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Somali Chicks Into Haitian Studs

I love my job, I thought sarcastically as I made my way out of the Bayshore Mall in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Ah, the life of a cashier or adventures in retail. The hell that I endure for eight hours for a measly twelve bucks an hour. As bad as things are around here, they're way better than they were in Quebec City where I was born. Being the only daughter of a Somali female immigrant who married an Italian-Canadian Muslim convert wasn't easy, especially since we lived in a lily-white French Canadian town where xenophobia is the order of the day.

My name is Zahrah Ibrahim-Napolitano. How I came into the world is a rather unique story, or so I've been told. My mother, Halima Ibrahim moved to the City of Montreal, Quebec, from the town of Barawa, Somalia, in the summer of 1989. While studying accounting at the University of Montreal she met Luciano Napolitano, a handsome young Italian-Canadian engineering student. The two of them fell in love, and my father ended up converting to Islam and marrying her. I came into the world a couple of years later, and for some reason my parents felt the need to leave racially diverse, progressive Montreal for the urban wilderness of xenophobic and openly racist Quebec City. Bad move if you ask me.

I used to hear the N-word along with "Muslim cunt" and "terrorist bitch" tossed my way in the hallways of my high school. Not easy being a mixed woman wearing a Hijab down there. That's why I left Quebec City a couple of years ago, never to return. Seriously. An angel armed with a flaming sword couldn't compel me to return to that town full of creeps. As far as I'm concerned, Quebec City can go the way of Sodom and Gomorrah. Burn it to the fucking ground for all I care. I know that since I'm a minority woman and a Muslim at that these words could come back to haunt me but I don't give a flying fuck. I mean every word.

The City of Ottawa proved to be somewhat better than what I left behind. It's livable, I guess. I'm taking two courses at Carleton University this summer and since the Ontario provincial government decided that my parents made too much money for me to qualify for financial aid, I'm basically on my own. I'm five credits away from earning my bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice, man. I'm so close I can almost taste it. Once I'm done I'll take the LSAT and try to get into a good law school. The University of Ottawa is one of the best in Ontario, along with the University of Toronto and a couple of others. I'm twenty one years old and about to finish university, how cool is that? I can't wait to get out there in the real world.

Here I am, living life and feeling free in our nation's capital, trying my best to make my way in a world both thrilling and hostile at times. I live with my boyfriend Jacques Chevalier, a tall and handsome brother originally from the island of Haiti. He recently graduated from the University of Ottawa with a Master's degree in Business Administration but he can't seem to find work in his field. As much as it saddens me to say it, I am not surprised. The City of Ottawa is dull, boring and bigoted. And they're almost pathologically afraid of highly educated people of color who possess a single gram of ambition. Since he's tall, good-looking and has a Canadian university education, my poor Jacques terrifies them.

Even though, according to shifting demographics, almost half the population of metropolitan Ottawa hails from places like continental Africa, Latin America, southeast Asia, the Caribbean and the Arab world, the local white people insist on treating us as if we're second-class citizens. That's the thing about Ottawa people. They're the most polite racists in the world. Sometimes I almost miss the brutal honesty of the Quebecers. With them you always know where you stand, you know? They're brutally honest in their dislike of we who are called visible minorities. Jacques has been hitting company after company, mailing his resume to place after place. So far nada.

My boo refuses to get discouraged but I can tell that his fruitless search is starting to get to him. I feel bad for him, I really do. All I can do is try to be supportive. A lot of recent college and university graduates across Canada find themselves unemployed but it's even worse for us who come from immigrant backgrounds. Education is supposed to be the great equalizer but in the real world it doesn't work like that. Even though white people in America, Canada and Europe will soon be outnumbered by folks from Africa, Asia and the Arab world on their own turf, white privilege is here to stay. Anyhow, I'll stop whining about the politics and boring details. I want to become an advocate for civil rights and social justice when I get my law degree. Bring balance to a universe that's dangerously askew. Can you tell?

Anyhow, I got a story to share with you folks today. You see, while my parents are quite liberal, we haven't always seen eye to eye when it comes to my relationship with Jacques Chevalier. He's a Christian and I'm a Muslim woman. We're not supposed to be together according to the rules of my faith. It's something that I've always found unfair and have consistently rebelled against. A Muslim man may marry a woman of any faith or background but a Muslim woman can only marry a man from the same faith. For the most part I've dated guys from other faiths. I find them livelier, funnier and a whole nicer. Before I met Jacques I went out with a Jewish guy named Emmanuel Finkelstein. This didn't sit right with my parents either but I've always followed my passions.

