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Mariah

By: marky1965



Mariah was a beautiful Cuban woman I met in chat about a year ago. Long black hair, 40 years of age, 5 ' 7", 145 lbs, and the most incredible breasts - 38dd. We hit it off immediately, and found we turned each other on first through chat, then email, then phone sex. 

She had a deep sexy voice with a southern lilt, and just hearing her answer the phone made my cock harden. Though I'm a married Englishmen I do travel to the states through my work, and the connection we had made meant I had to take her up on her invitation to try and see her the next time I was in Florida. 

I wouldn't call myself a serial cheater, and I know she had never had anyone else during her 13 years of marriage, so we were both nervous about finally meeting, especially as we both knew we dreamed about fucking the day we met. We even used to joke about it. I checked into a hotel near the airport and waited for her knock on the door just after midday. 

I knew what she looked like, but in person she was even more seductive. She had a thin summery dress on, with bare tan legs in sandals. Her hair was long and lustrous and her breasts were so big and firm that I had to make a conscious effort not to stare. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with nervousness and excitement, and before we could help it we were kissing in an embrace. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to strip her off and worship at her beauty, and fuck her like she had never been fucked before... 

We were breathless and panting as we started pulling at each other’s clothes. I hoped in some way I hadn’t disappointed her, that she wanted this as much as me...but when she sank to her knees and looked up at me, lost in lust as she started to unbutton my trousers - I knew she wanted to please me as much as I wanted to please her. 

I pulled my boxer shorts down and my cock fell towards her face. She seemed anxious to see it, anxious to kiss the uncircumcised head. I felt like a god, about to defile beauty, about to take what belonged to another man and make it my own. She started to suck the head into her mouth, and then crawled up the length, as I grew bigger in her mouth. I felt the blood pumping through my veins, throbbing through the length and thickness of my manhood, making my balls ache and all my thoughts seemed to concentrate on the head of my cock as it slid deeper into her mouth. I reached for her long hair and held it in both hands, I started to feed her throat, going deeper, until she started to gag and pulled away to start again. I was secretly leased she gagged on my length and thickness. I wanted there to be an edge to it. I wanted to bring the slut out in her, to flood her senses with lust. When I felt so hard I would burst I dragged her up off her knees and pushed her towards the edge of the bed. 

I had to possess her. I had to be inside her, where only one man had been for the last 13 years. Pushing her forward I lifted the dress up over her back and pushed her head into the bed. Her ass was fulsome, round, shapely and made to be seen by men. I pulled the plain white thong towards me, stretching it in my hand until it ripped. I left it to pull the cheeks of her ass apart and slide 2 fingers across her pussy. 

She was dripping wet, and shuddered as I touched her. Her head remained where I’d left it, pushed into the bed and hidden under her dress, but I could hear her panting and see the edge of a flushed neck. I had condoms, but I knew now I wasn’t going to use them with her, ever. 

I gripped my cock and bent slightly to line her pussy up. I felt her jump as she realized I was going to fuck her, hardly 10 minutes after we'd first met. I pushed forward, and felt her wetness open up before me. Yet she felt tight, like a hot wet flower opening up as I pushed deeper and deeper. She started to groan, and when I held her hips in my hard grip and started to fuck she became louder. I felt as though I’d finally come home, that her pussy was made for me, made to open up wet and hot for my cock, and all the cocks of all the men in the world. I started to speed up, to fuck her with pace and power. I wanted her to cum and cum, and then suddenly it hit her. 

She moaned out louder and louder, wanting more, groaning "Oh god, oh god, what are you doing to me...I’m cumming, yes, yes" and her orgasm crashed over her in waves, making her cry into her the bed and her legs shake. 

I fucked her through the storm of her climax. I wanted her to cum again. My balls felt so full that I measured my strokes so as not to reach my own release too soon. I slapped her ass, and the shock of it made her throw her head back. I reached for a fistful of hair and pulled her head back towards me, her neck taut, and her back arched in supplication. I had her now, had her in a grip that ended in orgasm after orgasm. 

I learnt to play her body, learnt what it was pushed her over the edge. A slap on her ass when she least expected it, the rubbing of her clitoris when I reached underneath, and the edge of my thumb lodged in her ass...her body was a playground, a palace of delight. 

Maybe it was her fourth or fifth orgasm, but I sensed she was weakening, that her body was wilting. Now was the time for me to cum. I knew I had so much cum to give her - yet where? Her pussy was tempting, but I wanted to defile her, to watch her watch me as I showed her my orgasm. 

I pulled her up off her knees and back onto the floor. She was flushed and her eyes were alive yet dull, as though she had been somewhere deep inside herself. I stood above her and felt the sweat run down my body as I jerked off. My cock was inches from her face. We'd hardly spoken, but now I held her eyes in my gaze and said, "I want you to taste me Mariah".

"Yes, give it to me, cum in my mouth...god.... please...let me see it". Her words pushed me over the edge. My cock was an inch from her open mouth when I felt the release spread through me and I came. One, two, three spurts of cum right into her open mouth, then four, five, six across her lips and cheek. She looked so beautiful. I watched her as she continued to look at me and then open her mouth as wide as she could and show me what was on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and took a deep gulp as she swallowed.

Later after we had showered together and we lay together naked on the bed, I told her I had a surprise for her. Could she get away to see me in 2 nights time. 

“Why?” She was curious; “you mean to see you again?

“Yes, you'll see me, but this time I have someone else who wants to meet you as well.”

“You do? Who? Why?”

“Well, you remember Jerome don’t you?”

“Jerome who I chat with you mean?”

“Yes, the black Jerome, the black cyber friend you have, the one you explore your other fantasy with. Well.... I’ve been chatting to him too...we've become good friends, and he’s coming to town the day after tomorrow...and he wants to join us.”

"Oh god" you said, and shivered as you reached for my hardening cock....

Mariah Carey Berry



Mariah Carey did two more steps before the music stopped and she looked around to make sure every dancer was in their place and not off the mark. She nodded in satisfaction that rehearsal was going so well before stiffing a little. She tossed the mike to a standby and almost ran to her dressing room. Shutting the door, she raised her dress and slipped two fingers under the panty to remove a slim plastic object from behind the material. She flushed with excitement and saw the sparkle in her eyes as she flipped the phone, raised it to her ear, and said 'hello' as she smelled her own aroma. There was no question in her tone, there was only one person who even knew the phone existed, let alone had the number and she never missed the calls, no matter where or when. 

He watched as the girl got into her car after school. He had been admiring her for several months but she had barely acknowledged his existence other than to let him know that he was annoying just being in her sight. Her friends were the same way, always going for the jocks or the smart ones that could help them study and pass. It seemed to him that every girl was like that, not wanting to have anything to do with a boy unless he could help her in some obvious way. The girl that was pulling out of the school parking lot was just like that, never allowing him to show her that he could help her. Today, she would find him very helpful. 

He followed her for a few blocks, knowing her exact route to practice and that her friends would be waiting for her. He glanced at his watch and moved closer, not wanting anyone else to have his opportunity. 

The girl's car coasted to a stop just about where he anticipated and she was still trying to restart it when he pulled in ahead of her. He stared at her as he walked back and he could see her annoyed look at both her situation and her rescuer. She told him the car stalled and wouldn't restart and he opened the hood and make motions. The cutoff valve was still in place and he got a wrench and screwdriver from his own car and banged around a minute. When he approached her window, she tried to start it again, but with the valve in place, no gas would go to the carburetor and he had no worry about her driving off on him. He explained that a part was loose and he would need a new one to replace it. Then she could drive to wherever she was going and he was amused to see her reaction of anger. She actually yelled at him! Like it was his fault! He was amused at the idea that it actually was his fault, but saw no reason to tell her.

He did offer to drive her to her practice and he would pick up a new part while she was there. The car would be ready in an hour or so and all she had to do was pay him for the part, the labor was free. With another annoyed look at him and not seeing anyone else to rescue her, she got out and got in his car. 

He turned the air conditioning on so the windows stayed up and he tapped the crystal balls hanging from the rearview mirror. She glanced at him and put her hand up and stopped the swaying. 

"That's very irritating to watch."

"That's because you didn't watch them, you just saw them moving."

He tapped them to start swinging gently again as he started the car.

"Whatever" She was angry and glanced at her watch for the second time since she got into the passenger seat. Obviously wishing it was one of the cuter hunks in school that had stopped to help.

"They're very relaxing. You should try it just to relax some. You're sitting as if you were on nails."

"Can we get going? I do have a practice to attend."

He moved into traffic and spoke slow, almost in a monotone, about how relaxing watching the balls were. By the time they covered a second block, she was looking at the swinging crystal glitter in the sunlight and blinking. By the time they drove past the street where she had practice, she had her eyes closed and listened as he spoke and verified that she was under. So much for waving a watch in someone's face!

He got her to her house and inside to the living room. His parents wouldn't be home for another two hours and he set up the camera as his guest stood still and tried to remove the itch from the inside of her nose. He got some video of her seeming to vigorously pick her nose without caring who saw, although she thought she was alone. That itch was really getting to her when he told her that she managed to get it. She did a dance routine for him and agreeing that she was sweating from that, she removed her clothes and stood by the ottoman to take her shower. 

He managed to cum in his pants as she exposed her body. Seeing that she shaved everything from the hips down sent him over the edge. It made sense when he watched the tape later that someone modeling would have to be prepared to not have hair showing in some of the more daring outfits, but at the time, it was erotic to him. 

The trick, he knew, was to have her do things she would normally do and he had to think of how to phrase his scenarios to her. As he thought, he smiled as she ran her hands over herself as she would have seen a towel there and he almost clapped as she turned toward the camera and seemed to be examining her body in a mirror. An unexpected plus for him! 

It was time for her to relax again and he told her 'Mariah Carey berry', the code phrase for her to sleep. He left her dancing in place for the camera as he quickly showered himself and came back for the test he had been waiting for. She still stood in about the same spot and he loved seeing her bend over, her ass to the camera as he had her checking her legs for hair stubs after she was told to stop dancing. 

"Mariah, you like ice cream and like to lick the cone as well, don't you?"

Mariah nodded and she licked her lips at the thought of having some ice cream. He arranged a chair for her to sit in and stood in front of her after adjusting the camera angle. He stuck his cock in front of her and told her to savor her favorite flavor. He had never had sex before and he found himself swaying to the sensations as she licked the ice cream and went down his shaft to cover the cone. He came in just a minute and only managed to squeak to her that the ice cream was melting and to lick it up quickly. She slurped his cum and even licked at her hand where it drooled down her fingers. 

"Did you like your ice cream, Mariah?"

"Yes, it was yummy!" she smiled at him as she licked her hand clean. He smiled back, as her tongue got to the ring on her finger. The camera should pick that up with little problem, which was why she was seated as she was.

"Now that you're refreshed, you should practice another dance routine, shouldn't you, Mariah?"

"Yes, that would be best."

He moved the chair and sat down as she danced naked for him and the camera, some of her gestures innocent with clothes, but suggestive while nude. He saw the clock and gave a start as he thought of how time had passed. Mariah got dressed after her practice and they went back to his car and drove back to hers. She sat behind the wheel as he removed the cutoff valve. He told her that she had missed her own practice but her car was now fixed and she also handed him twenty dollars for the part she never needed or got. It amused him no end to have her pay for what she had done at his house. 

He drove around the block and saw her driving away and followed as she went straight home, got out of the car and smiled as she looked around as if she wasn't sure what had happened that afternoon. Then she went inside. 

The next morning he passed her in the hallway and smiled and nodded at her but she ignored him as she talked to her girlfriends. She ignored him three more times that day and all he felt was anger. He had stopped and helped her and now she wanted to dismiss it from her mind! It was, he reflected, time to act from another direction. Being nice wasn't the way to her, especially when he noticed her and her friends checking out one of the jocks with a reputation for roughness with the females. 

The second morning after the stalled car incident, he stood by her locker and opened a notebook on the pretense of looking at some notes. No one would notice him anyway, but he liked to think he was cautious. He watched Maria open her locker door, slip in two textbooks and reach for the one on the shelf, just like she always did. She looked at the folded paper and turned it over and over before smiling. Thinking it's a love note from one of the jocks? He asked himself and was rewarded by the pale look on her face as she saw the pictures inside the paper. Definitely her, with a nice close up of her unique ring, licking at the cum on her face and then sucking her fingers clean. 

After lunch he stood by her locker again. By now he knew the combination and he couldn't wait to see the reaction of his gift. Mariah came to her locker, talking to a guy and still looking as nervous as she had when she had first seen the pictures. She opened the locker door and he could hear the guy with her let out a 'wow' before she even looked down. A full frontal nude shot of her was taped to the inside of her locker door and more than one student got a good look before she slammed the door shut. He went to class with a smile even as he looked out the window and saw Mariah leaving school early and going home. 

She was out sick for another day before returning to school and he noticed that someone was always hanging around the hallway with a view of her locker. So she had told somebody about the pictures and for some reason he found that curious since he would never think that she would tell anyone. If she needed to talk, then there was no reason it couldn't be that nice guy that helped her once before, he thought with a smile. No reason at all. 

It was late in the afternoon before he could approach her without someone in earshot and he muttered 'Mariah Carey berry' and almost stepped into her as she halted. He gave instructions for her to meet him at the east door at 3:00 PM and he stood at the door wondering what she would do. She showed a few minutes early and he made sure she was under again before asking her questions. Was she wired and Mariah shook her head and who were the people she had hanging around her? 

"No one around me" she told him "just my locker. Some creep has been faking pictures and placing them in there."

"Get rid of the locker guards and don't have anyone guarding you. Remember when you wake up that I can help you. I helped you before and I can help you again. In fact, you know that only I can really help you when you need it. Only I can be relied on in a problem."

"Yes, you can help me and only you. I was silly to ask anyone else. Please help me."

"You are convinced that only I can help in any way. Meet me in an hour by the Dairy Queen and convince me that you understand that only I can solve your problem. Understand, Mariah?"

"Yes, I understand. One hour and hope you will help me. Only you can keep this creep from showing the pictures around. Only you can save my reputation. Only you can solve my problems for me."

"Good. Do you have the pictures with you?"

She reached into her purse and extracted all three and he took them from her and dismissed her. 

An hour later she was almost in tears as she sat in his car and begged for his help. He asked for the pictures and she went frantic trying to find them. When she realized they were lost and could be picked up by anyone, she started crying and he was there with a sympathetic shoulder. She had no idea why she was there but she did know that when he assured her that he would find her lost pictures for her, she fully trusted that he would. She looked at him with gratitude and thanked him over and over for helping her. He put her under again and drove her to his house. She performed for him again and sucked him off again, this time enjoying a dilly bar. When they returned to her car at the Dairy Queen, he brought her out of it and she was shocked at the time they had spent talking and raced into her own car and drove home. 

The next morning she was friendly to him and her girlfriends looked at her like she had two heads as she smiled and said 'good morning' to him. By the end of the week, she agreed to a date as that was the only way he would return the pictures she wanted out of circulation. He had a good time although she was more interested in getting the pictures back. He finally handed her the envelope and assured her that he had barely looked at them. She opened the envelope and almost fainted. There were three pictures of her but not the same ones! One had her sitting on the floor and humping her own hand, another had some male with his groin against her naked ass, and the third had her nude and holding a sign that read 'Mariah Carey – slut fest time!' and it was in her own handwriting! All had her smiling at the camera, naked and looking happy to be doing all these things. She was mortified and made no objection when he took them back and said that he would try to find the right ones. By the time they kissed good night, she was feeling very grateful to her knight in shining armor. 

There was no one else she could trust in this trying time of blackmail and deceit and Mariah went out of her way to be nice to her fellow student, although she had to constantly explain her actions to her friends. 'He just seemed nice and like he needed a friend' was an explanation that lasted just so long before she noticed that some of her close girlfriends started planning dates without her and her new 'weirdness'. 

He noticed the change in her after one of several dates in which he seemed to find all kinds of pictures of her but not the ones she first asked him to find. Whenever she thought to ask how he got all these pictures, he would smile and she immediately felt bad and pushed the thoughts away. So when she didn't immediately feel better, he put her under to see if his control was waning. It wasn't he was happy to discover, but knowing that she was on the edge of losing friends because she saw him as human and not some insect as her friends did, wouldn't help either. The stress may just break his control if an argument broke out and got too emotional and that was the last thing he wanted.

The next day Mariah acted as if they were just friends and by the end of the week, barely nodded at him. He noticed that she was getting along with her friends again and he had no objections. After all, she made three trips a week to see him on the side and he had all the fun he wanted with her. He continued that way until Senior Year ended and they graduated. 

After graduation, he and Mariah spent a week together, openly traveling so she could pursue a career in music, he along for all the sex he wanted in any way he wanted it. He also realized just how good she was and how comfortable she was singing before people. By the end of summer, he allowed her to travel alone as he found the constant auditions and try-outs to be too hectic for his taste. 

Mariah always consulted him by phone everyday before doing anything and he would laugh when he read how she decided to do this or that and know that she wasn't even aware of calling him for his decision. 

When she called him to tell him that the head of the record studio was looking at more than her voice, he sensed a gold mine. He led her step by step in allowing the seduction of this wealthy admirer. 

By now, she was having a cashier's check sent to him every month so that when he didn't like dealing with the idiots at work, he was free to quit and look elsewhere. When Mariah got his permission to marry, she gladly doubled the amount. She also bought a cell phone and only gave him the number, assuring him over several calls that she kept it with her at all times, except when having sex with her husband. When they met again, he put her under and made sure that if she answered the call within thirty seconds, she would feel happy. It made no difference what she was doing, she had to answer the phone alone and she would feel very happy. Mariah found that when she did answer the phone quickly and alone, she was almost on the edge of a good orgasm. 

The problem he was now having was not Mariah Carey, but himself. He had found another woman that interested him and he was soon in love for the first time with someone other than himself. So for six months he didn't call Mariah or have anything to do with her except to deposit the monthly cashier check. It wasn't until he was having breakfast with his now live-in girlfriend that she commented that it was too bad about Mariah Carey – she was having marital problems. She wished she would find someone to make sure her career was always on top and make money besides and even his suggestion that it would be difficult since she was a sales rep with a small firm went unnoticed. His girlfriend acted cool to him and each time he tried to find out why, she ignored him. He attempted several times to put her into a trance, but she avoided it each and every time or else something happened to put an end to the possible session. 

He finally was unable to cope anymore and promised to call his old high school friend and talk to her. He was more than surprised when his girlfriend insisted they go to where her next concert was and talk to her in person. 

