Mr. Eskandari

He had a rather good smell for a plumber and his body had a mild odor of manly sweat


Mr. Eskandari
by Shana Yazdi

I wrote about my sex life in many months ago [see: "Meysam" and "My story"] but I still receive a lot of mails every day. Just yesterday a guy called Eric wrote to me about other articles by Parinaz Samii on this website and asked me to read them and give my opinions. I read them and found them really interesting. Isn't it exciting to see Iranian ladies are much braver than men in talking about taboos?

I never wished to give details of my sex life in order to turn people on or find new sex partners, but it has apparently made a lot of people and (mostly men) aroused, so much so that they never forgot about me and many of them keep sending me letters on regular basis along with photos, ranging from flowers to their naked bodies with their penis in various stages of stimulation.

My only purpose was to see the reaction of people when they hear about a woman with very many sexual encounters. I was brought up to be a lady and in my public life I play that part quite masterfully, but deep inside I am a woman with a great desire to be sociable with men and spend time with them. I enjoy being with men both in bed and out of it. The shape of a male body is a beautiful picture to see and the sound of his sighs during lovemaking is music to my ears. A woman's body desires to be entered by a part of man's body and people who deny this pleasure are lying to themselves.

For me nothing is more beautiful than spending some time with a guy, talking, laughing, touching, kissing, sucking and fucking. Then when we both are finished, just lie there in our arms, feeling the great sensation of release. Exhausted but relieved. Sensing the hard body of a man next to your skin, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin which reminds you that you are a woman, and you are desirable and you give pleasure and take it back in return too. Later on the whole affair turns into a memory to be remembered and cherished for the rest of our lives. I have seen many of my previous lovers later on although we didn't want to mention our time together in public, we just remembered our nice time together with a lovely smile or a blink or a casual pat on the back.

I also read the article "Man jehndeh jeestam" on this website and enjoyed it immensely. It was very close to my agenda of not being ashamed of what I am and what I have done. I do not feel guilty of any of the orgies I attended or one night stands with total strangers. I have made love to a lot of men and I loved every moment and second of them. I have not done anything to be ashamed of and I do not think there is any heaven or hell to go to but I still feel uncomfortable about it and I do not like to disclose my sexcapades to anybody. Why? I don't know.

The last time I wrote to you my mother was sick with cancer and I had to take her to London for the rest of her treatment. We stayed there for a few months and I reunited with my Polish partner who I had missed a lot. After long days in the hospital I hurried to his arm and spent the rest of my time making love to him. Once he came to the hospital and guided my hand to touch his everlasting erection. It felt so good that had I not been in control of my senses I would have given him a blow job in my mom's bathroom!!!!!

Anyway, the long and grueling treatment was not successful and a few months after returning from the UK I lost my mom. I lost her. She was gone. One moment she was there and right before my eyes she left. I still had her hand in mine when she took her last breath. It was a very sad experience. Although I was preparing myself for such a day I would never have imagined the pain and suffering of losing a parent. As though a big part of my being was buried under tons of soil. I went through a long period of depression and loneliness. I thought about her all the time and could not separate my mind from anything else. I felt a whole lot of guilt and thought I had disappointed her in many ways. There was not a day without tears for my mother. Anything and everything reminded me of my loss. Anywhere in the house had a memory of her. I didn't have appetite and wouldn't go out. I would wake up in the middle of the night to find myself in my mother's wardrobe, touching the fabric of her clothes, trying out her shoes and crying till morning. Many people tried to get me out of this shell of sadness but I wouldn't budge and didn't let them in my private space. And yet I fucked a guy in her house in my black dress before the official 40-day period of her mourning was ended.

I remember every single detail of that day quite clearly. The day started for me when at 10 o'clock when I found myself walking like a ghost around the house thinking about death and my loss. Sadat Khanoom our maid said something but I didn't hear it, maybe about lunch or the garden. I didn't care. Then Agha Karim, who helped us in the house came in and said hello and hurried up the stairs. Soon I learned there was something wrong with the washing machine in one of the bathrooms and water was flooding the second floor. So they jumped downstairs and shut off the main faucet and again the silence and calmness of my loneliness prevailed. I sat in a chair, staring aimlessly at something on the wall, thinking about nothing for another half an hour when the door opened and Agha Karim and another guy came in, saying YALLAH and Hello, they rapidly walked up the stairs.

