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Saudi Girls Into Black Americans

12

Everyone is always talking about African women's bottoms, and what masterpieces they are. Well, as an Arab woman with a nice derriere, I secretly resent that. Women from my ethnicity are wonderfully curvaceous, and lag behind no one when it comes to gluteus maximus, but that's a closely guarded secret. We're forced to hide our tremendous assets from the male gaze due to the rules of Islamic modesty. My name is Rabia Al-Sharif and I'm a young woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm here to set the record straight about that, and modern Arab female sexuality, among other things.

I'm five-foot-nine, curvy and lovely, with dark bronze skin, long curly black hair and golden brown eyes. Typically I wear brightly colored T-shirts and skin-tight jeans or short skirts that showcase my sexy legs and heart-shaped behind when I leave the house. Got to look classy but sexy, that's my motto when it comes to clothes in general. I recently obtained my motorcycle licence and I'm an avid rider. I purchased a bright crimson Ducati motorcycle.

No matter where one hails from, there will always be stereotypes that one cannot escape. Take my friend and roommate Amelia Rodriguez for example. We met during my first week at the University of Ottawa and I was surprised at how much Latin Americans resemble us Arabs. I thought Amelia was Lebanese until she told me that she was of Brazilian and Nigerian descent, born and raised in the environs of Manaus, somewhere in Brazil. What a shocker.

"You look so Arab it's not even funny," I told Amelia, who hesitated, then laughed. Relief washed over me, for I thought I might have inadvertently offended her. Shrugging casually, Amelia shook her head. "In Ottawa I get that a lot but I am actually mixed Brazilian," she replied. Damn, I didn't even know the gal had black in her but Amelia assured me that most people in Brazil had some African blood in their lineage somewhere, mixed with Native American and European, of course.

"Wow, an authentic Brazilian woman, in the flesh," I said, shaking my head while looking Amelia over, quietly amazed. I expected her to be wild and lively since that's what I heard about Brazilians, but Amelia turned out to be quite shy and rather quiet, the way my parents sometimes wish I were. I've always been a handful, a far cry from the serene, pious and obedient Muslim gal they raised me to be.

When you think of a Saudi Arabian woman, I bet you're thinking of the stereotype of the shy, repressed woman wearing the burka, fearing the dictatorship of the males of her family, and constantly lamenting her lot in life as a citizen of the world's most conservative nation. I bet you're not thinking of me, the rebel who shuns the burka and the hijab, and likes to race on the 417 Highway, heedless of the danger from oncoming traffic or the speeding tickets gleefully handed to me by grim-faced RCMP officers. I like to live on the edge, what can I say?

A lot of people in this world take life for granted, and don't appreciate what they have until it's gone. I am not such a person. I was born in the City of Safwa, eastern Saudi Arabia. My parents, Bahir and Tahirah Al-Sharif were part of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia's Shiite minority. If you know anything about Islam, then you'll know that being a Shiite Muslim in a mostly Sunni country, especially one as religious as Saudi Arabia, isn't exactly good for one's health. My father was an active critic of the Saudi royal family's excesses, and firmly believed that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was headed in the wrong direction.

To Shiite Muslims, the prophet Mohammed, founder of Islam, isn't the Seal of the Prophets but the predecessor of a coming figure called the Mahdi. We believe that the Mahdi will unite the Islamic world, defeat the forces of evil and lead us to total conquest of the entire world. To Sunni Muslims, that's sacrilege and they've been persecuting us Shiites for centuries. Very few Muslim countries have majority Shiite populations, Iran being one prime example. What does that have to do with my family?

Well, my father was a devoted follower of a controversial Shiite preacher named Suleiman Akbar, who thought himself the Mahdi. They fell on the List, that insidious list of people whom the Saudi royal authorities consider to be troublemakers. Suleiman Akbar was assassinated, and his followers rounded up and either imprisoned or executed. As for my father, he fled with my mother and I to Canada. That magical place that so many refugees flock to every year. I was only four at the time. The year was 1996. We've been living in Ontario, Canada, ever since.

Adjusting to Canada after a lifetime in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia wasn't easy for my parents. Hardship and constant disputes drove them apart. Eventually, they got divorced. I was in the ninth grade at the time. I know this sounds cold but divorce is the best thing that could have happened to them. Some people simply weren't meant to stay together. In the Islamic world, we have marriages of convenience for the most part.