That Friday after her concert, Mariah was chatting with her old friend and his new one as if there was no care in the world. He tried several times to get her under but his girlfriend seemed almost glued to Mariah and never left her side as they talked and giggled as old friends. His girlfriend on the other hand, was getting upset at him for not getting to the root of the problem since Mariah refused to discuss her pending divorce and the problems with it. The more he tried, the more she refused and the more his girlfriend got upset. 

He was getting desperate as his girlfriend suggested that she and Mariah spend some time without him since he was almost useless. He broke under that and quickly put Mariah into a trance. She openly told them all they wanted to know and his girlfriend asked him if he knew what he was doing. He nodded and she then told Mariah to suck him off and she quickly knelt, opened his pants, and proceeded to suck. He protested but his girlfriend smiled and laughed at him. 

"Super tramp wimp"

She watched as his eyes glazed over at her code words and she smiled even more. She told Mariah to stop and then to kiss her. It was several hours later that the three of them parted, she and Mariah very satisfied and him wondering when he fell asleep. 

As they headed back to the airport, she smiled even more at her boyfriend. He had no idea she was one of the bitches at high school that he so intensely disliked nor that she recognized him years later. He had even less of an idea that she figured out how a girl like Mariah Carey could stand being around a jerk like him and had drugged him and got the whole story from him. Now she had him and Mariah for all the fun she wanted.



Mariah Carey - Super Slut



It was all over the national newspapers of countries around the world, "Mariah Carey freed after 2 day kidnap ordeal." This was one of the biggest entertainment industry stories of all time, and the celebrity hungry people of the world were lapping it up. Mariah Carey had been kidnapped at gunpoint on a routine trip to her local grocery store on literally the only occasion she had left home without her security staff.

"I'll be fine," she told them. 

Her entourage were not so sure, but she had the money and the power and they did as she requested. Of course they regretted that hours later but the main thing was she was safe and sound once again.

"Ok so here is the deal Mariah," said her manager during a conference call the day after her rescue. "We will put on a 10 date tour to celebrate your return from hell. The diva, the superstar, the legend Mariah Carey free!"

"I'm not so sure, I mean, it's so soon."

"Hey look this is the showbiz world, we can make some big money out of this unfortunate situation. You're in safe hands now, you have to live your life again. Your kidnapper was shot dead so he can't hurt you anymore now can he?"

She smiled, nodded and agreed with the plans.

-----------------------------------------

The first night of her kidnap she had awoken tied to a chair and feeling groggy. Her kidnapper had used straight old rope and had shackled her legs together. The room was dark and she couldn't quite make him out as he crossed the room towards her.

"You'll feel better soon. I had to use chlorophyll to subdue you," he said in a deep grizzly voice. 

She couldn't reply as she had the silk scarf she had been wearing in her mouth as a gag. Instead she screamed all she can. This was soon silenced with a slap to her face. Tears streamed down her eyes as she realised how helpless the situation was. She didn't have a clue if her security team, the police, or the authorities were looking for her right now. She had no idea how long she had been here. All she knew was that her captor could kill her in moments and nobody could do a thing about it.

"I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he sighed. "Just do not struggle. I love you and I don't mean you no harm. I just want to bring pleasure. You bring me pleasure every time I hear you sing. Now I want you to feel pleasure from me."

With that he reached out and started groping at her large jutting tits in her white cotton vest top. She took a deep breath and tried to pull back but could go nowhere. She sobbed as he massaged both breasts whilst breathing heavily. He stopped for a moment, but only to reach for some scissors on a nearby table. With these he snipped the straps off her top, and her tits feel free into the stale air of the room. He smiled through gap teeth at the beautiful bosom before him and the fact that her nipples were jutting out erect. She was in complete fear of the situation but her hard nipples made him believe she was enjoying it and encouraged him further. Soon he was sucking both of her huge mounds into his drooling mouth.

Mariah was horrified at what was happening. She was expecting him to hurt or kill her, but even worse he was now in the process of raping her. She could barely move and therefore could not struggle. Instead she had to sit still and put up with this evil man lapping away at her jugs. There wasn't a thing she could do about it. She just hoped that help arrived before he was finished with her, or that he would hurry up and get it over with so she would not suffer.

The kidnapper continued his vile act. After what seemed like an eternity of feasting on her ripe melons, he parted her silky smooth bare legs and slid his rough hand along them and up her short mini skirt. He reached the fabric of her tiny thong and yanked it down her legs. It was caught under her so he used the scissors to snip the garment free. Holding the crotch to his nose he inhaled deeply.

"Mmmm such a sweet pussy," he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine. 

She was now exposed to him and it didn't take long for his hand to make its way back up her thighs to her most private place. She grimaced as his bony fingers parted her vaginal lips and made their way to her tight hole. He was pleased to find her slightly damp.

"You're liking this aren't you?" he said. She was taken aback. No she wasn't! She was hating this. Damn her pussy for betraying her.

"I said you're liking this aren't you?"

-----------------------------------------

She snapped out of her trance.

"Sorry?" she replied to the elderly janitor cleaning up her changing room. 

She had gotten off stage after the first performance on her "Free!" tour. The old man directed his gaze from her face and down to her parted legs. She sat up sharply. She was dressed in a provocative light green micro-dress that was even raunchier as it was bunched up around her waist, he sheer white panties completely exposed to the elderly worker. He had a lecherous smile and licked his lips. She stood up, pulling the dress down to try and keep her modesty.

"I'm sorry," she offered. "I fell asleep and well, these are the kind of outfits I'm expected to wear. I didn't know it had ridden up and..."

"Didn't look that way to me," he sniggered " in fact your hand was between your legs and you had a big smile on your face. Seemed like you were really liking whatever you was doing. Playing with yourself I'd call it."

"Now I think you must be mistaken!" she shot back with a glare. She felt agitated with this old fool's accusations. He lent casually on his mop pole as he held up his mobile phone.

"My camera phone might say otherwise so I suggest you sit back down and carry on doing that stuff you were doing before I show the whole world what a naughty girl Mariah Carey is..."

"Shit!" she thought. She couldn't believe she was caught in this position. With her high profile following the kidnapping she could not afford to be headline news for an all too different reason. 

"You best lock the door," she said as she pulled her skirt up and over her arse cheeks, sitting back down in the chair. "Now what was it I was doing?" she asked, as she slowly brushed a finger over the front of her underwear. 

The old man smiled and groped at the bulge in his trousers. Moments later his head was between her parted legs, lapping away at her dripping cunt, just like the kidnapper had on that eventful first night in the basement.

-----------------------------------------

The second and final night of her ordeal, she was no longer tied up in a chair. Now she was on good terms with her captor, and she lay on the couch in the corner of the basement.

"They will find me you know." She told the ugly old fool as he paced up and down the room.

"I know that, but I'm going to have my fun with you in the meantime. A last hurrah if you will."

"So what do you have planned for me today?" she asked, "Gonna suck on my pussy some more?"

He turned and smiled. An ugly smile, his mouth crooked and his teeth more so. The scar on his left cheek was apparent in the spotlight he had stopped under.

"Well as much as I enjoyed that," he said, "I was kind of thinking you'll be returning the favour."

She sat up suddenly, "I really don't think so. I don't so blowjobs"

"Oh really? Well that's gonna change," and he pulled a gun on her. 

Walking forwards he unzipped the fly of his grubby pants and freed what looked to be a horrible turgid cock from within. Mariah gave it the once over and decided it was horrific. Slightly fat looking but covered in strands of pubic hair along the shaft. The skin was uncut and looked to have dark spots in places. He pulled the skin back revealing a deep purple cock head that glistened with pre-cum. He was excited already.

"So what's it to be?" he questioned, wanking on his disgusting penis. 

She knew she had no choice, and the whole situation was turning her on, just as it had the night before. The thought of this ugly, vicious, yet masterful old man taking advantage of her soon had her feeling moist. She lent forward and grabbed his cock, directing it towards her gaping mouth. He shuddered as she took it in and began to slide her wet gob up and down his shaft. 

It had been some years since a girl had even touched his member, let alone taken it into her mouth. He didn't know how long he would last, so he took the opportunity to enjoy the moment, grabbing her curly hair in both fists and thrusting forwards. She struggled to cope with his motions and thick globs of drool fell from her mouth and down her chin, connecting with his ball sack. The whole sight before him was almost too much and he suddenly pulled away.

"Don't make me cum too soon you slut!" he said, slapping her round the face once more. 

She stayed silent, and waited his next move. It became obvious he had more than oral relief in mind when he ordered her to bend over the sofa and lift her skirt.

She parted her lips with her fingers as he directed his thick meat towards her hole.

"That's it you dirty bitch!"

-----------------------------------------

"Exactly how I want you," he sneered as he slipped his tiny old man dick in her twat. 

Mariah was face down on her dressing room table as the elderly janitor fucked away at the pussy he had just spent 20 minutes eating. She felt so slutty that she was allowing such an unlikely man unleash his sexual frustrations on her curvaceous sexy body and she was loving every minute. He slapped her arse as he pounded harder and harder away at her, his thick grey haired ball sack slapping against her thighs.

They were briefly interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Everything ok in there Miss Carey?" came the voice of John her new head of security. 

He was a big black man with a barrel shaped chest. An ex marine he was the best in the business and provided for her by her manager following the recent events.

"Yes," she replied, "Just sorting myself out."

He knocked again, harder this time. Her voice must have sounded muffled slightly and he was suspicious.

"Please let me in Miss Carey, what is going on in there?"

The janitor stuffed her panties in the side of her mouth, to try and drown out her panting. He continued pummelling her tight pussy. However, his actions were soon interrupted by John as he came charging through the door shoulder first, splinters of wood flying everywhere.

"Freeze!" he cried, pointing a gun at the dirty old janitor. 

The man looked horrified, hands and cock all pointing to the ceiling. Mariah fell to the floor and crawled over to John. She felt ashamed that she had been found in this situation, and made out it was completely against her will. Taking the opportunity she grabbed the man's phone to delete the photos, and was surprised to find none present. The sneaky old fucker had tricked her. 

-----------------------------------------

The kidnapper lay on the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling, blood gushing from the wounds in his chest. He had been tracked down in a painstaking CCTV operation involving thousands of hours of footage. The police had eventually found the old derelict building, and the basement in which he was holding Mariah hostage. They had broken in to find Mariah sprawled out on a sofa asleep and had whisked her to safety. She seemed unharmed physically, but who could say what state she was in mentally?

They then waited for her captor to return. On the orders of the police chief, they opened fire on the man, shooting him in the chest. He didn't stand a chance, and in all honesty, they probably didn't need to shoot him. However, Mariah's management had pushed the fact that they could not afford any leaks from this man to the press from behind bars. The police were easily swayed with the offer of concert tickets for life and a nice cash injection, after all, he was just another nutjob. 

-----------------------------------------

Round after round of hot sticky spunk fired into Mariah's chest from the big black weapon before her. John had the biggest cock she had ever seen, and what better way to thank the man for saving her from the horrible sick old rapist janitor than letting her fuck her red-hot cunt. He had even spun her over and slid some of his thick dick into her asshole. 

"Thanks for saving me," she smiled as she looked up into his eyes. 

"Well you see, I enjoyed this and I think some of my team will enjoy it even more. This place is filled with cameras, and I only have to go to any newspaper and..."

She cut him off. "You don't have to blackmail me," she laughed. "Just bring them in and I'll fuck them all."

She massaged the spunk into her glorious globes and John called on his team to make their way into the room. She really was a super slut.

The End.



Mariah's Angel



This is a small homage to one of my favorite Christmas movies. I hope you enjoy reading it.

*****

Gabriel couldn't believe his good fortune. After waiting for a hundred years, he was being given another chance. Finally, he would be able to earn his wings. He had failed on his first assignment, but this time he wouldn't make another mistake.

He entered Nicholas's chamber and saw the angel waiting patiently for him.

"Are you prepared Gabriel?"

"Yes Nicholas. I shall not fail him a second time."

"He believes you won't," Nicholas said kindly. 

"What am I to do?"

"You are needed to help a lost soul," he replied. 

With a wave of Nicholas's hand images of the earthly world appeared before them. The images soon focused on a young woman crossing a busy intersection. Black curls framed her heart-shaped face. Striking amber colored eyes peered out beneath long sooty lashes. A straight and slender nose rested above a lush pink mouth. Gabriel thought that she was incredibly lovely. 

"She is your assignment. Her name is Mariah Hallowell and in a few hours she will jump off a bridge to her death."

Gabriel couldn't believe it. This beautiful girl seemed to have the whole world in front of her. What would cause her to end her own life?

"Why would she do such a thing?" he asked.

"Mariah has suffered a great many losses recently," Nicholas said, his voice full of sympathy. "Her mother died of cancer, her husband betrayed and abandoned her, and a few months ago she miscarried her first child with little chance of conceiving another. I'm afraid that she has lost all hope."

Gabriel was immensely saddened by her story. It was a lot of misfortune for one person to bear. He looked at her image more closely and saw the grief and despair radiating from her.

"I promise to do all I can to help you Mariah Hallowell," he vowed. "I shall help you find hope again."

*****

A long time ago, Mariah Hallowell used to love Christmas. It was without a doubt her most favorite holiday. There was a certain magic to it that the other holidays lacked. The world just seemed better, brighter somehow. It really did feel like a time when miracles happened. 

Then her mother died last Christmas and then the holiday didn't seem as magical anymore. After that, the rest of her life began falling apart. She lost her husband and then she lost her baby. Losing her husband had hurt but losing her baby almost killed her. She had no one and nothing to live for; she didn't even have the hope of having another child one day. Going through the motions of each passing day had become unbearable.

It was Christmas Eve and her loneliness felt even more overwhelming, but soon she was going to end it. Mariah stared at the cold rushing waters of the river below her and thought if the fall didn't kill her then the hypothermia would. Her body was trembling, she didn't know if it was from the cold or her nerves. It's now or never, she told herself and then lifted one booted foot onto a lower rail. She hoisted herself up and got one leg over the railing.

"It's quite beautiful out here."

Mariah froze in place and silently cursed. She made sure no one was around, where did this person suddenly appear from? She then turned her head and was taken aback by the stranger standing near her. 

It wasn't the fact that he was probably the handsomest man she'd ever seen that left her speechless, it was that he seemed to be glowing from within. It was silly but he seemed to radiated goodness and warmth. He looked almost otherworldly.

"Don't you think so?" he asked, giving her a dazzling smile.

Mariah nodded and couldn't help but be mesmerized by his crystalline blue eyes.

"Although I think the view is much better from this side of the barrier," he softly said.

"Please just leave me alone," she quietly pleaded.

"I can't," he replied and then gently circled his hand over her upper arm.

"You can't help me. No one can help me."

"You're wrong about that, but I'm not here to help you," he announced.

"You're not?" 

"No," he said with a smile. "I here to kiss you."

Before she knew what was happening, the stranger lifted her off the railing and was carrying her in his arms. She began to protest but was silenced when his mouth came down upon hers.

At first, Mariah was too stunned to do anything, but then soon felt lost in the pleasure of his kiss. His lips were soft and firm at the same time. When his tongue sought entry into her mouth, she eagerly opened her lips. He tasted like sweet dark honey and she couldn't get enough. 

Mariah briefly realized that she was on her feet again and was pressed wantonly against the handsome stranger. Her hands were around his neck and her fingers buried in his silky black hair. In her mind, she thought it seemed rather unfair that a man should have such luxuriously soft hair.

She didn't know how long they had been kissing, but she knew she didn't want to stop. This was the most alive she felt in months, perhaps ever. Her whole being seemed to be humming with energy. She loudly moaned when she felt his hands cup her ass, causing her belly to press closer against his large erection. It was crazy but she wanted this man to take her here and now. She wanted him to bury himself deep inside her over and over again until they were both spent.

Suddenly much to her disappointment, he began to pull away from her slowly. She actually whimpered when their lips parted.

"I haven't kissed a woman like that for a long time," he said, breathing heavily.

"Me too," she replied. "I meant a man for me."

He grinned at her and she felt her knees weaken. What was it about him? She had never had such an overwhelming physical response to anyone before.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Gabriel," he said, brushing a lock of hair that the wind blew into eyes. "What is your name?"

"Mariah," she replied, leaning her face into his warm palm.

"It's nice to meet you Mariah," he responded. "It's brutally cold out here. Can I buy you a cup of coffee? We can talk about anything you want to or maybe I can just listen."

Mariah shook her head in the negative. She didn't feel like talking, but she didn't want him to leave her yet.

"Gabriel, will you walk me home?"

"Yes. I would love to," he said without hesitation.

*****

Gabriel hadn't expected this turn of events. He hadn't been sure how he was going to talk Mariah out of jumping, but when he saw her there looking so sad and beautiful all he wanted to do was kiss her, hold her against him, and comfort her. He also didn't expect the tremendous physical reaction he had to her. It took all his self-control just to pull away from her sweet lips. 

They walked side by side, as they made their way to Mariah's apartment, which she said was just a few blocks away. The streets were quiet but he could see the bustling activity within the homes they passed. He saw Mariah steal some longing glances towards some of them and saw her face grow glum. He took hold of her hand to bring her attention back to him.

She gave him a small sad smile.

"Where did you come from Gabriel? Don't you have a family to be with tonight on Christmas Eve?"

"My parents and siblings passed away a long time ago."

"I'm sorry," she said and then gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you."

They had walked about another block when she quietly said, "My mother died last Christmas Eve. I miss her so much it hurts."

Gabriel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. "I'm so very sorry sweetheart."

Tears began flowing down her cheeks. She wiped them away but she couldn't stop crying. Gabriel stopped walking and held her in his arms as she wept into his chest.

Minutes passed before he felt Mariah relax and finish her crying. His heart actually ached seeing her in so much pain. When he heard her sniffling, he reached into his pocket and gave her a handkerchief.

"You're the first person I've met who still carries a handkerchief," she said before wiping her very red nose.

"Well I keep one just in case a beautiful woman needs to cry in my arms."

"Do women cry in your arms often?"

"No," he said, smiling. "Not very many."

"Is there a woman in your life right now?"

"No. I wouldn't have kissed you if there was," he replied. "I believe in being faithful to the person you're with."

She seemed pleased with his answer. 

*****

Mariah led Gabriel up to her third floor apartment. It was strange being home again since she never expected to be back. She unlocked the door to her apartment and they went inside. 

"Let me just turn the heat on. It's so cold in here," she said. "You can hang your coat in the closet over there."

