Somali MILF For Haitian Doctor

When you have an unusual problem, you must be prepared to seek unusual solutions. My name is Halima Abdirahman and I'm a thirty-three-year-old Somali Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Gatineau, Quebec. The other day at Masjid during the Jummah evening prayers, something unfortunate happened. I was in the sisters corner, praying to the Maker of All Things along with my fellow Muslims. That's when I, um, let one rip. I farted. I have a MAJOR problem and it's called uncontrollable flatulence. I fart a lot, and as a hijab-wearing Muslim sister, I'm not supposed to attract attention to myself because I'm a symbol of Islamic feminine modesty.

That's what landed me in the office of Dr. Henry Gustave, a Haitian gentleman who runs a medical practice on the Merivale area of Ottawa. Originally I tried a female doctor but when the middle-aged white woman started laughing in my face, I ran out of her office. I looked up Muslim doctors but feared the damage to my reputation should my shameful secret be revealed to the Muslim community, so I avoided them. I sought a Kafir instead, and Dr. Henry Gustave proved to be just what the doctor ordered, in a manner of speaking.

Dr. Henry Gustave sat me down and talked to me, and I shared my problem with him. You see, uncontrollable flatulence isn't my only problem. I also have a terrible case of constipation. Basically, I can't shit right, and then I fart a lot afterwards. The good doctor gave me some pills, and told me to try them and call him in the morning. I tried them and nothing happened. The following week, I went back to the good doctor and told him his methods weren't working too well. I thought long and hard about the issue before dropping it on him. His medicine didn't do shit for me, man.

Sitting across from Dr. Henry Gustave, I stared at him intently. Around six feet tall, somewhat chubby but still good-looking, with his dark brown skin and curly hair, he looked decent. Only thirty one years old and he was a doctor. M.D. from the University of Toronto School of Medicine. I looked at his fingers and saw no rings anywhere. Interesting. We don't have a lot of educated brothers in the Somali Canadian community. A lot of Somali brothers in Canada waste their time with drunkenness, fighting, and generally speaking, worthless pursuits. And they get mad when they see highly educated Somali sisters stepping out with brothers from other communities. As if! Even Muslim sisters who are loyal to their faith and community need to keep their options open in this day and age.

Dr. Henry Gustave snapped me out of my reverie by saying my name. I looked at him and smiled. The good doctor told me that my problem was beyond his ability to cure. This pissed me off, and I told him he shouldn't give up like that. Dr. Henry shook his head and said that he was no expert on female issues and that a female doctor might be better suited to helping me. Shaking my head, I told Dr. Henry about my disastrous experience at the female doctor's office. Amazingly, the doctor laughed. Then he promised me he'd try his best to help me.

I promised Dr. Henry, or Hank as he liked to be called, that I would try my best to cooperate. A lot of male doctors in Canada and around the western world are loath to deal with Muslim female patients because of our issues. Well, I shocked Hank by agreeing to let him examine me. You should have seen a look on his face. I swear, I made a black man from Haiti go pale! Without further ado, I stepped into the examination booth. I hiked up my skirt, bent over, and allowed Hank to examine my anus with his gloved hands.

Hank examined my anus, and then...something happened. I don't know whether it's because I was nervous about being touched in an intimate region by a male physician, or due to the burrito I had earlier but I, um, farted. That's right, I farted in the good doctor's face. Hank coughed, and gagged. I whirled around, and apologized profusely while readjusting my long skirt and underwear. Hank looked at me, a strange expression on his face. Then he stunned me with the words that left his mouth next. Dr. Henry Gustave looked me in the eye and told me that he liked the fact that I farted in his face. I should have been creeped out. I should run out of the doctor's office screaming. Instead, I smiled and asked him to tell me more.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's been said that the Creator works in mysterious ways. After the encounter in the doctor's office, Hank and I bonded. In fact, we ended up changing each other's lives in ways most unexpected. Hank gave me a treatment for my constipation and uncontrollable flatulence...and it actually worked. I'm finally cured. After spending twenty four hours without either constipation or flatulence to plague me, I returned to the doctor's office, ecstatic. I was so happy that I hugged Hank, and kissed him on the cheek. I think we were both stunned by my display of affection, and I apologized, for this was an emotional moment for me. Hank told me I had nothing to apologize about, and hugged me. Then he invited me to join him for a bite on his lunch hour to celebrate. What do you think I said to that? A resounding yes!

Hank and I learned a lot about each other that afternoon, and we became friends. We began seeing each other regularly, and I must say, I found him smart, funny and in his own way, sexy. After knowing each other six weeks, Hank officially asked me out, and I accepted. Look, I'm not getting any younger. I'm over thirty, single, and divorced. I don't have any sons or daughters because my ex-husband Omar Khalid was too busy banging plump white chicks to provide me with them. I have a bachelor's degree in business from Carleton University but I got laid off from my old job at the downtown branch of the Royal Bank of Canada. I'm working at Tim Horton's to keep a roof over my head. Trust me, dating a doctor sounded pretty good to me.

I truly enjoyed Hank's company, and I found myself liking him. A lot, actually. He took me to movies and restaurants, and I always had a good time with him. A lot of Somali sisters won't cross the line and start dating men from other communities. I made that mistake when I was younger. I fiercely hung unto my Islamic faith and Somali culture, and married a very religious Somali guy I met at Masjid. Things didn't work out, and I ended up broken-hearted, divorced and broke. When I shared these things with Hank, he actually understood.

