The best thing in the world happened to me. I have met a guy from Tehran. A proper one like myself. He approached me weeks ago while I was at a party and left me his number, but I didn’t call because I hadn’t really seen him properly that night. And  he looked overly attractive and happy in his photo on Whatsapp. But, then he changed his profile picture and I decided to make the call.

It took us a few tries  to be able to speak on the phone as we were both busy. As in he didn’t pick up when I called, then I was busy when he called and again and again till finally one got hold of the other. As a Tehrani guy you are always busy even if you are doing absolutely nothing. Everyone’s being busy is an assumed thing. In my case, the first couple of times he called I was on the phone to some other guys. He also admitted that when I called him he was on the phone talking to girls. Then as soon as we talked we knew we are both proper Tehranis and after a short chat, by the accent and by the fact that at two in the morning we agreed that he picked me up from my flat and go to his. Afyer a little drinks and snacks shopping. And the party started.

Then sex! And lots and lots of good sex, of course after smoking a couple of joints and drinking a bottle of Japanese beer. But, even when we were just sitting next to each other on the settee and doing just that and chatting about anything but sex, it was sex. Sex is in the forefront of every Tehrani person’s mind, even if they are not having it at all. In case of my mum who hasn’t slept with anyone since my dad disappeared decades ago when I was little, she is constantly thinking about how to avoid being sexy! And, how to make sure not to ever have sex with anyone after my dad ever. No jokes! She seriously thinks that way. 

After hours of foreplay on the sofa; consisting of good conversation, joints and beers and a nice ambience created by a large tv showing good music clips, a very efficient electric heater by the sofa and some light touches and warm kisses, we moved to the bedroom. A beautiful, minimally decorated bedroom which he had warmed up in advance. I remember until the last second before he entered my pussy with his large dick, I was joking and laughing. Then I felt his specially huge cock inside me and it was pleasurable but it also hurt. I said:” it hurts” and I felt he was about to cum so I continued: “ you…”And was about to continue: “…like that?” before which he came. That was the first time.

Then lying next to each other on the bed we kept falling asleep and grinding. We woke up less than an hour later ready to have more sex. He started by fingering me and I got so wet that I don’t remember being this wet since I was in love. He finger fucked my pussy for ten-fifteen minutes and then he proceeded to put his dick inside me. This time it hurt less and he could move more. As he was fucking me this time he was thinking about me hurting, he asked: “ are you just taking a lot of pain right now?” I wasn’t able to respond as I was moaning loud and he didn’t really seem to be wanting an answer to that question. I later thought about it and concluded that he must have meant either: “ you seem to be enjoying yourself as well as experiencing pain” or “ if this is you just experiencing pain, then what are you like when being pleased?”. I considered that he could have meant other things but his tone indicated a sort of pleasure and amazement at the time he said it, which made it likely that he meant something of the kind I just mentioned. 

We woke up again in the morning and he started spooning me as my pussy was soaking wet and I was amazed how I wanted this huge cock inside me so much after all that pain. I guess that third time answered his question, however he might have meant it. He didn’t cum the third time as we both got tired, at the same time. Or, maybe he did and I just disn’t feel it. Right now I feel like the best thing ever has happened to me and I can’t worry myself or him about anything. 

The next afternoon I finally get out of his bed, and only because he is out of it and doesn’t seem to be coming back to it. He is doing things in the living room and clearly making breakfast. We exchange a few words and many smiles and he gives me a lift back home. I tell him I want to see him again tonight and he seems to be not %100 but mostly up for it. It’s another unwritten agreement with the Tehrani people that a date is not a date until you make up your mind at the last minute. When I get home I Know that I need a nap. I take a nap. Then I get up and make something to eat: a very nice simple spaghetti. And all the while I am wondering if it’s just me amongst all the Tehranis that truly falls in and sometimes out of love in seconds. As I start eating, the doorbell rings and when I open the door I see a little bit of a delivery man behind a big bouquet of red roses.

