panties kept getting in my way. Finally I just pulled them off completely and put them in my pocket." A low moan escaped out of her, and her breathing grew more ragged still. "I turned you over and put you on your knees with your butt up in the air, then I buried my face back into you and kept eating." I stopped talking and started sucking on her neck, just enjoying the heat of her creamy thighs. I was a bit hesitant wondering how she might respond to the next part of the dream. 

"Tell me," was all she said, knowing or perhaps hoping where the narrative was going. She began urgently trying to rub her sex against my shaft. I started slowly thrusting into her, the top of my cock rubbing into the lips of her pussy, but the angle wasn't right for me to enter.

"I feasted on you," I said breathlessly, moaning and unable to contain my own excitement. "I feasted on you in a public theater, with my tongue deep in your pussy and my nose pressed up higher, smelling you there."

"Fucking hell!" she hissed, and I felt a fresh gush of her nectar wash over my crown. "Tell me," was all she said again and I felt her fingers begin to play at her clit. I knew what she wanted to know. 

"You smelled... funky, earthy, kinky," I said, groaning at the thought. 

"Is that what you remember?" she asked, acknowledging that I had her in this position once before until she stopped me from going further. 

"Yesss!" I answered, the heat growing in me to a fever pitch, "and it makes me want to taste you there," I admitted

"It doesn't smell like... dirty stuff back there?"

"No, my flower," I said, making reference to her name. "I cleaned you thoroughly back there. It just smelled like... concentrated you, but the most secret and hidden part of you; the forbidden part of you. Like an espresso shot of your pheromones. I want to taste you there because I love you, because I want all of you inside of me. I want to smell all of you, kiss all of you, taste all of you... be inside all of you." The further admission made Orkideh begin thrusting back into me, arching her back, trying to get me inside of her hungry pussy. "So I started moving my lips," I said, going back to the dream, "kissing you higher, licking you there, tasting you there."

"Tell me," she pleaded. I could feel the vibrations in her body indicating her hand moving furiously over her clit. Again, I knew what she wanted to know. 

"Your flavor mesmerized me in its pungency, your muskiness was like a drug. I just licked around the outside for a little while, savoring your flavor and your body's reaction. Soon my hunger grew too strong to resist and I tried to push my tongue inside of you but you were too tight. You were squeezed shut like a knot in a rope, pulled so tight you can't get it out. So I went back and forth between licking your ass, licking your pussy and licking your clit until you came." 

I felt Orkideh tremble at the dirtier, more graphic language, and I knew I was getting to her. "You came violently, trying not to shout into the theater, using the couch cushions to muffle your cries. Once you calmed down you relaxed, and I was finally able to force my tongue inside." 

Her fingers left her pussy with a squelching noise that betrayed her arousal then found their way into my mouth, giving me a taste of her nectar in the present. I grunted as I licked the slightly salty juices off of her digits. This woman knew me so well... she knew hot to get what she wanted. The moment her flavor hit my brain my hips shifted and her back arched simultaneously, allowing my tip to find her center and push its way inside. Her body welcomed me in with a contraction of her inner muscles which made me groan in ecstasy. 

"I ate you thoroughly, noisily" I told her as I started a slow rhythm thrusting into her steamy pussy. Orkideh took her fingers from my mouth and threw off the blankets, suddenly too hot beneath the comforter. Her hand rushed back to her sex and began rubbing her clit furiously as the pace of our thrusting increased. 

"And no one from the theater said anything?"

"Strangely, a woman came over to us and asked if I wanted to eat her popcorn. I peeled my face out of your ass just long enough to tell her 'no.' She said that hers had more butter on it but I shooed her away. Then I buried my face back in you. You began thrusting back into me and your dirty little whole was twitching with excitement while I swirled my tongue around inside of you."

"You are positively one sick and depraved individual, Jackson William," she told me, rutting back to meet my strokes. 

"And you love it, don't you?" I challenged her, sinking my teeth into the flesh of her shoulder and increasing the force behind my thrusts. Her free hand reached back to weave her fingers through my hair, raking her nails against my scalp. 

"Then what did you do to me?" she asked, avoiding my question. 

"I switched from my tongue to my fingers, trying to loosen you further. You were grunting as I plied you open with first one finger and then two. The people in the theater kept shushing us, but we ignored them."

"Then what?" she asked, barely audible. "Tell me what you made me do." 

"I withdrew my fingers and took one last taste of you -- all of you -- then I stood up behind you, positioning myself. I made you spread for me so I could take what I wanted. You complied obediently. Reaching back to hold yourself open to me, you arched your back and pushed your ass out to me. I could see the glow from the movie screen reflecting off your wetness as your scent filled the theater."

"The whole movie theater was smelling my pussy?" she enquired, her breath now ragged.

"Yes, everyone in there could smell you and the effect was like a drug affecting the entire crowd. Couples started kissing madly and touching each other, shedding their clothes. I couldn't wait any longer. I invaded your pussy first, wetting myself in the dripping mess you were making. Then I pulled out of you. Even in the darkness of the theater I could see my dick all shiny from how wet you were. I moved my tip up a little higher and started to push. You were panting loudly from the pressure, and the people in the theater were starting to watch us, playing with themselves. I had just pushed the head of my dick inside you when I woke up."

------------- Orkideh -------------

By the time he finished retelling his dream, we were full out fucking. Unsatisfied with the lack of leverage behind his strokes as we lay side by side, Jackson rolled over fully on top of me, pulled my hips slightly in the air, and then started pounding me into the mattress. There was no mistaking how much his fantasy had aroused me. My treacherous body had my secret on full display, dripping down my thighs, filling the room with the smell of my desire to let Jackson do all of those nasty things to me. 

We were already both close. I continued rubbing my clit while he slammed into my upturned ass, the smacking sounds of his thrusts echoing throughout the room. He started lunging into me, making all sorts of unintelligible sounds, and I felt his cock swell with its imminent explosion. We exploded together, calling for each other, grunting, clawing, trying to pull the other closer. Jackson flipped me over quickly, almost violently, and slammed his dick back into my spasming pussy before falling on top of me to claim my mouth with his own. My legs instinctively wrapped around him and I hugged him with my thighs while my arms hugged him around his neck. We shared a long, deep, wet and sloppy kiss while he throbbed inside my flooded passage, our bodies both twitching uncontrollably at the force of our orgasms. 

There were no words. We both knew. It took his erection a while to fully subside and slip out of me, but I didn't mind. I loved that moment between us even though I felt dangerously exposed. Eventually our heart beats slowed and we shifted our position, laying side by side but still facing each other. I knew that I needed to get up and pee but I wanted to just stay there and drift off to sleep held snugly in his arms. Not peeing after sex leaves me vulnerable to a UTI, and the last thing I wanted for this long weekend was to wake up sore down there in all the wrong ways. So reluctantly, I peeled myself away to go pee. When I got back, Jackson was on his back snoring. When he felt my body slide back next to him he stirred and wrapped his arms around me once again. I pulled the blankets over us and we started to drift off to sleep. Without thinking, my mouth uttered one last thing before I lost consciousness. 

"Jackson?"

"Hmm?" he answered, barely awake. 

"I love you, too," I said, pulling his hand up to my face and kissing it. I felt his lips press into the side of my face while his arms held me tighter. My fate was sealed. It was the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep. 

When I woke up the next morning I was a changed woman. I was nervous as hell, feeling so exposed, but even more so I felt liberated. We were both thrumming with excited energy, me a bit anxious as well, knowing that by the end of the day I was going to submit to Jackson in every way. But it was also our last full day together so there was a heavy emotional weight in the room as well.

