(This is a Christmas present for Jahanshah Javid without whose encouragement I would never have found the joy of this kind of writing!)
When you are writing a series it is fatal to stop. If it takes too long between episodes readers, even the most avid fans, tend to lose track of the story. When you take as long as I have this time they lose interest completely. So it is with a very humble amount of hope of recovering my readers’ interest that I am writing this piece. The only thing I have going for me is that I write in a genre in which the plot and coherence of a story matters little. What matters is how well the writing conveys sex. Basically if the reader is turned on by what I write I have succeeded. So I will give you a Christmas episode from a while back that I have wanted to share for a long time and now that I am free from the linear confines of diary writing I will indulge you.
It was many years ago. The children were young. I was in a marriage that was sexually barren. I had gained a lot of weight and blamed myself for my husband’s lack of interest. Though incredibly horny since I first began to touch myself in elementary school I had learned to not covet sexual relations with someone else. I intellectualized myself out of the need for sex. One summer I was vacationing in the South of France, where my parents live. I was living in a big apartment with my children and their Filipina nanny. My husband was away at work. I had an Iranian friend who had been a drug dealer and was well-versed in the workings of the underworld. He was a smart guy who like many compatriots, yours truly included, had wasted his mind and youth on seeking all forms of illicit pleasure. Farhad used to procure me the best opium and though my vacations were sexless they were, in this way, not void of pleasure.
I am usually not closeted about my bi-sexuality. But with some people, especially compatriots, I adopt a “don’t ask don’t tell” attitude more out of respect for their sensibilities and their level of comfort than anything else. Not all of my mom’s friends need to know about me being in love with a roommate in college is my logic.
I decided that it was safe to confide to Farhad about my sexual experiences and proclivities. Not the least because conversation is to opium like cigarettes are to alcohol and we were running out of subjects! One warm Mediterranean evening as we were euphoric with opium I told him how I liked having sex with women. I also told him about how long it had been since I had had sex with anyone. Before the night was over and after the kids were in bed Farhad, the ever obliging friend, went off to the streets of Nice, which were studded with Russian prostitutes, to find me a whore. I had always envied the facility with which men could procure sex. It was an old fantasy of mine to have sex with a prostitute. I awaited his return with an adolescent boy’s mix of fear and enthusiasm.
A while later I heard his car outside the apartment. I went on the balcony to look. There was Farhad with a tall and slim brunette with long hair and pale skin. They came up and I greeted the girl with the warmth and affection of an Iranian auntie. She said her name was Elena. I offered her a drink and poured myself another glass of scotch on the rocks. She spoke English well which was a relief. I was very nervous. I had not had sex with anyone for years! Even if I had it was nothing compared to the prospect of having to engage this prostitute. So I made small talk and she was thankfully lacking in both inhibition and vulgarity: a fine balance that only the best of those in the business of sex-for-money can reach.
Finally my friend got tired of me courting this woman we were paying and signaled for me to go to my bedroom. I did and she followed. She told me right away that she had never been with a woman before. This both excited and scared me. I told her that it was easy. She seemed so young. Yet her pale skin set against huge dark eyes, her tall and lanky figure, her beautiful long brown hair and the delicious plumpness of her lips gave the joyous prospect of undressing her, an erotic urgency. If I had a kir it would have been hard as a rock and ready to explode.
I kissed her. Then took her by the hand and led her to the bed. She undressed with the efficiency of a professional. I started circling her round, young breasts with my fingers. Then I dropped my hand to her koon and caressed it gently. I kissed her on the lips and moved my mouth down to her nipples licking and nibbling them. I parted the buttocks and slid my finger down the crack to her koss. I pressed one finger into her kos and moaned when I felt its wetness. She started responding by kissing my neck. With two fingers inside her I started rubbing her clitoris with my thumb.
As I undressed I made her touch herself. I lay down beside her and pulled her towards me. She caressed my breasts licking my nipples. With her slender hand and long fingers she touched my koss. Finding my clitoris she gently rubbed it with the dexterity that only a woman and very few men possess. I would have screamed if the kids were not sleeping next door. Instead I turned her over and went right down on her koss licking and nibbling her clitoris. I spread her leg wide and slid a finger in her koon and pushed deep. I felt her koss rise into my mouth and convulse with waves of orgasm. Then I sat back on the bed as she kneeled by the bed and started licking my koss spreading my legs like I had done hers a moment ago and pushing a finger up my koon. She slid another finger in my koon and I came as I held her head firmly against my koss.
