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World Cup

Sex, love, and football
I would rather watch the Iran-Mexico match with my man rather than David Beckham in the nude



June 7, 2006

I am a bit of an eccentric. Certain events and occasions I take seriously. I have always been a pleasure seeker and I rarely take lightly occasions that present themselves as potential moments for celebration and bliss. 

I have always been a football fan (I mean soccer for all of you who live where mostly women play it!) ever since the days when I played in the alleys of Darrous with my posse of mostly male cousins and friends. As a young child I remember being a Manchester United fan in Tehran.  I had a big George Best poster in my bedroom and collected all their cards.  Those were the days, in the late sixties and early seventies, when footballers, starting with George Best, had just begun taking on rock star proportions. 

My love of football and boys grew together.  I was a tomboy-- the kind mom starts getting worried about until the daughter in question begins developing boobs that declare her gender more loudly and brutally than any amount of socialization imposed by a life-time of frilly skirts and Barbie dolls.  

We all know that the World Cup comes around every four years.  Iran has only made it to the World Cup twice or maybe thrice until now (I think the first time was under the Pahlavis so it will make it trice with this one included).  So this World Cup, especially the matches that Iran will play against Mexico, Portugal and Angola in Germany, is important to me both as an Iranian football fan and as the pleasure seeker who does not like to miss any occasion for merry making. 

Napoleon, my increasingly beloved lover, is also a football fan.  In fact before we started having an affair we used to watch a lot of football together and spent many nights playing Fifa World Cup on PSII.  I love watching football with him not only because I love him but because I love the way he watches football: passionately. He has a vast knowledge of football history referring to historic football moments, such as the penalty Bagio missed in Italy’s final against Brazil in ’98, with the ease and honest interest of a true aficionado.  He is off his seat half the time and gets excited about little mistakes the referee makes. My lover generates incredible sounds of joy or anger mixed with appropriate comments when a shot is missed or a beautiful play is made.  He is anything but a passive voyeur when watching football on T.V. -- kind of like the way he makes love with all his gut in it, savoring every minute.

But all of this has led to a dilemma.  Let me give you a “state of the union” address because it has been so long since I have confided in you about this affair, my dear readers.  We are seeing each other almost every day or rather night—even the weeks he stays at his girlfriend’s he manages to see me at least a couple of nights and every other day. He calls at least three times a day.  He takes me out to lunch once a week and he has been tutoring my kid in math.  The sex is great as always and does not betray any sign of the kind of ebbing that comes with time in a relationship. I think the reason for this is that we are having a secret affair and that fact, the secretiveness of it, makes it exciting.  Either that or the guy just has good circulation, is only forty one, and takes long naps in the afternoon and yours truly is, after all, a writer of erotica which does not hurt in nourishing a relationship based largely on sex.

But this kind of virility in a man you are in love with is scary.  The guy, one has to see; can fuck anybody anytime and not just one a day! And guys who can: will-- unless they are lazy or too scared of getting caught.  I have been with nearly impotent ones as well. With them, if they manage to still penetrate you, you get this feeling that they are so happy about having finally managed to get it up and keep it that way for a civilized amount of time; they don’t want to risk losing it or you. You also have this sense that they will never venture out for fear of not being able to perform.  But alas, what would you prefer a man who is limp most of the time and loyal or one with a hard on so good it imposes disloyalty on the poor soul?  There are times when I am not sure.  But I think a man’s hard-on is the biggest compliment a woman can get and as such deserves our utmost respect.  So let us put it this way: he better be good if he is disloyal. Honestly, if I were him I would be worse. Or maybe a man like that would get tired.  I would not know the only erections I ever get are mental ones.

So things are better between Napoleon and moi.  But he is still with the serious girlfriend and has no intention of changing the status quo, which brings me to my present dilemma.

For months we have been talking about the World Cup.  As our affair or my affection for the guy has taken on a more serious dimension I have stopped seeing him with his girlfriend socially.  It was not too difficult because they do not have much of a social life neither do I.  But now the summer is approaching and we have many mutual friends who will be in town.  I told him rather clearly that I would like to avoid all contact with his girlfriend as much as possible.  I also set out a series of rules for what he should do if we do run into each other and when we are together in groups.  The one thing that makes this relationship a bit more mature than the ones I had as a teen is that I now let the guy know how I feel and what I want. I do this in a passive, girly way but I still, at least, assert myself more than I did thirty years ago which makes me feel that all those Women Studies courses were not a waste after all.  

Anyway back to the dilemma: his girlfriend does not work Sunday June 11th when Iran plays its first match against Mexico.  I want to invite some friends to watch it here.  He cannot come unless with her.  I got so upset over this that even if he had slept with someone else I would not have been so upset.  You see I was hoping to share a moment of World Cup bliss with the man I most love.  The man I rather watch this football match with than with David Beckham in the nude. 

So what do I do dear readers? Do I swallow my pride and accept my position as mistress, the ‘other’ woman, and rise to the occasion like some French madam in total control, invite my lover and his girlfriend and everyone and just act above it all floating over my party fueled with vodka cocktails that I pour for everyone but mostly myself.  You know, I would have done it without hesitation if I was taller or prettier or thinner than the fucking French b---- (I know I use all kind of foul language in these diaries but swearing at his woman seems vulgar, so we will leave it as is!).  I mean here I am the mistress and I am older, fatter and shorter than his woman.  That is hard to handle. I know that he digs me more sexually. But, for one I am not sure of that, he only tells me—and two it still keeps me from floating over the party the way I want to.  Oh, if I were Angelina Jolie. I would have probably slept with my lover’s girlfriend too just to complicate things for sport.  If I looked remotely like Angelina I would have moved up from my late-night billing into the prime-time spot in his life.  As it is I have to content myself with the late-night position and tell myself that it is indeed more fun.

For those of you who are waiting for an erotic turn to all this.  I will recount what happened the other night when we met.  We met, had drinks, talked and started fondling each other on the couch.  He sank his head in my breasts and started licking and sucking them. I let out a cry he said, “joon.”  He reached for my hand while kissing me and put it on his kir.  It was hard as a rock and he wanted me to know it.  I love the feel of an erection under jeans. I rubbed his penis over the jeans then unbuttoned them. I took out his kir and held it in my hand caressing it.  I pinned up my hair and went down on the beautiful erection.  Holding the tip of his penis with my lips I moved my mouth slowly down and up again using my tongue to caress the front side and my hand to hold the bottom.  I slowly increased the pace of my head moving up and down and tightened my mouth and lips around his penis sucking it.  He let out another cry and let his head fall back reaching for the shaft of my buttocks with his hands.  He felt his way around my koon and reached for my clitoris from behind.  When he touched my vagina it was already dripping, “cheghadr kheeseh koset azizam-- khailee khoobeh.”  I stopped let his throbbing penis out of my mouth and said, “doost daram kireto bokhoram.”  He kissed me and said, “joonam meekham bokonam koseto. I turned around and put my knees on the couch leaning over the back with my ass to him.  He got up, lifted my skirt pushed my panties to the side and penetrated my kos from behind. Slowly then pushing hard with all his might. I let out a cry the neighbors must have heard.  He kept fucking me deep playing with my clitoris with one hand and singing praises of my kos till I came and so did he, spilling his warm and abundant come on the crack of my koon.

Allez Iran as they say here in France! Oh and please do let me know what you think I should do. Invite the girlfriend or not?

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