I don't know exactly how much later but I felt tired and decided to go up to rest in my bed. I climbed up the stairs and went past the main corridor toward my own bedroom. Thanks to the sincere and round the clock efforts of Sadat Khanoom all the rooms were neatly made as though my mom was still alive. I passed the small sitting room on the second floor toward my room when I heard a noise from a bathroom. I moved my head just a little so that I could see what was going on in there and I saw that man again. The man who came with Agha Karim. He was fooling around with some pipes in the back of the washing machine. I soon realized he was a plumber who is working on the leaking pipe. In a split second I wanted him. I don't know why but I could feel some mysterious juices flowing throughout my body. I went to my bedroom and tried to digest what I had witnessed. He was a man around forty, with thick beard and moustache and very hairy body. I could see that because in the heat of the bathroom he had taken off his shirt and was working on the pipes in a sleeveless undershirt. I walked up and down the room to dispel any sexy thought but after a few minutes I got out of the room and passed the bathroom again to see him there. He was quite well-built and had muscular arms and biceps.

I lingered my pause at the bathroom to see more before going down the corridor to my mother's room. In there I started to chide myself for even thinking about sex in such a dreadful time. "Bitch, your mother has just passed away and you want a man," I told myself. I found myself at the bathroom doorstep once more and this time he looked up and saw me. A little bashful about his semi-nakedness he said "Salam Khanoom". I asked how long it took to finish, all the time staring at the black tuft of curly hair jutting out from his undershirt collar. "Just a few minutes," he said making himself busy with the wrench again. I went back to my room and sat on the bed. In a few moments I found my hand inside my dress, caressing my left nipple, enjoying the ripple of emotion it sent throughout my body. I wanted a man and he was inside the house and nobody was there and I could easily invite him to my room and lock the door. But I didn't do that. Because I was mourning and I had lost my dearest thing in the world. Besides at any moment Sadat Khanoom and Agha Karim would come up to look in on the progress of the repair job. In a final resort to curb my uncontrollable urge I shut and locked the door to my bedroom and crept under the quilt.

That night I masturbated, thinking about that guy in my sleep I woke up with my fingers moving in and out of my vagina and rubbing against my clitoris. I came a few seconds later and then I cried. The feeling of guilt and betraying the memory of my mother could not leave me alone. The next day I did not get out of my room but I masturbated again. Then I thought to myself what a fool I am. I have fought against religious superstitions and feeling of guilt all my life and yet I was feeling guilty because I wanted a man. The basic right of a woman is to have a man. Why should I be guilty of anything? I walked up and down my room all that night trying to convince myself that I wanted a man and although my mother was dead it was ok to sleep with a guy.

I said to myself "My mother was nowhere in heaven and she could never see me and even if she did, she would probably be very much happy that I had a good time. Why should religion and superstition overshadow any and every aspect of my life? What am I? I am made up of some chemical elements which by hooks or crooks some electric currents throughout my body have turned me into the shape of a living organism. The same electric flow asks me to find a man and fuck him soon."

I remembered a ridiculous encounter with a lady the other day. She was a woman of 45, well educated and well-dressed, with hairs carefully done and her face beautifully made up, manicured nails and a good knowledge of English and a little French, coming from a very good and noble family of Qajar dynasty, but a complete bum and a real asshole.

She was one of the campaigners for women's rights in Iran, the so called "One Million Signatures Campaign". She came to ask for my signature in their petition, which of course I accepted whole-heartedly. I was thrilled with the idea and afterwards we started chatting for a few minutes. But about 10 minutes later I realized that I am dealing with a total jerk who does not know her rights let alone fighting for them. The conversation lead to the fact that her daughter would be taking part in the university exams for the coming year and she has a whole lot of plans for it. So far, so good. It is such a blessing for any child who has parents by his or her side in any occasion. I asked about the plans and the answers made me shut up for a few minutes.

