I spent my teenage years in Iran -- Teheran to be precise -- though I went to boarding school in Scotland, my sister and I always came back to Iran for our holidays, and the tradition continued after I started at University.
I decided that I needed to improve my Farsi and my parents arranged for me to get conversational Persian lessons from the wife of one of my father's business associates.
Mr Chilahorian was more my father's age but his wife was much younger -- not an unusual state of affairs in those days in Iran -- 27 she told me later, though to a 18-year-old (well 17 and 11 months at the beginning of the holidays to be exact!) she was old too!
The lessons were held around the pool in their large villa up in the north of the city where it was much cooler and the air was clearer -- the south of the city was clogged with pollution and always swelteringly hot in the Summer. Our lessons were always 2 hours in length and the servants would bring mint tea when I arrived -- usually mid-afternoon.
Mrs Chilahorian -- Vashti as I came to call her -- was a very beautiful woman, but always seemed slightly sad, however she was a brilliant teacher with heaps of patience with someone like me who had little aptitude for languages.
Our conversations covered a wide range of subjects -- with the exception of politics -- which was a dangerous topic under the Shah, and Vashti was always pleased to hear about the parties that we teenagers attended during our holidays.
We became friends as much as teacher/student and I really looked forward to our lessons each week, and eagerly picked them up again at the beginning of each holiday, and we became firm pen-pals writing to each other while I was away at school.
Our first lesson of the second summer holiday was notable by how sad Vashti was, and by this time I felt confident enough in our friendship to ask her what the matter was, but she just said that it was nothing I could help with.
However, the next week she broke down in tears and explained that her husband was threatening to divorce her because she had not become pregnant after 5 years of marriage, and of course it had to be her fault! Being an inexperienced 18-year-old, I wasn't sure how to cope with a woman in tears but hugged her and said that it couldn't be that bad and that he probably didn't mean it. We didn't get much language tuition done as Vashti explained how important it was for a young wife to have children, especially when the husband is older and that divorce was always considered so that he could find another young wife to give him children.
"In fact, he and his mother are going to Geneva next week to meet the daughter of one of her friends with a view to being a replacement" she wailed. "If only I could get pregnant before this goes too far!" "I'm sure I wouldn't be having this problem if only my husband was a bit younger"
Without thinking what I was saying I blurted out something along the lines of "I'm sure I could get you pregnant then!" which occasioned another round of tears and she abruptly called that afternoon's lesson to a halt.
When it came to next week's lesson, I was anxious that she would call it off but when I rang to confirm it, she said "yes, in fact I should come round for some lunch and we would spend the afternoon by the pool speaking Farsi. Bring your swimming things."
I rang the bell at the gate as normal, but Vashti opened it -- a task usually delegated to the gardener or the maid. Grabbing my arm, she hurried me round to the pool where a spread of goat's cheese and green leaves -- rather like cress but called sabzie -- barbary (an Iranian flat bread), and with doukh, a watery yoghurt drink.
We sat around the table and once we had had our lunch, she turned to me and said, "Did you mean what you said last week?"
I had thought of nothing else since last week's lesson and was cursing myself for jeopardising our friendship so was a bit nervous of whether to say yes or try to roll back on what I had said. Vashti didn't give me time to speak, saying that she thought it was brilliant solution to her problem.
Come for a swim while you think it over. She cast off her beach robe and told me to get into my trunks -- though there was no need as I had them on under my jeans. She was wearing a black bikini -- all the scandalous rage at the time, that didn't cover much of her assets. Watching her walk towards the pool I just couldn't take my eyes of her fantastic figure. If I had had any doubts over my decision to help her, they vanished at that moment. Her breasts were not large but were perfectly formed -- pointing straight out without any sag.
Taking my hand, she jumped into the pool, pulling me into the deep end, then turned and kissed me. Now, I had only ever kissed one girl and it had the expected effect of causing a large lump in my swimming costume, something Vashti immediately noticed. "I think you have made your decision about helping me!" she said smiling, and grabbed my burgeoning appendage!"
"I think I am at my most fertile this week, so there is no time to lose". She reached behind her back and undid the top of her bikini -- another first for me as I had never been this close to a woman's breasts since I was an infant! They were therefore the most beautiful I had seen in the flesh -- pale and firm with pretty pink nipples floating on the palest of areolas.
Taking my hand, she placed it on her breast and started massaging her nipple with the palm of my hand. She let out a quiet moan, and dragged me out of the pool as quickly as we had got in.
Come, "Let's go to the cabaña where we can be more comfortable."
Pulling me down on to a large swing seat she kissed me again, pulling my wet trunks off over my obvious excitement. "Kiss my nipple" she instructed, pulling my head down to the erect nub. "This is how to please a woman", she whispered, making sure that I was not too rough but not tickling either. After I had attended to both breasts, she took my hand and slid it down over her belly to the top of her costume bottoms, while slowly pushing my hand under the belt of the bikini. Vashti then removed this remaining item of clothing leaving us both completely nude.
I had seen pictures of pubic hair in the magazines that were handed surreptitiously round the boys when I had been at school, but it was a shock to find how coarse it was. Vashti looked me in the eyes again and asked if I was sure this was OK, after all I was quite young and that probably this was my first time.