Now that they were finally here at her place, Mariah felt a little nervous and was unsure what to do next. Did he expect a cup of coffee or did he expect to spend the night in her bed? Even before she had married, she hadn't been the type to invite men over to her house upon just meeting them. However, Gabriel seemed different and she felt safe in his presence.

When she turned around to face him, she saw that he already divested himself out of his outerwear. A thin black cashmere sweater and dark gray slacks fit his muscled form to perfection. The sheer size and breadth of him made her small cozy apartment feel even smaller. 

Mariah took off her coat and compared to him she felt very shabby wearing her old college sweater and worn jeans. 

"Here let me get that for you," he offered, taking her coat and hanging it next to his.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked, as he walked back towards her.

"No thanks."

"How about something to eat then?" she said, when he was standing directly in front of her.

He shook his head no, causing a black lock to fall onto his forehead. She reached up and brushed it back into place. Feeling emboldened she caressed the side of his face and then let her hand slide down until it rested on his upper chest.

"Would you like to kiss me?"

"Most definitely," he answered.

Gabriel leaned down and softly kissed the center of her forehead. He kissed her left cheek, then her right cheek, and then the tip of her nose. His mouth finally settled onto hers and he gently kissed her. 

When their kiss ended, Mariah sighed and rested her head against his chest. She thought how good it felt to be held close to someone again. Holding Gabriel was both comforting and arousing. His large body made her feel safe but it also reminded her of how long she had gone without sex. 

She suddenly needed to feel what it would be like to touch his heated skin. Slowly she raised the hem of his sweater and his lightly tanned skin revealed itself inch by inch. She ran her hand across his firm stomach, admiring the bumps and ridges of his muscled torso. When she slid her hand under the top of his pants, he halted her actions. She looked up at him questioningly.

"Mariah if you continue I won't be able to control what happens," he said in a tortured voice.

"I want to be with you tonight Gabriel. I need this," she confessed. "I've been alone for so long."

Gabriel looked conflicted. It seemed there was an internal debate waging inside him. 

"Don't you want me?" she timidly asked.

"More than anything," he quickly replied.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, but there was nothing gentle about this kiss, it was all about possession. He kissed her hungrily as if he couldn't get enough of her. His hands went to grip her waist and then slowly moved down to cup her ass. 

She tried pulling up his sweater again but was having a hard time so Gabriel took charge and tossed the garment aside. Mariah looked her fill. His shoulders were broad and chest was wide. Dark hair light sprinkled his chest and trailed down to his trim waist. He was utterly beautiful.

Before Mariah could roam her hands across his impressive chest, he grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled it off her. She looked down and was glad she was wearing one of her prettier bras. It gave her large breasts incredible cleavage.

His fingers lightly skimmed the tops of her breasts and her nipples instantly hardened. He then undid the clasp at the front of her bra, freeing her generous breasts. He pulled away the rest of her bra and dropped it on the floor.

"So lovely," he murmured. He then cupped her breasts into his hands and teased her pink nipples with the pads of his thumbs. 

Gabriel bent down, teased her right nipple with the tip of his tongue, and then did the same to her left nipple. Mariah moaned as he took turns alternatively kissing and licking the soft flesh of her breasts. When he was done, he took a nipple into his mouth, suckled eagerly, and then did the same to its twin.

His hands moved off her breasts, slid down her small waist, and settled onto her curvy hips. He undid her jeans and lowered them to her feet. When she was free of her jeans, Gabriel then hooked his thumbs under the sides of her panties and slowly pulled them down her legs. When he reached the ground, she kicked them aside. 

"Mariah you are perfection," he said, looking up at her.

She looked into his eyes and saw he was being completely sincere.

Gabriel leaned forward and began trailing kisses up her left thigh to her hip. He kissed her belly button and then licked his way down her flat stomach.

"Spread your legs a little," he gently ordered.

Mariah complied and quickly felt his warm wet tongue on her pussy. She cried out in pleasure. After a few seconds of licking her, he suddenly stopped.

"I need a better taste," he said.

Gabriel pulled her down onto the sofa behind her. He grabbed her legs and firmly held them wide apart. He first gave long slow licks that drove her crazy. Then he began teasing the folds of her pussy with tip of his tongue and she whimpered in pleasure. When he suckled strongly on her clit, she instantly climaxed, screaming her pleasure. He continued his assault on pussy her until her orgasm died down.

"I can't wait Mariah," he said desperately, after releasing her.

Gabriel tossed the throw blanket lying on the sofa down onto the floor. He then lifted her off the sofa and laid her down on top of the blanket. He quickly divested himself of his pants and shoes and was standing above her completely naked.

His cock was as impressive as the rest of him. It jutted out in front of him, long and thick. She had never seen one so large. She wanted to taste it, wrap her lips around it, and have him fuck her mouth with it. But she would have to wait for that later she realized when Gabriel quickly dropped to his knees and placed himself firmly between her open thighs.

She moaned in pleasure when he took his cock and rubbed its head up and down her pussy. 

"You're so wet for me," he told her.

He pushed the head slightly in her and then slid it out again. He then rubbed her clit with it.

"Please," she begged him.

"Please what?"

"Stop teasing and fuck me," she demanded.

"Whatever you want," he said, before plunging his cock deep inside her.

Mariah gasped at his entry. His size was overwhelming. She never had been stretched so wide or filled so deeply.

"You feel like paradise," he groaned.

They remained completely still for a few moments, enjoying the feel of their connection. Before long though Gabriel was slowing moving and thrusting his cock inside her.

"Oh yes," she purred. "Faster."

He increased his tempo much to her delight. She wrapped her legs around him and continued to take his steady pounding of her pussy.

Gabriel then reached down and began fondling her large bouncing breasts with one hand. He teased and pulled her already hard nipples.

"Yes, play with my tits," she encouraged him. "I loved it when you sucked on them."

"I loved it too," he replied, and then his voice lowered. "I want to put my cock between them and fuck your beautiful tits."

If it was even possible, she became wetter with his admission. 

"Yes, later," she said, smiling seductively at him. "Then I'm going to take your big cock into my mouth and suck you dry."

"Oh fuck," he moaned. 

Her provocative words achieved their desired results when he began pumping his cock harder and faster into her.

"I'm going to come," she cried out, unable to take it any longer.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed her while her body exploded in ecstasy. Mariah was sure she was going to pass out as wave upon wave of pleasure hit her entire being.

Mariah felt Gabriel tense up and then felt him come inside her. He grunted in pleasure as he pumped her up with his seed. When it was over, he kissed the side of her damp neck but made no move to leave. He seemed content to remain buried inside her.

"That was amazing," he said into her ear.

"Yes it was," she replied. "Let's do it again."

Gabriel chuckled. "We should go find some place softer."

"There's a big soft bed in the other room."

"Well then let's go."

*****

Gabriel never really considered himself the best of angels. He had spent one hundred and thirty years in the afterlife and still he had yet to earn his wings. He probably would have to wait another century for sleeping with her, but he didn't care because being with her, for however brief their time is, was well worth it.

As he watched a naked Mariah walk in front of him, he admired her lush shapely ass. She quite literally had the body to tempt an angel.

She turned around to face him and have him a mischievous smile. "Go lie on the bed Gabriel. It's my turn now."

He wasn't a fool to argue with her and did what he was told. The sheets underneath him were cool, but the woman climbing above him was supremely hot.

Mariah placed her hands on either side of his face and bent her head to kiss him. She slowly licked the outline of his soft lips and then he groaned when she briefly slipped her tongue into his mouth. Her mouth trail down his neck, licking his smooth skin with her tongue. She slowly moved her mouth down to his chest, scraping her teeth against his flesh. Gabriel hissed his pleasure in response. Her mouth continued to move lower, until she finally reached her intended goal.

She took his cock into her hand and gently began to stroke it up and down. When her tongue reached out and licked its' head, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He whimpered when she ran her tongue at the base of his cock and then back up to the head.

"You taste good," she purred. "And its' so big and hard."

"Please Mariah," he begged.

"Please what?" she teased.

"Suck me!"

"With pleasure."

An instant later, she took his cock into her mouth. If he hadn't been technically already dead, Gabriel was sure he would have died again. She pleasured him with skill and enthusiasm. She couldn't take him in completely for he was far too large but she still took a lot of him into her mouth.

When he thought it couldn't get any better, Mariah suddenly stopped and then wrapped her spectacular breasts around his erection. He began thrusting his cock in between the luscious mounds and it felt as wonderful as he imagined it would. It got even better when Mariah licked at head of his cock every time it emerged from her cleavage.

"How does it feel?" she asked him after a few minutes.

"Amazing," he groaned. "I'm going to come pretty soon."

"No don't," she said. "I want you to come inside me."

She released him and then lay on her side in front of him. Gabriel moved closer to her. He lifted her left leg and placed it over his leg. He guided his cock at the entrance of her core and plunged inside her wet pussy in one smooth stroke.

Mariah gasped. "Oh fuck. It feels even bigger this way."

Gabriel thought that she felt hot, tight, and perfect. Everything about her was perfect. Sex had never been this good when he was mortal. Why couldn't have she existed when he had been alive?




Mariah's Angel



Mariah grew impatient and began thrusting down upon him. He got the hint and began to pump in and out of her. He then reached around, cupped her breasts into his hands and started teasing her nipples.

"Oh yes!" she cried out. "Don't stop!"

As much as he wanted to continue, Gabriel knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He increased his pace, thrusting into her faster and harder, trying to make Mariah reach her climax sooner.

Mariah whimpered in pleasure and he knew she was close. He lowered his hand between her legs and then rubbed her clit. She cried out and he felt her pussy tighten around his cock. He lost control then and shot his cum deep inside her.

After a few moments had passed, Mariah leaned her head back seeking a kiss and he happily obliged her with one. When their kiss ended, he pulled her closer to him and settled his arms around her. A few minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

"*****

"Mariah please wake up."

"Huh? What is it?" she asked groggily. 

She slowly opened her eyes and saw Gabriel's face hovering above hers. Behind him she noticed the still darkened bedroom. "What time is it?"

"Almost morning," he replied. "I need to tell you something and I don't have a lot of time. You have to believe that everything I say is true."

"What is it?" she asked worriedly. He was sounding almost frantic.

"Last night I didn't just happen upon you on the bridge. I was sent here to stop you from ending your life."

"Sent here? By whom?"

"I'm an angel Mariah," he revealed. "More specifically I'm your angel."

It took her a second to absorb what he said. "What? Are you joking?"

"No I'm not. I didn't think things would turn out this way. You and me here together," he said. "I never expected to fall in love with you."

"You love me? And you're my angel?"

He nodded.

"Gabriel I don't know why you're saying these crazy things," she said angrily. 

Was she wrong about him? Was he playing some cruel trick upon her?

"I'm telling you the truth," he insisted. "I know about the tragedy in your life and how lonely you've been. I already knew that your mother died last year. I know about how your husband cheated on you, why he did it I will never know and I consider him the biggest fool alive."

His voice then softened. "I know that you lost your baby and I'm truly sorry about that. Worst of all I know you have lost all hope in life."

"No," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "How do you know those things?" 

"Because I really am your angel Mariah and I was sent here to help you," he replied. "My time's running out and you need to hear this before I go."

Death is never the solution. Please don't deprive the world of the amazing and wonderful person you are. I know things are hard right now but you are a lot stronger than you think. I believe in you Mariah."

Suddenly his body began radiating light.

"Gabriel you're glowing!" she cried out.

"My time is up. They're calling me back," he said sadly. 

His form became brighter and brighter.

"Oh my god. You're telling the truth!"

"I will never forget my time with you Mariah. Always know that I'll be watching over you."

"Gabriel please don't go," she cried, clinging to him. "Stay with me."

"I wish I could my Mariah," he said. 

He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

*****

Gabriel didn't know how long he'd been waiting; only that it had been a good long while. He was sure he wouldn't be getting his wings. He broke the rules by getting intimately involved with Mariah. However, it didn't matter to him anymore. All he wanted was Mariah to be safe and happy.

Nicholas suddenly entered the chamber. 

"Hello Gabriel," he said.

"Hello Nicholas."

"We have much to talk about."

"Yes, I know."

"Before I start would you like to say anything first?"

"I'm deeply sorry that I failed him again," he said. 

"If you had the chance to change what has occurred would you?"

"No," Gabriel replied. "Unless if changing things would be better for Mariah."

"I see," Nicholas murmured. 

"Please I would like to know how Mariah fairs. If she is alright."

Nicholas smiled and looked genuinely pleased at him.

"You did not fail him Gabriel," Nicholas said. "Your mission was to save her and you did. See for yourself."

Nicholas waved his hand and the image of Mariah appeared before them. She looked to be in a cafeteria. She was dishing out food to the hungry residents. She was laughing and sharing stories with a few the residents and the other volunteers. Despair and sadness no longer radiated from her. She looked content.

A surge of utter joy filled him. Mariah was safe. She had found hope and the will to live once again. But he couldn't help feel a twinge of pain in his heart for not being able to be with her.

"You've earned your wings Gabriel."

"Thank you Nicholas," he replied, but could not keep his eyes off Mariah's image.

"You don't seem very thrilled."

"I am," he said, finally turning his attention to the other angel. "Really."

"Gabriel, all three of us know that you're not," Nicholas said, his eyes looking upward. "He is willing to offer you an alternative."

"An alternative?"

"Yes, instead of wings he wants to offer you something else," he explained. "This only happens in the most special of cases."

*****

Mariah flopped down onto her couch. She reached for the telephone and ordered herself a small pizza and salad from the Italian place down the street. She was utterly exhausted but also felt good at the same time. Volunteering at the women's shelter had been such hard work. She couldn't help but admire the people who worked there day in and day out.

It had been a week since Gabriel entered and disappeared from her life. She was in shock for a long while, unable to absorb what had happened to her. Then she began weeping for his loss. Why did she keep losing the people she loved? And she did love him. There was no doubt of that in her heart.

She kept to her apartment for the first two days feeling miserable. On the third day, necessity forced her to leave to get some food supplies. She made her way to the grocery store and walked across the bridge where she had first met Gabriel. She looked down at the river and was surprised to find that had no desire to fling herself into its churning waters.

Gabriel had changed everything. The things in her life were no different before he came, but somehow everything changed. She felt renewed. If an angel from heaven was sent to give her another chance at life, she knew she couldn't waste it. Especially since the same angel said he loved and believed in her.

The next day Mariah found herself offering to volunteer at the local women's shelter. She had realized that for a long time she had been closing herself off from people, retreating into her apartment and her own shell as much as she could. She thought that volunteering at the shelter would give her a chance to be with people again while doing some useful work.

Mariah reached into her pocket and pulled out the handkerchief Gabriel had lent her. It was the only thing she had to prove that he was real and not some figment of her imagination. She missed him fiercely and hoped that what he said was true, that he would always watch over her. Mariah would always consider him the best Christmas gift she ever received.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She grabbed her wallet and took out the money to pay the pizza deliveryman.

She opened the door and clearly saw it wasn't her pizza waiting for her.

"Gabriel!" she said in shock.

"Hello Mariah," he replied, giving her one of his devastating smiles.

Half a second later, she was in his arms in a crushing hold and in a kiss that left her breathless.

"How are you here?" she asked, running her hands over his face, neck, and shoulders as if to make sure he was real.

"I was given a choice of getting my wings or being with you," he explained. "It was any easy decision."

"So you're here for good?"

"For a lifetime," he promised. "I'll always be here to take of you." 

He then reached out and softly touched her flat stomach. "And our child."

"A baby? We're having a baby?" she said in shock, looking down at his hand. "But how? I can't have anymore children. The doctors said told me so."

"Well the information comes from the highest authority I know. Shall I tell him that his is wrong?"

Mariah laughed and then threw her arms around him.

"I love you Mariah," he said.

"And I love you my angel," she replied and then sealed her declaration with a kiss.

The End



Mariah's Gym Workout



It was one of those hot sticky days where the sun shone too brightly and the wind moved too slowly. Unfortunately for Mariah, her AC was broken and she continued to drive in the hot summer day with the sun laughing at her discomfort. 

At the stop light, she noticed a fine looking brother with skin the color of a sweet Hershey's kiss sitting in a convertible. She thought he was giving her the eye. "Yeah, he's looking at me all right." She thought sarcastically. "Looking at me all sweaty and gross and my muffin top with the extra fat roll." Just thinking of the 20 pounds she had yet to lose made her even worse. Reluctantly she turned her head straight ahead and forced herself to stare at the red light. But she could feel him staring at her. After what seemed like an eternity the light turned green and she moved ahead fantasizing in her head about the sexy Hershey's kiss man. After being on what seemed like auto pilot she arrived at her gym. "What for?" She lamented silently. It's just me and my gut. It's not like I'm ever going to get a guy anyway. At this point Mariah would of settled not even for a guy but for some good old fashioned no strings attached one night stand. Not that she was into that kind of thing. No, but hey a girl has needs. And I am one lonely puppy. Just as Mariah was about to cross the parking lot into the gym, she saw Mr. Hershey Kiss man, pulling into an empty space three cars down from her. 

"Don't drool you idiot." Mariah berated herself. Just keep walking and then you can stare at him from the treadmill.

But then Mr. Hershey Kiss Man did the unthinkable he spoke. His voice was a rich baritone, that vibrated the hairs on her neck and made her tingle down low. 

"Hey, wait a moment. I'd like a word with you."

Oh great, he wants to speak with me. And all I can think about is how wet my panties are getting.

"I was trying to catch your eye at the light back there."

"Uh-huh." Mariah mumbled. Nice going Mariah. All you can think of is uh-huh. No wonder you don't get any dates.

"I haven't seen you at the gym before." Mr. Hershey Kiss Man persists. 

Mariah was losing herself in his arms feeling the way his hands cradled her butt. She blinked long and hard trying to focus on what he was saying. Apparently some sort of response was required. But she just stood there looking as stupid as she felt.

My name is Deon by the way." Mr. Hershey Kiss Man offered.

"Hi." Mariah breathed. Hi? Hi? Mariah thought. College educated and the best you can come up with is Hi? Man you are on top of your game today.

Mr. Hershey Kiss Man cocked his head to the side, as if puzzled by Mariah's strange response.

"Well, I bet your used to the girls just fawning after you aren't you Deon?" Mariah bit out. Oh great, antagonize the man.

"Well, I don't have to beg." If that's what you're wondering. Deon retorted. 

"Humph." Mariah snorted most haughtily. "Well, I'll be going now." 

And with that Mariah turned on her worn tennis shoe hill and sashayed away with as much dignity she could muster.