To his credit, Jackson didn't try to rush straight into it, so to speak. There was a cool, unhurried confidence to him that morning. He knew he was going to have his way with me yet patient enough to let me decide my exact moment of surrender. It was the first morning he didn't start off by rubbing his face in my sex to get my scent all over him. His affection was no less demanding, however. Other than to let me go pee, Jackson wouldn't let me out of his arms. He just held me close to him and kissed me about the face, whichever part of my face was closest to his lips in any particular second. 

After a while both of our stomachs were growling so I reached for the phone and the room service menu. Before I knew what was happening my new liberated self had forgone my usual breakfast of assorted fruit, Greek yogurt and pastries and instead I ordered a breakfast filled with pork: an applewood bacon, sun-dried tomato and goat cheese omelet; Grand Marnier French toast with a side of maple sausage; and a Virginia country ham steak with home-fried potatoes. Jackson looked at me with his mouth agape, totally shocked. 

"Holy shit, what's gotten into you?" he chuckled, remembering that I had grown up not eating pork and never went near it.

"You have," I answered simply then locked my lips onto his. 

I love meat, my whole family does. The whole vegetarian craze never appealed to me, though I do enjoy eating healthy. I just also enjoy a meal anchored by a nice cut of fish, chicken, beef, or my favorite lamb. But as any person from an Islamic country will tell you, we are raised and taught that pigs are the filthiest of animals, but physically and spiritually. I never even had an opportunity to try pork growing up because it wasn't sold in any markets nor was it served in any restaurants. But I was in the mood for breaking taboos. We ravished the food. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the bathroom then showered together. Not that he needed any instruction, but I bent over long enough for Jackson to make sure that he cleaned me thoroughly. 

While Jackson brushed his teeth and combed his hair, I packed a backpack for an outing. I wanted to go someplace where we wouldn't be recognized and I had an idea. Something told me that I might need a blanket so I looked in the closet and found the extra one that the hotel provided. I stuffed it into my oversized backpack just in case my plan worked out. 

------------------ Jackson ----------------

Orkideh wouldn't tell me where we were going, only that it was someplace she hoped we could go to enjoy the outdoors without fear of being recognized. She handed me the keys, though, and told me to drive.

"How can I drive if I don't know where we're going?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell you where to turn," she answered, piquing my curiosity. "Besides, this will let me mess with you while you drive, instead of you messing with me," she teased. 

She was probably right -- I might have been tempted to caress her thigh and let my fingers tickle the sensitive flesh in between while she drove -- but her tease turned out to be an idle threat. At first. During the first hour of the car ride we spent the whole time listening to music, switching Ipods and introducing each other to more of our favorite music. It was non-erotic, but very intimate all the same. 

As we got past the city limits Orkideh started to relax, and her hijab and sunglasses come off. With her hair now loose, she opened her side window to let the wind blow through it, soaking up sun with her face. Beyond her physical beauty she conveyed such a free spiritedness in that moment that was even more enduring. I sat dumbfounded contemplating why people from her part of the world would want to cover all of that beauty up.

Orkideh was wearing a classy but beautifully sexy sun dress. Soon after losing her hijab and sunglasses she also took her shoes off and put her feet up on the dashboard, tempting me with her smooth thighs. I could not resist reaching out to her and to my surprise she did not swat my hand away like she did when we were driving to the hotel from the airport. 

I rubbed the inside of her thighs until they became warm, almost hot to the touch. When I first started she kept them modestly closed but after ten minutes or so they were spread wide, welcoming further digital exploration. My hand drifted to the front of her midnight blue boy-leg panties, the same pair I bought for her the day before. There I rubbed until a wet spot formed, coating my fingers in her moisture. I brought her fingers to my nose and inhaled deeply, letting her see, but I ddin't put them in my mouth. Instead, I reached back for her sex and try to move her panties to the side. A close call where we almost wreck makes her think twice and slap my hand away. 

"Both hands on the wheel," she insists, "or I'm pulling my dress down for the rest of the drive."

I complied and her own fingers took over where mine left off. She got her fingers wet and brought them to my face. My hunger was growing and she knew that I was by that point dying to taste her but she denied me. Instead, she let me get a second whiff but when I tried to capture her sticky fingers between my lips she pulled them away. Over and over she teased me like that, driving me crazy. It wasn't long before a large tent in my pants caught her eye. As she smiled mischievously, I knew I was in for it.

I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as she put her fingers back in her sex. 

"This is a first for me," she admitted breathlessly while staring down at her lewd act. 

"Don't you dare try and lie to me and claim that you never masturbated before."

"No silly," she smiled, removing her fingers momentarily to observe their wetness. "It's the first time I've done this while not in the shower or the bath. As a little girl, that was the only place we had any privacy. But I was so ashamed of the behavior that as I grew up I could never just lay in my bed and do it, let alone let anyone watch," she added, groaning the last part. "For the first two years I tried to suppress my desire to do this while thinking of you. About two years ago, I lost the battle to resist those fantasies and for these past couple of years, every shower, every bath..." her voice trailed off into groans as my ears picked up the unmistakable squish of finger banging. I glanced over to find her right hand working at a blurry pace.  




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 06



I let out a groan of my own and contemplated pulling over to the side of the road. Not yet satisfied in my torture, Orkideh removed her hand a second time and reached out toward my face but again she would not let me take her fingers into my mouth. Going in for the kill, she wiped her stickiness all over my face, quickly dodging when I tried to snag her slimy pungent digits with my lips. She was generous enough to leave a little just under my nose. I reached out with my tongue and licked it up hungrily. 

"Tell me more about what you did while thinking of me," I groaned, hoping to drive her need to a fever pitch. 

She turned red, closing her legs over her hand buried in her pussy, obstructing my view. I told her how I snuck out of bed the night after our first phone conversation to find my hidden box of her memories, and then masturbated to them while saddened that her panties no longer held her smell. My revelation seemed to push a button inside of her. Orkideh took a deep breath and looked up at me, spreading her legs again. It was all I could do to look at the road and not keep my eyes glued on her. 

"I dreamed about our intellectual connection," she said breathlessly, and I could hear her fingers sloshing around in her sex, so wet she was. "I also dreamed about your scent," she continued as her eyes closed dreamily, "I never forgot about how good you smelled, or how good you tasted. I loved how we both needed to smell and taste each other..." 

Her words trailed off into moans as her fingers sped up and she slid down further in the seat. She pulled her legs up even further, until I could see her cute tinier orifice, glistening from the juices leaking down from her pussy. I thought she was going to cum but then she slowed herself, deliberately, and her voice resumed in a whisper. 

"Worst of all, I could never stop thinking about how you touched me here and made it a new erogenous zone for me." I glanced over and saw her wet middle finger leave her pussy, drop down an inch, circle around at the tiny little opening and then slowly push inside. I almost came in my pants as I drifted into oncoming traffic. 

------------- Orkideh ----------------

I never felt so stupid in all of my life. I screamed, seeing the large truck coming right for us, its horn blaring. The word "Peterbuilt" will be forever etched into my brain. That little oval symbol above the grill of the truck seemed to pass within inches of my face as Jackson swerved further left to avoid a collision by a matter of inches. We ended up on the opposite shoulder facing oncoming traffic that was zooming by on our right. Horns continued to blare at us for facing the wrong way on the wrong side of the highway. Jackson pushed further to the left, into the grass as he slowed the car to a stop. 

My knuckles were white as I gripped the door handle with one hand and had the other pressed against the dashboard to brace for impact. My breathing ragged, it was a few minutes before either of us could speak. My heart was beating in my chest so hard I could hear it, and thought I could hear Jackson's too. Finally Jackson reached over to me and took me in his arms. Words weren't really needed -- we were both just glad that we were safe. 