Jacques and I care for each other a great deal and we do have a passionate relationship but lately things have been less than ideal between us. That's why I decided to try to spice things up a little. Lately all we seem to do is argue. We used to go to the movies at least twice a week, and we'd go to a nice restaurant every two weeks. We used to go away to places like Montreal, Toronto and Calgary on long weekends, just to keep the fire going in our relationship. I know what's going on. My boo is frustrated, and he's been taking it out on me emotionally without realizing it. I try to be supportive and patient but sometimes I get fed up. Something's got to give or we're heading for breakup territory. Can't have that, so I decided to bring the spark back in our relationship...

When Jacques came home that afternoon from his endless string of job interviews, he looked tired and beat. However, the moment he set foot inside our apartment in Alta Vista, he smiled. For he found...me. Naked as the day I was born. All five feet ten inches and one hundred and seventy two pounds of me. I'm tall and curvy, with wide hips, thick thighs and a big, round ass. And I've got breasts and legs of life. I caressed my caramel skin, feeling wild and free now that I was naked. Well, nearly naked. I still wore my Hijab. For some reason Jacques likes when I wear it in the bedroom. It makes you look naughty and sexy, he once told me, admiring me as I applied my makeup in front of the bedroom mirror, clad in my bra and panties. Since then, we've incorporated it into our lovemaking. Many Muslims would say it's haram but I say what goes on in the bedroom of a man and woman is nobody's business but the two of them.

Upon seeing me lying on the couch, looking sexy and provocative, Jacques smiled. Damn woman now you got me hard, he said, stroking the bulge in his pants. I got something for you, I said, pulling something from behind a large pillow and holding it for him to see. I swear Jacques went pale when he saw what it was. Last week you got to fuck my ass so tonight I get yours, I said as I donned the strap-on dildo. Are you ready for me? I asked Jacques while stroking the shiny ebony dildo. Jacques gulped, and I smiled wickedly, ordering him to get naked and on his knees. Promptly Jacques did as he was told.

I walked up to Jacques, and ordered him to suck my dildo. He hesitated, and for that I smacked him upside the head. Jacques rubbed his head plaintively, then puckered his lips before he started sucking on my dildo. I smiled with satisfaction as he went down on me. Last week was his birthday and he had me in the same exact position. Suck my dick, he kept saying, pulling my hair and smirking as I went down on him. I nearly gagged on his eight-inch, uncircumcised dick since he's so damn thick all around. I was as gentle with him as he'd been with me, which meant not at all. I made him suck my plastic cock and when he finished, I pressed a special button on the dildo, spewing hot artificial girly cum all over Jacques shocked face. I got the power and you're my bitch, I said matter-of-factly.

Once Jacques finished polishing my dildo with his tongue, I put him on all fours and told him to open his hairy ass cheeks. Without further ado I smeared lubricant all over his hole. I pressed the dildo against his ass, and gently pushed it inside. Gripping Jacques hips, I slowly worked the dildo into his ass. He groaned and I asked him if he was okay. He nodded, and continued moaning as I pumped the dildo up his bum hole. While fucking him, I noticed his dick was half-erect. Reaching underneath him I grabbed his dick. Jacques gasped as I began stroking his rapidly hardening cock, and I eagerly masturbated him while working his ass. It wasn't all soft and romantic, either. I like hardcore female domination, not happy fucking. So I grabbed Jacques own belt from his police pants which lay nearby and began whipping his back, his ass and his legs. I was careful not to hit his face because the man is too damn cute and works in an office, you know?

As I sodomized him with the dildo, Jacques moans turned into screams which turned into squeals. I smacked his ass and berated him while filling his ass with my brand-new toy. Face down and ass up, Jacques took all that I had to give him, and then some. When he came, it was rather spectacular, with hot manly cum smeared all over his stomach. I took some of it and smeared it across his handsome face, letting him taste himself. See? I'm not all bad. I thought about Jacques as we tried anal sex for the first time last week. Dude was all smug as he bent me over, spread my ass and then stuffed me like a thanksgiving turkey with lotion or butter as lubricant. Ever since then, I've wanted revenge on him. I got it at last.

I pulled the dildo out of Jacques ass and told him to remain on his knees. Jacques stared at me with frightened eyes. I spread my thighs, and allowed Jacques to sample my womanly aroma. A lot of women use vaginal deodorant down there. Me? I use soap and water. And I don't shave below my arm pits. Yes, you read right. Tentatively Jacques leaned forward, and then buried his face between my thighs. Are you having fun? I asked him. Jacques nodded. Thank you for making my fantasies come true sweetie, he said. I smiled. Good answer, I said with a smile as I ground his face against my crotch. Get to work, my man! Wordlessly Jacques began licking my pussy like there was no tomorrow. I think we've got the spice back in our relationship, don't you?

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