I met MJay again for the second time. This time he came to my flat just to drop off some flowers. We smoked a little and he very soon left. Then I noticed he has left his pack of cigarettes and texted him about it. But he said he left them intentionally there for me. This morning I realised they are exactly the same cigarettes as you’d find in my city Tehran. I texted him and told him that leaving the pack of Kent was romantic. And he responds by trying to set up a date for tonight. I said: “ no, lets leave it for tomorrow night so you won’t wake us up in the morning.” And he responds in the most chic way possible by saying: “ o lala”and I am thoroughly impressed. 

So today I have a pack of Kent to play with, some flowers and a more relaxed body compared to the one before MJay. Although I am not feeling happy, which is a result of lack of sex since that first night. If we had had sex last night, I’d have been happy this morning even if I hadn’t slept well. But it seems I can’t have everything. I am also freaking out by the fact that I am slightly happy again and cautiously relaxed. Like I am in a cafe in Tehran, sitting in front of a man I love and just casually chatting, without a care in the world, every now and then adjusting the shall over my head so it is showing enough hair, reading a poem or a chapter of a book, doodling a little on the napkin or writing a verse, sipping tea or coffee, and just generally chilling. That’s how MJay makes me feel. So of course I love him for that and that’ll always be. Another good thing; I have stopped thinking about my second J Poshi Joshi, and stopping writing to him will be the next step. I’ll be glad to never think of him so obsessively again. It was tiring. In a way I like writing to him and even thinking of him but on the other hand it has all become so painful I rather never think of any of it or them ever again. 

I light a cigarette. It tastes like my very youth, my city, and a rare generation of my type of people. One’s who have been fighting all our lives. Here is an aeroplane. Makes me think of my third J;  Jeremy. Jeremy and MJay are easy to have open relationships with. But somehow I feel we’ll get serious with MJay. Or maybe it’s just the Kent and distant memories of true romance in Tehran. Whatever it is it gives me a sort of reassurance. It may easily be that you know someone else understands being “nasakh” which means longing for something or someone. And the unspoken pain settling deep in their smiles. I know I’ll be quietly doing stretches and relaxing until I meet him again probably on Saturday. But what happens on Saturday, I have no idea. It could be anything. For all I know, he could be planning to cook and eat me. I’ll wait to see if Kambiz is up for a walk in the park today. I don’t feel like cooking for us though which is a shame because I enjoyed eating homemade food with him. We talk about everything or lots of things in relation to mathematics; because he is a maths teacher and I too studied maths in highschool. I have to tell him about the Tehrani boy I found. I’m sure he’ll say the odds for this one going well are high and I’ll agree. 

I don’t like being woken up in the morning. I become a tower of poison when I’m woken up by someone. Like, I kind of intensely hate them, for hours sometimes. But, this morning MJay woke me with his morning messages, even if my mobile was on silent. It felt so good. Also the other day he gradually woke me up by making noises but I didn’t hate him. Because I like seeing him and it was good to wake up to see him at any time. Even if we were both so distant from each other the next morning, still both smiling. I had had an amazing night and I was glad to see the person who gave me that. So this easily, life can change, or you can change. And change is such a good thing. Not always for better but still I prefer change over the same old. I was thinking I should tell MJay about going through the acting classes while always high, but then i thought I shouldn’t. He’s going to like everyone else  think I was serious about it; like I am serious about anything in life! Then I remembered Joshi once said that; “ you don’t take anything seriously.” And yea but so what? Even though I have let no fresh air in the bedroom for a few days, I still feel okay. I’m all caught up with my needs and wants and I’m pleased with my progress. All that has happened since my last birthday. Me finding out a gift inside of my head weeks later, ending up in a hospital again and then back into my cold dead looking flat.