Appropriately chastised for our risky behavior, we resumed our focus on music for the rest of the trip, though Jackson held my hand the whole way. Our destination was the --, about two hours drive outside of Montreal, situated between a lake and a mountain. My sister had told me about it a couple of years ago: its beautiful lake, majestic trees, and wonderful vistas. Most important to me, I felt confident that there would be no one there who knew either of us. If only for that afternoon, we could be free. 

As we pulled into the parking lot as the southeast end of the park, we saw a lot of people there also with the same idea to enjoy this day while immersed in nature. I lost my nerve and put my hijab and sunglasses back on. Jackson grabbed the backpack that held our water, some light snacks and the blanket we swiped from the hotel. 

We started out walking an easy path, hiking along a trail called the--. At the trail's summit we had an absolutely spectacular panoramic view of the Adirondacks. A cool breeze flowed over the summit, making me shiver. Jackson took me into his arms to warm me. That's when he removed my hijab and tucked it in my purse. 

"No one's going to recognize us out here," he sad softly as he leaned down to kiss me. I thought it was only going to be a quick peck so I let him, not realizing that his lips intended to claim mine for a longer period, preparing the way for his tongue to follow. I found his kisses so addictive that I couldn't physically pull my lips away, so I pinched him and nodded toward the other couple standing not twenty feet away from us when he pulled back to see what was wrong. They were also enjoying the view, and I knew that there would be more on the way to join us shortly, given how many people we came across while hiking. Jackson simply chuckled and didn't press me, but the devious sound of his laughter told me he had more in store for me. 

It had been a short hike, less than an hour, so we decided to take another trail to give us a different view of the park. We chose a trail named --, which took us along the shores of -- I laughed as Jackson tried to imitate a true French speaker while reading the sign indicating the lake ahead of us. He told me that he had taken three years of French but used it so infrequently that it always took him a while to get back into the practice and remember his vocabulary. 

The lake was beautiful and peaceful, reflecting the majestic peaks of the two mountains that rose above its opposite shore. Jackson held my hand as we walked along the water's edge. I know it sounds like such a small thing, but for that afternoon it really started to feel like we were in our own little world where we were free to be a loving couple, not hiding in secret. There were many couples out there, and some families with kids in tow. Some people were getting in the water and swimming. We found a large flat rock along the shore's edge and took a seat. Jackson just held me quietly while we watched the water sparkle under the mid-day sun. Eventually I began to relax and the tension slowly eased out of my shoulders. 

"I'm so happy you texted me," he whispered in my ear, his warm breath raising tiny bumps along my neck. I tilted my head to give him further access and he took it, his lips claiming the area just under my jaw. The nerve endings there seemed to have a direct line of communication with my sex and I clamped my legs shut to combat the sudden urge I had to spread them as wide as possible and invite his touch down there. 

Jackson turned my head toward his face and removed my sunglasses, my last vestige of anonymity. My heart started racing as I knew what was coming. This time I didn't stop him. When his lips found mine, I greeted his tongue with my own. 

We kissed like teenagers, when you kissed forever because kissing was as far as you were willing to go. It wasn't "get-a-room-because-you-two-are-dry-humping-in-public" kissing, but it was deep, soulful kissing nonetheless. I got lost in his lips, so wonderfully plush and pillowy. I felt a rush of adrenaline as the kiss deepened, letting go of my nervousness about the people around us. 

For those few minutes while we sat savoring the taste of each other's mouths, there was no war going on, no friends disappearing or dying, no religious zealots policing my behavior, no longing for the home to which I could never return, no marriage vows being broken. There was just the incredible connection we felt for each other, consummated in the caress of his tongue sliding against my own. Starting to feel too comfortable, lost in the way that his lips claimed me, never satiated and ever hungrier for more. I had to stop us when my mind drifted into a fantasy of laying out our blanket and letting him make love to me right there on the lake shore. 

"I could do this all day, you know," I hummed into his neck. 

"I could do this all my life, you know." I had no good response to such an admission so I just sat there, letting it live in the moment. 

I made to stand up so we could continue walking but Jackson held me down. 

"Give me a second," he said in a hushed tone as he reached into his jeans to adjust the large tent erected in his pants. He was trying to use my body to shield him from others' view. I couldn't help myself and laughed out loud, drawing a couple of stares in our direction. 

"I'll get you for that," he promised softly in my ear as I continued giggling. 

"I can't wait," I teased, wiggling my butt back into his hardness as I stood. "Oy!" I yelped when I felt his fingers pinch my rear. I elbowed him in his stomach and took off running, leaving the lake behind. 

We continued our hike into an oak forest where we fell under the spell of the --: a magical wetland where towering trees sprang forth out of a shallow sea of still water. Traipsed across the water was a boarded trail suspended above pontoons that led our way. 

As we hiked, every time we found ourselves secluded Jackson grabbed me and spun me around for a kiss. We made out until we heard someone else coming along and then nervously broke away. For some reason, kissing out in the open on the lake shore seemed more acceptable, whereas kissing along the hiking path when no one was around seemed more clandestine, where any second someone could turn a corner and catch us. 

Inevitably we did get caught. When it happened, we would let them pass while pretending that we had stopped to just look at the foliage and the fauna, or like we were trying to find one of the flying squirrels supposedly inhabiting these woods. At one point, things started to get carried away. Jackson pushed me up against a large tree and began making out with me with more urgency. I moaned with pleasure as his mouth took mine with force, taking my misgivings and kissing them to oblivion. Not satisfied that both my hijab and sunglasses were off, he found the scrunchy holding my hair in a bun and pulled it away, raking his fingers through my tresses as they fell past my shoulders. His hands moved over my body, hot through the material of my sundress, rubbing me all over and making my skin yearn for his unimpeded touch. Up and down my back, around my waist, and up and down my hips -- he wasn't touching me in any places inappropriate for public space but damn if I didn't want him to. 

Greedy with my own need to feel his skin, my hands scrambled hungrily beneath his shirt. I grew bolder as my hunger increased, palming his abdomen before moving up to his pecks where I played with his nipples until they were hard little nubs. I broke the kiss and buried my face in his neck where I began to lick at his delicious skin, slightly salty from our day of hiking under the Canadian sun. He shivered before forcing my face up to sink his tongue back into my mouth. I clung to him tightly as the intensity grew. His own hunger mounting, his mouth left mine and moved downwards, licking a trail of kisses along my jaw toward my hair line. 

"I can't ever seem to get enough of you," he said gruffly in my ear. I moaned and tilted my head as he worked lower, kissing my neck and then biting into my shoulder. I moaned even louder as I felt his erection press insistently into my stomach.

"Nor I, you," I responded breathing raggedly. His lips traced my plunging neckline straight to my breasts and lingered there in my cleavage, his breath warm against the rise of my flesh. I froze as his hand swept down from my waist to my knees before rushing back up, this time under my dress. His fingers felt hot to the touch as they made contact with the bare tender skin of my thigh. 

Jackson was bold, too bold for my comfort as his touch moved inwards, daring for someone to catch us up against that tree with my dress scandalously looped over his wrist and his hand who knows where. His invading fingers pressed between my thighs demanding access. 

"Stop it! Be good," I whispered, hoping to arrest things before they reached a fever pitch beyond return. The caution in my mind was betrayed by my body when I took a trembling step to the side, allowing his hand to explore the soft skin within. His touch painted progressively wider circles, tickling my inner thighs and making the sensitive skin there tremble in his palm. 

"Don't worry, I plan on being very good," he replied lustfully. I shivered with panicked arousal when his rough fingers finally made contact with the lacey fabric covering my leaky core. In Farsi, I demanded that he stop immediately when he began caressing my juicy center with firm but gentle strokes through my sodden panties, suddenly at a loss to remember my English vocabulary. When his fingers edged beneath the elastic to reach behind my cotton barrier I nearly melted as his digits slid deep between my folds. Perhaps he mistook my admonishment for encouragement. Perhaps he didn't care.