In fact, he shared with me something that surprised me. Growing up the son of Haitian immigrants in Montreal, Quebec, Hank didn't have it easy. His parents had to work menial jobs to provide for him and his siblings, so they pushed him to work hard. He encountered a lot of racism, but refused to let it stop him. It drove him to medical school, and unfortunately, into the arms of his French Canadian ex-wife, Nicole Tremblay. Worst mistake of my life, Hank said wistfully. Gently I touched his hand, and nodded understandingly. I know all about following family rules and tradition, and loving the wrong person.

Yeah, Hank and I sat in my living room, drinking tea and reminiscing. Just a couple of old farts. How we went from sitting on the couch and talking to making out, I'll ever know. Hank took my face in his hands and kissed me. Briefly I hesitated, then kissed him back passionately. It was like a well of need rising up inside of me. I'd spent years without being kissed, touched or made love to. I definitely wanted to make up for lost time. Hank took me into his arms and lifted me up. And just like the hero he was in my eyes, my favorite Haitian physician took me to the bedroom.

I lay on the bed, and watched as Hank slowly undressed me. I took off my long-sleeved T-shirt, followed by my bra. Until only my panties and hijab remained. I was about to remove my headscarf when Hank told me to keep it on. I cocked an eyebrow and Hank smiled naughtily. Alright, then, the hijab stays on but everything else comes off. Then he began kissing and licking me all over, gently caressing my breasts and flicking his tongue over the areolas while sliding his hand between my thighs. I'm a tall, plump and borderline matronly Somali divorcee and yet when Hank told me he found me beautiful, I believed him.

Looking into Hank's eyes, I saw a mixture of love and lust. And I liked it. Spreading my thighs, I opened myself up to him, granting him total access to me. Hank pressed his lips against my pussy, and kissed it. And just like that, he began licking and fingering my cunt. I closed my eyes and relaxed as Hank made love to me. While licking my pussy, he slid his finger into my asshole. My eyes snapped open and I stared at Hank. Inwardly I trembled. For a long time, my anus has been both my trouble spot and my pleasure spot. Hank smiled and told me to trust him. Then he began licking my ass. Shoot, lucky I showered an hour earlier! Seriously. Otherwise I might not have been safe for him to lick!

Hank licked and fingered my ass while also thrilling my pussy, and this drove me absolutely nuts. So much that I got bold enough to ask him to try something really crazy. Looking Hank in the eye, I told him to fuck me in the ass. Something totally naughty and absolutely against the rules of Islam, but it's been my fantasy for the longest time. Hank smiled, and nodded. Grabbing a bottle of Aloe Cream hand lotion, Hank smeared it on his dick, then applied some on my asshole. I got on all fours, and spread my ass for him. What can I say? I was ready to get butt-fucked!

Hank got behind me, and caressed my big brown Somali booty. Gently he kissed it, then stuck his finger up my butt hole. Smiling, I told him to stick his dick up my ass. Hank did just that. Slowly, he worked his big ole Haitian dick into my asshole. Groaning, I bit my lips as Hank put his hands on my hips and began fucking me. His dick felt good in my ass, though there was some discomfort because it's, well, sort of huge. For a while, it hurt but started to feel good. I licked my lips and lay there, enjoying myself. It felt real good to have Hank's dick up my ass.

I was relaxing and enjoying the butt-fucking when suddenly I felt some discomfort deep inside. For a moment I panicked, thinking that I was about to have an embarrassing moment. The worst thing that can happen to a woman during anal is to shit all over herself. No way her man would look at her the same way after that. I asked Hank to slow down, and he did. The discomfort subsided, and I relaxed once more. Hank continued fucking me with nice and slow, deep strokes. He filled me up completely, and I absolutely loved it. We went at it for a while, until he finally came. It was a chaotic but powerful moment when Hank's dick filled my asshole with hot cum.

A moment later, I felt something rise up deep inside. Like liquid fire. My pussy twitched, and I shuddered all over as I came, louder than ever before. I cried out passionately, not caring who heart me. Hank pulled out of me, and held my shuddering, orgasmic body tightly. When the oh so enjoyable tremors subsided I looked at Hank, stunned. What in hell did he just do to me? My Haitian stud smiled at me and kissed my forehead. I see you enjoy my Haitian bedroom magic, he laughed. Well, considering the sexual whammy he'd just laid on me, I had to agree. The brother's got power alright!

Dear readers, I'm happy to say that Hank and I are, well, happy together. Just a man and a woman, dating, and having sex, and all that jazz. Hank is not Somali, he's Haitian and a Christian. I'm a Somali woman and a Muslim. A lot of Muslim women would condemn me for loving a man from another faith but I could care less. I was feeling sorry for myself because I'm over thirty, childless, and jobless. Then along came a wonderful man who makes me feel like a woman. Hank makes me feel loved. With Hank by my side, I feel like anything is possible. I'm going back to school, to earn my MBA this time. Maybe it'll help me in the job market, who knows? I don't know. I don't have to figure it out. Hank and I have the rest of our lives together. Differences of faith and culture be damned, let love happen!