A few hours later all of a sudden, I find myself having agreed to meet MJay this evening just because we are both so horny! This reminded me that back in the day we used to exercise for each other, read books and watch movies for each other, read poems and listen to music and, I remembered that I used to dance and danced a little. I also did lots of stretching for the next time I see MJay. I want to be fully relaxed. I guess he matters to me now which sucks. I have flashbacks to good memories. Real funny conversations and absurd situations in empty sureal looking houses, in cafes, in the streets of Tehran. I light up another cigarette. It tastes like home. MJay also tastes like home. And that can be as sweet or bitter as one likes it to be. Especially when a person mainly lives in their thoughts, which if are broken, they are not easy to mend. I have experienced that quite recently, if recently meant years ago but until this very moment and constantly. That made me understand reality vs imaginary. And then the lines blurred and they were completely one. And that sucked. I wonder if Godfrey has read any of this yet. That is if Geofrey decides to show him. The odds are very low but I have also recently learnt nothing is impossible. It really depends on what you want to believe in. For example, right now I just received a sign from a higher intelligence that I am right. It was in the form of me on an occasion typing faster than my machine. The cigarette is over and again nothing matters anymore. If nothing else, six months in France in a mental asylum proves the only thing that matters are cigarettes. And I am not even counting surviving and thriving  in the revolutionised Iran. Hence one agrees to meet each other at odd hours in odd circumstances because you need to get rid of that tension. Don’t you? The thoughts need to transform into something intense. The thoughts like “why me?” And then about coincidences and then about each of the signs and their relevance, and there is no coming back from all that. Maybe I should make a cup of tea. Did I feel MJay worrying about me? When he said: “go out work or something. Don’t smoke too much.” I told him: “ none of your business” of course! 

Sometimes I am on google map. When someone who I am fucking betrays me, I find a considerable number of people following me in unlikliest places. I am on the dark web. It’s a series of episodes about a girl who is tortured to near complete mental break down in each episode and her surviving that. And then my throat makes itself known. It reminds me of a particular time it did that, maybe even two times and that triggers me. Everything triggers me these days. So much so that life has become absurd. I have always said I like absurd things. I actually genuinely feel absurd. I’m like Godot herself. Anyway, getting high and waiting for that nicely perfumed gorgoues being to come pick me up and take me home and fuck me good makes it easier. But, even that thought is contaminated with worries and all sorts of violent images. So, so what? I think you can trust a person who uses perfume more than those who don’t. My step grandfather’s  perfume could be smelt in the whole street where he walked, and he used it numerous times a day. I use perfume once a day or so but MJay likes his several times a dat and night. I like it too. It’s very him. Perfume needs to be personal. It should tell you something about you. Mine is J’adore by Dior, and Franny, she uses Man by Bvlgari. Ljuc has a drink with me in Bvlgari wearing no perfume which I find taseteleds! I  always chose fragrances for my exes; depending on their personality. I think women are more into these things but also are refined men. I like to help refining things too. There is an immense sort of pleasure in that. An everlasting reassurance that you have done something for the good. If someone is bothered with these matters. So now Babak likes and wears Rochas which I bought him. Joshi smells like L’ocetaine and Maddie wears Bijan. And that’s the way things smell in my life.

I think I want to have some sort of lasting relationship with MJay. But I know he is probably after fucking me a bit and leaving me to it. I think he needs someone more sane than me. But I do really like him. Everything about him appeals to me. I’m sitting working on my projects and processing the recent events and how I am really behind with a couple of my projects; one of which is learning French. And MJay said “o lala” earlier, and how that’s distracting! And, then I get a cold…actually I lie because I don’t wanna be a girl and say; “I got my period”. Shame! Shame on us! So in the end I spent the next week smoking and on my bed. And that settles things.

The week after we see eachother again. The same routine of drinking, chatting and smoking, and then sleeping together. Except this time we don’t fuck as much, even though I really want it. He has probably been fucking someone a lot in my absence. The next morning I go home and during the next few days I make a decision. I will not hang out with MJay. So I start talking to other guys again. I have two in line to meet up; one in Birmingham; a profesor, around my age and with similar background to myself, and another one in Stuttgart; a decade older than me, still educated and overall an interesting person. But, I go where there are more flowers, and there’s more flowers in Birmingham than in Stuttgart, I think.

Anyhow, as my mother in law used to say: “heyho”. And after all, doesn’t it smell nice everywhere in your mind; just like the high schools in Tehran and the girls wearing the red playboy!