The squelching wetness seemed to reverberate throughout the forest glen, adding to my shame. Jackson had a lecherous smile across his lips when they found mine again, mocking my embarrassment. My body went rigid in his arms as I cried out into his mouth while his fingers danced in my dripping sex. 

Though my mind wanted desperately for him to stop, I resigned myself to the pending mini orgasm that was fast approaching. This made it all the more jarring when his hand suddenly left my oozing little gash and covered my mouth as he pulled me around to the side of the tree facing away from the trail. I swallowed hard as I tried to comprehend what was going on while the pungent smell of my horny cunt flooded my brain. It was then that I heard the voices approaching, a man and a woman's, getting louder as they drew closer to us on the trail. Jackson gave me the 'shush' sign with the clean index finger of his left hand while he pushed the other slimy, glistening fingers of his right hand between my lips, forcing me to taste myself. With smoky eyes he watched my reaction. Red with shame, I sucked the musky tang away until his digits were clean. His lips smashed into mine, sharing the taste. 

"Good, huh?" he asked once the couple had passed, licking the last remnants of my cream from around my lips. Before I could think of anything even approaching a sensible response, he placed his hands upon my waist, allowing them to glide sensuously over my hips as he slowly knelt before me. Grabbing fistfuls of my dress, he bunched the fabric up around my middle, holding it there while he pressed a kiss between my thighs.

"Yum," he murmured approvingly while burrowing his nose in the thin lacy material covering my pubes. "I've been happy to do this for past lovers but only with you do I crave it like a drug. Your smell, your taste," he mumbled between licks, "drives me fucking crazy!"

Our passion was quickly building to a fever pitch as I angled my hips to press my covered sex into his face. I yelped as he suddenly snagged the waistband of my panties with his teeth and tore them away. My hand uselessly tried to push his head back as he rooted against me, his determination to have me overpowering my desire to maintain some sense of decorum. "Jackson, you can't!" I pleaded as he pushed my legs further apart, planting nibbling kisses along my inner thighs as they betrayed my better judgment and opened for him. "Oh God, you --!"

Yes he could. And he did. 

His insistent tongue pushed inwards as his hands resumed their firm grip on my hips, tasting me in one long, swirling swipe then another as my fingers combed uselessly through his hair. It was only on the third spine-tingling pass that I managed to snatch a handful of his tight wooly curls and pull his head away. The look on his face was wild as he groaned his discontent, the sound vibrating right into my womb.

Jackson relented to my demand to cease and desist but my panties were too ruined to be put back on. He palmed the torn and drenched fabric as he pulled me back onto the trail. Taking my hand, he walked with an urgent purpose, his eyes searching the landscape intently. I trailed behind him in a fog of lust and fear as the arousal from my unprotected sex ran down my inner thighs. I desperately needed to cum but I was deathly afraid to let Jackson take me there.

Soon thereafter Jackson found what he was looking for: a small opening in the trees that seemed to lead to somewhere off of the official trail and off the beaten path. We treaded deeper into the majestic oak forest. There were signs all over the park telling us that it was forbidden to venture off the official trails. As if he had sniffed it out, we shortly came to a clearing in the trees that led to a small grassy meadow. Jackson marched us right to the middle and took our blanket out of the backpack. I panicked. 

Sensing my fear, Jackson didn't tear right into me like I know he wanted to. Instead we just lay down and cuddled. His strong arms gave me the sense of security I needed and I gradually found my nerve. 

With my resolve stiffened, I determined that I was not going to be a passive participant in what may lie ahead. It being our last full day together, I wanted to drive Jackson just as crazy as he was driving me. The tent in his pants had not decreased in the least and I reached for it, salivating. I pushed him back to rest on his elbows as I undid his pants. His erection bobbed eagerly inside, anxious for my touch. He groaned his appreciation as I pulled down his boxers and jeans at the same time. I was too excited to bother with his shoes so I left them around his knees as I grabbed hold of my prize.

I didn't tease. I sucked him greedily, hungrily, with the sole purpose of making him call out my name. I bobbed with a purpose, pausing only to lave his spongy mushroom head at the top of each descent. With each of his moans I grew bolder, shifting to gobble up his hairy balls while humming my eagerness to taste their contents. My psyche fed on the look he gave me, in awe of the raw nasty slut I was becoming right before his eyes. It was love, lust and amazement all in one stare, accompanied by a steady chorus of grunts and groans as I drove him forward. 

Strong hands lay pressure to my head, trying to slow my urgency, trying to retain some control, trying to hold onto some sense of dignity before I made him scream out like a teenage girl at a rock concert. I forced my head down further, gagging, trying to get my nose into his pubes, demanding a wild orgasm out of him. That's when I heard someone shout out, only it wasn't the shout from Jackson that I had been craving. 

I pulled up immediately, a desperate look of fear on my face. Only the throbbing tip leaking pre-cum remained in my mouth before his strong hands stopped my retreat. With Jackson's wrists blocking my vision on either side I could not see who's voice it might have been, but I would have sworn I heard them yell, "what the...!" My hands left his shaft and scrotum as I tried in vain to push myself up against the blanket to take my head out of his crotch. 

Jackson's eyes bore into mine as he held me steady with an iron grip. He saw the desperate need in my eyes to flee even the slightest hint of public scrutiny. He didn't even look around to check who might have found us, so far off the regular trail. It was as if he didn't care, his concentration solely on me. Pre-cum continued to dribble out of his slit as he slowly shook his head, a feral look in his eyes. My tongue lapped at the salty appetizer, oblivious to my mind's panicked anguish. 

That was the final straw for Jackson. His fingers strengthened their grip on my scalp as he pulled my face back into him. When his spongy head hit the resistance of the narrow opening of my esophagus he forced the rest of his tumescent cock in anyway, oblivious to my need to breath. Wiry hairs pressed into my face and my nose was filled with the heady smell of his male musk that I crave religiously. I felt a surge of power within his flesh run down the length of my tongue. His twitching cock expanded in my neck before it exploded. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 06



Jackson was screaming, yelling my name as a torrent of his seed splashed inside of me. With his dick so deep down my throat, the first spurts shot straight into my chest. He felt me pushing back but this time he knew I was no longer trying to get away, only trying to make sure that not all of his cherished cream shot past my taste buds. My windpipe still cut off, breathing was only a distant third priority. 

The grip on my head relented to let me back off a bit and breathe but no sooner had I taken two spurts on my tongue than my nose was full of his pubic hairs again. Over and over he drilled my face as his yells turned into grunts and moans. I swallowed, gagged, drooled, and tried to breathe. Once his head became too sensitive his balls stopped slamming into my chin and he tried to gently move me away. That's when I went into revenge mode. Looping my arms around his thighs I held on tight and tortured his drooling tip with my tongue. He cried out in the meadow all over again, clawing desperately and trying to get my mouth away from his glans. 

At that point my conscience finally regained consciousness and I remembered that someone just might have been watching me perform that lewd act upon him. But before my horror and shame could fully set in Jackson flipped me over and threw my dress up over my abdomen, exposing my naked sex to the skies. 

On my back looking up at the puffy white clouds, Jackson pressed my legs up into my chest while he baptized his face in my drenched sex. This area of the park had those elusive flying squirrels, and they flew overhead as he buried his face in my folds, deep French kissing my pussy. His nose and upper lip massaged my clit but his tongue stayed deep in my hole for the longest time, gathering all the moisture from my pink inner walls and sucking it into his mouth. His strong hands gripped my legs just below my knees, holding my legs back against and spread in a demand of maximum access to my sex. 