"Well, I have to make Ash Nazri for neighbors every Thursday night for the next few months and ask them to pray for my daughter," she said. I could not move for at least 10 minutes before I told her to be ashamed of herself. "You are campaigning for women's rights and you are making a whole lot of sacrifice to move away from these superstitions and emancipate yourself and others from the slavery of religious traditions, and yet you make Ash for the people to have your daughter accepted at the university? What is the possible relationship between Ash Nazri and your daughter? Come on. Give me back my signature."

That night with these thoughts, I became calm and persuaded myself that wanting a man is normal and ok. It does not make any difference if I fuck a guy while I am mourning or on my wedding night.

The next morning I asked Sadat Khanoom how much they paid for the repair job and who paid for it. Quite cleverly I understood the guy's name was Mr. Eskandari and had a small repair shop just around the corner of our main street and he had a contact card too. Sadat Khanoom brought the card herself and innocently recommended the guy.

I wanted to call him to come to my place after four o'clock when Sadat Khanom and Agha Karim had gone home, but I had to fuck him before five when my dad comes back from the office. I thought about calling him and asking to come quickly because the pipe is leaking again. In the afternoon when our help had gone I called him but he was not available. For a long time I tried but he did not pick up the phone. About 4:30 he picked up the phone and told me with a deep and husky voice that he was on a job and he could come quickly. I was so excited that I had forgotten the fact that my dad would come back in half an hour and there was no time for fucking anymore. He had left his shop and my dad was on his way back home. When he rang the bell I did not know what to say. I could not tell him that my pipe has suddenly stopped leaking and please come tomorrow afternoon at 4 o'clock to repair it.

I just told him on my Iphone that I had some guests and if it is not too much trouble please come back later. I mentioned the fact that the leak was nothing serious and it could wait for a few days. With the same sexy voice he said "Ok, I am at your service." Then I had the urge to see him and talk to him. I suddenly said please wait. I picked up my purse and took out 2000 Tomans and rushed to the door. I opened the door to see his sexy big frame standing there with a big smile. I put the money in his big hands and thanked for his time. I did not fail to notice his thumb. (According to my vast experience with men if a woman likes the shape of a man's thumb, she will love the shape of his cock too. Nice thumb, lovely cock). He had a beautiful and powerful thumb and it promised a big and thick shaft down there in his pants. I waited for him to thank and leave and kept staring at his big body, visualizing myself beneath that. I closed the door and leaned on our pine tree, feeling ashamed of my desire again, but after a few seconds I forgot about it and went inside. That night I masturbated in my sleep again. Waking up in the middle of the night I was angry with my masturbation because I wanted to save my passion for tomorrow afternoon to fuck Mr. Eskandari.

The next day everything went smoothly. I bathed after the lunch and slipped into a comfortable sleeveless black dress. I was still mourning after all. I called him right after our servants left and he was by my door ten minutes later. He came into the house and said hello. I lead him to the second floor and he went right into the bathroom starting to pull the washing machine away. I went inside and closed the door behind me. His back was toward me and I slipped the shoulder of my dress down to bare my breasts. When he turned around he saw me standing there with my shapely breasts in view. I did not say a word and he was mesmerized. I went forward and touched his big hands and put them on my breasts. His stunned eyes contacted mine and his big calloused hand cupped my breast uncontrollably. I don’t know what happened in the next few minutes but I remember him kissing and licking my shoulder and neck and I loved every moment of it. He was saying things and I was replying but I don't remember the conversation. Just the feeling of his skin against mine. We were being united into one being and we knew the path we were going to.

The next moment we were in my room and we were both naked and making love like animals. He had a beautiful tool and he made wonderful use of it. When he took off his jockey shorts he suddenly felt ashamed and fell on me as though he was hiding his things from my eyes. But I wanted to see it and touch it. He wouldn't allow me, and while his tongue was making a track from my cheek towards my lips and neck and nipples I felt the tip of his cock between my legs, touching the pink skins around my entrance. I was more than ready and accommodated his shaft easily and with great pleasure. Then small explosions of passion took me over and after several movements of our bodies I released my frustrated passion in the arms of the total stranger.

After the first time we paused to explain myself to him and I told him I wanted him the first moment I saw him. He laughed and kissed me on my lips. He had a rather good smell for a plumber and his body had a mild odor of manly sweat.

