Muslim Lesbians of Chechnya

Please lay off my faith, I thought angrily as I sat on the toilet seat inside the ladies room on the second floor of the university library. A couple of white chicks were talking trash about some Hijabi friend of theirs, her style of dress and Islamic faith apparently the focal point of their mockery. That's Canada for you. People up here smile to your face and pretend to be your friend but they're often vicious and bigoted.

I finished my business, flushed and wiped and then readjusted my clothes. A lot of people don't think Yoga pants and Hijab mix, but I don't give a fuck what they say because my style is definitely my own. I emerged from the stall and went to the washroom counter, and washed my hands. Immediately, the two white chicks hushed, and looked at me uncomfortably.

"Stop talking trash about my religion if you know what's good for you," I said calmly, and they stared at me, stunned by my words. I looked from one bitch to the other. The first one was tall and red-haired with freckles, and the other one was short and plump, with dark hair. The kind of ordinary twenty-something white chicks you might see in any locale across North America. Ah, the banal face of bigotry.

"Whatever," said the ginger-headed one and then she exited the washroom, followed by her friend. I washed my hands and my face, then adjusted my Hijab. I checked my reflection in the mirror, smiled at my eclectic fashion stance. A black leather jacket over a long-sleeved red T-shirt featuring Rob Zombie, black Yoga pants and black leather boots, with a modest ebony Hijab, that's how I left my place this morning.

Satisfied, I clean my eyeglasses and put them back on, then nonchalantly exited the ladies room. Just another ordinary day at Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario. My name is Elmira Sheripov, and I was born in the City of Argen, Chechen Republic, on October 30, 1989. Proud Scorpio, ladies and gentlemen. Best sign in the Zodiac!

In 1999, my parents, Ram and Albika Sheripov left Chechnya for Ontario, Canada. A lot of Muslims from eastern Europe have been moving to Canada lately, due to political and economic issues in our part of the world. I remember our homeland of Chechnya fondly, in spite of the wars and the conflicts between the predominantly Orthodox Christians of Russia proper and the proud Muslims of Chechnya. Home is home, I guess.

I have lived in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, for most of my life. Still, I doubt the place will ever truly feel like home. I am an eastern European woman, but I am also a proud Muslim. The way that white Canadians treat my fellow Muslims, especially those who happen to be visible minorities, irks the hell out of me. I am the daughter of two worlds. Europe and Islam don't mix, according to the public discourse on such things, or do they?

I walked to my first class in the Loeb building. I'm in my third year in the criminology program at Carleton, and things are getting hectic. When the professor told our class that we would have a take-home midterm, we rejoiced. Well, I didn't realize how tough a thirty-page written assignment ( not counting the cover page, bibliography and citations ) was. Everything had to be done right, MLA format, otherwise thirty five percent of my grade would be flushed down the drain. Needless to say, I was frustrated and a tad bit worried.

"As Salam Alaikum sister, what's up?" a cheerful feminine voice said loudly, snatching me out of my worrisome musings. I looked up and saw my good friend Laila Johnson coming up from the stairs leading to Loeb Café. I smiled and happily greeted Laila with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Good to see you Laila," I said joyfully, and Laila grinned and looked me up and down. This young woman has been my best friend ever since I enrolled at Carleton. We met even before our university days. I went to Laurier Academy and Laila went to Louis Riel High School. We met while playing volleyball, and have been cool since.

My best friend Laila is six feet tall, with light brown skin and curly black hair, not to mention the most startlingly beautiful golden brown eyes. Born in Kingston, Ontario, to a Haitian immigrant father, Antoine Johnson, and a white Canadian mother, Jacqueline O'Neill, Laila is a biracial beauty that's definitely easy on the eyes. I met Laila's family a while back, and they're nice people. Sometimes I envy Laila, seriously.

You see, my folks and I are estranged, ever since they discovered certain things about me. Alright, I'll stop beating around the damn bush at this point. I am queer, alright? I'm a lesbian. A woman who loves women. I am sexually and romantically attracted to my own gender. I am a gay chick. A same-gender-loving female. A dyke. A lesbo.

All those terms people use to delineate women like myself. Some of them cool, others very unflattering. Whatever. I don't let it get to me. I struggled with my sexual orientation for a long time, partly because I thought being queer and being a Muslim woman didn't mix. Now I know better. I live my life my way and only Allah can judge me. Got it? Cool.

"What's going on through this fuzzy brain of yours?" Laila says, putting her arm around me, and I smile and shrug. Although I keep my cool, I'm glowing inside. Laila is the most beautiful and physically perfect human being I've ever seen. Oh, and on top of having an angelic face, the type of body that an Olympic athlete would envy, and an ass to die for, Laila is actually a nice person.

"You don't want to know," I replied sheepishly, and smiled up at Laila. I'm five-foot-four, skinny and short, with mousy brown hair that I always tuck away under my headscarf, and dull gray eyes. Look up ordinary mortal in the dictionary and you may find a picture of me. Or then again you might not, since I am so mundane.