The air was filled with the sound of birds chirping in the trees and the sound of him greedily devouring my pussy, grunting in his feral hunger. I used my muscles to try and hug his tongue with each thrust, kissing him back with my pussy. Without direct clitoral stimulation by his tongue he had me in a holding pattern of continual bliss without relief. I tried to shift my hips and push my clit in his mouth but he held me firmly in place. 

I realized he was doing it on purpose. If I came I would get too sensitive and push him away. By not letting me cum he could gorge himself on my smell and my taste and drink me to his heart's content, belly full. Occasionally he pulled his tongue out of me only to wipe his entire face in my pussy until it was all shiny and wet. At one point he stuck his nose directly in my hole to snort my musky nectar directly into his brain as if he were inhaling a potent drug. His raw and wild hunger for me made my pussy gush out her cream just that much more, and he lapped it up with a look of total bliss across his face. 

My reservations flowed out of me with my leaking desire. Jackson seemed to know instinctively how to stoke that desire to a burning inferno. He knew when to tease me and when to indulge; when to deny giving me what I was too scared to admit I wanted until I was on the verge of begging, and then when to spoil me with his wicked tongue. He knew exactly how to extract the deepest passion from me, how to coax my sex into fluttering around his tongue while drooling shamelessly into his mouth. What he was doing to me left my own mouth dry, hungry only for a taste of him to quench my thirst. 

One appetite satiated, Jackson turned me over and arranged me in a position that I could hold comfortably for a while. I felt vulnerable and exposed with my shoulders down on the blanket and my hips up in the air. His large hands began rubbing the cheeks of my ass, giving the muscles there a deep message. Strong fingers bit into my taut flesh, pulling, groping, until finally he spread my cheeks apart and held them open, staring at my pursed little star, tightly guarded with nervous tension. I felt the heat from his face as he drew closer, and goose bumps broke out all over me when I felt his warm breath blowing over both my holes. A sharp intake of air broke the silence of meadow. 

"You filthy bastard," I whispered into the blanket realizing where he was smelling me. I felt my whole body turn red with embarrassment, tingling all over. My heart was beating out of my chest both with trepidation and anticipation. 

-------------- Jackson ----------------

I studied her wrinkled little aperture nestled between the taut globes of her ass, trying to remember every detail in case I never saw it again. My lips searched out one of her cheeks, sucking the juicy flesh into my mouth before sinking my teeth into it. Her body shuddered as my touch met her flesh. Orkideh hissed at the sudden nip of pain then sighed as my tongue soothed it away. I repeated the same on her other cheek, my tongue laving her smooth flesh until both orbs glistened in the afternoon sun. 

Planning on being there for a while, I adjusted my position to sit comfortably behind her. I paid full attention to every detail. Her golden olive skin slowly transitioned to brown around the lips of her sex and around the tinier orifice twitching nervously above, the melanin more concentrated there. Her labia were splayed open and plush with blood, exposing her pink insides that were shiny and glistening in the sun light. Her musky nectar oozed out to cover her entire vulva, indicating her excitement. Her smell was pungent in the air around us. I inhaled until my lungs were full, over and over, insatiable when it came to her.

"Such a tease," she whispered breathlessly. 

I turned my full attention to that part of her that had consumed my every sexual fantasy for the greater part of four years. Those tightly pursed folds of flesh, a mix of browns and reds that made up her pursed little opening. I studied how the melanin in her skin became more concentrated toward the center. That lovely, musky little center that beckoned me and called to my soul, tense with conflicting nervous energies: fear, shame, nervousness, and a desire strong enough to make her brave them all.

Some people prefer pink assholes and find them aesthetically more pleasing. I loved the fact that the skin of her little pucker was brown, darker than the rest of her. Psychologically, it was more of a mind fuck: the brown hues a constant reminder of what that hole is usually used for, making it impossible to avoid thinking about the nasty and taboo nature of the act. 

I wondered if I had a problem, if my overwhelming desire to kiss her deeply in this spot was an indication that I had become sick and twisted. Surely French kissing her tiny forbidden orifice would bring her pleasure but that didn't explain why -- from the moment I met her -- that my soul's deepest desire was to share this level of intimacy with her. It was the singular fantasy that fueled my strongest orgasms since I met her -- making love to Orkideh where we indulged every source of ecstasy and broke every taboo. Our affair was taboo of its own merit but giving me her ass to do with as I pleased, that was the biggest forbidden taboo of them all. 

The Freudians believe that the anus is closely connected to the deepest recesses of the human psyche. I happen to agree with them. In that respect I didn't just want to fuck her ass. I wanted to love it, claim it, and make it my own. Her body she would return to Brian. I wanted her soul.

I gorged myself with the smell of her. My nostrils flared as the heady scent of her funky hole saturated my sinuses. In that narrow valley between her taut cheeks there was no hint of her perfume or her body moisturizer, just all her. Her musky, primitive aroma intoxicated my brain and made me crazy with need for her. I held her just out of reach while my eyes and nose drank her in, challenging myself to see how long I could wait before devouring her. My appetite for her was ravenous -- as well it should be after 4 years waiting. My eyes drew closed as I lost my struggle and my face moved closer to her flesh, irresistibly drawn by the pungency of her forbidden treasure.

---------------- Orkideh -------------

I was losing my mind with nervous anticipation before I felt the tip of his nose nuzzling the cleft between my cheeks. When he found his target he held it there pressed tightly against my most intimate place and continued to breathe me in. His lips were pressed right up against mine, and soon he began deep French kissing my pussy while his nose tried to burrow deeper into its smaller, tighter neighbor. It was as if he were trying to actually get his nose inside of me to take in more of my scent. If I had any morals left I would have been disgusted with both him and myself. Instead I leaked a steady stream of approval and excitement into his mouth. Soon he was rubbing his entire face in the cleft between my cheeks, wiping my anus across his every feature as he did my pussy earlier. I felt his eyelids bat across my little bud and I thought I would go crazy with need. 

"Stop teasing me!" I hissed, barely audible to his ears. 

He grunted in response and I moaned as I finally felt his warm tongue work its way up my crack to center on my tiny orifice. 

"You want me to stop teasing you, baby?" he asked, mocking my growing need and frustration. His lips moved against my wrinkled skin as he spoke while his fingers pull me further open. Finally his tongue made contact with my tiny little folds and just about came undone. That first contact sent a nervous spasm through me that started in my sphincter and moved up my spine in a wave that made the hairs on my head stand on edge. The wave then moved back down my body until exiting through my toes while my legs kicked out my nervous energy. 

Jackson took long, slow licks across my hole, savoring what he found and going back for more. I squealed and beat my feet against the blanket. Broad strokes eventually became targeted jabs, circling about the center then trying to push inside. At first my panicked sphincter held tight against his demand at entry. Then I began to relax, allowing just the slightest breach. If there was any feeling in the world as deliciously naughty as a tongue probing at your backside, I couldn't remember it. My whole body tingled as every nerve ending in me came alive. 

My tight little orifice began to open up to his tongue like a thirsty flower opening its petals to catch the rain. He took advantage of my relaxation to push in deeper. With his lips pressed in an airtight seal around my anus he sucked at my funky little hole while his tongue wiggled around inside. It was the dirtiest and most perverse thing I could ever imagine. It was also wickedly and exquisitely pleasurable. In my mind I was disgusted but my body betrayed me as I felt myself pushing back into his face, trying to get more of his tongue inside of me. I surprised myself, my ass just as insatiable for him as he was hungry for it. My toes curled and my pussy gushed against his chin with every thrust of his tongue deep into my funky depths. I looked underneath me and saw a trail of my juices dripping down his neck across his Adam's apple. 

