Seda and Sima

This is the story of love between Seda and Sima gone depraved.  Like all other love stories, the two were passionately in love with each other at first, but at the end they became prostitutes for satisfaction of others.  They were children when Islamic Revolution happened, but even at that young age they were both idealists, both looking forward to a bright future.  Seda was the older of the two.  When he grew to manhood his voice became entertaining and imaginative.  Sima had the physical beautify that every woman was jealous of.

When they became corrupt at later days, it reached its peek when they finally shared their bed with a man called Mahmoud.  He approached Sima at first, when the relationship between Seda and Sima had already reached a loathsome point.  The first time Mahmoud had her way with Sima was during the Iranian Presidential Election.  Sima could not resist his charm.  His smile, his manly beard, and his short stature were all irresistible to her.  They met in an isolated area of where she worked, behind an editing room, below a storage room, to the left of the copy machine room, and a few steps from the tea room.  Mahmoud’s hands were all over Sima’s body, her veil, and then when she didn’t show any resistance, he reached under her long manteau (he did that very easily since he was so short) and then he moved her hand slowly up towards her fraj; all the while getting excited by her unshaven legs.  He stopped at her thighs for a brief exploration.  He worked his way from outer to inner thighs, and then wrapped her small hands around her large buttocks.  When Mahmoud was feeling her ass she asked him if he thought her fanny was curvilinear, which he said it was.  She said, “That’s what I thought.  That’s why I have to wear these goshad clothes all the time.  That’s why those Mullahs are after my ass all the time.”  Mahmoud paid her no attention.  He moved his right hand up to her bra and kept it there for awhile.  His left hand was in her fraj till smell of fish filled the room.  Mahmoud asked her what that smell was.  She said they were serving mahi for dinner that night.  Mahmoud said, “ukh joon!  I love fish.  Let me eat some of that first then we’ll come back to where we stopped.”  After he ate the fish he proceeded to go back to where he was distracted by the smell.  He helped her take off her robe and unhooked her bra, which then all of a sudden two Bazookas fell on his face.  He sucked on them Bazookas till she went into a lustful convulsion.  Mahmoud felt so good upon entering her that he said, “ukh joon!  I don’t think Hugo Chavez hamchin kosi giresh biyad.”

Soon Seda found out about Sima’s indiscretion, but there was nothing he could do about it.  He was totally, completely, and utterly dysfunctional, and screwed up at the same time too.  Mahmoud approached him one day and proposed a trio; Sima, Seda, and him, all together in bed.  “Imagine, we’ll screw like there is no tomorrow, no heaven above us, no hell either, no country, no possession.  Only Imam Zaman.  Let’s live for today, we’re all brothers.”  Mahmoud told Seda.  He was a smooth talker.  He was a man of power, a world figure.  Women everywhere were salivating over his intellectual approach to all things that had to do with the Jews, he thought.   He had a mesmerizing divine power, he saw haloes; he continued to think.  Seda couldn’t say no to him.  He was already secretly in love with him anyway; he just hadn’t admitted it to himself or anyone else, up to that day.

At first, it was awkward for the two of them, Seda and Sima, to be naked in front of another man, but soon they wormed up to it, because they had turned up the heat on the gas heater.  Mahmoud got on top of Sima, and Seda got on top of Mahmoud, but then Mahmoud told him, “maadar ghahbeh, get off me!  Who do you think you are!”  So then, Seda got off Mahmoud and went under Sima; it was a sandwich made with Sima in between Seda and Mahmoud.  They screwed around like that for a while then Seda said; let’s do a 69 with three of us; like 699, or a 669.  Mahmoud said; why do we have to do 69?  Why can’t we do a 60, or a 70?

Sima- “What is that?”

Mahmoud- “By the Grace of God, 60, 70 years ago there was a World War in Europe and 60 million people were killed for nothing; because they didn’t believe in Imam.  30 years ago I was in the 2nd step of a 200-step ladder, but now I’m on the 200th step and the Europeans are on the 2nd step.”

Seda- “What!”

Mahmoud- “Back then my father was a metal welder.  One day he was fabricating a 200-step ladder for a European project, that’s when I figured out that the Europeans must at least be capable of going half way up the ladder, to the 100th step, so I told myself I must climb this ladder one day and get ahead of them, but as soon as I got to the 2nd step of the ladder I got scared; that’s when Imam Zaman and Imam chokhaan told me, don’t be scared my little boy, if you lie, one day you will reach the 200th step.”

Neither Seda nor Sima had any idea how that information would help them to figure out the geometry of their next Kama Sutra position, but they said, okay, let’s try 60 or 70.  Mahmoud and Sima formed a 7, or a 6, it doesn’t matter, in Farsi text numero 6 and 7, in a sexual geometry position, are the same.  Mahmoud made Seda roll around in the bottom of the bed under them, trying to make himself into a zero, all the while Mahmoud and Sima were kissing on top of him.  Seda was thinking to himself, “een madder ghahbeh  ham zan’e man’o kard ham khodamo ghaaeed, yeh labham beh ma nedaad.  ajab maadar ghahbeh’eyeh!”

After Mahmoud was finished he told them, now you two do it and I listen to you and watch you, but only do as I tell you.  And, it’s been like that for Seda and Sima ever since.

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