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————– 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.
“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 illegal bahis 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, illegal bahis siteleri 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 canlı bahis siteleri 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.
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