Once on the treadmill Mariah turned up her MP3 player and pounded away. Trying to outrun her own thoughts. She saw Mr. Hershey Kiss Man aka Deon making his way to the weight room. From where was running she had a perfect view. She watched Mr. Hershey Kiss Man move from machine to machine. Apparently he was working on those fabulous arms today, because he had already done biceps, triceps, and the shoulder press machine. Deciding to give up for the day, Mariah forced the automatic cool down button on and went to the women's locker room where she kept her spare change of clothes. She stripped down to her birthday suit and was about to get in the shower, when she decided that she would reward herself and sit in the sauna instead. As she walked through the locker room to the Sauna Room she was fiddling with her MP3 player and missed the a very important sign that had fallen from it's hanging spot.

Oh goodie the sauna is empty. Mariah reveled. 

It wasn't often that the women's sauna room was empty so this was a real treat. She decided to be selfish just once and take up one whole bench. Making a pillow for herself with some extra towels, she unwrapped the towel that covered her and placed it on the bench for her to lay on. She finally found Bond on her MP3 player and laid stomach down with her eyes closed to enjoy some much needed peace and quiet.

Unbeknownst to her the sign that had fell to the floor read: Men's Sauna closed for repairs today. Co-ed in the Women's Sauna until repairs are complete. Please dress appropriately. Thank you. Management.

Deon had saw Mariah eyeing him while he was doing his reps in the weight room and he intended to have the last say. Unwilling to wait for her to come out the women's locker room he decided that he would shower and change and see if he could catch up to her later. If not then maybe a simple bribe with the girl at the receptionist counter might work just to get her phone number.

Changing his mind Deon decided to sit for a spell in the sauna. Upon seeing the sign at the Men's Sauna Room Deon contemplated if he wanted to walk down the dank alley like hallway that joined the locker rooms to where the Women's Sauna Room was located. Well, he decided. Only if there is no one else in there.  Upon opening the heavy wooden door, he was not surprised to find that it was not empty. He was about to leave when he actually took notice of what was there. He had seen his fair share of naked women. But this, although plain to look at, at first glance, had something that kept drawing him back. Closer inspection made him realize it was the girl form the parking lot. He felt himself begin to rise. She must be sleep he thought. He took in her butterscotch skin, the perfect roundness of her ass and knew that he must have her. He was hard and ready. He stood there for a moment watching her and then took action.

On the sign outside the sauna, he turned it over and wrote, CLOSED.

Just as he was shutting the door for the second time Mariah stirred.  She had felt a breeze and it woke her. Unable to see far through the steam, Mariah, thought she was alone turned over on her back wiped her face of perspiration and laid back down on her back and went back to her nap, the sounds of Bond playing in her ears and thoughts of Mr. Hershey Kiss Man dragging her under.

Only knowing he didn't want her to slap him or worse, Deon, cautiously approach the back of the room where Mariah slumbered. Her beautiful, brown breasts rose and fell with each breath. They started off butterscotch and ended up a deep chocolate. He could just taste it in his mouth now. His manhood throbbed with the need to be released. Throwing caution to the wind, Deon licked her right breast which was closest. Mariah moaned and smiled in her sleep.

Taking that as a sign of encouragement Deon, using his mouth only, bent down and begin sucking at her chocolate nipple in earnest. He watched as her other nipple became large and hard. And she begin to move arch her back. Silently begging him for more. Still only using his mouth Deon traced his tongue over to her other breast where he began sucking even harder than before. His manhood ached to be released. He imagined spilling his cum all over those brown breasts of hers and watching her lick it up. 

Startled at the now intense sensations engulfing her, Mariah opened her eyes to find that her little fantasy had turned real and much to her chagrin she was enjoying herself. She started to scream. But Deon moved his mouth over hers and his fingers found his way into her warmth. She was already so slick. Mariah wanted to scream, wanted to be disgusted with herself but she couldn't. All she could do was make little wanton noises in the back of her throat. 

When Deon felt confident that Mariah wouldn't scream he moved away. And moved her hand down to his hard dick. Mariah automatically wrapped her fingers around it and used the pre-cum to moisten the shaft. She thrust her hips upward as he turned his finger inside of her and began to coax her toward a climax. Mariah fought it. "No." she whimpered unconvincingly. 

"You don't really want me to stop do you?" Deon asked.

"No." Mariah was still fighting the feeling. 

"You want me, just as bad as I want you." Deon whispered in her ear.

"No." It was the only word Mariah seemed to be able to force out.

"Just tell me to stop. And I'll stop." Deon assured her as he began to pull his finger out of her wet warmth.

"Nooo!" Mariah whimpered. "Please." She panted.

Deon pulled his finger all the way out. Mariah sat up dazed. (For once in your life live a little, Mariah!)

Mariah leaned forward and kissed him. First as if she were scared. But then she grew bold and she let herself take advantage of those full lips of his. He cupped her breasts and they were full. He began to play with her nipples as she kissed him. Mariah stepped down on the bench below her and stood up so that his dick was pressed against her stomach. How her body ached for it. He broke their kiss and continued leaving reverent kisses down the front of her body as he groped for his gym shorts trying to reach his wallet and the spare condom he kept. When he finally retrieved it he stood back up and locked his lips upon hers again. Mariah heard the telltale rip of the condom package open as she stood up on her tippy toes trying to drink him in. In one deft move Deon had grabbed her ass and lifted her up. She obliged by wrapping her legs around his waist and they met. His hardness met her wetness and Mariah had only a split second to decide if she wanted to. After all this was crazy. Banging him like a common slut in a public place where she could get caught at any moment. But none of that mattered. All she wanted was Mr. Hershey Kiss Man inside of her. So in that moment she said yes. She lowered her waist and felt him work his way inside of her. 

"You are so tight. You feel amazing."

After working his length inside of her Mariah begin to move her body in earnest. She scratched his back trying to hold on. It had been so long since Deon had been in a pussy this tight. He could do nothing but concentrate as he continued long firm strokes inside of her.

Mariah had been so long deprived that she was working her hips and attempting to climax as if she might never get a chance again. She felt the first stirrings of a release building up inside of her and just when she thought she would spill her juices all down that thick long dick of his, he stopped.

(I'm so fat, I can't even get a nut) Mariah lamented.

"Turn around." Deon demanded. 

Mariah obliged thinking woefully, (He probably doesn't want to see my fat rolls)

Deon ran his hands over her ample ass and tried to calm down. He whispered in her ear. "I want to make this good for you. At the rate we were going, I would of came too soon." Deon crooned

Mariah didn't know if he was lying or what but at this point she didn't care and willingly spread her legs so that Deon could have easier access.

Deon took one look at Mariah's perfectly round butterscotch ass spread in front of him and felt his dick throb with need. He smacked her ass. Now, Mariah was not usually into such things she deemed "kinky" but something about all the steam and a strange man made her reach out to new part of her personality. Instead of complaining she said "I've been a very bad girl."

Deon smacked her ass again harder this time. "Say it again." He demanded

"I've been a very bad girl." Mariah said this time with more confidence.

Smack. Any harder and Mariah was sure that it would just plain old hurt. "I deserve a spanking."

Deon begin spanking her using both hands to ensure he got maximum coverage of each cheek. He watched her ass shake from side to side as he punished her. Mariah begin to whimper. Deon reached around and begin to fondle her left breast as he kept spanking her hard with his right hand. 

"Please.."Mariah begin whimpering. At please Deon took his thick long dick and shoved all of it into Mariah's wanton pussy. She cried out from the force of it all and with her ass still vibrating from the spanking it was just the right amount of pain mixed with pleasure. It felt like his dick was reaching all the way up to her stomach. Mariah bent over until her hands were just in front of her toes. Deon continued to pump inside of her furiously. Mariah began wiggling her hips again attempting to keep up with Deon's madman rhythm. And felt her own climax wash over her without warning. It took her fully by surprise and left so weak she could barely support herself. Deon came right after her and she could feel him thrusting himself deep inside of her. She knew she would be sore in the morning. Oh how she longed to have the feeling of his hot seed inside of her. She could feel her own juices running down her leg as Deon pulled out of her. They both sat down on the bench and Mariah back to being herself immediately put a towel in front of her as she wiped off traces of their intense coupling. 

"Why do you cover yourself?" Deon questioned.

"Because I don't want you to be grossed out." Mariah replied promptly

"Baby, I've seen you and there is no way I am grossed out. You've got curves that most women only dream about and your ass is the most luscious thing I've ever touched. Your pussy is so tight, it's hard to believe you're a freak the way you are." Deon complimented.

Mariah just beamed quietly. 

"Well, I guess we better get out of here before someone else comes in." Mariah said after a spell.

"I want to see you again." Deon told her. "Wait for me outside the gym."

Deon kissed her passionately before she left the sauna. After a few moments Deon quickly slipped out the sauna and made his way back to the men's locker room.

Mariah showered while two other women made their way to the sauna. 

Mariah was just coming out the shower and padding over to her locker when she heard one of the women say to the other. 

"I can't believe both sauna's are closed for repair. Where does all our membership money go?"

"Girl, it's not about it being closed." The second women commented. "That sauna smelled straight like budussy."

"Budussy?" The first woman questioned.

"Um, hmm. Bootie dick and pussy." The second woman informed her. "Someone was getting their freak on up in there."

As the women laughed, Mariah slipped out the locker room to go meet her new man.



Mariaki



Quello che mi piaceva, di Marjaki, era soprattutto il poderoso sedere che il tanga evidenziava. 

Il filo giallo del costume spariva tra le chiappe sempre sode, malgrado i suoi quasi trentotto anni, e il mio coso si ergeva, incontenibile e goloso, invidioso di non poterne prendere il posto.

Mentre era in giardino, con lo sguardo rivolto alle piante, forse senza vederle, l'avevo fissata nella mia digitale. Poi, ero andato in un laboratorio specializzato e l'avevo fatta riprodurre in un poster che avevo fissato all'interno dell'anta del mio armadio.

Marjaki aveva incontrato alla Messa domenicale il giovane ufficiale italiano, componente della missione militare in Serbia, lo aveva subito considerato attraente. Lui, poi, di fronte a quel pezzo di ragazza, giovanissima e irresistibile, era partito subito all'attacco. Il motto del suo 'corpo' era, solo provando raggiungi la meta'. Ci provò, anzi ci provarono, e la meta fu presto raggiunta. Poiché era un esercitazione più che piacevole, ancor prima che la permanenza di Giorgio terminasse, la bella figlia della Città Bianca (Beograd, significa appunto città bianca) gli disse, più felice che turbata, che aspettava un figlio.

Fin dalla 'prima botta', che, entusiasta e frenetica, era stata decisiva.

Giorgio, sorprendendola, si dichiarò contento,

Per lui, non restava che sposarsi.

Figurarsi per lei...

Dopo poche settimane, la sposina serba, col pancino che già cominciava ad arrotondarsi, entrava nella bella villetta alla periferia di Roma, verso il mare.

Si stava bene, in Italia, fece qualche amicizia, ma soprattutto frequentava sue compatriote.

Purtroppo, Giorgio doveva assentarsi spesso, ma l'attesa era compensata dall'abbondantissimo recupero che spesso s'accompagnava ad altro generoso anticipo. Comunque, la solitudine, specie nel talamo, era struggente.

Per quanto mi risulta, e ci metterei la mano sul fuoco, Giorgio, almeno fino ad ora, è stato ed è il solo uomo che Marjaki abbia 'conosciuto'.

Ho accennato al fascino delle natiche. Per non dire delle appetitose e rigogliose tette.

Le conosco bene, non ne ho dimenticato il sapore, ma non posso riposare sui ricordi e vivere di essi. Ogni scusa e pretesto erano buoni per sfiorarle, e, possibilmente palparle diligentemente.

Più il tempo passava e più Marjaki diveniva un'ossessione, per me.

Quando era iniziata?

Non so.

Da sempre, ma specie negli ultimi tempi, la guardavo con un interesse che qualcuno definirebbe morboso

Forse perché, come anche dicevano gli altri, ero un po', come dire, precoce.

Avevo iniziato prestissimo le scuole, tanto sapevo già leggere ed anche un po' scrivere. Non andavo male, e me la cavavo anche sul campo sportivo. I miei compagni, ma specie le compagne, mi ritenevano cordiale, forse un po' esuberante, e questo favorì anche l'anticipo della prima esperienza sessuale. Molto piacevole, certo, ma non scacciava il chiodo fisso che avevo: Marjaki.

Girava per casa in audaci baby dolls,che avrebbero fatto arrapare un morto, la sua femminilità, diciamo così, non aveva misteri per me, e l'effetto era visibile al di là di quanto avessi voluto.

Inoltre, per lei le porte erano del tutto inutili, salvo quella principale, il portone. 

Dormiva con la porta aperta, infatti era sempre Giorgio, a chiuderla, quando era in casa. 

Nessun riserbo quand'era nella schiuma del bagno, e sotto la doccia, la sua preferita, non sempre tirava la tenda,.allagando, logicamente, il pavimento, che poi si metteva ad asciugare, nuda, assumendo le posizioni che si possono immaginare ed offrendomi lo spettacolo il cui solo pensiero provoca immediatamente l'effetto inamidante del mio fallo.

Lei non poteva non accorgersi di questo continuo mio stato di eccitazione. Non nascondo che avevo anche paventato qualcosa di patologico. Lo dissi perfino al medico. Lui sorrise e disse che dovevo ritenermi beatamente malato, e dovevo augurarmi che la natura mantenesse il più a lungo possibile tale stato... patologico, per il quale, in ogni caso, ogni femmina poteva fornirmi la terapia adatta.

Si, va bene, ma ve lo immaginate uno col coso sempre diritto?

E' vero che in un verso di un Carme Priapeo era scritto che 'a fallo diritto non manca fortuna'. Io, allora, a giudicare dallo stato dei fatti, avevo bisogno di tanta, ma tanta fortuna, ed era portata di mano: Marjaki.

Ero in giardino, sulla sdraia, e sfogliavo una rivista sportiva. Non mi ero accorto che mi era di fronte, logicamente in un ridottissimo bikini.

"Sin, domani vorrei andare al mare. Mi accompagni?"

"Certo."

"Vorrei partire prestino, per poter scegliere la cabina."

"Per me va benissimo."

"Grazie."

Si voltò per tornare a casa, con quel suo andare ondeggiante.

"Marijaki."

"Si?"

Si era fermata e voltata appena.

"Non mettere qualcosa di eccessivamente ridotto..."

Sorrise divertita.

"Sei geloso?"

In effetti lo sono, perfino del marito, figuriamoci degli sguardi degli altri. Otello, al mio cospetto, diviene un algido insensibile.

Scosse la testa, sempre sorridendo. Mi mandò un bacio con le dita.

Seguitò la sua strada, ebbi la sensazione, no la certezza, che ancheggiasse più del solito.

Non trovammo troppa gente e potemmo scegliere non solo la cabina ma anche il posto dell'ombrellone, sotto il quale facemmo mettere due lettini.

"Sin, andiamo in cabina, devi aiutarmi a mettermi la crema protettiva."

Mai invito fu più allettante.

Sotto la leggera gonna e la blusa, Marjaki già indossava il suo due pezzi. In verità, abbastanza normale, pur essendo troppo ridotto, a mio parere.

Cominciai a spargere la crema sulle gambe, partendo dai piedi. Lei era seduta sullo sgabello. Salii sempre più su, diligentemente, insistendo, specie nella parte interna delle cosce, e per tema che il sole la scottasse, andai anche nell'inguine, sollevando appena lo slip, per non farlo ungere, incontrando il crespo delizioso dei riccioli a guardia del luogo più bello del creato. Poi fu la volta delle natiche, che meraviglia, e quanto erano ben sode. Su, sulla schiena. Sentivo che era rilassata, distesa.

"Sin, vorrei prendere il sole in topless. Che dici?"

Il mio mmmmmm, forse per lei non voleva dire niente, ma per me diceva tanto. Intanto doveva togliere il reggiseno, che io giudicavo un po' troppo piccolo.

Ecco, ora ungevo attentamente le sue belle e floride tette, le impastavo, insistentemente, restandole alle spalle. Ogni tanto, anche se cercavo di stare attento, lo sperone che premeva nei miei calzoncini e forse stava per bucarli, le toccava la schiena. Seguitavo a cospargerle di crema. Non doveva scottarli. Girai intorno ai capezzoli, sfiorandoli col palmo della mano, e sentii che s'erano allungati e inturgiditi. Quando non potevo più giustificare l'insistenza del massaggio, le detti il reggiseno.

"Mettilo, Marjaki, il sole ti potrebbe far male, hai la pelle così delicata."

Mi guardò sorniona.

"Capisco!"

Indossò di nuovo il reggiseno.

Andò sul terrazzino della cabina. Notai, dallo spiraglio della porta semichiusa, che tutti gli occhi, anche delle donne, erano su di lei. Non mi giungevano i commenti, ma li immaginavo

Io, intanto, completamente nudo, ero vicino al lavandino e facevo scorrere l'acqua fresca sul mio fallo eretto, sperando di ottenerne un effetto... emolliente.

Marjaki, credo, aveva visto la manovra o perlomeno la intuiva sentendo lo scroscio dell'acqua.

"Sin, stai facendo la doccia a pezzi? Ti aspetto, non mi va di andare da sola all'ombrellone."

Aiutandomi anche con l'asciugamano sul braccio, la raggiunsi. Andammo a sdraiarci sui lettini.

Marjaki disse che non voleva bagnarsi. Anzi, sentiva la mancanza della privacy che, invece, le siepi e le tende di casa sua le garantivano.

"Se non ti dispiace, Sin, vorrei tornare. Potremmo fare un pranzetto lungo la strada, sento la nostalgia del sole del mio giardino."

"OK"

Il pranzetto consisté in filetto ai ferri con insalata, macedonia di frutta, vinello fresco e frizzante, caffè.

Entrando in giardino, fece un lungo sospiro di sollievo. 

"Sin, per favore, ti dispiace sistemare il lettino di tela in quell'angolo dove batte il sole?"

Fu cosa di un minuto.

Lei tolse tutto, rimase nuda, si sdraiò sul lettino.

Ero abituato a vedere Marjaki girare per casa poco vestita, ed anche di assistere alle sue improvvise necessità di restare con le belle tette al vento. Avevo anche occhieggiato, appena possibile, la sua completa nudità. Ma sempre di sfuggita. Quella era la prima volta, però, che si offriva così alla mia vista. Completamente senza veli.