The kinky bastard sucked at my dirty little orifice with abandon, as if he was hungry for all the earthy flavors inside. I was scandalized but it felt so good I couldn't bring myself to make him stop. I knew I was empty and clean -- he had cleaned me thoroughly himself that morning -- but the perverse and taboo nature of it gave me a wicked thrill and fresh goose bumps broke out all over my flesh. I didn't think an asshole could ever be clean enough for a person to do what Jackson was doing to me yet here he was indulging in it, indulging in me -- in a public park no less! I swooned at the thought. 

I could try to lie to myself but he knew this was what I secretly wanted. He knew that when we last saw each other four years ago he had sparked a desire inside of me for him to penetrate deep into my psyche and break through these ultimate taboos I had grown up with. He knew by how wet I got as he told me about his perverted dream and the hot sex we had afterward. And he knew that the only safe space for me to experience it was with him. 

I could have told Brian that I was curious about ass play and asked him to do these things to me, with me. But Brian was a breast man, not an ass man. Brian might agree and be up for trying it, but Jackson was tongue-fucking my ass like his life depended on it, sucking on my hole like it was his favorite meal. That just wasn't in Brian's heart. Jackson ate my ass like it fed a deep and starving part of his soul, just as he had done with my pussy that first night. Smelling and tasting me in my most intimate places was a spiritual thing for him and I was moved almost to tears to think of how similar we were in that respect. It was the kind of connection I craved most in a partner. It was the kind of connection I was missing. 

I pushed my ass back into his face harder and tried to relax my sphincter muscle as much as possible to let more of his tongue inside of me. His large, strong hands took a commanding grip of my cheeks, spreading them apart as wide as possible and pulling my ass back into him. His hot breath grew faster with his excitement, blasting out of his nostrils up my crack which sent tingles up my spine. Meanwhile, his rough chin stubble lightly scratched the tender sensitive skin in the cleft of my ass, the contrast making my whole body shiver. Every single nerve ending from my clitoris to the top of my ass crack was on fire. 

Deep groans of satisfaction echoed through the meadow, sometimes his and sometimes my own. Obscene noises escaped from his lips as he slurped at my dark passage. I was lightheaded with how good it felt to have his thick tongue probing me so deeply, its tip circling the inner walls of my rectum finding sensitive nerve endings I never knew existed. If Allah truly intended this to be sinful there is no way he should have made it feel this good, I thought. I concentrated hard, trying to use my muscles back there to reciprocate the deep French kiss I was receiving. I flexed my anus, sucking at his tongue with my sphincter and pulling it deeper into my depths. He loved my body's response to him and increased the intensity of his ministrations -- if that was even possible -- devouring my ass shamelessly. 

A bit of nervousness and apprehension flashed through me as I contemplated exactly what it meant that he was doing this to me. I wondered if I had the courage to return the favor to him, and if he would even want that? I felt I should -- not out of obligation -- but simply because I didn't want to hold anything back with him this time and I wanted to make him feel as good as he was making me feel and more. I wanted to be the best he'd ever had. Not because of my ego but because I couldn't give him the lifetime of love I felt that he deserved, that -- deserved. Since I couldn't give him a lifetime of love, I wanted to give him the love of a lifetime. But just the thought of it I found disgusting even though the feeling was divine. Sure, he had cleaned me thoroughly when we showered together that morning, but it was still an anus we were talking about here. I seriously doubted that I would have the courage to try such a thing and not gag. 

But that wasn't what I was most afraid of. I was most afraid because I knew he was going to take my "other" virginity after this. I knew that anal sex was his secret kink. I learned that when we first met on the plane three years ago and I spotted the pornographic movies on his laptop. They all had anal sex themes. It was why I got so nervous during our first shower together when he tried to put his finger in me and wash me back there, and why I couldn't let him stick his tongue in my ass the first time he tried it that next morning. 

It wasn't because I didn't like it. It was sinfully pleasurable in the way that the sweetest fruit is always that which is forbidden. But I feared what he would want next and I knew I didn't have the willpower or the desire to say no. I wanted to experience all he had to give me but I knew that there was no way that I could go back to Brian and look him in the eye knowing that I let some relative stranger who I had just met on the plane completely deflower my ass the way Jackson was about to do now, under the great blue sky in a public park! Because I had denied myself then, that secret desire stayed with me through these past few years, haunting my inner thoughts with unfulfilled need. He knew I was lying when he asked me if I enjoyed him kissing me back there after I scrambled away from him. That lie had finally caught up with me. 

The feeling of two of his fingers sliding into my pussy while his tongue continued to worship my smaller hole brought me back to the present. "Oh fuck," I moaned as his two digits began giving me a deep pussy massage while his lips remained locked in a deep French kiss with my anus. I looked underneath me and saw him crouched between my spread legs as he dined on my asshole and that's when I saw it. His shaft bobbed in front of him, rock hard again without receiving any physical stimulation. The entire head of his dick was shiny with all the pre-cum oozing out of it, a line of "drool" hanging from its tip. My mouth watered and I wished I could take him in my mouth while he did this to me. I reached back to get some of pre-cum on my fingers then slurped them into my mouth loud enough for him to hear. 

That's when it dawned on me that the immense pleasure I was feeling was almost incidental to this lewd act as far as he was concerned -- he was eating my ass for his own enjoyment, as if he -- to taste me there. I felt my pussy gush at the realization that he was so into me like that, that he craved such a deep level of intimacy with me. The emotional intensity reverberated through my lower body with every thrust of his tongue. 

His tongue didn't just go in and out of me. With every thrust he forced his face into my crack as far as it would go while his tongue swirled around inside me, searching, reaching, driving me crazy. My forebrain screamed revulsion at such a repulsive act. When his thumb began massaging my clit in time with his fingers pressing deep in my pussy, all the stimulation to the pleasure center of my brain closed the door on such protests. 

He brought me to the brink and held me there in delicious torture. I began rutting my ass back into his face, now desperate for the orgasm to which he had brought me so close. Panic overcame me as suddenly his mouth and fingers were no longer where I craved them and he was quickly flipping me over on my back. I pulled my legs up instinctively, grabbing them behind my knees to hold them up on my chest, opening myself completely to him. I nervously wondered if this was the moment that he would take my ass with his cock and use it for his continued pleasure. Instead, he dove back in with his mouth and this time looked me dead in the eye as his tongue forced its way back inside my anus and licked circles around my inner ring. My hands went to caress his face and snaked through his woolly hair as he feasted on me with a dreamy look. The feeling was too exquisite, and my toes curled above my head at the wicked sensation. Then suddenly his mouth moved up to capture my clit as his slimy fingers that were in my pussy found their way to my ass. 

Jackson began to move his middle finger within the snug confines of my anus. Slick with my juices and his saliva his digit slid right into me and curled upwards while he whipped my clit with his tongue. I saw stars. When he felt my hole relax enough he added a second finger, dilating my nervously constricted ring wider and wider. My back arched and I felt my body being lifted, elevated by the rush. Higher and higher I went until finally my orgasm crashed into me, slamming me back down onto the blanket and wracking my body in spasms. 




Behind the Green Veil Ch. 06



I screamed out to the sky with the sweet release as convulsions wracked my body. Jackson wrapped his one free arm around my thigh and held onto me for dear life as my body thrashed about. I could feel his strength as he somehow managed to keep his lips around my clit. He stayed on it until the feeling became too intense and I began trying to push his face away. He perceptively dropped his mouth lower to cover the entrance to my pussy and began to suck out my gushing juices, moaning appreciatively as he gulped down my nectar. 

After my body calmed down he slowly drew his sticky fingers out of my ass and sniffed them, closing his eyes, relishing my stink. I watched horrified. He moaned as my darkest scent filled his lungs and then he kissed a trail up my body. His lips rained light kisses up my belly and between my breasts, then around my neck to my ear. 