Eskandari was a very good man, working day and night, supporting a family of three. He was a rather innocent man, judging by the fact that he lived for 42 years before his first blow job. I really loved the delicious taste of his cock and it excited me to see him jerk and writhe when my mouth worked on his penis. After the first day we met now and then for three months but not inside our house. I had to take him to my small apartment in Karaj and spend a few hours together. We smoked and chatted in between our fucks and hit it off quickly. Once we played cards (Passoor was the only game he played). I taught him to play a strip game and the loser had to take off a piece of clothes. It was a funny picture playing cards with my breasts pointing toward his naked body.

He was really good at kissing and fondling too. Once I was making tea in the kitchen when he came toward me from behind and put his hands on my breasts. I sighed and laughed and then I felt his big sausage between my legs. He then asked me to press my thighs together. The head of his cock was so hot. Another time I wanted to eat his cum but he felt ashamed and begged to differ. He thought it was beneath my dignity and didn't want to degrade me to that level. I told him I do not mind and in my opinion it is not any degradation and I enjoy it but he didn't give up and begged me to forget it.

I loved the time after sex when I used to rest my head on his stony shoulders chatting away. Every now and then I would turn my head and peck the lovely pillow under my head. All the time I had my finger into his triangle, playing with his lovely bush. Then he took the cue and put fingers in my pubic hair and played with mine while we talked. I loved the sensation. It was so new to me.

He told me about his poverty and difficult childhood and it really broke my heart. He had lost his dad when he was very young and had to take over the family plumbing business at the age of 14.

He was a very respectful man and always called me Khanoom even when he was deep inside me and pressing down my body with his massive chest. He never took advantage of our short relationship and never talked dirty to me or made me do things for him. He never asked questions and never snooped around my place. He didn't want anything from me and appreciated our time together. He never called me or ring the doorbell to attract any attention. I got to believe that he truly liked my friendship. A good friend was something he had rarely experienced in his life. I could sense that. Such a lovely man so deprived of simplest amenities of life. But so proud and a real gentleman by nature with no proper eduction.

He kept calling me Khanoom but I nicknamed him ESKI and when I wanted to take him to Karaj I would tell him let's go skiing!!!! (BIA BERIM ESKI). He was a really really sweet guy and I always wanted to devour him. Our different social class didn't matter to me and had he not been married I would have shacked up with him for a long long time. He was someone I could talk to. A real soul mate just like my Polish friend back in the UK. Once I noticed our talking in between our fucking was getting longer and livelier each time. After our love-making he would press me into his arms and kissed me for a long time. It was a lovely sensation. I hate men who roll away from the bed and pick up their pants right after their ejaculation.

I brought him home one night and put him in my room upstairs. Then I came downstairs and gave my dad's dinner. Excused myself for a bad headache and went up to my room. It was so exciting to have him in my room while my dad was in the house. I took a photograph of his naked body in my bed. I kept him for hours and at 2 o'clock in the morning we tiptoed downstairs to let him go.

One day I decided to finish with him. Not because I was bored, oh no. I could go on having an affair with this delicious man for the rest of my life. But I didn't want to destroy his family life. I knew I had found a very good friend but I wanted him to feel free of me and go on loving his wife and only child.

But I had to say goodbye to him and I wanted to appreciate the time he had spent with me. I knew he had financial problems, working so hard to make ends meet and I wanted to help in one way or another. On the other hand I didn't want to treat him just like another gigolo so I bought a small car for him as a present. He was a little reluctant at first but afterwards was really overjoyed with it. We never stopped chatting and although I told him I don't want to fuck him anymore. Sometimes we talk on the phone and sometimes I stop by his shop and talk to him for a while. I could easily fall in love with him not only because he was wonderful in bed but also because I could see the real innocence and happiness in his eyes. We could communicate thorough our eyes.

A few days ago I told Eskandari I lost a wonderful lover but found a very good friend and I will always love him for being himself and for the time we shared together. He replied by saying that he had lost a mistress but gained a sister. It took my breath away. Thinking about those days I realize he was the only man who helped me overcome my fears in my darkest moments.

After my dear Eski I got to know Mr. Sharif. I will tell you all about him in my next post. Until then be happy and enjoy moments of your life because we will be all gone before we know it.


