T A B L E_T A L K Westerners discuss their struggles with understanding the Japanese. Have a similar story to tell? Swap tales and advice in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Mondo Weirdo No place like Oz In Japan, a bar with no alcohol or music, only coffee (07/24/98) Mondo Weirdo Nude beaches of the week Favorite places to bare all (07/24/98) Safety strategies By Dawn MacKeen Savvy safety tips for business travelers (07/23/98) Tampax nightmares By Susan Hack It's hard to find a good tampon in Yemen (07/22/98) Homemade heaven in Italy By David Downie Wild boar stew and other delights in Italy (07/21/98) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives		SEX, DRUGS AND ARMENIAN VODKA | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - Swaying to the groove of banned Western dance music, young men and women, all in their late teens or 20s, move on the living-room dance floor. Having stashed their cloaklike black chadors in the closet, the women flaunt their bodies in sexy minidresses, treating the guys to a spectacle of legs, necks, cleavage -- and even bellybuttons. The host's parents are out of town, which gives these kids a rare opportunity to let loose and get down. But parties like these also have a more libidinous purpose. They provide a protected environment for boys and girls to meet and socialize with one another without being accosted by the Komite, Iran's network of secret police. "If you and I want to have a friendship," explains Nobine, a 24-year-old female university student, "we cannot meet and go to a restaurant. We must be secret. We are ... what is the word ... oppressed." As a result, young men and women feel an intense pressure to begin a relationship, and have sex, as quickly as possible because they never know when they'll have a chance to meet again. And both sexes complain about the absence of romance from their furtive courtships. Well, maybe the girls complain a little more. "What do you think of love?" asks Chadab, a college student majoring in English. "I think love is a holy thing. Boys just want sex, they don't care about love." For their part, the boys say that it's girls' insistence on secrecy that takes the fun out of flings. "They're all pretending to be good girls," says Salman, 20. "I can't handle it." Salman was born in Iran and grew up in Arizona, where his father was a professor. After a family trip to visit relatives in Esfahan, he learned that he would not be permitted to go back home. His parents had never filed residency papers for him and the United States refused to issue him a visa. That was three long years ago, and he's been stranded in Iran ever since. A novice in the Iranian social scene, Salman had to learn a whole new set of signals -- fast. But when he tried to explain the gist of modern Iranian courtship, it sounded vaguely familiar. "First you have to get them inside," he said. "Then you try to get them naked." On the dance floor, the men, drunk on black-market vodka, take turns dancing in the center of a circle, imitating the sexy moves of the women who cheer them on. A rivalry quickly develops between Nobine and Chadab over the attention of Ali. Nobine, awkward and shy, can do nothing right. She finally gets up the courage to ask Ali to dance, but as soon as they rise the music cuts off and her chance is blown. By the time someone pops in a new cassette, Ali is deeply engaged in Chadab's research on the nature of love and Nobine is sulking in a corner. "Boys don't understand me," Nobine sighs. When the clock strikes 2 a.m., everyone crowds together on the floor for the host to take a picture. Then people gradually drift toward the door to leave. Boys kiss boys goodbye and shake the girls' hands. The women put on their black chadors, which hides their chic rebelliousness underneath. Before we leave, Ali slips Chadab his phone number and offers her a ride home. A few blocks from the hotel, Ali stops the car and tells me to get out. "OK, man," he says. "We have to leave you here to be safe." I watch them go, then feel a chill run up my spine as a police car with flashing red lights drives off in the same direction. They are just kids driving a beat-up old car. But they are outlaws. SALON | July 27, 1998 Drew Fellman is a partner in Candide Media Works, an online documentary studio. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - R E L A T E D_.S A L O N_.S T O R I E S Save me,wild qahba! An impromptu visit to a hashish den leads to a night of frenzied encounters with the fallen women of Marrakech. By Jeffrey Tayler March 10, 1998