Sapevo bene che Marjaki aveva una certa tendenza disinvolta ad una sorta di spontaneo naturismo, era lontana da ipocrisie, superstizioni, e non mi sembra che per lei esistessero tabù. Del resto, a parte questa originale audacia, il suo comportamento poteva e doveva considerarsi impeccabile.

Mi era venuto anche da riflettere sulla possibilità che ci fosse, in lei, una specie di inconscio esibizionismo. Che provasse piacere mostrandosi ed eccitando gli altri? Me, in questo caso. Che, a sua volta, si eccitasse anche lei, di riflesso?

Mah! Quella tenuta, però, mi eccitava, enormemente, ma mi turbava, e non riuscivo a capirne il motivo.

Ero rimasto un po' lontano da lei, al di là della tenda che, come già detto, concorreva alla difesa della privacy. Pensavo che la mia presenza potesse metterla a disagio. Forse era un suo modo di scaricarsi, appartandosi: solamente lei e la natura.

"Sin!"

"Si, Marjaki."

"Se non ti dà fastidio che io stia così, vieni qua. Desidero parlarti."

Andai vicino a lei.

Uno spettacolo che mi sconvolgeva, rimescolava.

"Siedi qui, sulla sponda."

Sedetti, non sapendo dove mettere le mani. Decisi di sorreggermi ai bordi del lettino."

"Allora?"

"Sin, ho notato che spesso le tue lenzuola, al mattino recano alcune tracce..."

Deglutii a fatica.

"Lo so... ma me ne rendo conto quando é.... troppo tardi."

"Capisco. Devo essere indiscreta... non hai una ragazza?"

"No."

"Dovresti averla. Forse certe cose non ti capiterebbero."

"Non credo, mi è successo anche la notte dopo che ero stato con una donna..."

"Durante un sogno?"

Annuii.

"Sogno ricorrente?"

Seguitai ad dire di sì.

"Sogni sempre la stessa persona?"

"Si."

"Posso sapere chi è?"

"Non voglio dirtelo."

Mi prese la mano.

"Non vuoi dirlo a Marjaki?"

"No."

Sentivo che tremavo.

Lei assunse un'espressione seria.

"Sai perché sono così e ti ho chiamato?"

"No."

"Per cercare di farti capire che dobbiamo saper distinguere cose e persone. E' naturale che alla tua età si provino certe sensazioni, si abbiano certi impulsi, ma è indispensabile indirizzarli verso strade percorribili. E' una cosa che facciamo un po' tutti. Sono stata chiara?"

"Si."

"Mi prometti che mi ascolterai?"

"No."

Sembrò sorpresa, sconcertata.

"Per favore, Sin, dammi la vestaglia che è sulla sedia."

Mi alzai, la presi, tornai vicino a lei.

"Coprimi con quella... ho i brividi."

Strano sonno, quella notte. 

Mi assopii, ma mi svegliai di soprassalto, come in preda a un incubo. E la cosa si ripeté. Ero nella penombra della camera, con gli occhi aperti che guardavano il soffitto, la mente affollata da una ridda di pensieri confusi.

La cabina, l'applicazione della pomata protettiva, la quasi improvvisa fuga dalla spiaggia, il sospiro al rientro, la strana ricerca d'una privacy che aveva tutta l'aria di una messa in scena per quell'ancor più strano, ma abbastanza evidente, discorsetto. L'essersi coperta con la vestaglia.

Era tutto enigmatico, o fin troppo chiaro?

In che senso chiaro?

La costante che m'assillava, tormentava, era il continuo ripetersi della mia irrequieta eccitazione. Più che evidente, specie per il fatto che, in quella stagione, indossavo solo la mia pelle.

Mi sembrò udire come un flebile lamento. Proveniva dal corridoio. La porta era aperta. Un gemito, come di chi implori aiuto. E si ripeteva, lungo, insistente, quasi angoscioso. Mi alzai, scalzo, mi affacciai sul corridoio. Era vuoto, appena rischiarato dalla poca luce che veniva dagli spiragli delle serrande, non perfettamente chiuse, delle camere. Le porte erano, come sempre, aperte.

Quella specie di lamento proveniva dalla camera adiacente alla mia, dove dormiva Marjaki. Mi accostai cautamente all'uscio, e gettai lo sguardo sul letto.

Marjaki era supina, la scorgevo chiaramente, con le ginocchia alte, si poggiava sui talloni, una mano la carezzava tra le gambe. Gli occhi chiusi, le labbra semiaperte lasciavano sfuggire il lieve mugolio che avevo sentito.

Rimasi dov'ero.

Piano, quasi sussurrando, la chiamai.

"Marjaki..."

"Si, sei tu?"

Voce strana, un po' roca, malinconica.

"Posso aiutarti, Marjaki?"

"Si, vieni qui."

Come potevo, ero nudo e col fallo eretto.

Lei chiamò di nuovo, quasi invocante.

"Sin... vieni qui!"

Veramente sono...

"Sin... vieni..."

Forse si sentiva male.

Mi accostai al suo letto. Era rimasta distesa, aveva abbassato le ginocchia. Il suo volto aveva un'espressione che non le avevo mai visto. Era bellissima, più che mai. Il seno splendido, il ventre piatto, il folto del suo pube. Sembrava una ragazza, non una donna della sua età.

"Sono qui, Marjaki."

"Vieni vicino a me, al posto di Giorgio..."

Mi sdraiai.

Si voltò, poggiandosi su un fianco, con la tetta sul mio petto. Sensazione conturbante. Sentivo su me quel seno sempre bramato.

Mi baciò sugli occhi, sulle labbra, sentii la sua lingua che si faceva strada. La ciucciai, golosamente, e le misi una mano sulla schiena, giù, sulla concupita bella e soda natica che sentii divenire ancora più soda.

Non riuscivo a credere che mi trovavo in quella situazione, in quella posizione, con Marjaki che saliva su me, afferrava il mio glande e vi si infilò con voluttuosa lentezza, avvolgendolo nel calore del suo corpo sognato.

Ero in Marjaki... in Marjaki... in lei... in quella splendida fica che avevo sognato, vagheggiato, pur sapendo che era un desiderio irrealizzabile. No, si avverava. Mi stava cavalcando focosamente, e sembrava volermi svellere il fallo. Tanto lo stringeva in sé, lo succhiava con le fantastiche pareti della vagina. Le sentivo sussultare, palpitare, stillare essenze inebrianti. Il gemito di prima, ora aveva tutt'altra modulazione, era impetuoso, pur sempre soffocato, come di chi sta per conquistare la meta ambita, per conseguire la vittoria a lungo sospirata. E si trasformò in urlo di conquista, lungo, incalzante, che raggiunse toni esaltati quando sentì invadersi dal mio seme che da sempre avevo serbato per lei.

Ai suoi gemiti si univa la sua , diversa da sempre, roca, nella sua lingua natale.

"Divan, Sin, divan... evo... evo.... Docem....jao....jos.... raj.... Raj... ooooooh!"

Meraviglioso... Sin, meraviglioso...ecco.... ecco.... vengo... ancora... ancora... paradiso....

Conoscevo un po' di quell'idioma, e anche io mi sentii in paradiso. 

Come era accaduto? Come erano precipitati gli eventi? 

Sembrava che fossero crollate le mura di Gerico, che avessero ceduto le dighe del Nilo.

Marjaki mi travolgeva, e voleva essere travolta.

Ora giaceva su me, mi stringeva in lei, gelosa, ancora col respiro grosso. Alzò il capo, mi guardò negli occhi, con un sorriso incantevole.

"Era scritto, Sin, era scritto..."

Ero ancora incredulo.

Carezzavo le natiche di Marjaki, quelle che per sfiorarle dovevo ricorrere a mille sotterfugi. E sentivo che trovavano piacevole la cosa e lo dicevano alla palpitante vagina che si contraeva voluttuosamente.

Lo stesso effetto provocava il lungo, insistente poppare della mia bocca avida, attaccata ai suoi invitanti capezzoli.

Non ci sono espressione sufficienti per descrivere certe sensazioni. 

Fonte zampillante, per l' assetato.

Ricca mensa imbandita. per l'affamato.

Luce splendente, per lo smarrito nelle tenebre.

Quando giacque sulla schiena, mi sentii attratto dalle sue labbra. Le mordicchiai, lambendole nel contempo con la lingua, così sulle favolose tette, lungo il ventre. Mi piaceva sentire i suoi peli biondi sotto i miei denti, reciderli, percepire in bocca il loro morbido sapore. Stringere le sue grandi labbra, inserirmi tra esse, esplorare il sussultare del suo sesso, salire ad accogliere il piccolo bocciolo fremente che s'innalzava desideroso.

Marjaki, adesso, non era la donna disinibita e un po' scanzonata, sbarazzina anticonformista, matura e provocante, perfino apparentemente sfacciata. Era una bambina tenera, appassionata, bisognosa di coccole, nel contempo esigente e generosa, cedevole, accondiscendente, che offriva e pretendeva, desiderosa di donarsi, di ricevere, di far godere, di godere.

Non avrei mai finito di baciarla.

Mise le dita nei miei capelli, dolcemente spostava la mia testa, attirandola a sé, si di sé. Il mio corpo strisciava sul suo, il mio petto era sull'accogliente morbidezza del suo seno. E tra le sue gambe andava inserendosi il rinato turgore del mio fallo. Si dischiuse come un bocciolo in fiore, e lo guidò in lei, serrando le gambe sulla mia schiena. Intendere non può chi non lo prova.

L'alba ci sorprese intenti a 'dolci baci e languidi carezze', anche un po' sfiniti, ma non sazi. 

Meravigliosa Marjaki.

Si assopì voltandomi la schiena, con il suo prezioso sedere sulle mie ginocchia, accogliendo soavemente il mio fallo tra le sognate natiche.

Il sogno si realizzava.

La fantasia diveniva realtà.

Quando si svegliò, sentì l'urgenza della mia eccitazione, ne fu lusingata ed eccitata, stimolata. Rispose prontamente al tacito ma evidente invito. E questa volta fui in lei, col ventre che batteva cadenzato sulle belle e sode chiappe.

Volle che l'attendessi a letto.

Andò a preparare la colazione, naturalmente così com'era, nuda.

Tornò col vassoio. Si accosciò nella posizione del loto, nello yoga. Mi imbocco come un bambino.

Mi guardava, inebriata.

"Il mio piccolo Sin, il mio Sin... chi avrebbe mai immaginato che potesse darmi tanta voluttà. Sei incantevole, tesoro mio. Avevo il paradiso a portata di mano e soffrivo l'inferno. D'ora in poi sarà sempre così... quando potremo. Vuoi?2

Annuii appassionatamente.

Disse che andava a fare una doccia, ma non voleva uscire da quel meraviglioso incanto.

La seguii.

La presi tra le braccia.

La strinsi ardentemente. E fummo di nuovo travolti dall'inestinguibile passione.

Mi sussurrava nell'orecchio parole incomprensibili.

Mi passò la lingua nell'orecchio.

La sentii bisbigliare.

"E' bello così, Sin, vorrei finire la mia vita in questo modo, per portarti con me nell'eternità. Vorrei conservarti in me, come segno del tuo e mio possesso: tu solo mio, io solo tua. Come potremmo, e potremo, fare diversamente? Quando non sarai con me mi mancheranno, i battiti del cuore. il respiro.

Dire di quei giorni sarebbe piuttosto confuso.

Ero l'ingordo che finalmente era giunto a ghermire il vaso di miele.

Era la bramosa che non poteva resistere al vuoto del suo grembo.

"E' fatta per te, Sin, e il tuo è fatto per me. Non mi accadrà mai più, al mondo, di sentirmi così. Perché mai nessun altro prenderà il tuo posto..."

Rimaneva pensosa, anche infelice, perché sapeva che non avrebbe potuto sottrarsi al suo obbligo coniugale.

Sentivo che voleva 'fare il pieno', come accumulare una riserva pèer il futuro... Ma non riusciva neppure a esaudire il presente. Era inesauribile. Come me, del resto, ma io avevo quasi vent'anni meno di lei. Forse era proprio per questo che voleva riacquistare quello che considerava il tempo perduto.

Avevamo deciso di uscire. Dovevamo fare alcune compere.

"Aiutami a vestirmi, Sin."

Io, veramente, preferivo spogliarla.

In camera, si avvicinò al letto, vi si gettò sopra, come se fosse stanca, a pancia in giù. Fece cenno con la mano di avvicinarmi. 

Era irresistibilmente invitante.




Mariam: A Girl Of Clay



"She's an orgasm addict/ She's always at it."

-- misheard song lyrics by the Buzzcocks




Mariam was going to cum. Dante could tell this, even from the privacy of his own bedroom, since the walls were patch-board thin and the young woman had the unfortunate habit of talking to herself when alone. 

"I'm so dirty. I'm so very-- very-- dirty."

Her voice was the sort certain women spend a life trying to cultivate: a twee, high-pitched, baby doll vox. Except Mariam wasn't putting on an act, that was just how she sounded. Dante would listen for a while each night and then roll over and bury his head under a pillow, trying to drown out her babbling. 

"Oohh dear, I am making a mess all over the bed."

It was the bed springs laboriously squeaking that filled Dante's head with feelings he had a hard time controlling. Anyone could tell by the sounds what she was doing in there. At first Dante tried to rationalize it, everyone else in the free world had these sorts of urges, why act shocked when his Mariam seemed to want to do this too? Shocked wasn't the right word, though. He just wished she would channel her impulses into something more ... constructive. 

Partly it was that he was getting tired of cleaning up her messes. Mariam never exaggerated. If she announced to the world that she had just messed up the bed or was wet or felt hot it was simply because she had, was and did. Dante didn't think she had the cognitive abilities in her to exaggerated, even if her life depended on it. Some of us are just like that. 

"I am a bad-- bad-- girl."

That was the other thing that made this whole endeavor on her part somewhat squalid and wrong: Mariam was different, wasn't she? Every morning after she awoke Dante would bundle the sheets up and take them down to the washing machine. On sunny days the backyard would be filled with bleached bed linen, each with its own cryptic defiled stain he couldn't scrub out, fluttering on the clothesline. Dante had been forced to put plastic incontinence pads down to protect the mattress for even on the very first night she slept over she somehow managed to soak through every bed sheet and blanket, leaving a kidney-shaped stain that just wouldn't come out.

And because she wasn't like other girls it made all his emotions for her highly problematic. Why he was sexually attracted to her, he couldn't exactly tell. He definitely knew shouldn't be. If she had been elderly and debilitated then it would have been easy. He was a professional, he had worked his way through college as a nursing assistant on the dementia ward of a retirement home. He had taken care of his share of grandmothers, the old babushkas, washed and fed them, changed their diapers and not once did he entertain the sort of thoughts Mariam awoke in him. What made matters worse was that while Dante never saw himself as her legal guardian, per se, he couldn't separate the fact that he was responsible for her. 

That, he knew, was what made this all sick and wrong. 

But the squeaking bed springs, the sounds – audible even through the wall – of her fingers hard at work, the tell-tale smears every morning, the cries of "Oohh dear! Oohh dear!" How could anyone not be affected by all this? Dante was. His cock was. He sighed. He needed to stop this before things got out of hand. All it would take would be one moment of weakness on his part and then ... he shook his head. Then he would be in trouble.

Dante looked at the bedside clock: 1:23 in the morning. Gritting his teeth he opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. 

Mariam's door was ajar. It would never occur to her to get out of bed and close it. Privacy wasn't something Mariam had been taught. If Dante remembered to pull it shut after tucking her in it stayed shut. She had been known to get out of bed from time to time but usually because something had caught her attention and she wanted to investigate. Once he found her crouched in the bedroom's corner, inquisitively playing with the electric wall socket. He didn't think she could seriously hurt herself, but who really knew? He took her by the hand and led her back to bed. She followed happily, that silly look of hers all over her face.

Dante paused before knocking. He was horny. He knew he was horny and that would make everything so much more difficult. He had yet to cross that line, though he had been fantasizing about it for a while. "What am I about to do?" he thought to himself. He could hear the bed see-sawing under her weight, her short high-pitched cries, that scupping sound that reminded him of when you wade through the ooze in the bottom of a dry dock. Dante drew a deep breath and then knocked on the door.

There wasn't an immediate response. The bed springs still squeaked away. Apparently she hadn't heard him. He knocked a second time, then a third, before he heard movement. Mariam appeared, a bit flushed and out of breath. Her pupils were dilated and the nightgown he had dressed her in earlier now had betrayal pleasure stains visible everywhere her hands had been. Her nipples poked out through the fabric and Dante found he had been staring and checked himself. 

"Er, sorry to interrupt," he began, and then, suddenly, he was only partially sorry. That was the problem, wasn't it? She was gorgeous. Even standing in the doorway in somebody else's nightgown he could feel his heart flutter and his cock bloat and get bigger and bigger in his boxers. Mariam's hair hung down a bit disheveled with a sheen of perspiration dotting her forehead. He glanced down at her fingertips. They were, indeed, wet and sticky.

"Oohh, it's okay," she blearily smiled, the way she did any time of the day or night when she saw him. 

"Did I interrupt you in the middle of something?" Dante asked. 

It was then the miraculous happened: her smile faltered. This amazed Dante, checking his libido in mid-throb. Mariam was never sad. In all the time he had known her she seemed as innocent and care-free and oblivious to the evils of the world as any of the Alzheimer's patients he once cared for. It was one of the reasons he put up with her endless nocturnal immersions. A look of infinite sadness crossed her deep brown eyes and suddenly, as absurd as it was, Dante knew he loved her and would do anything for her. He'd go to hell and back if she asked it of him.

"Can you help me?"

She grabbed his head and pulled him quickly into her bedroom. 

She threw herself back on her bed, oblivious to the stains she had left earlier that evening. 

"Please stay for a minute," she said, her ridiculous voice making her words sound like they were coming from a baby bird. Then, looking him in the eye, "Please, watch me. I need to cum."

That was unexpected.

"Er, what?" Dante asked; while he had never seen Mariam cum he had always assumed she orgasmed like clockwork, every night, if her bed linen was any indication.

"Something is wrong," she pleaded. "I'm so sticky, I need to cum but I can't. I can't and I want to cum so badly."

Dante stared at her. His cock was already pushing its way out of the front of his boxers. 

"What do you mean?"

"I rub and rub and nothing happens. But I need it-- I need it so bad."

She looked at him with imploring eyes and sat back on the bed, gathering her nightgown's hem in one hand. Dante pulled a chair over to the foot of the bed, stroking his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. "What the hell," he thought, whatever was about to happen wouldn't be the worse of his sins. 

