Behind the Green Veil Ch. 04

"I don't know, Jackson" I said, pulling on my getaway clothes. "I fear that they will still recognize me leaving the hotel."

"Orkideh, what happened to all the things you were telling me about yourself yesterday? I know you know how to hide. Just imagine you are back in Iran."

He was right. I pulled out a scarf and tied it around my neck then I pulled on my large-rimmed sunglasses. Finally, I tucked the cute little cap over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. "This just might work," I said, turning to him to give him a view. I saw a flash of lust in his eyes as he looked me up and down and my heart ached at the fact that I didn't have time to take him inside me one more time. He approached me with a pair of the woman's stockings, a slight bulge protruding from the front of his pants.

"The outfit has to be complete to be believable," he whispered. I sat down on the bed and he kneeled in front of me to help me put them on. In pulling each one up my leg he took time to rub his hands up my inner thighs in the process. In an instant I was wet. I saw his nose twitch as his keen olfactory senses registered the first hint of my arousal which by then he was thoroughly familiar. His eyes closed as he moved in closer to inhale more deeply, his scruffy cheeks tickling the insides of my thighs. He pushed my legs apart slightly to place a soft, gentle kiss against my panty-covered lips and then slowly, reluctantly rose to his feet. I was so scared that he was going to be angry at me for getting him into this mess -- it was a huge relief to feel affection from him again.

I realized we had no disguise for him and I started to panic all over again. "What are we going to do about you?" I asked softly, looking up to him.

"I'm gonna have to hope shaving is enough," he said, finding his toiletry bag on the floor and walking toward the bathroom. "When I shave off all my hair and my goatee I look totally different. If I add a shirt and tie and some sunglasses, I just might make it out of here with you."

I watched him in the mirror as he took off his shirt and then took out his shaver. It was an opportunity to study his upper body but all I could "see" at the moment was the man who had taken on my problems as if they were his own and who was coolly preparing to shave off all of his hair just to help me escape. I stopped him for a second before he could begin, trying to memorize his features with hair.

When the hairs of his goatee fell into the sink I looked up into the mirror and caught his eye, amazed at how much younger he looked. He ran the shaver over his chin and under his neck until all of his facial hair was gone, all that hair that felt so wonderfully rough against the sensitive tender skin of my inner thighs. I shivered at the memory.

As he started shaving off the hair on his head, I went to the other room and brought back a chair, instructing him to sit down. "You're missing some spots in the back," I said, "so let me help you."

He did as I instructed and I took the shaver and began to methodically run it up from his neck to his forehead, watching as the cut wooly hair began to pool on the floor. After quite a few passes his bare skin began to show through. As I continued shaving him, Jackson felt a few drops of what felt like water hit the back of his now smooth head. He looked up at me in the mirror and saw the source of the moisture streaming down my cheeks. His left hand came back to stroke my leg; not in a sexual way, but in a soothing way.

Fatigue, frustration, fear, guilt, love, exasperation... you name it and I was feeling it at that moment. The symbolism in cutting off his hair was just too much for me. He wasn't just changing his appearance, but potentially his whole life was changing because of me and he seemed to be accepting it without being livid at me. Emotionally it was all just overwhelming.

I tried to finish quickly, knowing we had to get out of there as soon as possible. I went to make sure we had packed everything while Jackson brushed the hair off of him and got dressed. He put on a white shirt and tie which made him look quite preppy. Once he added his sunglasses he announced that he was ready. He didn't look like a flight attendant, but the difference in his appearance from only 20 minutes ago was striking.

He looked like he was maybe 20 years old, a big difference from his true age of 37. The hair on his head had tiny flecks of grey as did the hair on his chin, giving him a distinguished look of an older gentleman. It was a look that I very much appreciated as I've always had a preference for men a bit older than myself. But even with the vast difference in the appearance of his age, I could still tell it was him. We would just have to take the chance. It would have to do.

Jackson called for a cab and left a false name. The dispatcher told him that it would be five minutes. Jackson gave his phone number and asked for the driver to call when he was downstairs. The next four minutes felt like the most stressful stretch of time in my life. I fussed around, chattering nervously about nothing while Jackson paced across the room, peeking fearfully out of the window at every pass. The tension was thick in the room and I think we both realized how scared we were at the same time. As if on cue Jackson stopped pacing and put his arms around me.

