The Iranian Princess Little Tree came to stay for a brief 48 hours. One of our secret rendezvous. Just the two of us in this tiny New York city apartment.

There is something very special about our connection, even though there is a fifteen year difference in our ages, there is just something there that is sacred and karmic in it. we have never had a physically romantic relationship. It has always existed in platonic way. a very loving friendly ... God how do you describe that... like brother and sister except that you also love each other in the other way... But since our last meeting over the summer in Miami beach things have changed for us a bit... we are more accepting of our infatuation with one another. Still best friends... like children, more like college kids or something like that... but now we have begun to accept our mutual love for one another. With this strange unspoken underlying understanding that we will never be able to take it anywhere more than this... but still willing to explore it anyway.

We have to spend most of our time indoors as always, especially here now in New York, because of who she is and who I am. If we are seen it could be very dangerous for her, for me, and for some of her family who still live in Tehran. Imagine, the ex-Princess -- or should I say ‘the exiled-Princess’ I ask her -- being seen on the street, un-covered, and holding hands and kissing the American anti-God anti-government rebel and raconteur who calls himself Fishy. It would not be good.

Three days of getting inside, going deep, neurons firing, making love -- The embassy is closed she says. Lying there naked. Except to the ambassador... she laughs. only the ambassador can enter the embassy... and I enter her..., coffee in bed, bottles of wine and cognac, crackers and cheese, chocolate, long walks down frozen New York streets and sidewalks in the middle of the night when we think we can get away with it. Beautiful brownstones and fancy shops passing us by.  Puffs of smoke from my cigars walking with us. and she always with that eager curious enthusiastic smile about everything...

Walking around the apt naked, just covered in blankets all night... don't look at me... in between long romantic and short-burst love-making sessions... don't look at me... o.k. I won't. laughs... burying ourselves in the other’s kisses.... licking each other like ice cream, in between reading passages from this book of poetry by a friend of ours, Dan coppersmith, The Elusive Here and Now. more chocolate. More wine. More making love. Lots of laughter, orgasms intertwined with tears. Tears of joy. tears of longing for what we will soon miss. Once more. as always.