Recently by Shana YazdiCommentsDate
Paradise in Tehran
Mar 27, 2011
A trip to Italy
Apr 14, 2010
I, The Prostitute
Aug 17, 2009
more from Shana Yazdi

Exactly.Very good article .

by susanere on

Exactly.Very good article . Great work!




suggest listing to //


Play boy

by Hugh hefner (not verified) on

I think this is what you call articles in Hustler magazine.
PS I am glad you enjoyed him.
Noosh jan


Disgusting story; morally

by Arash78 (not verified) on

Disgusting story; morally wrong on so many levels

Flying Solo


by Flying Solo on




To Flying Solo

by chicken here (not verified) on

If you want to fast forward to the greatest of the recent writers check out Roberto Bolano -- not for sex necessarily, but for writing. If you can stomach it read 2666 (that's the title of the novel). If that's too much read The Savage Detectives. If Bolano doesn't blow your mind nothing will. And if you don't get your mind blown you'll never be a good writer.

I only say this because I see you put a lot of time and energy into your writing. I like writers, even if they have a long way to go.

Flying Solo


by Flying Solo on







Flying Solo

by Fish here (not verified) on

You are a good sport to accept criticism. Big words, sweeping overgeneralization and better than thou statements critiquing others must go too. Fillibustering as though you are 'in' and everyone else is 'out' could not be endearing to anyone and it doesn't convince us that somehow you are a literary and social authority on things. It's easy to ridicule or patronize others but it is important to return the support you have received yourself. Nobody disses you, so learn from that. We are all anonymous here, even you. The show off of boarding schools and European trips may impress my mother, but it's passe and ostantatious to me.

I want to hear these women write about their sexuality without stress of your showing up to approve or disapprove as you did on Parinaz Samii articles. Maybe sometimes you can just quietly read things?

Flying Solo


by Flying Solo on





Thank you for making me

by Siavash- (not verified) on

Thank you for making me finally realize after 30 years that the Islamic Republic and their "moral police" are NOT such a bad option for Iran after all.

The more I surf through this website and read people's stories and comments, the more I realize how immoral and nihilistic we have become.

Look at all these "intellectuals" drooling over this article filled with immorality and nihilism:

According to the author; a human being is nothing more than a bunch of chemicals with an electric current flowing through it. So, this view of humans, allows her to turn her back to every bit of human dignity and act solely based on her animal instincts, disregard the deepest human bonds, sleep with married men and border incestuous fantasies. And beside all that, show incredible intolerance towards a woman's right activist who happens to have religious beliefs!

Jahanshah Javid, your promotion of this "nothing is sacred" motto is really acting like a poison in our community.


A couple of comments...

by chicken here (not verified) on

I liked Sanam D's juxtapostion of social realities! I'm afraid she's right. But, whether or not Eski is real -- or verisimilar, to be exact -- what is most appealing about Shana and Parinaz is their fantasies. I love it that Shana imagines such a simple, sensual, and honorable man. It is definitely attractive -- which brings me to a partial answer to Capt. Ayhab: if men are willing to step up to the task of imagining women who are sexy without the usual slutty bimbo characteristics, then by all means write erotica. I'd love to read them.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that what Shana and Parinaz write is explicit and unapologetic but never vulgar. As for potential gentlemen erotica writers: Biyar ancheh dari ze mardi o zoor...

Flying Solo khanom, I can't resist making this comment: Doost-e aziz why in the world are you so pendantic? Your writing is so boring it brings tears to my eyes. For God's sake read some good writing. Anyways, a lot has happend since Xavier Hollander and D.H. Lawrence.


Now everyone is writting sex stories!

by Azad99 (not verified) on

Khoda nakeh yeh chizi beyneh Irani ha mod besheh!!

What happened to the REAL ladies?!!

Flying Solo


by Flying Solo on





by capt_ayhab on

Not at all my dear, you got me wrong, I do think that those two writers in fact are women, at least I am pretty sure of it.

What I am saying is that why aren't there any Iraninan men writing any of these stories. And I asked if they did, they might be called perverts.

Sorry if i did not get my point across clearly.




Not a woman!!!

by SanamD (not verified) on

Ha Ha Captain! What's with the 'alleged women' business?!! What is it with you and other Iranian men who think such thoughts and imagination (or reality) cannot be the products of an Iranian woman's mind?