Mariam sat up with her goofy smile, splayed her legs and pulled the nightgown to her chin. She reached one hand into her soggy panties while the other went to her long, eraser-tip nipples, which she pinched and twisted intensely.

Having no shame she didn't blush or turn her head away as Dante's eyes roamed over her body. He saw her naked every day, of course. He helped her dress each morning. But that was different, since he could then almost pretend she was normal, like every other young woman who ever needed a little assistance in getting her skirt on straight, her bra fastened properly, her hair combed the way she liked it. Not like this. 

Dante marveled at her cheek. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, she asked for his help in so many other things. He found that he was rubbing his cock gently through his boxers while his eyes were locked onto the crotch of her panties and her fingers hard at work inside. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just watch-- just-- no! I want to see you too."

"You do?"

"Yes! Take it out, stroke it. I'm so muddy. I get so sticky when I've been playing with myself this long."

Dante pulled his rigid cock from his boxers. He held it up in the light so she could see him slowly caress himself up and down. 

"Do you like that?" he asked.

Mariam just groaned and closed her eyes for a moment as she sped up the rhythm inside her second-hand undies. 

"Do you love watching me?" she slurred and chirping. "I love knowing you are watching me."

"I love watching you, too, but I'd like to see a bit more."

Nodding, she disengaged her fingers and drew the quaggy fabric to one side. For all his instance that Mariam was different there were certain things she obviously possessed, just like every other woman on the planet. Her cunt was purposely hairless, her lips puffy and what lay between them shone like Mississippi river mud. Dante bent forward, enthralled at what she was willfully showing him.

"Can I taste you?" he asked.

"No. Please, just watch. Please, I want to cum. Please keep rubbing your cock. Show me, show me your cock--"

Her fingers had found that hard little nub that gave her so much pleasure. Dante could see it occasionally when she broke from rubbing it in circles to slide three fingers deep inside herself, up to the knuckles. He could hear the sloppiness of her caresses squelching away at her crotch. Her eyes alternated between staring into his and glued on his cock. Finally she closed them as she focused on her own building orgasm.

"Oohh dear, I'm going to cum so hard because you're here. Please, cum for me, too."

Dante stood up, using both hands for his own pleasure now. If he was going to cum with her she might as well get a show. No one else had ever done this with her. No one else had ever bothered to see if she even had desires of her own, either.

"Do you like me watching you? Do you like knowing you're going to make me cum?" he asked her. 

Dante wanted to be inside her, to fill her, knowing he would be her first, her only, but another part of his brain kept that impulse in check. He was almost certain he would hurt her if he tried to push his cock into her cunt, no matter how wet she appeared. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do, cause this amazing creature pain. 

Another stain was quickly forming around her rotund ass. "Oh my, so hot," Mariam moaned and with that, her hand seemed to get sucked deep between her legs, her hips locked, muck flew everywhere and her back arched up and off the bed. She howled and snarled and groaned as her orgasm washed over her.

Looking down at her, right at the brink, Dante stepped closer. She was still working her cunt with her hands. He was almost there. "Mariam, Mariam, I'm gonna cum, too." Time slowed down. Mariam's jaw sagged open, her eyes rolled up into her skull and she made that odd guttering sound that long nights of listening to her masturbate let him know she was cumming like a volcanic mud slide. 

"Cum on me, do it. Please cum on my face. I wanna do it again, do it for me," she urged him on, crawling to the edge of the bed. 

"Do you love me?" he gasped the words out.

The girl made from clay looked up at him, at his throbbing cock inches from her face, and smiled.

"Of course I do, silly," she said.

With that, Dante's cock erupted, spraying sticky warmth all over her face and neck. She gave a delighted, high-pitched laugh and raised her fingers to feel where his sperm landed. Cum fascinated her. For all her constant masturbating, she had nothing inside that would allow her to squirt the way flesh and blood girls could. She would simply take the tube of anal lube she kept by her bedside and turn the bone-dry skin between her legs into a frothy mess. Being made out of river clay, at first he had worried that so much rubbing would erode her down to nothing but apparently the spell that animated her kept her solid and together as well. Sure, she made a terrible mess when she got wet and excited but that was to be expected if you were to have a Golem as a house mate.

He had often wondered why the rabbi who had brought this particular clod of clay to life had decided to put her "shem," the little tablet on which the Ineffable Name was written, between her legs, poking out of her cunt like a clit. Traditionally it was placed in the mouth, but Mariam was far from traditional. Remove a Golem's shem and it reverts back to the river clay from which it was made. Thankfully, the rabbi who crafted Mariam was gifted in more than just Talmud power and kabbalistic wisdom, he had been a sculpture to rival Auguste Rodin. 

Mariam rolled over on her back and sighed deeply. Her eyes were drooping. Dante climbed into the dirty sheets with her and snuggled up behind, spooning, his semi-rigid cock pressed between the cleft of her ass.

"Relax, lover, go to sleep."

Lover?

He liked the sound of that. She kept whispering his name until her breathing was deep and steady. When Dante kissed her naked shoulder he could taste a faint alkaline fragrance. When she began her small, girlish snores he climbed out of bed and moved silently to the doorway to the shower, leaving a new stain behind. Cum mixed with mud. 

Dante sighed. Things were, indeed, changing.



Mariam And Elijah In Ottawa



I try hard to be the pious and respectful, Hijab-wearing and Koran-quoting Muslim sister that my parents, Ahmed and Ayaan Mohammed expect me to be, but I kind of suck at it. Partly because I love to suck dick. My name is Mariam Mohammed and I'm a young Black Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Lately, I've been suffocating under the burdens of my Islamic faith, Somali culture and the iron-clad rules of tradition. Something had to give. And the results stunned me. Man have I got a story for you today, dear reader. 

A little over a month ago, I met this guy named Elijah Morrison. A six-foot-tall, lean and athletic, ruggedly good-looking brother of Jamaican descent who studies criminal justice at the University of Ottawa. I was walking through the Rideau Center and stopped to buy some food at the newly renovated food court downstairs by the escalators when a fine-looking, well-dressed brother sat at the table near mine, and smiled at me. Hello beautiful, he said, nodding at me while sipping on a Pepsi.

I looked the brother up and down. Definitely not Somali, I thought, considering his ebony skin tone, roughly handsome features, kinky hair and overall strongly built body. Clad in a blue silk shirt, black silk pants with a black tie, the guy looked good. I like a man who dresses neatly, and the fools walking around Ottawa with their pants hanging low don't impress me much. The brother's boldness surprised me, but I kind of liked it.

Now, most women wouldn't appreciate being approached this way because they find it annoying or degrading or whatever. Me? I'm a Hijabi. As a female wearing the Hijab, I NEVER get flirted with or hollered at. I swear, people forget that I'm a female, and have a sexual identity, because of my cultural outfits. I wear a Hijab on my damn head, not a frigging halo! I smiled back at the brother and looked at his plate. That looks yummy, I said, eyeing the plate of Chinese food. The brother smiled, and introduced himself as Elijah. 

From his thick accent, I could tell that he was a newcomer and I was proven right when Elijah revealed to me that he just moved to Ontario from his hometown of Saint Catherine, somewhere on the island of Jamaica. Thus, Elijah Morrison and I met, and as it turns out, we had a lot in common. Sure, he's a Christian guy and I'm a Muslim woman but underneath it all, we were a lot alike. 

For starters, we were both loners. Elijah desperately missed his parents back on the island of Jamaica, and I desperately wished my folks would stay the fuck out of my life. I swear I can't fart without having them find out, I swear! I wanted to be on my own, do my own thing, and live my life. My parents expect me to live in Canada as though we were still in Somalia. In Somalia, females either stay at home raising the family or head to the local Masjid, otherwise they stay out of public life. I don't want to do that shit. I want to do my own thing.

Elijah Morrison and I exchanged numbers that day at the Rideau Center, and I added him on Facebook a day later. That's how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. The relationship that changed my life. Elijah and I began talking on the phone a lot, and then began seeing each other. On our first outing, Elijah took me to the Silver City movie theater in the east end of Ottawa, and we watched a horror movie, Dracula Untold. Not big on horror movies but this one was fun.

Only thing I didn't like about the movie is the portrayal of Turkish Muslim warriors as cruel and dull, while the Romanians, especially Dracula and his family, were portrayed as stalwart. Give me a break, folks. I did like the vampire battles at the end of the movie, though. Definitely better than what I saw in the Twilight films, that's for damn sure. 

After the movie, Elijah took me to the Blair Mall and we ate some Chinese food, and then went for a walk. I live near Baseline Road, not far from Carleton University, which I attend. The east end isn't a place I know very well. I liked walking around with Elijah, though. I linked my arm with his, and he seemed pleased. Who am I kidding? The brother was all smiles. I also liked it when Elijah put his arm around me and held the door for me as we boarded the bus at Blair Station. We rode together till Hurdman Station, and then, we had to go our separate ways.

Good night beautiful, Elijah said, and gave me a brief hug. I nodded and smiled, ecstatic beyond belief, but trying to play it cool. I'm an emotional chick so it's not easy. I stood on my tippy toes, and planted a kiss on Elijah's full, sensual lips. That's right, the shy and presumably demure and repressed Somali chick kissed the bold, macho Jamaican guy on the lips. How do you like them apples?

That night, I went home with a big smile on my face and a song in my heart. Elijah Morrison was something else. I can honestly say that I can't get enough of this wonderful young man. When Elijah sat me down, a few days and outings later, and told me he liked me and wanted to give a relationship a shot, I didn't say yes. I SCREAMED yes! I am officially Elijah's girlfriend. We hang out together all the time, and folks at the Carleton campus see us all the time at Rooster's and in the campus library. We're an item and I am damn proud of it.

The only snag? I can't risk my parents finding out about my sweet and sinfully Elijah. I have to very careful. If they find out, there'll be hell to pay. I'm a young Somali-Canadian Muslim woman living at home, with my parents, while attending Carleton University. My parents are very strict and traditional. To explain my frequent absences, I've told them that I am involved with the Muslim Scholars Association at school. I can only hope that they don't find out about Elijah. Loving my Jamaican prince is ill-advised but I can't help myself. I am NOT giving him up. Love makes you do crazy things, you know? 



Mariam and Rashid in Texas



If I hear one more person call me Mexican, I swear I'm going to smack the shit out of them. I don't care if get booked in for assault, enough is enough. My name is Mariam Hassan, and I approve this message. Sorry, just always wanted to say that. I hear politicians and businessmen say it so many times on Texan television that it's stuck in my head. What can I say? My new home, Texas, is growing on me.

Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of the fact that I'm a stranger in this strange and wonderful place, even though I've been here a while. My Ontario accent is quite thick, and Texans don't know what to make of it. If they only knew. I'm forever the stranger, the odd woman out, wherever I go. I'm five-foot-nine, with light bronze skin, curly black hair and light brown eyes. I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny either. I have curves and a big butt, and my thighs are thick in spite of my efforts on the Stair Master at the gym. I am only me, I guess. I'm outspoken and opinionated, and I like to take challenges head-on. It's not a recipe for popularity or happiness, let me tell you.

I was born in the region of Baalbek, Lebanon, and raised in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I hold a bachelor's degree in criminology from the University of Ottawa, where I rocked for four years as co-captain of the Women's Wrestling Club, and these days I'm taking on life in the U.S. of A. You see, I recently moved to the City of Houston, Texas, to be closer to my estranged father, Joseph Hassan. Being a Canadian in a place like Texas is definitely an interesting experience. Working two jobs and hoping against hope that somehow, I'll be able to save enough for Law School. It's an uphill climb, to say the least, but it's what I want to do. I always wanted to be a lawyer. It's not the cheapest academic or professional pursuit out there, that's for sure. 

Fortunately for me, after nineteen months in the realm of Americana, the U.S. government granted me permanent resident status so. I can't thank my Pops enough for filing for me. As a new citizen of the U.S. it's his right. I love Canada but I must admit, there are more opportunities stateside. I won't have to pay international student fees if and when I get into an American law school. That ought to simplify things when I apply to the prestigious University of Houston Law Center. It's a nationally ranked law school and one of the best. I'm academically confident. I did graduate with honors from the University of Ottawa, I'm just saying.

For the most part, I'm just reconnecting with my father. It's not easy. You see, my parents, Joseph and Samira Hassan left the Republic of Lebanon for Canada in the summer of 1989, part of a wave of Lebanese Christian immigrants moving to places like America, Canada and the United Kingdom as a result of the Lebanese Civil War and its socio-economic aftermath. When there's trouble at home, you see a lot of emigration. I was only a few months old, so I don't remember Lebanon at all but I was born there and it's in my blood.

My siblings, the triplets Ada, Victoria and Elisabeth were born in Ottawa, Ontario, in 1992, so they're more Canadian than Lebanese. I've always been interested in our family's origins, and the nation and culture we left behind. I was raised in the Maronite faith, and consider myself a good Catholic to this day. I remember going to a Lebanese church in Ottawa's east end with my folks back in the day. Good times, when we were united as a family. This was a long time ago, before the dark times.

All marriages experience a bump or two once in a while, that's normal. In 2008, our world came crashing down. My mother, Samira Hassan, had an affair with a Yemeni guy named Suleiman Yassin. It got so serious that she left my father and converted to Islam to be with him. I'll always hate her for betraying my father and her Christian faith. To this day, my mother and I are estranged. As you can imagine, the Lebanese Christian community of Ottawa was incensed over my mother, a devout Catholic, converting to Islam and abandoning her family to be with this ruffian from Yemen, a cab driver, if you can believe that.

There's no love lost between Christians and Muslims in Lebanon, even though we try to get along these days. Christian families are weary of Muslim guys trying to seduce their daughters into joining Islam, it's a common tactic known as Romeo Jihad. The seduction into conversion scheme. I cannot believe someone as intelligent as my estranged mother fell for it. When I lived in Ottawa, a town with a significant Arab Christian population, I dated guys from the Christian communities of Syria, Lebanon and Egypt. You'd never catch me even being friendly with a Muslim dude. Ultimately, they want to convert you. They're taught to spread their faith from the moment they're born. It's in their programming, and they can't help it, no matter how 'free-spirited and liberal' they claim to be. A leopard can't change its spots.

After the divorce, my father decided to leave the City of Ottawa, Ontario, and indeed Canada itself. Armed with his Master's degree in sociology from Carleton University, Joseph Hassan, my Pops, and the patriarch of our defunct-by-divorce clan, moved to the City of Houston, Texas. There, he set up shop as a social science teacher at Saint Antonius Academy, one of Houston's top private schools. I was busy with my studies at the University of Ottawa at the time, but I desperately missed my Dad. I've always been a Daddy's gal, and a die-hard tomboy at that. Seriously, the only times I've worn dresses were at my First Communion and my Confirmation. I'm the type of gal who shows up at a wedding in a tux. Yes, I'm staunchly heterosexual. C'mon, you know you were thinking about it.

Anyhow, when I didn't get into McGill University Law School as planned, I decided to try my luck outside Canada. That's what brought me, in part, to Houston. Reconnecting with my Dad was just the icing on the cake. When Dad greeted me at the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, I had tears in my eyes. I hadn't seen my Dad in years. He was still tall and skinny, but with a lot more gray in his hair. Also standing with him was a black lady I didn't know. I assumed she was a friend or colleague or something but Dad promptly introduced me to Shanice Jackson, his fiancée. I looked at the tall, skinny, light-skinned and short-haired black woman and forced a smile. My Dad was engaged to her? This is a surprise. We so need to talk about this.

I'm not sure I'll ever be friends with Shanice, and it's not her fault, really, I just don't think any woman is good enough for my Daddy. I am polite to the lady when we run into each other, though. Shanice is a graduate of the University of Houston's MBA program and she works for Texas Capital Bank. She has a son from a previous marriage. Good for her, I guess. I came to Texas to connect with my Pops and I didn't want this broad to get between us. That's it, that's all. Sorry if I sound like a bitch. Perhaps I'm not being fair to Shanice but my Dad has been through a helluva lot and I'm protective of him. If I could pick out one word to describe myself, it would be loyal. I'm loyal to those I love. I stopped speaking to my mother after she abandoned our family, left my father and embraced a man from the same religion that nearly destroyed our ancestral homeland of Lebanon. I'll never forgive my mother for her disloyalty, and that's that.

My other siblings have actually gone to Mom's wedding to the Yemeni cab driver. Ada, Victoria and Elisabeth actually put on their Sunday best and went to a damn mosque in Ottawa's north end and cheered Mom on as she made a colossal mistake. I did no such thing. I refused to be part of any such travesty. I also removed the triplets from my Facebook friends list. Yes, they're family and I'll love them until the day I die but, dammit, if we weren't related, I wouldn't have anything to do with them. Especially when they started posting pictures of themselves at Mom and Mr. Yemeni Cab Driver's travesty of a wedding on Facebook. I had to block them, for the sake of my sanity. Sorry, but that's just the kind of woman I am.

I got myself a job as a substitute teacher in the Houston Public School System. Dad's tips helped me a great deal. I like the job. I'm the filler, I guess. This means that whenever some geezer has the sniffles at one of the local high schools, I pick up the slack. It's not a bad gig, and one time, I had to fill in for an entire month as a certain old math teacher named Matthews battled lung disease. His loss turned out to be my gain. At my other job I'm a weekend manager at a MacDonald's restaurant, nothing to write home about. I live frugally in a one-bedroom apartment, and I save every penny. Law School is within my sights, I'm just not there yet.

I like teaching, but wouldn't want to do it full-time. Especially after I got stuck teaching fifth graders at San Giacomo Elementary. One little angel named Yasmin Montague turned out to be quite the brat. Light-skinned and green-eyed, this little cutie liked to bully her classmates, and when I told her to stop or gave her time-out, she would cuss me out. I had never seen such conduct in someone so young, and scheduled a parent/teacher chat. Yasmin's father, Rashid Montague, showed up. 

When I saw him, I must admit I was surprised. Usually it's the moms who show up for such meetings, except in the case for gay male couples and their adopted brats. Mr. Rashid Montague was one fine-looking man. Six feet two inches tall, athletically built, with deep brown skin, wavy black hair and soulful light brown eyes. Clad in a blue silk shirt, black silk pants and shiny black shoes, he looked like an NFL player ready for a press conference. He reminds me of one of my favorite actors, Morris Chestnut. 