"Jackson I'm―"

He shushed me by putting his fingers against my lips before I could tell him how sorry I was. "Save it for when we make it through this," he said, caressing my face. I nodded.

We grabbed our bags and headed out of the room after the call came. Jackson spotted an ice and vending machine alcove and stashed the stolen bag in there, then we headed for the elevator. Once inside I turned to Jackson.

"When we get outside, don't look over in their direction," I explained. "If there is one thing I learned growing up in Iran is how to hide in plain sight. When someone is searching for you or chasing after you they are looking for someone nervously trying to get away. They never believe that you would be bold enough to walk directly in front of them. If you can manage to walk care-free and pay them absolutely no attention, it never occurs to them that you might be the person they're looking for."

He just nodded, his face cracking an approving smile.

"Don't smile," I admonished him. "I hate that I have to know this, how to sneak, how to lie, how to deceive. It's exactly what I was talking about on the plane yesterday."

"Orkideh, you're a survivor," he said as the elevator doors opened and we stepped into the lobby. "That's something to be prou―"

Jackson stopped us in our tracks and immediately turned us back around. In all of our plotting for the perfect escape plan, we had failed to anticipate that the woman who had her luggage stolen would have called the police and would be telling her story to an officer right in the middle of the hotel lobby.

"Fucking hell!" I said under my breath.

"It's ok," he tried to calm me. "We can just go out the back door and walk around to meet the cab in the front."

"But that's going to look strange," I told him as we hurried out of the back exit into a rear parking lot. "Being out of place is what gets you noticed."

He took my hand and kissed it, looking up and down the empty back street. "I don't think we have a choice, Orkideh, unless you have any other ideas. This doesn't look like a street or an area where available taxis come regularly."

"We could walk to the other hotel up the street and catch a cab from there," I countered nervously, "but I fear we will look just as conspicuous dressed like this and walking. If anyone is canvassing the neighborhood looking for us, we will stick out for sure."

"We need to make a decision quick or the cab is going to leave us," he said. I thought about it for a minute.

"I should go," I said finally.

"Without me?" he asked incredulously?

"Yes, I should go to the cab alone," I continued. "I am better disguised than you, and the two of us together might catch their attention."

"I'm not leaving you, Orkideh," he said emphatically. His eyes burned into me.

"It will be just for a minute," I tried to calm him. "I will instruct the cab driver to drive around the back of the hotel to pick you up."

"We either make it together or we don't," he insisted, "but either way I'm staying by your side."

"Jackson, this is no time to be chivalrous. If you think about it, you know I'm making sense," I reasoned. "If I walk out there alone and jump in that taxi no one will look twice. But they are looking for two people. If you walk out there with me we stand a higher chance of being noticed, especially since we are coming from around the side of the hotel."

"Orkideh," he said slowly, taking my hands in his own, making mine look tiny.

"Don't worry," I told him. "It will be just like walking down the streets of Tehran in a burqa. I will be in my element, hidden in plain sight." His shoulders slumped and a look of defeat came over his eyes. He knew I was right. "Now come on," I continued, "I need you to peek around and make sure the cop is not out there."

We walked to the side of the building and Jackson peeked his head around, then turned back to me and let me know that the coast was clear. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He kept my larger bag and I rolled my smaller bag behind me, trying to imitate my best flight attendant stride. As I got closer I noticed that the police car was parked out front as well. Also, the cab driver who had given us the hard time the night before and his two goons were now all sitting in his taxi, watching the hotel exit. I would have to walk right past them to get to our cab. My heart beat nervously as I tried to hold my cool demeanor, trying to break out of my chest.

'He must have taken a picture of me,' I reasoned, just as I had feared. 'It is the only way for him to have known to call someone to come after me.' I was stupid and should have acted on my instincts, I told myself. He had picked us up from this hotel on our way to dinner, so I should have known that he would remember where to find us. I admonished myself for not having the foresight to insist that we go to Jackson's hotel later that night.