Dad now drives a cab for Capital Taxi and spends much of his free time in the By Ward Market, either drinking in bars or bedding prostitutes. As for my mother, she lives in Gatineau, with a middle-aged Yemeni guy named Rafiq. I don't know if he's her friend, roommate or lover, or all three. And to be honest, I don't give a damn. I love my parents and I respect them but they've got their lives to live, and I've got mine. At the end of the day, only Allah can judge any of us.

Two sundays ago, I went to Mansion, a night club in downtown Ottawa, with Amelia by my side. It was her twentieth birthday and I didn't want her to spend it alone in her room at our apartment in Sandy Hill. "You need to stop living like an old lady and start having fun," I told Amelia, grabbing her by the arm as took her outside. "We'll see," Amelia said, in that shy yet mysterious way of hers, clearly unaware of how sexy she looked in a low-cut red dress. We hopped on my motorcycle and headed to Rideau Street.

While shaking my ass on the Mansion dance floor, I saw a vision of masculine beauty. Tall, dark and handsome, clad in a light purple silk shirt and black silk pants. One fine and strongly built brother, whom all the girls in the club couldn't help noticing. "Check out this cutie," I told Amelia, pointing her in the chocolate prince's direction. "He's fine alright," Amelia remarked, and smiled. I was already moving toward my target. I smiled at him flirtatiously, noted the quiet confidence he exuded, and decided I wanted this fish for myself.

I cockily went to the bar, and 'accidentally' bumped into Mr. Sexy, and apologized profusely for my clumsiness. "It's alright ma'am," he said, and I noted his distinct accent. The dude was clearly not from Ottawa. He didn't sound like the continental African immigrants I ran into from time to time in the clubs either. "Where are you from?" I asked, looking into his handsome face. Mr. Sexy flashed me a movie star smile. "Born and raised in Buffalo, New York, ma'am," he said proudly.

I licked my lips. "Welcome to Ottawa I'm Rabia, originally from Saudi Arabia," I said, and offered him my sleek, well-manicured hand to shake. Mr. Sexy shook my hand. Dude had a firm grip. Not crushing, just firm enough. "I'm Tyrese Montrose," he said, and flashed that smile again. He offered me a drink, and I happily accepted. "So what brings a man from Buffalo to Ottawa?" I asked Tyrese, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"A fresh start as far as school and work and a desire to get away from family drama," Tyrese said, a haunted look on his face. His eyes met mine, and all the coyness I felt inside drained from me. I knew where I had seen such a look before, a look of raw, elemental pain. "I can totally relate," I said grimly, smiling sadly at Tyrese. Slowly he nodded. "Next drink's on me," I said, downing my cup's contents in one gulp and not caring that it was unladylike.

Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed Amelia talking to a short-haired, tattooed, downright masculine woman clad in dark leather. So that's why Miss Brazil never seemed interested in guys, I thought wickedly. I looked at Tyrese, and smiled. "Let's dance," he said, and I happily accepted. Moments later, Tyrese and I hit the dance floor. The guy was smooth and graceful, and I felt good in his arms. "You're a good dancer," Tyrese whispered into my ear. I looked at him and smiled. "You got no idea," I said suggestively, licking my full red lips for emphasis.

I honestly don't remember how I ended up in Tyrese's bed, but I'm glad I got there. As it turns out, the American stud from Buffalo, New York, lives in an apartment building on King Edward Street, within walking distance of Mansion night club. Once we got to his place, Tyrese and I had some fun. I hadn't been with a man since my former lover, Jean Abdullah, a Lebanese Christian guy, asked me to move in with him and I ditched him to keep my independence.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever known," I told Tyrese as he laid me on his king-sized bed, and gazed lustfully at my naked body. After taking off my dress, and tossing aside bra and panties, I stretched luxuriously on Tyrese's bright blue and red, "Superman"-themed bed sheets, and spread my legs wide open, exposing my hairy cunt. "I've always wondered what you Arab women were like," Tyrese said, as he kissed my left foot then began sucking on my toes.

"We're wild and freaky like any other women don't let the hijabs and burkas fool you," I told Tyrese, licking my lips. Grinning, Tyrese kissed a path from my toes to my inner thigh, and finally brought his mouth to my cunt lips. He suck his tongue inside me, and I shuddered with pleasure as Tyrese began fingering and licking my cunt. "You taste wonderful," Tyrese said, pausing to look at me before he resumed pleasing me orally. "Love a man who goes downtown," I said, gently rubbing my breasts together.

Tyrese licked and fingered my pussy for a long time, his mouth exploring my mound's innermost walls, and leaving me panting weakly as I called out his name. "Fuck yeah lick my awrah," I squealed, and Tyrese licked me up, flicking his tongue over my clit while thrusting two fingers inside my pussy. Dude definitely took me to the edge, leaving me quivering with pleasure, and I absolutely loved it. Once I recovered, I was quite eager to return the favor.