Good afternoon ma'am, Rashid Montague said in a deep, southern-accented voice, snapping me out of my reverie. I smiled politely and introduced myself as Mariam Hassan, substitute teacher extraordinaire. We sat in an office near the classrooms, and discussed Yasmin's classroom behavior. Is there something going on at home that's perhaps behind all this? I ventured carefully, studying Rashid's dark, handsome face. He eyed me coolly, stroked his goateed chin and then licked his lips.

I'm raising her on my own since her mama died and I'm also busy with school, Rashid said, his shoulders sagging slightly. Yasmin's mother, Jasmine Rodriguez, was a Mexican-American woman Rashid met a while ago. She died giving birth to Yasmin. He spoke softly, and that spooked me a bit. Typically, tall, brawny men like Rashid Montague don't speak with such softness and candor. Alpha male-types rarely do. I nodded empathetically, and asked him what school he attended. Rashid Montague raised his head proudly. I'm at the Thurgood Marshall School of Law, he said proudly. Wow, was all I could say. To be honest, I was impressed.

Rashid Montague smiled, and told me he did his undergrad at Morehouse College in his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Then he asked me about my accent. I'm originally from Ottawa in Canada, I said proudly. I will always be proud of my Canadian heritage no matter how long I live in the American heartland. My eastern Ontario accent is ever-present, and I dread the day when I start sounding like the rednecks that surround me. Rashid and I shared a chuckle when he pointed out that we were both outsiders in this place. He told me he was born to Haitian immigrant parents, Louis and Marie Montague, who still lived in Atlanta. 

Good for them, I remarked. I've been to Atlanta twice and it's a lovely place. Rashid surprised me when he noted that Mariam was the Arabic form of Mary, the name of Jesus mother. I asked him how he knew that and Rashid told me he was a devout Catholic. I thought you were Muslim, I said, quite surprised at what he'd just told me. Rashid laughed and told me that lots of black folks in the U.S. liked to give names like Omar, Khadija and Rashid to their offspring, not because of any Islamic connection but because they wanted to stop giving them white-sounding names. Fight the power, I smiled. Rashid grinned and nodded. 

I looked at the clock, and chastised myself for getting carried away. Rashid and I had been talking for a while, and we had discussed everything except his daughter Yasmin. He explained to me that his cousin Shirley lived in town and she helped a lot with Yasmin, but basically, he and his daughter were on their own. I told him not to hesitate to call me if I could help out. I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper, and a smiling Rashid pocketed. I'll be in touch Miss Hassan, he said, then got up. We shook hands, then he left my ( temporary ) office. I tried resisting the urge to check out his cute ass as he exited my office...but I failed miserably. Now I know what those girls in that song "What A Man" had in mind when they were singing in their heyday. Wow.

That night, I went to my father's place and had dinner with him and Shanice. Apparently I was glowing, for Shanice picked up on it. I met a guy at work, I said with a grin. Shanice leaned closer and looked at me, a smile on her ageless face. I see, she grinned. Dad looked at me. Does this young man have a name? he said, amused. I nodded. Rashid Montague, I said, sighing happily. Dad cocked an eyebrow. He's not Muslim he's Catholic, I said hastily. Dad nodded, and exhaled in relief. Shanice noticed that, but wisely kept her mouth shut. 

We ate in silence for a few moments, then Dad shared some news with us. The head of the social sciences department is taking a leave of absence and has asked me to fill in, Dad said. Shanice smiled at him beatifically. I am so happy for you Joe, she said, laying her hand on his. I looked at Shanice's hand on my Dad, and noted the fact that she called him Joe. Ooookay. I congratulated my father and raised my glass. Cheers Pops, I said cheerfully. Shanice and I exchanged a look. I flashed her a fake smile. Wonderful, I said, then gulped down my wine.

The next day, I got a call from one Rashid Montague, and we ended up talking for two hours. I shared with him my aspirations of getting into Law School, and he told me that he'd help me with LSAT prep if I wanted. I'd already done LSAT prep in Canada when I tried to get into McGill University's Law School right after getting my bachelor's degree in criminology from the University of Ottawa. I know Canada and the U.S. have different laws but how different can the damn LSAT be across the border?

You need to bone up on American laws and culture Miss Hassan, Rashid laughed. Typically I get irate when people laugh at me, but I couldn't stay mad at him. Call me Mariam, I told him. We chatted for a few more minutes, then he invited to grab a bite with him at Caribbean Jerk Cuisine. That's a restaurant's name? I asked, incredulous. Rashid's deep, resonant laughter once again filled the phone. Yes ma'am it's an authentic Caribbean restaurant, he laughed. I smiled at that. Sounds good to me. I said goodbye, then hung up.

Is it wrong for a teacher to have dinner with one of her pupils Dads? Probably, but then again I'm only a substitute teacher. I never stay long in the same place. Might as well see what kind of trouble I can get into. Besides, I hadn't had a man in my life since I left Ottawa. I went on a few dates with Mexican guys and white guys here in Houston but they don't light my fire. The Arab community in Houston is very small and very secular, whether Christian or Muslim. Me? I'm an Arab-Canadian Christian woman. I am passionate about my Christian faith and I think Pope Francis is a fine man. No secular guys and no Muslim guys for me, thank you. Must be a card-carrying Catholic...with a sexy body.

Rashid and I met at the Caribbean Jerk Cuisine restaurant on Richmond Ave, and let me tell you, I was blown away. I had never tried Haitian food before, and it was absolutely delicious. Rashid looked sinfully sexy in a black silk shirt, dark gray silk pants and black timberland shoes. The guy is such a snappy dresser, and a gentleman too. He pulled my chair for me. I looked good in a black vest over a white blouse, black silk pants and a pair of comfortable flats. I'm already tall for a woman, no need to push my luck with high heels. You look ravishing Miss Hassan, Rashid said, and gently kissed my hand.

Wow, I said, blushing. I cannot remember the last time a guy kissed my hand. Rashid and I sat down, and a tall, slim young black man took our order. I ordered rice with Plantains, with bean sauce and chicken, and Rashid had the same but with goat meat. Taking a look around the classy, artfully decorated restaurant, I noticed that the clientele was mostly black, with a few whites and Mexicans here and there. Cool. Rashid asked me about Yasmin's classroom behavior and I assured him that she was doing better. Indeed, his daughter always had good marks, she was just disruptive. Now her behavior has improved. No, I'm not cutting her any slack just because I think her Daddy is a cutie. A pleasure to have in class that's Yasmin in a nutshell, I said, smiling pleasantly.

Rashid nodded. What a relief, he said, visibly relieved. I smiled and gently touched his hand. Thanks for bringing me here, I said, meaning it. Rashid nodded, and then smiled bashfully. I swear the brother was blushing, but I didn't dare point it out. I mean well but I'm not the most sensitive person out there, culturally speaking. I like Rashid and enjoy his company, and the last thing I wanted was to ruin this...whatever it is. In the past, guys I've dated have accused me of being cold and selfish, and more than one called me insensitive. 

Am I selfish for prioritizing my goals, my life and my dreams? I want to be a lawyer. I want to represent disenfranchised minorities. I also want to protect North America's Christian heritage from Islamic encroachment. I've seen what bending over backwards for Muslim immigrants in the name of reasonable accommodations has done to us Canadians. I want to prevent such a thing from happening in America. That's why I intend to support conservative Christian politicians when I'm able to vote. Americans, Canadians and westerners in general think they're invincible. They don't think a day may come when a Muslim horde may take over these lands. That's what people in the UK thought too, before London, England, got taken over by Somalis, Pakistanis, Yemenis and Bangladeshis. 

I'm watching the spread of Islam in Michigan and it worries me. I think Americans need to rally against it and uphold Judeo-Christianity by enshrining it as the official state religion of the U.S.A. If Egypt, Syria and Kuwait can enshrine Islam as the official state religion of their respective nations, why can't predominantly Christian ( for now ) countries do the same with Christianity? Sounds like it's something they should strongly consider, while they still can.

My father told me about those dark days in Lebanon when the Christian population found itself under attack not only from the Sunni and Shiite Muslim groups but also Syrian jihadists. When Syria invaded Lebanon, the Lebanese Muslims sided with the predominantly Muslim forces from Syria against we Lebanese Christians. They sided with a foreign element against their blood brothers and sisters. Never trust a Muslim, my father taught me. I heeded that lesson, but apparently my mother and siblings did not.

My sister Elisabeth, probably influenced by our mother and her Yemeni Cab Driver of a husband, has decided to embrace Islam. She calls herself Hamidah on Facebook now. What a dumb cunt. I unblocked her long enough to write her a lengthy message wishing her all the horrors of hell, then re-blocked her. I saw a picture of her standing next to an Arab guy wearing Palestinian flag colors. That's probably the culprit behind her conversion. I fear that if Elisabeth/Hamidah converted, then Ada and Victoria can't be far behind. Infiltrating a people through their women is a clever tactic for an insidious enemy.




Mariam and Rashid in Texas



Are you okay? Rashid asked, snapping me out of my reverie. I blinked in surprise, then smiled nonchalantly and told him everything was fine. Tell me the truth Mariam, Rashid said, his soulful brown eyes boring into mine. I hesitated, and sighed. Where to begin? Over the next hour, I shared my family's sad little saga with Rashid. My parents flight from Lebanon during the Civil War, our family life in Ottawa, my mother's affair and subsequent conversion to Islam, which led to her divorce from my father, and the chaotic hell that's been our family's divided lives since then. That's it that's all, I said, staring ahead while picking absentmindedly at my food.

Rashid gently laid his big, brown hand on mine. I am so sorry, he said. I looked up at him. I honestly don't know why I dropped all this stuff on him. I typically believe in keeping my mouth shut when it comes to certain things. Loose lips sink ships faster than Titanic-style icebergs, that's what I believe. And yet here I was, blabbing to a perfect stranger. Well, not a total stranger, more like a very handsome and interesting new friend, but you get what I mean, right?

Not your fault big guy, I said, shrugging and laughing mirthlessly. Not Rashid's fault my family life is fucked up. After watching my family get torn apart over issues of religion, after seeing my mother betray my father and her Maronite heritage, I was fed up with the world. I now know that in this world, those closest to us can fall into the clutches of evil and betray us. I considered my mother and my sister's conversions to be pure betrayal. This left me unable to trust. That's why my relationships don't last. I can't trust because I don't want to be hurt again. If my own mother and sister betrayed me and abandoned my father and I for their beloved cult, what are the odds that a stranger would love me?

All that and more sprang forth from my mouth, unbidden. I couldn't believe what I was saying. Patrons sitting near us looked at me and Rashid. Suddenly, Rashid was much closer to me. I know how you feel Mariam, he said, and gently put his hand on my shoulder. I looked into this eyes, this dark and handsome stranger. Did he truly understand? How could he? He's not Lebanese. He doesn't know what it's like to be the offspring of refugees, fleeing religiously motivated persecution. He doesn't understand what it's like to be betrayed by those closest to him.

You don't understand, I said, staring hard at Rashid as my eyes started to get moist. Rashid looked at me and shook his head. My parents fled Haiti in the 1980s because of a dictator named Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, Rashid said, his voice filled with conviction. I sat there and looked at him as he shared his family's story with me. A faraway look crept into Rashid's handsome face as he told me of the atrocities visited upon the Haitian population over the course of several decades by the dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier, and his father Francois before him. 

The world slept while the Haitian people got slaughtered by their own government, Rashid said wistfully. I looked at him, and an eerie calm came over me. That's when I knew, that underneath it all, Rashid Montague, the Haitian-American guy from Atlanta, was a kindred spirit. His parents moved from Cap-Haitien, Haiti, to Atlanta, Georgia, in 1985. A year before the Duvalier regime ended. Although Rashid was born in Atlanta in 1987, the echoes of the troubling events both in his parents lives and their ancestral homeland helped define his character. 

I am the son of refugees and I know that unless we stop evil it will prevail, Rashid said with conviction. My heart leapt when those words left his lips. Rashid is indeed a kindred spirit. How I wished the Arab Christian guys I knew in Ottawa had his kind of power and conviction. Most of them are completely apathetic to the plight of Christians in predominantly Muslim areas like Afghanistan, Syria and Egypt. The President of Lebanon is a Christian and for now, Lebanese Christians enjoy some power and stability, but if and when the Lebanese Muslim majority rises against them, they're fucked. Lebanese Christians would find themselves alone, surrounded by hostile and predominantly Muslim neighbors on all sides. I pray this never happens.

I smiled at Rashid and, for some reason, my hand went to his face. I gently stroked his cheek. You're just like me, I said. Rashid stared at me, confusion in his handsome face. Just as he was about to speak, the waiter, noticing our empty plates, came with the bill. Rashid looked at the waiter and smiled. I got this Miss Hassan, he grinned. I rolled my eyes at him in mock-anger. The name is Marian, I laughed. We left the restaurant shortly after, and enjoyed a nice walk around the neighborhood before going our separate ways. This was interesting, Rashid said. I nodded, and gave him a hug. Let's see each other real soon, I whispered into his ear. Judging by the kilometer-wide ( sorry Americans, us Canadians don't do miles ) grin on his face, I could tell Rashid felt the same way.

I went to my car, and sat there for a long moment, thinking about the afternoon events. I laughed, even as, surprisingly, the tears I hadn't even realized I'd been blinking back flooded my cheeks. Wow, one date/outing/whatever-it-is with Rashid and I'm already turning into Mushy Woman. Must be his brand of Haitian magic. My phone buzzed, snapping me out of yet another reverie, and I smiled when I saw I had a text message from Rashid. I had a wonderful time Miss Hassan and I hope you get home safe, it read. I smiled and nodded. See you real soon Mister Montague, I wrote back.

I drove home with a big smile on my face. The following Saturday, Rashid and I hung out at the Memorial City Hall, with little Yasmin in tow. His cousin Shirley was working and couldn't look after her. I'd been meaning to ask Rashid about Yasmin's mother, but sensed that the time hadn't yet come. This was our second outing, and I wasn't about to cross any boundaries. I wanted to show Rashid and little Yasmin the best of me, especially after my semi-meltdown in that restaurant the other day.

Want some ice cream? I asked Yasmin, whose pretty little face had been pouting all afternoon. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and she smiled. Yes please Miss Hassan, she said, in the same tone she usually used in class. I smiled at her and gently rubbed her little head, then looked at her handsome Daddy. If that's okay with you, I said with a smile, hoping I hadn't overstepped my bounds. As a real go-getter, it's one of those things I sometimes do without meaning to. Rashid looked at me, then at Yasmin and smiled. Thank the nice lady sweetie, he said, picking Yasmin up and kissing her on the cheek.

I looked at them, then paid for three scones. We got on our way. As we reached the escalators, I almost bumped into a little old white lady. You have a beautiful family, she said, looking at me, then at Rashid and Yasmin. Um, I began, but she was already done, marching down the escalator with surprising speed for someone so old. I looked at Rashid and Yasmin, and smiled. Guess we throw that kind of vibe eh? I said with a shrug. Rashid smiled but said nothing. Hugging Yasmin tightly, he joined me on the escalator.

The rest of the afternoon flew by quick, and I wished Yasmin and Rashid a good night. I had papers to correct, and I was working on my application to the University of Houston Law School. I called them and found out that my LSAT scores from Ontario, Canada, were considered valid in Texas. I wouldn't have to redo the whole thing like I dreaded. LSAT courses aren't cheap, some go for seven hundred dollars for a session. I only make seventeen dollars per hour and work ten-hour days as a substitute teacher. I quit my job at McDonalds because, well, I hated it. If I stayed there, dealing with bitchy customers and irate co-workers, I would have killed somebody.

As we reached the parking lot, I hugged Yasmin and Rashid, and wished them goodnight. Thanks for everything, I said, and gently kissed Rashid on the cheek. Taking out my camera phone, I took a snapshot of him and Yasmin. The big and tall brother blinked in surprise, but smiled and nodded. I walked to my car, waved them goodbye and drove away. I headed straight to my father's house, and for once, I didn't see him or Shanice on the premises. The place was empty, or so I thought.

I sat in the living room, smoking a Menthol and relaxing. I must admit, I had fun at the mall with Rashid and Yasmin. Right up to the moment when that little old white lady commented on our little 'family'. I took my iPhone from my pocket and looked at the last picture I took, Rashid standing tall with his daughter Yasmin in his arms. So cute, I whispered, to none but myself. Imagine my surprise when a feminine voice jolted me out of my little pre-nap smoke.

No smoking allowed in this house, said Shanice's all-too-familiar voice, shocking the bejesus out of me. I whirled around and stared at her. There she was, the woman who stole my father's heart, clad in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Hi Shanice, I said. She smiled icily, then pointed to my cigarette. I told her I was almost done with it. Hands on her hips, Shanice told me to put it out. It's my father's house, I countered, knowing how lame that sounded, even to my ears. Shanice moved swiftly, and in a flash she stood right in front of me. It's my home too, she said indignantly.

I looked at her, smiled and put out the cigarette after one last puff. You finally decided to fight back, I grinned. Shanice glared at me. Like it or not your father and I are getting married young lady, she said evenly. I looked Shanice up and down. I see the kitty has claws, hmmm. Shanice sat next to me unbidden, and we looked each other dead in the eye. Look I don't want a war with you I just don't want my father to get hurt, I said with a shrug.

Shanice rolled her eyes, a gesture that irked me. Joseph Hassan was a wreck when he came to Houston from Ottawa, she said, licking her lips. I frowned at her. Of course you helped put him back together, I said testily. Shanice nodded. I waited for the next volley, but it never came. Instead of the snide remarks or verbal barrage I expected, Shanice looked at me, an odd tenderness creeping into her ageless, beautiful face. I knew that man would be the love of my life since I first laid eyes on him, Shanice said, her eyes growing moist.

Shanice went on to describe how she met my Dad at the Houston Public Library, a few years back. A native of Houston, Shanice sensed right away that the tall, dark-haired and Mediterranean-looking man in the Ottawa Senators jersey wasn't from around these parts. You must be from Canada, those were my first words to my dear Joe, Shanice said, a tear pearling in her right eye. I looked at her and shook my head. The tall, statuesque black woman carries herself like a lioness day in and day out. I never imagined that she had such a spot for anyone, let alone my dear old Dad.

You really do love him, I said, staring at Shanice. Quietly, she nodded. I love Joseph Hassan more than I can say. I looked at Shanice, and gently touched her arm. I'm sorry I misjudged you, I said, then gave her a hug. Shanice hugged me back, and next thing I knew, we were laughing and crying. Yup, two women as dissimilar as the two of us, united in our love for my father. What did we do next? A round session of gal talk, while watching an old episode of Friends. My tomboy credentials are seriously questionable after this episode, but I'm glad it happened. I wouldn't say that Shanice and I are suddenly BFFs but we're cool now.

