Relationships

هوس

دلم برای معشوقم تنگ شده. برای چشمهای خوشگل و لبخندش که وقتی لبهایش را می کشید، دو تا چال قشنگ بغل دستشان حفر می کرد که من می خواستم به درون آنها شیرجه بزنم و همانجا بمانم. برای دستهای قوی و مردانه اش که هم ناز کردن بلد بودند و هم لذت آفریدن. دلم برای عشقبازی های طولانی و بی عجله مان تنگ شده. دلم برای بوسه های عمیق و هوسناکش پر می کشد. تا با او آشنا نشده بودم، نمیدانستم عشقبازی یعنی چه. میدانستم اما نمیدانستم مرد ها هم می توانند بدانند. فکر می کردم مردها فقط دنبال آمدن آبشان هستند و بس. البته زن ها هم همینطور! اما زنها می توانند چاخانی تظاهر به آمدن آبشان بکنند، اما مرد ها نه. فکر می کردم هماغوشی برای یک مرد فقط طی طریق برای آمدن آبش است، با عجله و بدون نگرانی برای همخوابش. وقتی با او آشنا شدم تازه فهمیدم هماغوشی یعنی چه .>>>

تقصیر دامن قرمز تنگ تو بود!

یک وقت فکر نکنی دارم هزل می گویم. کمی سرت را بالا نگه دار تا خوب نگاهت کنم. اصلن اجازه بده چانه ی قشنگت زیر دو انگشت دست راستم باشد تا صورتت را بهتر نگه دارم و دیوانه وار نگاهت کنم. خب اگر تو دامن قرمز با بلوز یقه هفت قهوه ای ات را نپوشیده بودی و آنقدر تنگ نبود دامن ات که باسن ات چسبان و هوس ناک باشد هرگز شاید با هم سکس نمی کردیم. چه کسی گفته باید هوای عشق بازی را با تمایلات جنسی قاطی نکنیم؟ مگر می شود عاشق روح بود و بس. تکلیف بدن زن و مرد در این وسط چیست. باید تا به وقت عقد کردن صبر کنیم تا همه چیز شرعی و عرفی باشد؟ این حرف ها ی ابلهانه حالم را به هم می زند. کافی ست از خانه بیرون بروی تا ببینی چند درصد زوج ها قبل از خواندن خطبه عقد با هم سکس کرده اند.>>>

King’s Cross

After the tunnel of darkness, there was finally light as the train pulled into the station. A sudden jolt thrust the passengers forward and inertia pulled them back once the carriage came to a complete stop. I was convinced we were lost. I had explained to him on the way how we were headed in the wrong direction. Now that the train had stopped I was not so sure. There were too many different color tracks meeting at this very stop. I was confused. So I said we needed to disembark and reset the course. He nodded. I took the gesture as assent. The doors slid open. A rush of bodies spilled out of the carriage and with it so did I. Terra Firma. I expected to find him right behind me. I looked over my shoulder, to the left and then to my right. I turned around and was aghast to find that he had remained behind on the train>>>

Circled the world 3 times over

I feel like Marco Polo
I’m circling the world solo
Then I met u
An hour turned into a day, a day turned into a mid summer nights dream
The future I’ve already seen
There’s no white picket fence
Things are very tense >>>

Pulse

At the office Christmas party, my boss told me about a new gym that recently opened in the area. On the way back home one day I drove past the plaza and looked up to see a big neon sign announcing the arrival of ‘Pulse’ to my neighborhood. I fell in love with the name. So I punched a reminder in my Blackberry to take my personal pulse to the one down the road sometime soon. We had been out the night before and hadn’t got home till late – the last of the holiday parties eke out every ounce of joy and goodwill. So when the alarm goes off at 7 a.m. on the first Sunday of January, I am none too thrilled to remember my New Year resolution. His leg plops over mine – his code for “how about a little”. >>>

Shaadi's Story

Shaadi finally decided to do it. She signed up with the Iranian dating site, submitted her photograph, and answered the questions. She thought to herself, “I’ll be 100% honest in answering the questions. I don’t want any complications as a result of withheld information or half truths.” She wrote down her real age, her real weight, and answered all the questions fully and truthfully. Among the people she heard from, there was a man who seemed like a good choice. He was her age, had been married and divorced, didn’t have any kids and didn’t want any, and his picture showed him to be good looking, with a full head of hair, dressed in a nice suite. She and Hamid started chatting and corresponding online>>>

Parsa's Bride

We have known each other through our childhood and college years, and as each of us has started working in a professional field, we have kept in touch, visiting each other once a month at a small marina café. It is our time to be that which defines our identity, so drastically different from that of our parents', and still very different from non-Iranians. We are the odd Iranian American bunch of our metropolitan city. One of us is a graphics artist, another a dental student, a third one a psychologist interning with the prison system, and there are two software engineers, a teacher, and a bartender in our midst. I am still attending law school. Every first Sunday of the month, we get together at the corner table of the noisy Café Roma, where we have breakfast and catch up with each other>>>

