Persian Kitty

In the early days of the internet, before there was Google, there was Persian Kitty. It looked, then, almost exactly like it does today. But the links went to what they described, rather than, as they do today, to spammy sites desperately trying to draw you in. It was there that I learned of the first internet models I ever crushed on: Taylor. Destiny. Bailey. Hunter. The qstart girls. The Lightspeed girls. I can’t hyperlink them, because they’re all gone, or transmuted into something different. Suffice it to say, Persian Kitty was a key feature in my addictive quest for cock-stiffening porn. And, for a moment or two, it was really helpful.

Fast forward to 2021: A woman named “Persian Kitty” introduced herself to me, having found my blog. After just a bit of back and forth…. we were stretching together.

This Persian Kitty is a bit of a mystery to me. She’s demure. Beautiful. Young-looking. Her smile is bright, wide, inviting. Her brown, almond eyes are bright, deep, dark.

“How old do you think I am?” she asked.

“19? 20?”

She’s 27.

She’s not in England, as I initially thought. Instead, it turns out, she’s in Iran. Holy. Fuck.

An Iranian woman reading my blog? Meeting me on Zoom to put her pretty ass in my face while we stretch?!?

She told me she had read on my blog a bit, that she liked what I wrote. She is modest. Her workout clothes leave a lot to the imagination. I asked if she was comfortable with my complimenting her pretty body crudely. Keep it “normal,” she advised me.

Our sessions are fun. They’re not, quite, hot. At least not for me. At least not yet. Partly, this is a function of the internet. Her connection is jumpy. There’s latency in the video, in the audio. Partly, it’s a function of my reticence. I think nothing of saying, “Open your legs. Show me your pretty cunt,” to most of the women with whom I stretch. To Persian Kitty? I just wouldn’t go there. Particularly after she said, “keep it normal.” I respect limits.

But she is pretty. I do want her to open her thighs for me. To show me her pretty cunt in her sweats. In her shorts (which I haven’t, yet, seen, but which I trust exist).

It’s a little unclear to me what she’s doing, precisely. Sure, there’s the money, the $50 I send her on an Amazon gift card that she’s using to buy her American boyfriend “gadgets.” That’s clearly a part of her motivation. But it’s not all of it. I know this.

Is she enjoying flaunting the morality police? Delighting in the protection a VPN and end-to-end encryption provide as she engages in behavior that’s criminal frowned upon* where she is, but that’s mild, where I am?

She texts me between our meetings. She sends me photos of her hiking in the woods, of her meals (camel meat!?!?), of her various outfits. “You wear nail polish! Lipstick!”

I had thought such things weren’t permitted in the Islamic republic. I was wrong. I told her of my recent Iranian reading. Of my high school Iranian girlfriend.

“Aren’t you afraid the women you interact with will fall in love with you?” she asked.

“It’s happened,” I said. “In both directions.”

I have the sense that I represent a whole lot to her that I don’t have much visibility into. And, I suppose, vice versa.

A few years ago, I visited Cuba. One of the three countries (as far as I know) in the world that I’m not technically permitted to visit. The other two? Iran, and North Korea. Were I to list the cities in the world I most want to visit, Teheran, Qom, and Isfahan would be in the top ten. I relish the opportunity to learn about Iran from this Persian kitty.

But also? I love me some reticence. Some obstacles. The Persian Kitty surely has read enough of my words to know who I am, how I am, what I crave. And clearly, at least a part of her wants to give that (all) to me.

We have much to navigate. I’m sensitive. Cautious. She’s not, I think, going to strip down to her panties and bra for me. Much as I might wish her to. Neither will she position her pussy over the camera for me so I can see the outline of her labia through her sweats. I don’t think she’s going to send me her orgasms. Or execute pornographic photoshoots for me.

No. With the Persian Kitty, I have to locate her boundaries, and press up against them.

My favorite. Fucking. Thing.

* The Persian Kitty told me, when she read this post, she wrote, “Doing [these sorts of things] is not a criminal thing where I am. It’s pretty common, even among Iranians themselves. It’s just that many web sites are blocked, so VPN is a must – even for YouTube.

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