The Bisexual Somali Werewolf

I could totally kick your ass, I thought to myself as I looked at the trio of drunken college guys inside the bus shelter, smirking to themselves. What is it with drunken white guys having the urge to hurl slurs at other people? Shit. Three months ago I would have ignored these fools and quietly walked away, just like any good black citizen of the Prairies. It's in the script, you see.

In the City of Calgary, Alberta, there's a pecking order. The rednecks get to say shit and blame it on alcohol or whatever while us minorities have to pretend we didn't hear it. Good ole Canadian multiculturalism at work. If we all pretend that there are no problems, then said problems don't exist. The fact that the current Mayor of Calgary is a Muslim doesn't sit right with certain folks, and they're more outspoken than ever with their racist bullshit.

I've been conditioned my whole life to behave this way. However, three months ago my life changed. That's why I glared menacingly at my adversaries with a smile a shark would recognize. Even as the words 'nigger what is your problem' left the mouth of a certain redneck bozo, my fist connected with his lips. His eyes went wide with surprise, then he crashed on the wet, dirty floor. Out cold. His buddies looked at him, then at me. Disbelief shone on their pale faces. I allowed myself a smile.

Gesturing with my hand, I quietly taunted them. Bozo number two and bozo number three walked up to me, still unsteady on their feet due to the amount of booze flowing through their veins. Taking them out proved no challenge at all. A stiff uppercut dispatched the one on the right, a chubby bastard with a mop of red hair and a goatee. He went sprawling on the floor, and lay still. Finding himself alone against a decidedly unusual foe, the last redneck grumbled something and took a swung at me.

I decided to mark this one, and so I did. At long last, I unleashed the transformation I'd been keeping at bay. My fingernails elongated into wicked, six-inch claws. My eyes turned yellow, and fur sprouted all over my five-foot-eleven, 179-pound body. You should have seen the look in the dude's eyes as I wolfed out on him. I lashed out, and left a bloody handprint across his bearded face. I didn't cut him too deep, but he'll bear those marks for life. Snickering, I took off, a blur of speed in the Albertan night.

My name is Bilal Abubakar and I'm a young man of Somali descent living in the City of Calgary, Alberta. I am twenty years old, and study Criminal Justice at Mount Royal University. It is my fervent hope to become a police officer or corrections officer someday. We need more Muslim men in law enforcement across the West. In these uncertain times, most people are eager to believe that anyone who follows Islam is a heartbeat away from becoming a terrorist. This couldn't be further from the truth.

I am a Muslim, and as peaceful as can be. The only things that piss me off are racists and Islamophobes. My parents, Omar and Suraya Abubakar live in the City of Edmonton. Dad is a constable with the Calgary Police Service and Mom is a Nurse. My younger brother Hussein is in his final year of high school. I love my family but we don't talk much. Not since a certain incident last year.

What happened is a funny story, when looked at in a certain light. It would have been funnier if it happened to someone else. Seriously. My parents went on a trip to the City of Toronto, Ontario, and were supposed to be gone all weekend. Instead, they unexpectedly returned Saturday night and caught me in bed with my Ethiopian buddy Ammanuel Tilaye. Trust me when I say we weren't arm-wrestling or playing video games, if you catch my drift.

Look, I was on my back, legs in the air, and Ammanuel had his big ole dick buried so far up my ass, you couldn't tell where he ends and I began. We were going at it like there was no tomorrow, and the sexy Ethiopian stud was pounding away at me. I was screaming like a madman, jerking my dick and riding Ammanuel for all he was worth. I think we were so into each other that we didn't notice my parents standing there, shocked into silence and stillness by what they beheld. Damn. I knew we should have kept the doors shut. My mom hurled her purse at us, and it caught me right in the noggin. My dad stood there, swearing in Somali that he was going to kill Ammanuel and I for being depraved perverts.

You see, I am bisexual. If you're at all familiar with Somali culture, or the Islamic faith, then you'll know that I'm lucky I made it out of my folks house alive once they found out about me. Suffice to say that should I ever set foot in that house again, I'm a dead man. Somali culture is intensely homophobic. I've heard of a Somali lesbian woman getting beheaded back home. I've read a story online about a gay Somali man who got stoned by a crowd of angry people in Mogadishu. Man, if I were over there, I'd be deader than Elvis!

Ammanuel Hashi and I didn't last long after my folks caught us. Last I heard he was living in Red Deer with some white chick, Allison something or other. Good for him. I've dated a few girls since our split, but nothing serious. Last one was Roxanne 'Roxy' Villanueva, a tall, gorgeous Latina I met at school. You should have seen her, man. Five-foot-nine, chubby and sexy, with wide hips, thick thighs and a big round ass. A bronze-skinned, raven-haired and green-eyed beauty from the Republic of Colombia. This lady liked the brothers and didn't hide it. Come to Papa!