"We should chill this afternoon, go see a movie or something," Laila says, and I pretend to think about it for three seconds, then nod my head vigorously. It's Tuesday, and typically, Laila and I go to the movies. For a while we didn't go because she was dating Adam Hauser, this German exchange student, but ever since he went back to Heidelberg, our little ritual has returned. To my everlasting joy.

"Cool, we should see the movie Focus," I say happily, and Laila nods in agreement. I'm a major fan of Will Smith, have been ever since I can remember. I know all the words to the theme song of his old show Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I collect all of Will Smith's movies, even the ones I dislike, such as Wild Wild West. Yes, I'm a gay woman through and true but Will Smith is a beautiful and talented man. I've had a crush on him for ages. If I did guys, he'd the one, for sure.

"Sounds good, I'll see you at Silver City," Laila says, and then waves me goodbye before heading upstairs for her class. I watch my tall, Amazonian friend as she walks away. Laila's got a thick, round ass that sashays from side to side like a pendulum of temptation in those tight blue jeans of hers as she climbs the stairs. I smile dreamily, and then head to my class.

The school day goes by fast, and then I head back to my place in Vanier, shower and change, then catch the bus to Hurdman Station. I ride the 95 bus to Blair Station, and walked through the shopping center on my way to the Silver City movie theater, which sits atop a hill. As I cross the street, some bozo in a red pickup nearly runs me over. I cheerfully flip off the driver, then walk into the movie theater.

It's Tuesday and the place is packed. I look for Laila, don't see her and pull out my Blackberry. As I'm about to dial her, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Startled, I whirl around, and find myself facing a vision of beauty. It's Laila, looking gorgeous in a red sweatshirt, black jeans and boots, her thick Afro glistening thanks to her hairspray.

"Hey shorty," Laila says, and pulls me into a tight hug. I hug her back. Laila is the only person who can get away with calling me shorty. Seriously. Like a lot of short chicks, I'm sensitive about my height. I guess I must have hugged Laila a bit too long, for she looks at me oddly.

"Sorry," I whisper, and Laila looks at me for a long moment without saying anything. I smile and she smiles back, then the two of us make our way to the box office. Laila gets in line while I duck under the cord, and skip ahead. Nobody stops me, though a few people look at me and shake their heads.

"Two tickets for Focus please," I say to the tall, lovely young Black woman with the baseball cap standing behind the counter. I pull out my MBNA Mastercard and my Scene Card and pay for the tickets before Laila can protest, and then, I flash them in front of her.

"What would I do without you?" Laila says, and I smile and shrug. I want to go to the theater so we can get good seats but Laila wants to get some grub. I don't buy food inside movie theaters as a rule, since it's highway robbery. The prices are outrageous at Silver City, seriously. Laila buys a hotdog and a Pepsi, then gets me nachos and a coke even though I protest.

"You got the tickets and I got our food, deal with it," Laila says in that bossy tone that I find so sexy, and then we head into theater number eight. It's an IMAX feature so there's assigned seats. We go to seats seventeen and eighteen, on the third row from the big screen. Laila isn't thrilled about it but I don't see too well, hence the thick nerdy glasses.

Laila and I sit side by side, and the previews roll on the screen. Laila is going on and on about how excited she is that an interracial romance is at the core of Will Smith's latest movie. Laila's father is black and her mother is white, as I said before, and she's really sensitive to how interracial couples are portrayed in the media. Laila is smart and socially conscious. Me? I'm queer and everyone knows it but you'll never catch me at a gay parade. I don't do that shit.

"Interracial couples sure do produce a lot of cuties," I say wistfully, and Laila stares at me. I smile and shrug, and look at the screen. I can feel Laila's eyes on me, and there's an intensity in them. I sigh, and look at her. Only then do I realize that my words have betrayed me. Or have they? Laila knows that I'm gay but we've never discussed it at length.

"You think I'm cute, Elmira?" Laila asks coyly, and I hesitate. My heart skips a beat, and I wonder how I should answer that. I finally smile and nod, wondering where Laila is going with this. Yes, I've had a crush on her for ages but I've never hit on Laila. I would never hit on her. Laila is straight, and I respect that. I'm not that lesbian who goes around hitting on straight chicks. That's just asking for trouble. Thanks but no thanks. I'm a celibate Muslim lesbian, life is simpler that way.

"Yes I do," I whisper, and Laila smiles that dangerous smile of hers, and suddenly I realize that I'm in trouble. Before I could protest, Laila grabs my face in her hands, and then she kisses me. Laila is actually kissing me. I've dreamed of this moment many times, in my most private moments. I just never thought it would happen in real life.

"Your lips are sweet," Laila says, and then she pinches my cheeks. I stare at her, fumbling for words, and she shushes me then focuses her gaze on the big screen. The movie is starting. A pretty blonde chick in a bar comes to sit across the very handsome Mr. Will Smith, and I notice how pretty Australian actress Margot Robbie is. Still, I've got another pretty lady in mind...the one next to me.

