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Saudi Heiress into Somali Men

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Salutations, dear reader. Thank you kindly for dropping by and reading my little tale. The name is Mustapha Feiruz, and I am a young black man of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I recently graduated from Carleton University with a bachelor's degree in business administration, and I am one of thousands of recent college and university graduates looking for work across the vastness of Canada's most populous region.

My parents, Ali and Farhiyo Feiruz sacrificed everything to ensure that I got a Canadian university education. I feel like I owe it to them to succeed. Unfortunately, it hasn't been easy for me. I guess someone forgot to tell me and thousands of my ilk that holding a piece of paper that says you're educated and employable isn't the same as being gainfully employed. The stuff they forget to teach you in the classroom, eh?

Place after place told me that they weren't hiring. Now, I am a realist, so I kind of expected it. I knew the odds were against me. I'm a six-foot-one, mildly chubby and dark-skinned young man in a lily-white business world. When I walk around downtown Ottawa, I get stared at. The Canadian capital is home to scores of Arabs, Africans and Chinese along with Hindus and Filipinos but white folks still stare at men of my color whenever we walk into their places of power.

When I walked into the CRA office downtown and inquired about employment, the security guard told me that only employees and people with appointments were allowed into the building. When I asked him who I should see about making an appointment to see someone from human resources about employment opportunities, the old white dude laughed and told me they weren't hiring. Then he firmly asked me to stop wasting his time. At this point, I told him to go fuck himself and then I left.

Frustrated, I went to the nearby library and spent over an hour on the computer, looking for work in various places. I moved out of my parents two-story house in Orleans and moved to Vanier a while ago. Rent costs four hundred dollars in my new place. That's cheap, but there's a catch. The neighborhood is full of unsavory characters. Drug dealers, hookers, hustlers and wannabe gangsters. The landlord himself is a shady character who brings prostitutes into his home, and, well, I guess you can guess the rest. I don't judge what people do. I don't care what your race, religion or sexual orientation happen to be or what you do with your body. I just wish I didn't have to see it. That's all.

Now, considering the fact that I'm a Somali guy, and was raised in a Muslim household, my liberal attitude might surprise some of you. It shouldn't. The Somali people are spread across East Africa, North America and beyond. You'll find us in Oslo, Norway, and Saint Paul, Minnesota, along with London, England, and Ottawa, Ontario. We are everywhere. From sea to shining sea. Sometimes I think there's more Somalis living outside our ancestral homeland than within its borders. Wouldn't surprise me if it were true.

One thing you must remember about us Somalis, and any people for that matter, is that we're not a monolith. Many Somalis believe in female circumcision, for example. I disagree with this barbaric and outdated practice completely and utterly. Hell, I think people should stop butchering infants of either sex in the name of culture and religion. The choice should be left to the person when he or she becomes an adult, whether they're from a Muslim, Christian or Jewish background. Just my two cents.

Being who and what I am has forced me to look at the world a bit differently from most of my peers. You see, my parents moved to Ontario, Canada, from Somaliland in 1989, a year before my birth. I first saw the light of day in Ottawa, and my parents often told me that if it weren't for me, the Canadian government would have sent them back to Somalia. A lot of minority youths born and raised in Canada forget where they're from and what their families endured on their way between wherever they happen to be from and the society in which they live.

I am not like the others. I was born in Canada but Somali blood flows through me. No one can take that away from me. I have always been proud of my Somali heritage, unlike many others from my community, who try so hard to forget. I am more conscious of my Somali cultural background than my Islamic faith, even though Islam is so woven into Somali life that it's next to impossible to separate the two.

I don't think anyone knows what Somali people's lives were like before the arrival of Islam. We've been Muslim from the beginning. In Somalia, Islamic law has been woven into Somali tribal law. As much as I love my Somali people, I've begun to distance myself from Islam. I am a secular-minded human being. I have to be. You see, Islam stands quite clear on how me and all others like me should be treated. What do I mean by that?

Ever since I was in high school, I remember feeling attracted to both girls and guys. It took me a while to admit to myself that I am bisexual. Take it from me, the Somali community isn't ready to deal with gays and lesbians even though many young Somalis, both male and female, experiment sexually with other individuals of the same sex.