Let's see, the other author, Parinaz Samii, was also thought to be a man, wasn't she? All because she used vocabulary ordinarily used by Iranian men!

They are all women, alright, and they are writing about these things so that in time, people like you would not think that thinking and fantacizing and talking about sex is not for a good Iranian woman!

FYI, men have written about their sexual fantacies for years. Have you ever read Chaucer?


so far

by capt_ayhab on

So far, these types of stories been written by alleged women. I am wondering, why do we not have any man writing such stories? 

I am sure men have had fantasies/realities which has happened to them. Not necessarily with a lady plumber[usually lady plumbers are gay], but I am sure there has been interludes with lets say students, co workers, old flames and so on.

One thing I am certain, If a mature man was to write such a story, he will be called a pervert for sure. As for a woman, it is called liberation. ;-)


Shana, I have to command you on your writing skills, You express your [kinks] very well. It is easy to relate to them.

Good work



Relax baba!

by SanamD (not verified) on

It's just a story and a very unlikely one at that! See it for the story that it is and move on!

Married people have affairs all the time, so that part of the story is true enough. Married people have affairs in Iran, too, only all the time!

But Ms. Shana's imaginary Iranian plumber does not fit the bill for a good f&&& buddy. With all due respect for all the hard working laborers of Iran, until you have met an Iranian plumber AT WORK, you would not know what b.o. and grime really means! I find this character's sexiness completely far fetched. From her worldliness and multiple experiences described in her previous writing, in real life in Tehran, a woman like Shana would never have to resort to seducing the hired help of the household. She would be having multiple sexual partners among other Iranian middle to upper class people, all sexually active these days. The desperation in bedding a plumber just does not jive with the sexual scene in Tehran.

Also, the part about the plumber's entering and exiting Ms. Shana's world is completely fake because no Iranian man, specially if he is a plumber, would have that level of understanding about casual sex and individual freedom. The guy finds a rich chick who puts out and lives in a mansion with staff, there is no way under the sun that he would leave her quietly and peacefully even if she buys him a car! He wouldn't think twice about leaving his wife and moving in with the rich lady without batting an eye! Let's not even go where such a man could quickly become a stalker and a blackmailer!

This plot is out of touch with Iranian psyche and social and economic times.

For her courage Ms. Shana gets an A+, for her writing another A+, but for her plot a D! Thank you for the Eidi courageous Shana!

Maryam Hojjat

Is it Morally acceptable?

by Maryam Hojjat on

I am not trying to blame or teach Shana for her choices she makes to satisfy herself sexually. I understand that there are a lot of men or women who involve themselves in such a sexual activities.

My question from you as a commentator is: Is it acceptable that Shana seduced an innocent, poor married man for that period of time?  What would be impact of this affair in this man's (ESKI) life.

I am waiting for your answers.

Payandeh IRAN & IRANIANs 


Good work

by farokh2000 on

You are a very good writer.

I am sure you got a lot of men and women  totally excited.

Thanks for writing.


thanks you soo much. i loved

by samanmok (not verified) on

thanks you soo much. i loved it and happy nowruz


I am your handy man!

by E roo nee (not verified) on

I glanced through your story,but it was a little too much for me so I could not read the whole story.anyways if your heart is in something and it makes you feel good about yourself by all means go for it.Bye the way let me know if you need maintenance work done I am handy.


I remember you too!

by chicken here (not verified) on

Shana khanom welcome back. I totally loved your previous pieces too. I will never forget the accounts of that favorite traingle of yours -- I even remember your description of one guy's square! I also remember you looking at your own demure-looking triangle and marveling that it shows nothing of the adventures it engages in. Very good descriptions -- that's why they have stayed in mind.

Your matter-of-fact encounters are absolutely liberating. Why not...?! I am way too chicken to go for any of these experiences myself but I love it that you do. Nooshe joonet!

And here's to the power of the triangle...

Jahanshah Javid


by Jahanshah Javid on

Welcome back Shana. You had not written anything for a long time but I remember your previous stories quite well. They are very honest and without any attempt to manipulate your readers. You are who you are and that clearly comes through, making one feel you are telling a true story. Very beeshileh peeleh. And I like your outlook on life: "be happy and enjoy moments of your life because we will be all gone before we know it."