"Your turn sexy man," I said, grabbing Tyrese's dick and balls and pulling him towards me. "Slow down sexy lady," he said, grinning. I got on my knees before the chocolate stud and took his erect dick in my hand, holding it at eye level for a good look.

I never go down on a guy without first inspecting his, ahem, hardware. Would you buy a car or even rent one without first inspecting it? I think not. Tyrese was well-endowed, not ridiculously so, but a good size. I also noticed that he was uncircumcised. Wow, two firsts in one night. My first American and my first uncut man. Tyrese isn't my first black guy, though. That honor belongs to an Ethiopian guy named Abraham whom I knew in high school. "Yummy," I said, and took Tyrese's dick into my mouth.

Tyrese lay on the bed, looking totally calm, cool and collected as I fellated him. "Just like that sweetie," he murmured, gently running his big hands through my hair as I went down on him. I sucked him real good, licking the length of his shaft and going further down, licking his balls and even lifting them so I could lick underneath them. I like the way a man's balls smell and taste. I don't know why. "Like that?" I paused to ask Tyrese, noticing that his breath was coming out slowly.

"Hell yeah babe," Tyrese said, and I resumed what I was doing. I sucked his dick and pumped my hand up and down his shaft until he came, and man did he shout loudly as he reached the magic moment. "Oh shit that's it right there," Tyrese moaned, and in a moment of inspired wickedness, I shoved my middle finger up his ass as he came. Dude shot his load all over the place. Got a bit on my face, but I didn't mind. I just don't like sperm in my eyes. It, um, stings. Happily I licked Tyrese's cum, tasting the fruit of my labor. "Totally yummy," I noted, and licked up every last drop.

"Damn that was awesome," Tyrese said, laughing and caressing me. His hands went from my face to my breasts, and finally settled on my ass. "Like my big Saudi booty?" I grinned, looking into Tyrese's eyes. "Yes ma'am," he said, all proper and everything. "Don't just touch it when you could fuck it," I teased, and Tyrese grinned broadly as he reached for the condoms on his nightstand. I helped him roll a Magnum on his thick member. Then I straddled him. "Show me what you got American," I whispered into Tyrese's ear. Grinning, Tyrese smacked my ass and pressed his hard dick against my cunt. I lowered myself until I impaled my wet, eager pussy on his cock. "Hell yeah," I said, resting my hands on Tyrese's broad shoulders as I began riding him.

Not sure for how long Tyrese and I went at it but it was truly one for the ages. At some point I ended up on all fours, face down and ass up, as Tyrese took me on his bedroom floor. "Just like that big man," I yelped as Tyrese grabbed my hair and smacked my big butt while slamming his dick into my cunt from behind. "Damn you got a tight pussy," Tyrese remarked. I smiled, inwardly thankful for my pussy-tightening exercises. I'm not a size queen but what woman doesn't prefer to go for Mr. Big when she can?

When all was said and done, Tyrese and I came at least three times, and I woke up in his bed, lying in a sea of dried sweat and my own juices. Oh, and his, as well. Things weren't awkward, though. Tyrese was polite and friendly, and let me shower before I left. "What if I want to see you again?" Tyrese asked, as I came out of the shower, wrapped in one of his blue towels. I considered that. Lots of guys out there are exploring their sexuality, and hooking up with random women just for fun. Hell, some guys are hooking up with both men AND women for fun. I'm only into guys but who says a young woman can't have her casual fun?

"Tyrese you're sexy and smart but I'm not looking for a relationship right now," I said as politely as I could. What is it about us Saudi women that drives men absolutely nuts? Tyrese has All-American man-about-town written all over him. I'm certain he's brought tons of women back to his place for some casual fun. Surely he didn't get attached to any of them? "I'm starting in the MBA program at Carleton University this September. I just transferred from Canisius College and I don't know anybody in this town own," Tyrese said, licking his full, sensual lips.

Tyrese looked so sweet saying these things that he made my heart skip a beat. All the more reason for me to get the fuck out of his nicely decorated two-bedroom apartment. "Cute guy like you will be a hit with all the girls on campus," I said, and unhurriedly got dressed right in front of Tyrese. I grabbed my purse, and walked up to him. "Can I get your number?" Tyrese asked.