In many Islamic communities, there is separation of the sexes until the time of marriage. For this reason, situational bisexuality is a fact of life in the Muslim world. Lots of Muslim women sleep with women and lots of Muslim men sleep with men. We're kept separate from the opposite sex until marriage, so people engage in same-sex experimentation just to relieve the stress, I guess. It happens everywhere but nobody talks about it. That's just the way it is.

I am a bisexual man, and a secular Somali-Canadian. The only people I've ever told about this are my best friend Abdullah Farooq and Hafizah Albazei, this young Saudi Arabia woman whom I met during my final year at Carleton University. Abdullah and I live within three blocks of each other, and we've been best friends since our days at Saint Guillaume Academy in Orleans, Ontario. He's short and stocky, with light brown skin, curly black hair and lime-green eyes. Abdullah's father is Somali and his mother is white, from a French Canadian background. I know, it's a rather rare pairing. Dude is neurotic and insecure, partly because his folks are divorced and his mother's family both white-washed and spoiled him. He's chill, though.

Abdullah is the first person I trusted with my secret because he's bisexual himself. I caught him visiting a website called Tranny Surprise on my computer one time, and confronted him about it. Dude told me he liked both males and females, and the odd tranny, and I smiled, for I felt the same way. Since then, we've been quite open with each other. Abdullah is far more sexually adventurous than I am. He lost his virginity to a chick named Mildred O'Leary, a student at La Cite Collegiale, during our final year at Saint Guillaume Academy. Bold, eh?

I've always been shy with women, and the lovely, big-bottomed African and Hispanic girls I yearned for seldom noticed I exist. I didn't get laid until my second year of university. I looked up local black female escorts on Google and found one named Natasha. A tall and sexy, big-bottomed and dark-skinned sister with a hairy pussy and freaky tendencies. I booked a session with her to the tune of three hundred dollars. I went to her hotel room downtown, nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

I went up to Natasha's hotel, money exchanged hands and we got our freak on. Lying in bed with this tantalizing chocolate goddess, I tentatively caressed her breasts and her big sexy butt as she climbed on top of me, and began riding me. I shuddered with pleasure as I thrust into her tight cunt, and roared with passion as Natasha rode me hard, wrapping her arms tightly around me and cursing like a sailor as I slammed into her. Oh yeah, my first time was simply epic. Best money I ever spent.

This first sexual experience definitely made me more confident with women, but not to the extent that I dreamed it would. I'm a shy and nerdy brother who likes science fiction novels and comic books. I collect the works of Octavia Butler, Samuel R. Delany, Tananarive Due and many other great black authors of science fiction and horror. I also read novels about controversial aspects of black sexuality by authors like the late great E. Lynn Harris, Eric Jerome Dickey, Zane, and many others. The novels of E. Lynn Harris, centered around the lives of attractive, educated and successful, sexually adventurous yet insecure young black men, both gay and bisexual, totally thrilled me. As a bisexual black guy, I seldom saw myself reflected positively anywhere. E. Lynn Harris did brothers like me justice. I wept when this man died in 2009, man. For real.

I can't thank Abdullah enough for introducing me both to African-American erotic literature and the woman who changed my life forever, Hafizah Albazei. My senior year at Carleton University was off to a rocky start, and I was desperately trying to get certain "mandatory" electives out of the way to graduate on time. It was a very stressful time in my life. Add to that the fact that Anderson Trays, a tall, muscular and macho Jamaican guy whom I'd been seeing ( more like fucking but whatever ) dumped me and married some white chick named Nicole, and you could understand why I was both under-sexed and overstressed. Not a good thing for any man.

Hafizah Albazei turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. I must admit that when Abdullah introduced me to the tall, conservatively dressed young Arab woman, I inwardly dismissed her as yet another boring Muslim broad too in love with my former religion's iron-clad rules to live life to the fullest. Thanks but no thanks, I thought as I smiled politely at her. Lovely gal, though. Then our eyes met and the smoldering intensity I saw in Hafizah's golden brown eyes stilled my heart. That's when I knew that beneath her conservative exterior lay a freak. What can I say? It takes one to know one.