"Watch the movie, shorty, we'll talk after," Laila says, and I hesitantly nod, my heart thundering in my chest. The movie goes by in a blur. My eyes were riveted on the screen but don't ask me to tell you what happened because my mind was elsewhere. I kept stealing glances at Laila's fine self, and got distracted...

"Good movie," Laila says, as the lights come on, and we head toward the exits, along with dozens of other Ottawa folks. A lot of them are talking about the movie, and it seems they had a good time. I'm going to have to see this movie again, seriously. I totally blame Laila for that. This mixed chick's antics shut down my brain.

"Um, about that kiss," I say quietly, as Laila and I stand near the video game spot near the theater doors. Laila zips up her hooded sweatshirt, and I try hard not to look at her boobs, and fail miserably. She smiles at me, clearly loving this, and I patiently wait for her answer.

"Elmira, I think you're cute, and if you want, we can have a lot of fun together," Laila says, and she gets closer, all up in my face. I look up at my tall, golden brown Amazon and smile. I've got a million questions, but I put them in the back burner. For I'm dying to experience the full awesomeness and sexiness of Laila up close and personal, and heaven knows I'm not about to mess up my chance by saying the wrong word...

I don't remember how Laila and I got to my apartment in the Donald block of Vanier, but I remember us making out and giggling on the bus which we caught from Blair. Anyhow, my sweetie and I went up to my room, and once there, we had ourselves a good time.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper, marveling at Laila as the tall, gorgeous brown Amazon strips before me. My eyes rove over her tall, voluptuous and fit body, and the sight of her lovely face, large breasts, sexy thighs and cute bum thrills me more than I can explain.

"Come closer I don't bite," Laila says coyly, and I do exactly that. Off comes my T-shirt and jeans, followed by my Hijab. Laughing, Laila unclasps my bra as I kick off my panties. Naked, we faced each other. Laila's lovely eyes rove up and down my body. I fight down the self-consciousness I feel, and Laila licks her lips. My sweetie seems to like what she sees.

"Sexy," Laila says, and she grabs me and we tumble onto my bed, and at last, we begin making love. Playfully Laila and I roll around on the bed, wrestling amorously. I find myself on top of her, with her arms lovingly pulling me close. I kiss Laila full and deep, and she smiles and relaxes as I begin exploring her.

Laila doesn't kiss me like an ingénue, nope, my supposedly straight best friend kisses me like she's been kissing girls for a while. I kiss her lips, her throat, and finally make my way down to her crotch. Laila nods and I smile, then slip one finger into her womanhood, then two. Grinning happily, Laila spreads those long legs of hers wide, and I bury my face between them. At last, I taste Laila's essence.

"Frigging hot," I whispered, and I happily began licking Laila's pussy. For years I've dreamed of nothing else. I looked up into Laila's beautiful face and saw tension there. I smiled at her and told her to relax, then resumed what I was doing. Slowly, Laila loosened up and relaxed, and I went to work on her. Laila's lovely face was filled with joy as I stuck my tongue into her cunt and teased her clit while fingering her. Those long legs of hers thrashed wildly as I worked my magic on her.

"Don't stop!" Laila squealed, and I grinned wickedly and stuck two fingers into her cunt, and worked her over with a third finger, this one into her butt hole. I played with Laila's insides like a piano player, and she squirmed and cried out in pleasure, alternately shrieking that it was too intense and begging me for more. I worked her over until she begged for mercy.

"That was fun, but now I want to fuck you," Laila said, with the same trademark bossiness I found so sexy. Before I could reply, Laila pulled me into her arms and kissed me, then shoved her hand between my legs. I gasped as Laila's fingers slid into my already wet pussy, and she held me down while sucking on my small tits. I sighed happily as Laila pleasured me. It's been a long time coming, that's for sure.

"We should have done this a long time ago," I whispered to Laila as I held her tightly. We lay on my bed, stark naked, sweaty as can be. The bedroom reeked of our juices. Yup, smells like pussy in here. My first time getting laid in years, seriously. I'm usually shy with women, and can count my sexual experiences on one hand.

"We can make this a regular event if you want, Elmira, but I'm not a lesbian, I'm bisexual, so don't try to convert me over to your side and we'll be cool," Laila said, looking straight into my eyes. That trademark no-nonsense, anti-bullshit style of talk can be both sexy and annoying, I swear. I smiled and nodded, then rested my head on Laila's chest.

"I'm just glad it happened," I whispered, and then I pulled the covers over our bodies. Laila and I spent the night together. The first of many passionate nights for us, that's for sure. I had no idea that Laila swung both ways or that she'd fancied me for a while. I have zero gaydar, or lesbo-radar, or whatever you want to call it. Still, as I lay in bed next to the gal I have loved for ages, still glowing from our lovemaking, I thanked the Most High for His blessings.