A Saturday in May

The day starts innocently enough. Having gone out the night before, I sleep in a little, before setting off for my morning run. I feel victorious at having once again completed the 5 mile trail. I record a new personal best. For a mediocre runner such as I, that amounts to shaving off a second or two from the mile. Every personal best deserves to be celebrated. So, I promise myself a small piece of chocolate after dinner. I start on the usual Saturday morning chores – laundry, grocery shopping, a little cleaning here and there and lastly the hairdresser’s. I was to meet him at around noon. Dressed, made up and ready, I settle on my leather recliner – cherishing the moment. I slowly drift into a delicious slumber, only to be nudged awake by the ring of my phone>>>

Babak's Story

Maryam loved Babak and Azita. They were her best friends in the world. Babak had been her first friend in the US, when she had first arrived from Iran. She and Babak had gone through college together, had helped each other through some rough time, and had celebrated each other’s weddings. They had also helped each other through their divorces. They could talk about anything and everything, politics and arts and gossip, and they never grew tired of each other’s company. Luckily for both of them, the men and women who had entered each of their lives seldom felt threatened by their deep friendship. Maryam was so happy to see Babak’s life brighten up when Azita entered it. Mature adults and professionals, lovely and compatible together, they were a joy to watch and to have around>>>

Letters to Majid

The alarm went off as the feeble late autumn sun was breaking through the window, illuminating the room, telling her it was time to get up to go to work. She couldn’t. She had woken up from a dream at 4:00 a.m., unable to fall asleep again until 6:00 a.m. She forced herself out of her bed, but couldn’t get very far. She made herself a cup of tea and inched her way over to her computer, where she sent a note to her boss, telling him she wouldn’t be in today. The dreams had become a part of her life over the past few weeks. Each time they visited her, she was useless the next day for she would have spent most of the night recovering from them. Sipping her tea at her computer, she had an idea. What if she wrote him a letter and explained the dreams and her feelings to him? All of a sudden she felt a little burst of energy, desperately needing to write down that which haunted her and ached inside of her >>>

Sherri's Story

Sherri's phone rings incessantly. She won't pick it up and she pretends like it isn't ringing. It rings five times and clicks over to her voice mail, and just when it seems like the caller has given up, it starts ringing again. It is driving me crazy. I say: "Maybe it's an emergency." She looks at the Caller ID and says: "No. It's Pedram." Pedram? The young chap Sherry has been seeing privately for the past six months? I thought she had said that little arrangement was going really well. My mind is full of questions. She finally says: "Let me unplug this phone and I will explain." My friend, Sherri, is beautiful. She is an athlete who has been running marathons since college. She is slim and petite, with beautiful long hair, huge eyes, and pouty lips. Married briefly and divorced, she never had any children and this is one part of her life with which she feels the most at peace>>>

Goli's Story

“Hey, hot date tonight?!” Her co-worker asked her in the mirror, as she washed her hands in the office bathroom sink, while Goli finished putting on her makeup at 5:30. “Heeh, no, not really. He’s just a friend.” She said. Her co-worker asked “Anyone special?” She said “Well, yes.” checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think he’s very special. He is a guy I have known for a while. He is a friend I met through a group of my sister’s friends. Later I started working with him on some volunteer projects having to do with ‘No War On Iran.’ I have been really attracted to him for a while and we have so much in common, but I’m not sure he’s interested in me. He has never said or done anything, always friendly and polite>>>

Haleh's Story

You love someone else, you say
I am confused and anguished for having put my guard down
Long enough to let you into my heart
I so want to be done thinking about you, so I try but
It is her I can’t get out of my mind
It is not about her looks
It is not about her youth
It is not about her figure, what has me thinking about
For what difference would any of that make? >>>

پنبه های فشرده در زمان

دستم را از پنجره ی قطار بیرون می آورم پنبه های زمان را به دست می گیرم فشارش می دهم . چکه های آب به آرامی بیرون می ریزد. کف دستم را باز می کنم در لابه لای شیارهای دستم آب جمع می شود. به داخل کوپه ام می روم _ به آرامی می نوشم . طعمش زبانم را بی حس می کند و روحم را نوازش! دفتر کاغدی ام را باز می کنم. مداد قهوه ای رنگ را از جیب کتم بیرون می آورم دست چپم را سایه بان چشمانم می کنم تا آفتاب سفید کاغذ را نورانی نکند _ چون می خواهم از تو بنویسم. چون می خواهم از نوشته ام نور تو بتابد نه نور خورشید!>>>

Bedroom Do’s and Don’ts

Male superiority was a sine qua non, also in sexual matters. Women were on the receiving end; they were dominated by their underlying position by the man, and this showed who was in charge. Because marriage gives the man the right to have sex with his wife, a woman can neither leave her husband’s bed when she has been invited nor refuse to come; she even has to cut her prayers short when he wants to sleep with her. Furthermore, because a man has paid for his wife, (although payment of the mahr usually takes place on divorce), only he has the right to decide when and how he wants to have sex, which he also might want for medical reasons. For only men are allowed to show sexual desire, also towards women with whom they are not married>>>