Hafizah is from Saudi Arabia, as I said before. Born in the village of Mastoorah, western Saudi Arabia, she came to Canada on an international scholarship funded by the Saudi monarch himself. Hafizah came to Carleton University to study civil engineering. Five-foot-ten, bronze-skinned and raven-haired, this curvy gal simply took my breath away. At the time we met, I was dealing with Anderson, the Jamaican brother with the swinging dick. Dude knew how to lay pipe like there's no tomorrow. I found Hafizah lovely but women are usually hard for me to read or access. And they frustrate the hell out of me with their bullshit. Seriously, if you're a nice guy who treats them with respect, they think you're a spineless wimp. Most straight guys have that problem. Women also put me in the nice guy category, you know, the one full of guys that women won't ever give some pussy to. Not that we're entitled to it or anything, but hey, nice guys have needs too.

So what's a frustrated nice guy to do? Well, since I'm a nice guy who happens to be bisexual, I had myself some manly fun with Anderson. The Jamaican stud knew how to rock my world. He would take me to his place in Nepean, and then suck my dick like cock sucking is going out of style. After that, Anderson would roll a condom on his gigantic islander's dick, then bend me over before stuffing me like a thanksgiving turkey. All the lubricant in the world couldn't ease the pain and pleasure I felt as Anderson's gigantic black dick went into my ass. I became addicted to his cock, man.

Abdullah encouraged me to step out with Hafizah, and I did so half-heartedly because I wasn't about to let myself fall for yet another woman who would ignore me and end up lonely, sad and sexually frustrated. That's why I continued polishing Anderson's dick and riding his monster every chance I got. I did have fun in my outings with Hafizah, though. The Saudi gal was anything but boring. Seriously, this young woman can surprise even a jaded soul like me.

I mean, one time, while we were grabbing lunch inside the Rideau shopping center food court, Hafizah did something most unexpected. The hijab-wearing, long-skirted and Koran-carrying Saudi gal grabbed me and planted a deep, sensual kiss on me. In front of everybody. Hot damn. I wasn't expecting that, seriously. I looked at her and smiled. Wow, I said, grinning. Hafizah smiled and winked at me. Sweets lips you got here Mustapha, the Saudi woman laughed.

That night, I called Abdullah and told him what happened between Hafizah and I. My best buddy encouraged me to pursue her, and that's exactly what I did. When Anderson dumped my ass for a white chick, I missed him and his fantastic Jamaican dick sorely but Hafizah helped me get over him. I began to see her in a whole new light. This vivacious, fun-loving and fearless young woman from the other side of the world proved to be just what the doctor ordered. With her in my life, I experienced a whole new world.

Prior to Hafizah Albazei, I'd never had a real girlfriend. I avoided events like Prom and Friday night clubbing both in high school and university not because I wasn't interested but because I was perennially alone. The guy who never has a date. The guy who spends his weekends either at work or in the library. The guy who walks through shopping centers and train stations and sunlit public parks by himself, gazing longingly at the happy couples. I've always been a solitary kind of guy.

Abdullah always invited me to his house parties and I seldom went because most of the girls I met found me weird. I'm not a smooth talker or anything even remotely close. I'm a nerd through and true. And I don't just get nervous around hot girls either. I also get tongue-tied around guys. Um, certain guys. Guys who are tall and macho both attract and intimidate me. I don't go for skinny or effeminate guys. I prefer the strong, burly type. When it comes to girls, I like them big-bottomed and busty, it's just unfortunate that most of them didn't notice I existed.

Well, Hafizah Albazei changed all that. Having a woman on my arm changed the way people looked at me at school and elsewhere. I must admit that Hafizah and I made a cute couple. I'm six-foot-two, and dark-skinned, and she's only slightly shorter than me, curvy and strongly built, with a great rack and one helluva booty. Arab women got booty, ladies and gentlemen. African sisters definitely got competition from them. Hafizah was seriously hot, and she was MINE.

At school, people stared at us because you seldom see a black guy walking around with an Arab woman. You often see Arab guys with white girls, as well as black girls and sometimes you see them with Asian women. Hafizah and I definitely were breaking the mold, and we couldn't care less. Hand in hand we walked through the hallways of Carleton University. Oliver's Pub became one of our favorite hangouts. I stopped spending so much time in the damn library and began going out more. I took Hafizah to restaurants, movie theaters and malls. I went shopping with her, and unlike other guys, I wasn't bored out of my mind. Finally, instead of being the lonely guy staring at the happy couples at the mall, I was a guy with a hot chick, happily walking around the mall. Major difference.