I smiled at him and licked my lips suggestively, and watched Tyrese's handsome beam with hope. Then I crushed it. "I'll take yours," I said smugly, looking him up and down. "It's like that Miss Saudi?" Tyrese said, smiling as I stood inches from him. Dude was disappointed and trying to play it cool. Got to admire his persistence. I leaned over and kissed Tyrese. Just a quick peck on the lips. "It's like that Mr. America," I said, smiling, then took the card he offered me and headed for the door.

When I got home, I certainly had a story to share with Amelia, but my favorite little biracial Brazilian wasn't alone. I spotted a tall, tattooed chick walking out of the kitchen. "Who the fuck are you?" I asked. The gal eyed me coolly. "I'm Spike, who are you?" she said. That's when Amelia came out of the washroom, a smug look on her face. "Morning Rabia," she said, wrapping her arms around Spike, who kissed her. "What a world," I said, smiling. Amelia smiled at me and shrugged. "It's about time Miss Brazil here got laid," I said, nodding to Spike.

I went to my room, grabbed my school books and headed to my eleven o'clock Business Accounting class at the University of Ottawa. "Always knew Amelia was a dyke," I said to myself as I caught the bus from the Rideau Shopping Center and rode it to campus. Seriously, seeing Amelia with Spike totally surprised me. I suspected that my erstwhile roommate might be lesbian or bisexual but never had any proof. Doesn't bother me either way, you understand? I just wondered about her, that's all.

Little did I know that Spike wasn't a one-night stand for Amelia. Apparently, lesbians operate differently from us straight people. Three weeks after they met, Rhiannon "Spike" Spelman, the tattooed butch lesbian biker from hell and Amelia Rodriguez, decided to move in. And since I had no lease and stayed at the Sandy Hill apartment on a month-to-month basis, the two dykes basically forced me out. Oh yeah, they gave me an ultimatum. I had a week to move out. "You're both a pair of backstabbing bitches," I said to Rhiannon and Amelia as I stormed out.

I needed a place to stay, and trust me, even though Ottawa isn't that big a city, rent is expensive up here. I go to school full-time and work at the nearby Loblaw's as a cashier on weekends and holidays. Rent at my soon-to-be old place was six hundred a month plus utilities, and I could barely afford it when Amelia and I split everything. I looked on Kijiji for places on my price range, and couldn't find any. With the threat of homelessness looming over my head, I didn't know what to do.

I finally called Tyrese Montrose because I ran out of ideas. I asked him if he knew anyone who was looking for a roommate. I usually preferred female roommates but if the choice came down to sharing an apartment with a guy and being homeless, guess which one I'd pick? "It so happens I put an ad on Kijiji a week ago because I'm subletting the spare room in my place," Tyrese said. I went silent for a moment. "If it's available I want it," I said, biting my lip. "Come by and take a look," Tyrese replied, and I laughed, promising him he wouldn't regret it.

I swear, when I went to Tyrese's place, I was only looking for the spare room. When he came to the front door wearing only a pair of shorts, still sweaty from his early afternoon workout, I, um, lost control. How we ended up on his living room floor, fucking like jackrabbits, without a damn condom, I'll never know. "That was fun," Tyrese said, as I rested my head on his chest, my pussy still pleasurably sore from the merciless pounding he'd just given me.

"We're going to get along famously," I said, smiling at him. Tyrese nodded. "You got the room," he said with a grin. Now, I know what this looks like. It certainly looks like I used my womanly wiles to get my way with Tyrese, and basically trick him into letting me have the room. It's cheap, too, only four hundred a month. Rent usually goes for twice that anywhere near downtown Ottawa. All the Soho-style condos being built are forcing small-time landlords to hike up their fees. That's life in Ottawa, Ontario, for you. Come to think of it, that's life everywhere. It kicks you in the teeth, like betrayal from a trusted friend.

"I never would have imagined my shy and innocent roommate Amelia capable of such treachery," I told Tyrese one night, when he came home from the nearby Goodlife Fitness gym and found me sitting in the living room, pensive. "We've all trusted someone who betrayed us," Tyrese said, gently laying his hand on mine. I looked at him. "I should have seen it coming," I said, shaking my head. I looked past Tyrese, and thought of my tumultuous life.

I remembered my parents and I living in a tiny apartment in Vanier, because we couldn't afford anything better. I remember my parents arguing about money, and religion, and culture. My father found Canadian culture downright infuriating, and my mother's eagerness to embrace Western ways, like driving and getting a job (although she still wore hijab outside the house ) well, that seemed like a betrayal to him. The Canadian government refused to acknowledge my father's academic credentials from the prestigious King Faisal University, and as a result, he lost hope. He resigned himself to a life as a cab driver, hating the west, hating my mother and I, and above all else, hating himself.

12
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