"You were absolutely delicious," he growled deeply then kissed a line along my jaw bone just up to my lips and then stopped without actually kissing me there. Perhaps he saw the worried look on my face and so he just stayed there looking deep into my eyes, a few inches just above my face. I saw a look of deep affection there, but there was also a knowing look he was giving me, as if he knew what I was going to do next. I didn't even know what I was going to do next! Did he know me that well? 

As if proving him right, my nose slowly drifted toward his mouth as I began to nervously sniff him. A pungent aroma greeted my senses though my biggest fear was unrealized. The whole lower half of his face was wet and it reeked with the smell of what he had been doing. I could smell my pussy on him but there was a funkier, muskier smell overpowering that. It was a kinky smell of ass but not a dirty one. It was very different from the smell of my pussy, though definitely in the primitive, sexual family of pheromone-laden scents that spoke directly to the lower half of my body. Had he cleaned me that well and had my fears been truly unfounded? As if sensing my disbelief he opened his mouth to let my nose investigate further. 

I got closer, intimately pushing my nose directly into his mouth and smelling inside. My senses were greeted with the same musky smell of my pussy and my ass, but none of the dirty smell of which I was so afraid. My fears and defenses broke down as I nuzzled my nose in his mouth. He let his tongue dance along the entrance to my nostrils and I pulled away.

"That tickles," I laughed, then quickly pushed my lips into his to finally take the kiss we both craved. I kissed him deeply, wanting to share all the kinky flavors of our love that his mouth had to offer. Our tongues danced together as he shifted his weight on top of me and his dripping erection found the entrance to my hungry pussy and slid inside. 

He made slow, passionate love to me while lying on my back with my ankles up over his shoulders, grinding his cock deep in my gooey pussy while his tongue danced in my mouth. My heart was pounding in my chest with both excitement and nervousness and I knew he could feel it. I stopped kissing him long enough to lick his face clean then slid my tongue back into his mouth. We weren't racing toward an orgasm at that point, just relishing being together and the sensation of each other's bodies. 

I knew what he was doing -- giving me time to mentally prepare for what was to come next. Having him in my pussy was like being home and I could just relax and take him there. He took his time, giving me all the time I needed. When the beating of my heart calmed down we both knew that I was ready. Without exchanging a word he stopped thrusting in me and pulled his swollen dick out of my drenched sex. We held eye contact as I reached down between us and grabbed hold of his slimy cock and moved his swollen mushroom head down to where he needed me most. 

I didn't have to tell him to go slow -- I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He gently caressed my face and kissed me tenderly as he began to push himself into my forbidden passage. At first he got nowhere. My body tensed and my anus clamped tightly shut. 

"Relax, my love" he said softly, cupping my face in his right hand. He caressed my cheek tenderly as he looked deep into my eyes. I took a deep breath and felt my moist brown little hole begin to spread for him and we both let out a groan. A deep, animalistic grunt forced its way out of my lungs when his fat tip finally crowned past my tight muscular ring. He stopped with just his head lodged inside me, pausing to let me get used to the feeling.

I felt my sphincter flex anxiously around his "--," the head of his cock, twitching with fear and nervous excitement. Jackson groaned at the sensation of my tightness gripped strongly around his pulsing head. He felt much too big for my tiny little orifice and I felt it would be impossible to take him fully inside of me. We have an expression in Farsi, "--." It means 'a hippo's cock in your ass,' which was pretty much how I felt just then. I felt like I was being split wide open as his deliciously swollen dick staked its claim in my virgin hole. We were in a public park and a stranger could walk by at any moment and see how he was rudely violating me. Yet I was so consumed with excitement -- my body thrumming with horniness -- that I was unwilling to tell him to stop. For some strange reason I felt like I needed him buried deep down in my musky depths. I felt an intense and undeniable longing pulling at me from within, a longing for his heat, his pressure, for the sensation of being filled, even if it killed me. 

His fingers had loosened me but my body continued to tighten from nervousness, making his further entry extremely uncomfortable and nearly impossible. I my flesh would start tearing, and again I doubted whether I could really go through with it. But his dick was so thickly greased with my shameless excitement that my virgin hole's tight resistance was futile. I grimaced at the sting of his continued violation, my body struggling to catch up to the resolve in my mind. "Try to relax and take deep breaths," he told me between soft kisses. I struggled to breathe deep enough as a million thoughts rushed through my head: fear, guilt, pain, and ...

He let go of my face and wrapped his arms around my head and shoulders, holding me tight to him. His furious heart beat reverberated out of his chest and into mine, giving voice to all the emotion between us that we were both so scared to speak. I realized in that moment that I had been holding my breath because of the feelings that we had not spoken. But I also realized in that moment that we didn't have to. We both felt it and we knew it, and with that knowledge I found my breath. I inhaled and exhaled deeply signaling my surrender, body and soul. The mental block removed, I felt my sphincter relax a bit which allowed his dick to continue its slow progression deeper into my musky channel. 

His cock was thrumming with a powerful energy, hard and unbendable as it fought through the valiant resistance being put up by my anus. He stretched me with his girth; the skin of my anus forced wide open and pulled tight to accommodate his surge inside of me. Breath came as a struggle as he crammed more of himself into me and my body attempted to get used to the feeling. 

There was more resistance when the head of his cock pushed through my rectum and came to the natural bend in my colon. But Jackson was relentless. The firm muscles in his thighs bulged with determination and pushed forward. Deep movements in my gut indicated that my insides were shifting, moving to get out of his way as he invaded deeper virgin territory, making a straight passage where no natural one existed. Every inch introduced my body to a new definition of being full. 

I suppose that when one has to "go" really bad, one might feel full back there but that full sensation was nothing like this one. This was a throbbing fullness, a sexually charged fullness. More than just fullness, I felt impaled with a feral lust. The fact that I was impaled by my secret lover also made it a deliciously naughty and forbidden fullness, heightening our pleasure. 

His fit within me was so snug that every detail of his cock was vivid in my mind, so much so that I could have drawn a picture. I could feel the vein that ran along the top of his dick as well as the one that ran underneath, the ring where his foreskin had been circumcised away, and the crown around his head. Every surge of blood pumping from his heart expanded his cock just the slightest amount and forced my hole open that much wider. It was incredibly intimate, feeling -- heart beat inside of -- body. 

For all of his cool demeanor, his heart was racing with emotion. Feeling that one tiny bit of vulnerability from him was what I needed to lose the last of my mental reservations. I pushed my pelvis up into him to take his final inch. The dept of his penetration forced the air out of my lungs with a grunt. Curly hairs around the base of his shaft tickled my gaped little hole, giving me chills. 

I tried to breathe but it felt like the head of his cock was pressed up against my diaphragm preventing me from filling my lungs with air. Still, he didn't start thrusting in me right away. Instead, he gave my body time to adjust to the intrusion while his tongue continued to slowly dance in my mouth. Finally he couldn't hold back any longer and began thrusting into me in slow, measured strokes. When he did I quickly learned that I had not actually taken all of him as each stroke of his shaft seemed to push a little deeper into me and the force behind his thrusts steadily grew in urgency.

Soon I found myself whimpering in despair every time he withdrew then sobbing with pleasure as he plunged in deeper, my flesh aching as he nudged into yet more virgin terrain. With my knees pressed up into my breasts and his chest pressed into the back of my thighs, Jackson made slow but passionate love to my ass with even, forceful strokes as our tongues remained entwined. A steady stream of excitement dribbled out of my splayed open pussy down into my ass cleft, keeping his shaft well lubed.

From his moans I could tell that he was enjoying me but to my dismay he remained in full control. He knew my body so well, knew to make love to me like this while my body got used to having him in me back there. But he also knew that stoking my fire like this would inevitably lead to me needing more. It was what I always needed from him, what probably got me off better than any other aspect of our love making: the feel of him losing total control inside of me. 

