Chapter 2: The Poet’s Offer

Fatemah

I’m Fatemah Khademi, thirty-six. A poet from Tehran, now a brand-new resident of America, savoring its dizzying freedoms. I had left a ten-year marriage behind to a man who never saw me. I was only the dutiful wife he expected. My marriage was a qafas, a cage like the ones in Hafez’s poems. His indifference was a slow and silent poison that killed my feelings.

Back then, poetry was my secret escape. I scribbled in Farsi under lamplight. Each verse was a rebellion against everything that tied me down. Now? It’s my loud, defiant rebellion. It’s my way of grabbing every buried desire and holding it up to the sun.

Coming to this Erotica Convention wasn’t just about words on a page for me. It was about breathing life into my own. Connecting with others who wrote from the gut, who understood that primal need for expression, for freedom, for simply being vibrantly alive. That’s what called me to this crazy, vibrant country.

I checked in at the Grand Hotel’s front desk. My suitcase felt light, but my heart thrummed, heavy with possibility. The clerk slid me a keycard for a suite up on the 15th floor.

“You are a bit early for the convention, Ms. Khademi. Any plans for tonight?” she asked, just making polite conversation.

Before I could answer, a burst of commotion at the next desk snagged my attention. A young man’s voice, raw and desperate, caught in a plea with the clerk. His blue eyes were wide with panic, and he was practically radiating despair.

A writer, no doubt. He was traveling light, just like me, clutching a spiral notebook. Its worn edges and scribbled ideas practically glowed, like a little beacon of stubborn hope.

My heartbeat actually quickened. I found myself looking at his delicate, smooth features. He had this cute, nerdy vibe, and something about his vulnerability, that sheer stubborn drive mirrored my own. My newfound freedom wasn’t just for me. It felt like it needed to be shared with someone like him.

I stepped closer, cutting into the conversation. “Is there a problem? Can I help?” My voice was calm and deliberate. I let it hang in the air, giving him space.

The way his face shifted from disbelief to relief was almost comical. And the light blush spreading on his cheeks? Oh, that didn’t escape my notice. I had a pretty good idea his fertile mind was already running wild.

I took care of the formalities after a quick introduction. We walked towards the elevator together. It felt absolutely insane to offer a complete stranger a room, but it also felt incredibly right. Just ... right.

The suite was stunning. Seriously. A massive king-sized bed with crisp white sheets and a glass wall framing Chicago’s skyline – the view of the city was breathtaking. There was a marble table and a huge couch on the sides. A small refrigerator with a glass panel sat in the corner. I could see a few bottles of merlot along with other beverages inside.

I felt my pulse quicken as I entered the suit. Here I was with a complete stranger, something I had never even imagined doing before. Josh was so cute and hot. Also, he was not the only one with wild ideas about our privacy and sharing the room.

His eyes darted around the room, wide and unsure. I could understand his shock and hesitation.

“Josh, calm down and come on in.” My tone was soft but firm. I nudged him softly.

He nodded and placed his bag near the velvet couch. His palms were slightly sweaty. He moved around the room, hesitant to touch anything. “This place is ... crazy. Are you sure I can stay?”

“Absolutely.” I kicked off my heels and walked up to him. I removed my silk jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair. His eyes scanned my every movement.

“Would you like some wine?” I asked. He nodded in silence.

I opened the bottle of merlot and poured two glasses. The smell was exquisite and the deep red liquid simmered in warm light.

I handed him a glass of wine. My fingers touched his, and I let the touch linger. I could feel his pulse jump at the touch. “To new friendships.”

His cheeks went a little deeper red. “And to new adventures.” He took a tentative sip. He was not used to the wine but I was sure he would develop the taste.

I plopped down onto the couch comfortably. My emerald silk dress inched up my thigh. His eyes glanced there for a brief second. He struggled to look away. I couldn’t help but grin at his awkwardness. He was young and I found his lack of experience cute. His innocence was endearing.

“So what do you like to write about?” I asked. I tapped the cushion next to me to nudge him closer.