Roxy and I had our fun, and I must say, she taught me a thing or two. I still shudder when I think of that night when we got our freak on in the men's washroom of a Tim Horton's near campus. Roxy got on her knees and sucked my dick while massaging my balls. Later, she stuck her finger up my ass, surprising the hell out of me. I knew Latinas were freaky but had I known they got down like that, I would have tried one a long time ago.

Roxy and I continued our fun at her place, a few blocks away. I laid her on the bed and spread her thighs before going 'downtown' as they say. I love eating pussy, man. Especially before a chick takes a shower. The smell and taste of raw pussy gets me every time, man. I fingered Roxy's cunt, teasing her clitoris with my tongue as she writhed on the bed, moaning and calling out my name. later, I rolled a condom on my dick and thrust it into her hot, wet snatch. I love the feel of a tight pussy around my dick, man. Wrapping her big sexy legs around me, Roxy urged me to fuck her harder. I did just that, burying my face between her tits while slamming my dick into her cunt.

Roxy and I had our fun that night, fucking over practically every inch of her place. At one point I put her on all fours, spanked her big butt and slammed into her from behind. This raunchy gal couldn't get enough of it, man. And I gave her all I had, and then some. Afterwards we lay side by side, exhausted in the most wonderful way possible. Roxy and I aren't an official couple. We do a lot of couple-type stuff, though. I told her I'm bisexual and she said she doesn't care. We meet, go out to eat, watch movies and then we fuck. That seems to be the extent of what we do. Can't say I mind because it's like a relationship but with only the fun stuff and no hassles. So what if she fucks other guys when she's not with me? With my werewolf senses I can pick up their scent on her. Doesn't bother me none.

Now, you might wonder about my whole werewolf thing, since I'd done everything except reveal the essentials details to you. Look, some people are born different and I'm one of them. I've always known I was different, and I don't mean the whole switch-hitter thing. I can recall an incident when I was younger, something I dismissed as unimportant at the time but later learnt better. I was just starting high school, and my cousin Amina and I were walking home when three guys started harassing us.

Like the stalwart young Somali male I was, I stood defensively before my cousin and faced our enemies. Just a quartet of rednecks, three guys and a gal, and they had nothing better to do on a Monday afternoon than to give us a hard time. I was scrawny as hell but somehow fought off two of them, long enough to allow my cousin to run home. I bit the guy's fingers, clean off. I don't know how I did that. I caught one hell of a beating from them, and I shudder to think of what would have happened if someone hadn't come by. Otherwise they might have killed me.

I was taken to the hospital, and although I was a bloody wreck when I arrived, with broken ribs and a broken femur, I was completely healed three days later. The doctors were astonished, but had no choice but to discharge me. I just thought I was lucky. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was more than human. I'm something else altogether, a throwback to earlier times.

What am I referring to? A time when wolf-like humanoids prowled the earth, and competed with ancient man for dominion of the land. Some of these creatures interbred with early humans. From time to time, people were born with traits inherited from these long-gone inhuman ancestors. People like me. What popular fiction and various cultures call werewolves, for lack of a better term. I think I blocked out a lot of those things in the old days, going along with the norm and ignoring my feelings because I wanted to fit in.

At night, I dreamed of being transformed into a beast with sharp fangs, claws and a muscular, fur-covered body. I dreamed of racing through forests and plains, wild and free like no human can ever be. At a time when most youths dreamed of the opposite sex ( and in some cases the same sex ) I yearned to escape my everyday life, and doing...what? I wasn't sure. I wouldn't be sure until three months ago, when I decided to embrace all that I am. Thus began my experiences in trying to make it into this dark world as best I can, while remaining true to myself.

Sometimes I wonder if there's others like me out there. Other men and women afflicted, or maybe blessed ( depending on their viewpoint ) with my genetic heritage and the unique powers that come with it. I am monstrously strong and can run faster than a race horse. I can also shape-shift from a mild-mannered, average-sized Afro-Canadian into a towering, wolfish monster with sharp claws, wicked fangs, and a fur-covered, muscular body. The whole thing takes sixty seconds. Ain't it cool?

It would be awesome if I could locate others like me, but I don't think there's a Facebook group for our kind. So, as the only bisexual Somali-Canadian Muslim werewolf, university student and aspiring law enforcement officer in the universe, I do my best to stay positive, lead a decent life, and also take on the bad guys because a lot of bad deeds get overlooked. Especially up north. Thanks for sticking with me so far, dear reader. I've got to go. Got midterms to worry about, and all that jazz. Peace.