I didn't have to say a word. When he sensed my need and my readiness he withdrew his tumescent shaft from my humid depths, shiny and dripping. I immediately felt a rush of cool air flow into my bowels through the gaped open hole that only seconds ago was a clenched little knot. His strong hands flipped me over like a little rag doll to put my full ass on display before him. I rose on extended arms but a strong hand at the small of my back pushed me down and positioned me so that only my ass was up in the air. Without thinking both of my hands reached back to spread and reveal my every secret, and I wondered when I had become such a good little whore. Cool mountain air blew across both of my exposed holes, making me twitch involuntarily. I heard a low growl rumble out of his deep chest as he studied me. 

"Ooh, do that again." 

"Do what?" I whispered, clueless as to what he wanted. 

"Wink for me," he chuckled sinisterly, presumably at my innocence that he was taking. 

I tried my best to do as instructed, mimicking the muscle movements of stopping my pee in full stream. Judging by his reaction, I must have done it right. 

"So fucking sexy!" he hissed. I felt him move urgently and I thought he was going to ram right back into me but he didn't. I gasped in shock as I felt his tongue dart back down into me instead. He wedged his face deep in my cleft while he speared me. My anus now distended, I felt his tongue wiggling around in me much deeper than it had before, somewhere in my rectum where a tongue had no business being. 

"Oh bloody hell!" I growled between gritted teeth. But before I could get used to the feeling he had pulled his tongue right back out, then slammed his rigid dick right back in. 

Once he began to thrust fully into me the tickling of his hairs sent goosebumps up the crack of my ass and up my spine, all the way to my neck. His low swinging balls began to slap into my splayed open slit with every thrust, hitting my clit and becoming wet with my juices. It felt like his -- was somewhere up in my chest every time he bottomed out in me and I just felt wonderfully full of his delicious flesh, wonderfully full of him, wonderfully full of a heady mix of lust and love that was threatening to make me lose my head. Jackson wasn't just fucking my ass -- he was fucking my mind. I was high on the heated mental rush of my biggest taboo being brazenly violated in a public place. 

The worst was when he withdrew after each thrust, leaving me feeling empty. Soon my body tried to take matters into her own hands to prevent each little disaster of emptiness. I wantonly began thrusting back into him in a willful display of my complete submission to being thoroughly sodomized. I was desperate to feel the fullness from each of his powerful thrusts. Every time he lunged deep inside of me my body spasmed to take an iron grip of his rigid flesh, squeezing him as tight as she could to hold him and keep him there. This just served to feed his raw lust, making him growl, and bringing his muscular hips crashing down into my buttocks at a faster pace. 

Before long he was rutting into me and grunting incoherently, his huge balls slapping my wantonly splayed open and empty pussy. If his tongue had been sweet and loving to me earlier, his dick grew brutal. I was suddenly scared to death, fearful that my body couldn't take it. But at the same time, I had never felt more alive in my life. 

The combination of his saliva and my pussy juice had me well lubed but as we began to sweat the addition of even more moisture caused the chorus of fucking sounds coming from behind me to reach a fever pitch. The most obscene squishing sounds reverberated throughout the clearing as he rammed in and out of my rectum. He began lunging into me so hard that I couldn't stay on my knees -- the force of his thrusts pushing me down on my stomach. 

Jackson didn't miss a stroke and began pounding my ass into the ground. Deeper groans, two octaves lower than my earlier ones, began flowing incoherently out of my lips. I bit down into the blanket to mask the obscene noises I was making afraid my screams might draw an audience. My fists also clenched the polyester material. 

In this position two things changed. With nowhere for my body to go to absorb his thrusts, the pounding he was giving me felt all the more powerful and overwhelming. More importantly, the angle in which he was entering my ass meant that each downward thrust pushed the head of his shaft right into that sweet, spongy spot on the front inside wall of my pussy. 

Suddenly I felt myself being pushed toward an orgasm; one of those deep ones, far off in the distance that take a long time to arrive but that crash into you like a freight train when they come. For a spell, I couldn't think, talk or move. All I could do was just hang on for dear life and take being pounded as my legs flailed behind me. It was as if there was a dark pain deep within him, kept hidden from the rest of the world, that he needed to work out by fucking the shit out of my body's most guarded passage. Finding my voice, I started mumbling obscenities in Farsi, shocked at my body's reaction. He slowed his thrusts and brought his lips to my ear. 

"No, not this time. As sexy as it sounds when you talk dirty in Farsi, for this I want to hear it in English."

I groaned in protest at his slowed thrusts. I wiggled my ass around his hardness, trying to get him to resume his pace. He wasn't having it.

"Tell me or I'll pull out," he threatened, knowing that I was loving it. But I knew that he was loving it just as much as I was, if not more, so I reasoned it was an idle threat. I repeated my obscenity in Farsi, dramatically accentuating the lustful desire in my voice, daring him to leave me. He thrust deeply within me one more time then pushed up on extended arms and began to slowly pull his sweet cock out of my hungry ass. I could feel the inner flesh of my rectal passage being pulled out with him as I desperately tried to hug him with my sphincter muscle and keep him inside. When only his head was left in me he paused and we both waited with baited breath. He blinked first; point for me.

"My God, Orkideh, this looks so fucking good, me inside you like this." His lust-filled eyes burned into my flesh as he took in the lewd sight of his dick sticking out of my ass. 

"No fair," I pouted. "I wish I could see, too." He thought about it for a moment then reached over to where our clothes were piled, grabbing for his pants. I turned my head to see him pull away with his phone. Then I heard the click of the camera app as he took a picture of us. He handed the phone to me. God, what an erotic sight it was! I had seen my anus once before when I was a young teen, first taking a mirror to examine myself. I remembered a crinkled little star held tightly shut. What I saw now was gaped wide open to accommodate him, the skin just around the anus slightly darker than the rest of my olive complexion. Seemingly forced into my greatly expanded orifice was a steel veiny rod, his chocolate brown skin shiny with our juices. The bulbous tip was hidden inside of me and the rest of his shaft looked poised to slam down into my core. 

It was embarrassingly pornographic, and it turned me on immensely. My sex grew sloppy with added excitement just from the sight. My body tightened my sphincter to squeeze him appreciatively as I handed the phone back to him. Wiggling my hips, I pushed back to let him know what I wanted. He took the hint and took a few more pictures as he resumed an agonizingly slow pace stroking in and out of my stretched little hole. Point two for me. When I felt his pubes again tickling my gaped open anus he took one final picture and handed the phone back to me. 

I gasped as I scrolled through each successive picture. My body's visceral reactions to the pornographic images continued as Jackson brought his weight down on my back and began raining kisses against the side of my face. On the screen my crinkled little star stretched to grip him fiercely and I could see the tension in my tiny brown orifice increasing as he sank deeper into me with each progressive shot. The next picture made me gasp out loud. He had captured his cock withdrawing, pulling my insides out with him -- the focus zoomed-in close. The pink inner flesh of my rectal wall was hugging him, clinging to his shaft in a vain attempt to prevent its escape. A filthy, whorish desire welled up in me that I couldn't give voice to and my mouth watered. The damp spot on the blanket underneath my hips grew larger as my pussy wept tears of joy.

The final image of his cock buried down to its base in my ass actually caught my breath in my throat. I studied it intently as he watched my reaction over my shoulder. My once chaste little anus had wantonly devoured his shaft and made it completely disappear somewhere deep inside my bowels. All I could see was his course and curly pubes, slick with my juices and pressed tightly up against my impossibly stretched and distended hole. He could tell from the way my ass kept squeezing around him, hugging him while keeping his mushroom head throbbing somewhere deep in my abdomen, that the added visual of my ass being deflowered was turning me on immensely.