My relationship with Hafizah Albazei changed my life. For the first time ever, I felt happy. One night, as we danced together in front of everybody at the Engineering Formal, I looked at her, my heart thundering in my chest. I looked okay in a rented tuxedo but Hafizah looked simply magnificent in a full-length crimson evening gown. Her hijab was gone, replaced by an African-style bright red headscarf. My Saudi girlfriend was the belle of the ball, and everyone knew it.

Hafizah winked at me as we danced. Suddenly, I paused, and she looked at me questioningly. I took her face in my hands and told her I loved her. Then I kissed her. Hafizah kissed me back passionately, and when we came up for air, everyone was looking at us. Quite a few people were smiling. That's right, I thought victoriously. Hafizah Albazei is a goddess, and she's with me. I introduced her to my parents and the few friends I had, and they were all smitten with her.

I was in love with Hafizah Albazei, and this love caused conflict within me. It took me a long time to accept myself as a bisexual man. As a lonely guy whom no one, male or female, wanted to be with, it didn't matter that I found both sexes attractive. I was the invisible man. Do a ghost's feelings matter? Now that I finally had someone real in my life, I faced an internal dilemma. I wanted to be honest with Hafizah about my bisexuality, but feared losing her. I mean, Hafizah is lovely and very flexible and open-minded, but most women wouldn't be thrilled to hear that their man swings both ways.

I stopped seeing Anderson around the time that I realized the depth of my feelings for Hafizah, for I didn't want to hurt her. Anderson snickered and told me I'd be back. Why are Jamaican guys so damn cocksure? I decided to dedicate myself wholly to Hafizah. I told myself that I could get rid of my bisexuality and will myself to be completely straight. I stopped watching bisexual and transsexual porn videos online and watched straight videos only. I chastised myself mentally whenever I caught myself thinking lustfully about anyone other than Hafizah, whether the person was male or female. I would conquer my demons and purify myself for the young woman who brought new life into my dreary existence.

Abdullah noticed the changes in me and told me that what I was doing was unhealthy and dangerous. I told him to mind his fucking business. I started going to Masjid again, and went there with Hafizah, the woman I considered my heart, my soul and my bride-to-be. I asked the Most High to cleanse me of my bisexuality and remake me as a straight man. For a while, my wishes seemed to come true.

Hafizah and I made love for the first time one night while she came over for pizza and movies. We watched I, Frankenstein on DVD, and afterwards, we got our freak on. Gently I laid Hafizah on my bed and kissed every inch of her lovely, curvaceous body. I kissed her lips and sucked on her tits before making my way to her pelvic area. I spread her shapely thighs wide open and inhaled the scent of her womanhood. Then I licked her pussy like there was no tomorrow.

Make love to me, Hafizah whispered as I buried my face between her legs, tasting her sweet pussy as I ate her out like a hungry man. Later, Hafizah climbed on top of me. I looked up at her, a vision of womanly beauty, and smiled with wicked anticipation. I put my hands on her hips and playfully smacked her ass as Hafizah impaled her pussy on my dick. What a woman, I thought.

Hafizah and I did our thing. I fucked her passionately, slamming my dick into her tight, sweet pussy. Harder, Hafizah hissed into my ear and I did as I was told. Even in bed my Saudi goddess is bossy. So much for the myth of Saudi women being all meek and submissive, eh? My sweet Hafizah was something else. The feel of her flesh all around me, her passionate screams, all of it was new and wonderful to me. We were in a world of our own, passionately embracing, as we made love till exhaustion claimed us.

When I woke up next to Hafizah Albazei the next day, smelling her and holding her in my arms, it felt new but absolutely....right. I thanked my lucky stars when my Saudi goddess's golden brown eyes fluttered open and she flashed me a wicked grin. Good morning Mustapha, Hafizah smiled, raking her fingers across my hairy chest. I smiled contentedly and kissed her on the forehead. Let it be like this between us always, I said in a silent prayer to a deity whose existence I once denied.

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