The new cab that Jackson had just called, tired of waiting, was preparing to pull away. I strolled up to the car with confidence, blocking his exit, and indicated that I was his delayed passenger. I was standing directly in front of the other cab with the goons inside but I stood there confidently and never looked their way. The new driver got out to take my bag and loaded it into the trunk, then he opened the door for me. He looked African and I felt relieved. I stepped quickly inside. I looked over at the hotel doors and saw the police officer through the glass, giving his card to the woman who had her bag stolen. It was a sure sign he was about to leave.

"I need you to pull around the back to pick up my friend who is waiting in the parking lot," I said as the driver plopped down in his seat. "And then we are in a hurry to get to the airport," I finished.

"International terminal?" he asked, taking note of my uniform.

"Uhh, actually," I stammered, "we need to go to the US Airways terminal first, and we can take the airport terminal shuttle from there."

I watched the rearview mirror as we pulled away and caught a glimpse of the officer just as he walked out of the hotel. I was shaking yet trying to look carefree. I saw the officer look in our direction and pause, just as the cab turned around into the back parking lot. We spotted Jackson and I instructed the taxi driver to stop for him.

The driver got out to help Jackson load the rest of our bags in the trunk and Jackson slipped into the back of the car next to me. I grabbed his hand nervously, still watching the rearview mirror. The driver re-entered the car just as I spotted the front of the police car turning the corner behind us, coming around into the back parking lot as well. My heart caught in my throat.

"Don't look back, Jackson" I whispered nervously. He squeezed my hand, probably more out of fear than affection.

I felt the cab begin to take off and then stop abruptly. "Shit," I heard Jackson say under his breath as I heard the hum of another car engine pass us by. I looked up from where I lay, my head buried in Jackson's lap, and saw him looking steadfastly forward. I held onto his muscular thigh, his solid quadriceps muscles alive under my cheek. I almost peed myself, I was so nervous. I heard the car passing by outside stop for a second and then move on. As it did, I felt Jackson exhale.

"Is everything OK?" I heard the driver ask in a thick Nigerian accent, clearly suspicious of how he had picked us up, how I was acting, and then with the cop car checking us out.

"We're cool," Jackson responded matter-of-factly. He gave him that nod, the one I often see Black men in America and in the UK give each other randomly on the street or in greeting. Then I felt the car take off.

After about five minutes Jackson squeezed my shoulder to let me know it was ok to sit up. He wrapped his arm around me and held me tight to him as we rode the rest of the way to JFK airport. It was the longest five minutes of my life.

I was trembling as we got out of the cab in front of the US Airways terminal, nervous that something would go wrong any second and we would get caught. Jackson grabbed our bags while I paid the driver with a credit card. The card reader seemed to take forever. When the receipt finally printed out I wrote in a generous tip and we hurried inside. We looked for a restroom down by the baggage claim, figuring it would be less crowded. I began making my way to the ladies room when Jackson grabbed me and stopped me.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, Orkideh."

"Jackson, I think we're ok now."

"NOT OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he said again between clenched teeth. "Let me take you in the men's room with me."

I went up to him and stood on my tip toes to give him a kiss. "I'll be OK," I said while rubbing his chest, "as long as you stand guard outside the door."

He agreed and I went inside to change. There was another woman in there, in the first stall. I went to the back stall built for wheelchair access where I would have more room. I heard the other woman flush and then leave the stall to wash her hands. A few seconds later I heard the door swing open and the click of her heels grow distant and then silent.

Two seconds after that I heard the door swing open again but this time it did not close right away. I froze, stripped down to just my bra and the skirt. Then I heard footsteps and they weren't a woman's. I feared the worse, that they had got to Jackson and were coming for me. My heart was beating so hard I felt like it was about to explode out of my chest.

"Jackson, is that you?" I asked nervously, praying that it was. I promised Allah that I would be the most faithful Muslim woman in the world if he would only let me live and keep Jackson safe. I only heard silence broken by more footsteps as they grew closer to me. I was about to scream when I saw his feet below my stall door, and I recognized the shoes. I yanked open the door, ready to curse him for scaring me half to death. Before I could get a word out he slammed into me, his lips taking mine in a savage kiss.

My tongue shot into his mouth as all the tension that had built up from our escape exploded out of the both of us. He pulled our bags into the stall and kicked the door shut behind us as our kiss intensified. His hands violently pulled the skirt down off of me, leaving me standing in my bra and panties, my stockings and my heels. I couldn't get his shirt off fast enough, ripping a few buttons as I clawed at it, in a hurry to run my hands over his chest.

He gripped my rear and pulled me into his steely erection and I chewed on his bottom lip, desperate to have the feel and taste of his flesh in my mouth. His hands came up to my back to undo my bra while I struggled to unleash his belt and unbutton his pants. My mind was screaming 'no.' The last place I ever wanted to have sex was in some dirty airport restroom. It was such a tawdry cliché but my body had other plans. I leaked shamelessly into my panties as his mouth claimed one of my nipples; biting, chewing, and then soothing it with his tongue. I creamed even harder when his mouth switched over to claim my other breast, his sinful touch burning my flesh.

With his pants finally open I reached into his boxers to stroke the turgid flesh stretching to reach me. I was amazed that he could be so hard again, throbbing with a frenzied sexual energy. In our two years together Brian had never managed to make love more than three times in a 24 hour period. Jackson was about to take me for the fourth time in a little more than 12 hours. I was still slightly sore from how hard and how deeply he had fucked me the night before but my body craved him back inside of me all the same. I don't know from where either of us pulled the strength. We had only slept for about 5 hours after being up for more than 24. I was dripping in anticipation regardless, ready to climb on top of him right there in the stall.

One of his hands found my shamefully leaking sex while his mouth continued its assault on my tender nipples. His fingers began to massage my lips through my panties, making my juices seep through and waft through the air around us. I moaned loudly and I couldn't help but lick at his bald head, tasting the thin film of sweat that had developed there, mixed with the natural oils from his scalp.

Soon his hands were yanking down my sodden kickers. He stopped just below my knees and held onto my waist so I could step out of them without letting them touch the dirty floor, leaving on my shoes so my feet could also stay clean. He held them up to locate the wet spot and then rubbed it all over his face as he inhaled deeply. Meanwhile I worked on pulling off his pants completely. I wanted to get my fill of his musky scent one more time. I also wanted his lower half unencumbered for the work we needed to do.

I wanted to taste him but Jackson impatiently pulled me up and spun me around as he pushed me up against the stall door. I glanced over my shoulder to see my lacey blue thong dangling from his lips, the wet part stuffed into his mouth. My God, I loved the way he needed to taste me. He made me feel so desired, so sexy, so naughty, and so loved all at the same time. I also loved his body's strong visceral response to my smell and my taste. It was just as strong as my reaction to his. It was like the chemical composition of our bodies' respective pheromones were perfectly matched to the neural receptors in the sex centers in each other's brains.

Jackson wasted no time. Pulling my hips out as he pushed down on my lower back, he slammed his dick into me, forcing the air out of my lungs. He rammed me desperately, pounding my pussy with a feral urgency. He did not start off slowly or gently. He was not making love to me. He fucked me bent over like a farm animal with an iron grip on my waist, my hands up against the stall door for support.

I could tell by the urgency of his thrusts that he was trying to own my body and make it his, both angry and sad that it couldn't be. I could feel his strong hands controlling me, his fingers dug deep into my hips. My body couldn't help but respond and slowly my ass started thrusting back into him. I heard grunting noises reverberate throughout the stall and I realized it was me. It was at that point that we heard the clicking of a new set of heels walking across the tiled floor, signaling that another woman had joined us in the restroom.

I know Jackson heard the footsteps but instead of stopping it only made him redouble his efforts. His iron grip on my hips tightened as he pulled me back into his lightening thrusts with greater force. The footsteps abruptly stopped and I knew it was because the stranger's ears had picked up on what was taking place in the last stall. My mind was horrified that another person was listening as I got royally buggered in a public restroom. It went against my every instinct which had been bred in me from as long as I can remember to hide my sexuality at all costs.