I even told her about my growing feelings for Rashid Montague and his daughter Yasmin, my pupil at a certain elementary school. This is highly inappropriate, Shanice laughed. I looked at her, smiled and shrugged. I showed her the picture I took of Rashid and Yasmin, currently serving as my wallpaper on my phone's screen. They're both beautiful Shanice noted, then she asked me about Rashid, and I told her how we met, what we discussed, and how I felt when I'm around him. It's not easy dating a single Dad with a headstrong daughter, Shanice said in a warning tone, winking at me. Tell me about it, I sighed, then we both laughed. 

I didn't head home that night, I slept in the guest house, while Shanice slept upstairs. My father was away on a conference and returned the next morning. He was quite surprised to see Shanice and I having breakfast and watching TV together, since we haven't always gotten along. We understand each other, I later told Dad, and wished him and Shanice the best. We then we went to church together, just like a real family. Something I hadn't had in a long time. My eyes were moist as we exited the church, two and a half hours later. God bless you both, I said, then hugged Shanice and Dad. Then I left.

When I returned to school the next day, I found out from the principal that Monday would be my last day at San Giacomo Elementary. Apparently, Ms. Jennifer Peel, the gal I'd been subbing for these past few weeks was coming back. That's good now I can focus on my law school application, I said to the principal, who nodded understandingly. Inside, though, I was crumbling. Without realizing it, I'd grown attached to this school, and my students. The thought of not seeing their little faces tomorrow morning simply killed me. That last day at school was a blur. I tried to remember every corner of the classroom, every individual student's face, every little thing that made them unique. I looked at Yasmin, who waved at me happily. Dear God, the thought of not seeing her again hurt me most of all...

When the school day ended, I waited patiently for the parents to come pick up their sons and daughters. Yasmin stood by my side, hugging my leg as I gently touched her hair. We watched the throng of parents approach. One by one they came. A plump black lady in a UPS uniform, a white woman in a nurse uniform, an Asian guy in Khakis, a pair of blonde-haired older women with matching tattoos and skirts, i.e. the local lesbian mothers, a young black man in leather with badly dyed purple hair...all those people were here to pick up their brats. I looked from one face to another, until I saw...him. Rashid Montague, clad in a red T-shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots.

Hello angel, Rashid said, holding his arms wide open. Daddy, Yasmin cried out happily, and rushed to him. Father and daughter embraced, and Rashid gently kissed his daughter on the forehead. Then he looked at me. Hello Miss Hassan, Rashid smiled. With Yasmin in his arms he stepped toward me. I smiled at him. Hello Rashid, I said, and gently kissed him on the lips. Our first kiss, and it was little more than a five-second peck. Rashid grinned at me. Sweet lips you got there Miss Lebanon, he laughed.

I looked at him, and forced a brave smile. Today is my last day at this school, I said, looking Rashid in the eye. Rashid's eyes widened in shock. Whoa, he said. I shrugged, resisting the urge to take a cigarette from my pocket. I smoke when I'm stressed, that's about it. And I'm definitely not going to smoke in front of little Yasmin here. You're going away Miss Hassan? Yasmin asked, her voice hesitant, her pretty little face frowning. This just broke my heart. I'm sorry darling, I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

When I started to cry, so did Yasmin. Great, I've never been the type of woman who cries in public. I'm a former high school and university wrestler, for crying out loud. And yet, the sight of this little angel weeping because she missed me broke my heart. Gently, Rashid put his arm around me. We'll be just fine, he said, hugging Yasmin and me. I looked at him, and nodded. Somehow, I believed him. Don't ask.

In spite of everything I tried, the school board refused to hire me on a permanent basis. You need a teacher's certification to become a teacher in the State of Texas. I'm just a very smart gal with a bachelor's degree...from Canada. I'm lucky to have made it this far as a substitute teacher, that's what I was told. Even though Canadian college and university degrees are just as valid as American ones due to the similarities of our institutions, there's a reluctance to hire us. And that's a damn shame.

Suddenly out of work, I had more time on my hands. I began spending more time with Rashid and Yasmin. We went to the movies, and restaurants together. Rashid and I have grown really close in these trying yet wonderful days. I couldn't find much work as a substitute teacher in Houston, so I decided to work as a manager at Wal-Mart and apply to law school. I sent applications to three schools, the University of Houston, the University of Texas and finally, the Thurgood Marshall Law School at Texas Southern University. Keep your fingers crossed for me babe, I told Rashid as I dropped the stamped letters in the mailbox.

You worry too much, Rashid told me, pulling me close and planting a hot, wet kiss on my lips. We were at his place, a modest three-bedroom apartment in Houston's Fannin Street sector. The apartment buildings in this area are really pricy, but Rashid told me he got a good deal from his landlord. Wow, I was impressed. With Yasmin staying with aunty Shirley, Rashid and I had the house to ourselves. We sat on the couch, making out while that old Eddie Murphy flick Boomerang played on BET.

I've wanted you for so long, Rashid whispered into my ear as his hands roamed all over me. I grinned and licked his lips, then climbed on top of him. I haven't been with a man in ages, I confessed, as I unbuttoned Rashid's shirt, exposing his hairy, muscular chest. Rashid's big hands went to my buttocks, and gave them a tight squeeze. Hmmm. When he did that, I purred like a kitten. Off came my tank top and sweatpants, and I sat on Rashid's lap, in my boxers. You wear boxer shorts? Rashid laughed. I glared at him and smiled. Keep talking trash about my damn boxer shorts and I'll keep them on, I said through gritted teeth.

My bad sweetie, Rashid laughed, and I grinned as he held his hands up in mock surrender. Taking those big hands of his, I placed them on my breasts. Rashid gently caressed and squeezed them, and then began sucking on them. Pushing me down on the couch, Rashid licked my tits, flicking his tongue over the areolas while his hand slid from my chest to my round belly, and finally my pelvic area. Rashid's magic hand slipped into my boxers, and his agile fingers wormed their way into my hairy, wet and neglected pussy. I gasped as he worked two fingers into my cunt.

Relax babe, Rashid said, and kissed me before he resumed tonguing my tits. I nodded, and tried to relax as Rashid worked his magic on me. He kissed a path from my breasts to my belly, and finally the space between my thighs. Be gentle with me Rashid, I warned quietly. Rashid nodded, then he pulled down my boxer shorts. Slowly, gently, Rashid began licking my pussy. I shuddered as he flicked his wicked tongue over my clitoris while sliding his fingers into my cunt. Oh shit, I moaned. Laughing, Rashid winked at me and continued what he was doing. Soon Rashid had me howling in pleasure, as his tongue action set me on fire down below.

A few minutes later, I was fully recovered from the oral whammy Rashid laid on me and ready to return the favor. I feasted my eyes on his big and tall, sexy dark-skinned body as my delicious Haitian-American stud stripped for me. I went straight for his dick. Grasping his cock, which was of average length but very thick, I gently took it into my mouth. I noticed that Rashid was uncircumcised. I had heard about guys like that but had never come across one. Interesting. I smiled and began sucking his dick with gusto. Hey, at least now I know he wasn't lying about being a non-Muslim. 

You've got a delicious dick, I told Rashid, in between licks. He winked at me and gave me the thumbs up. Grinning, I resumed sucking his dick, gently massaging his balls as I did so. Soon I had him groaning and moaning. Oh damn, Rashid grunted, and I knew right then and there that he was close to blowing his load. So what did I do? I continued sucking his dick like there was no tomorrow and when Rashid finally came, I swallowed every last drop. His knees buckled, and he groaned and grunted like a madman. Hot damn it woman, Rashid said, grinning. I smiled and winked at him. That all you got? I teased.




Mariam and Rashid in Texas



A few moments later, Rashid and I took our fun from the couch to the floor. I want to take you on all fours babe, Rashid grinned, patting my ample derriere. Grinning, I assumed the position. Face down and ass up that's the way I like to fuck, I said, in my best East Coast accent. Laughing, Rashid got behind me and rolled a condom on his hard dick before sliding it into my love tunnel. Gripping my wide hips tightly, Rashid smacked my big butt and began fucking me with deep, powerful strokes. Just the way I like it. We fucked and sucked the night away. 

Honestly, I lost count of how many positions we tried. After fucking on the carpet, Rashid and I took it to the kitchen and there, he bent me over the counter, smacked my ass and rammed his dick into me like there was no tomorrow. I got a deliciously naughty idea while we were going at it doggy-style. Butter me up and fuck me in the ass, I told Rashid. You should have seen the look on his face when I said that. Dude looked stunned!

Sounds like a plan, Rashid grinned, and applied butter on his dick before lubricating my ass with it. Then he pressed his dick against my butt hole. Gently, he pushed it inside. Go slow, I warned, and as Rashid shoved his dick up my butt, I kind of, um, farted. Yes, you read right. I think I would have died of embarrassment right then and there, but Rashid laughed it off. Your butt is sexy and dangerous, he laughed, smacking my ass. Sorry, I said sheepishly, then burst out laughing. 

A minute later, we were at it again, this time with no mishaps. Lucky for me I showered an hour before, and Rashid was really patient with me. He worked most of his dick up my butt hole, no small feat considering how thick his dick was. We established a nice, easy rhythm as we fucked and it was kind of nice. While Rashid fucked my butt hole, I fingered my pussy. No, I didn't experience an orgasm but the feeling of fullness in my backseat was oh so wonderful. I found myself crying out in pleasure mixed with deliciously hot pain and begging Rashid for more. Finally, he pulled out of me. I winced as I saw him take the condom off his dick. It was, um, a different color from when it went in.

Rashid noticed the look on my face, and grinned. You're beautiful and I can't get enough of you babe, he said, then he kissed me. I kissed him back passionately, and hugged him tightly. We went back to my room where we fell, exhausted, on my unkempt bed. Yup, it was our first night of love and Rashid and I did just about everything. We definitely made up for lost time. Sex changes everything in a relationship, but that depends on what kind of relationship you had to begin with. Rashid and I care for each other deeply, so sex strengthens our bond rather than weakening it. I can't get enough of that man.

The following weekend, I introduced my beloved new boyfriend, Rashid Montague, and his daughter, Yasmin, to my father, Joseph Hassan, and his bride-to-be Shanice Jackson. We all met for breakfast and attended church on Sunday, followed by a family dinner. All in all, everything went well. What a wonderful, blended family we've got. We've got Lebanese, Haitian, Canadian and African-American, all under one roof. Wow. Only in America, land of opportunity. As a Lebanese-Canadian woman, it's not easy for me to admit, but there, I frigging said it. 

I've got even more good news, ladies and gentlemen. Don't leave us just yet. I didn't get into the University of Texas, or the University of Houston, but I did get accepted at Texas Southern University's Thurgood Marshall Law School. A predominantly African-American institution that's nationally ranked and internationally famous. Know what this means? My boo Rashid and I are going to be classmates. I'm still doing the substitute teacher thing in the Houston Public School System. The principal at Yasmin's school told me they might have a permanent position opening up soon. I won't hold my breath but here's to keeping hope alive, you know? I now know why I came to America. I found the family I had lost, and so much more. Rashid and I recently got engaged, and we're planning on a summer wedding. Why the rush? Let's just say that Yasmin's going to have to get over her bratty ways real soon because she's got a sibling on the way. Wish us luck!



Mariam Hanaffi Buys A Strap-on!



Let's do this, I thought to myself as I knocked on my boyfriend Jean-Bernard Guillot's door. My heart went pitter-patter when the door swung open and a tall, good-looking young Black man greeted me with a smile on his face. I smiled back and gave J.B. a hug and a kiss, then he welcomed me inside his apartment. Time to get this show on the road, I thought.

My name is Mariam Hanaffi and I'm a young Somali-Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study criminology at Carleton University, where I met my sexy and wonderful Haitian boyfriend J.B. He's a civil engineering student with a passion for African history and culture. Together we run the African Unity Center, a group for students who are passionate about all things African. J.B. are amazing together, in just about every way that you can think of.

Last week, J.B. and I made love for the first time, and it was absolutely amazing. Since then, J.B. and I can't keep our hands off of each other. Seriously. The other day, we were studying together in the campus library's third floor and that's when we started making out and the urge basically took us. J.B. and I went to a secluded spot in the maintenance building and got our freak on, away from prying eyes.

J.B. sat me down on an old, dusty table, and told me he wanted to lick my pussy. I hiked up my long, traditional Islamic skirt and yanked down my crimson panties, then showed J.B. what I was working with. The sexy Haitian brother buried his face between my thick legs and licked my sweet Somali pussy like there was no tomorrow.

Soon J.B. had me squealing and moaning as he teased my cunt with his tongue and fingers, and I couldn't get enough of his magic touch. Later, I returned the favor by kneeling before my favorite tall, handsome Haitian stud and working my magic on his dick. I love sucking dick, and unlike a lot of girls out there, I am actually good at it, folks.

When J.B. came, rather loudly I might add, I eagerly drank every last drop of his precious cum. My Haitian stud sighed happily, then told me he wanted to fuck me. I shook my head sadly, for neither of us had condoms or lubricant on us. I prefer anal sex to vaginal sex because I feel very, very little in my cunt due to undergoing genital mutilation in the name of archaic tradition at the hands of the women of my family/clan during a trip to Somalia a long time ago. I get way more out of anal sex and have come to prefer it for this reason. What can I say? I am the type of chick who likes to roll with the punches, ladies and gentlemen.

Jean-Bernard and I snuck out of the maintenance building and went back to the campus library. J.B. was kind of frustrated, even though he didn't say anything and I promised him that I would make it up to him. That's the main reason why I showed up impromptu at his apartment that day, folks. I wanted to surprise my man and give him something really special.

Translation? I, Mariam Hanaffi, the most pious, conservatively attired, Hijab-wearing and Koran-quoting Somali Muslim sister in all the land, went to the adult video store on Rideau Street and got a few things. When I showed Jean-Bernard Guillot, my sweet J.B. what I brought home from my special shopping trip, the Haitian brother was grinning from ear to ear, folks.

J.B. and I got down in dirty, in his bedroom this time. Last time, we barely made it to his living room and we kind of made a mess on his living room carpet. Anal sex can get so damn messy sometimes, I swear. Well, this time we were prepared. Before Jean-Bernard and I tried anal sex for the second time, I cleaned up in his washroom with soap and water, and we both got properly lubricated before beginning.

I got on the bed, face down and thick ass up, and J.B. got behind me and kissed my thick Somali derriere, lathering it up with his tongue and showering my posterior with sweet kisses. Like the majority of Black men, J.B. loves a big ass and the Haitian brother is seriously into ass worship. Doesn't bother me because it's something which I absolutely enjoy, seriously.

I found myself moaning in ecstasy as J.B. worked his tongue into my asshole after prying my thick Somali ass cheeks wide open. Hungrily Jean-Bernard ate my asshole, as if it were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. I cried out in pleasure, and begged J.B. to fuck me. The Haitian stud didn't need to be told twice. Happily he pressed his hard dick against my well-lubed asshole, and pushed it inside. I sighed happily as I felt Jean-Bernard's dick enter my asshole. Gripping my wide hips, J.B. began working his dick into my asshole. I welcomed the pleasure and the pain, craving the feel of his dick in my ass. I found myself crying out and begging J.B. for more!

Ass fucking is a hot, intimate and wicked sex act and there's nothing else in the damn universe that can compare to it, seriously. J.B. and I went at it for a while, then he came and pulled out of me. I tried sucking Jean-Bernard's dick and bringing it back to life but my booty had apparently slain him for the moment. Oh, well. What's a gal to do? I wanted some more anal sex and since J.B. couldn't fuck me, I thought I'd fuck him for a change!

It definitely took some coaxing and pleading, but I convinced Jean-Bernard, the macho Afro-centric brother from the island of Haiti to let me, his sweet and kinky Somali Muslim girlfriend, fuck him up the ass with the new strap-on dildo I bought at the adult video store on Rideau Street. I put J.B. on all fours, told him to spread that ass for me, and lubricated him, then pressed my dildo against his backdoor. gripping Jean-Bernard's hips, I entered him with one swift thrust.

J.B. moaned and groaned as I fucked him up the ass with the strap-on dildo, and at times he cried and complained like a little bitch. I had fun, though. You have to understand that as a Somali woman, one hailing from the Islamic patriarchal social structure, dominating a man sexually is a long time fantasy of mine. Now, thanks to J.B. my ultimate fantasy was coming true. I happily fucked J.B. and made him say my name as I filled his ass with my strap-on dildo, and it was fucking glorious!

Jean-Bernard and I hit the showers after, and I promised him I'd help him with laundry costs since his bed sheets got messy thanks to me. We had a lot of fun together, though. J.B. told me that he liked my dominant side, and this was music to my ears. Female dominance is considered haram in Islam, and that's a damn shame. Good thing my boyfriend J.B. is a liberal Christian and he lets me do what I want, in and out of the bedroom. I love this young man and cherish our time together. Wish us luck!



Mariam Hanaffi Does Anal!



What's up, folks? My name is Jean-Bernard Guillot but my friends call me J.B. I'm a young Black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study civil engineering at Carleton University. It's where I met criminology student and fellow Afro-centric social activist Mariam Hanaffi of Somalia, the young Muslim woman who changed my life. We met while I was recruiting people for my new club, the African Unity Center, and Mariam Hanaffi and I simply clicked even though we came from different worlds.

Man, if someone told me a few months ago that a card-carrying Haitian-Canadian Christian guy like myself would fall in love with a Muslim chick from Somalia, I would have laughed. Now look at me. Seriously. Mariam Hanaffi and I are simply inseparable and I honestly wouldn't have it any other way, folks. I can't get enough of my foxy Somali sweetheart, and I mean this in every way you can think of, and then some.

Mariam Hanaffi changed my life, ladies and gentlemen. The tall, dark-skinned and curvy, deliciously big-bottomed Somali Muslim gal simply rocks my world. At the time we met, I was going through some things. I'd just ended a relationship with a certain Persian lady I'd been seeing, and felt quite jaded toward the opposite sex and relationships in general. Females know how to fuck you up, man. It's like when you're good to them, they can't stand it and have to do something to piss you off. I dropped the Persian bitch, but not before some serious heartache. 

I'm one of those brothers who considers himself open-minded as far as dating ladies of other races go. I've always been somewhat of an oddball in the Haitian community anyways, so it's not like the Haitian sisters missed me when I started to date white girls, Asian girls and so on. The Persian gal ruined it for these other races of females because I decided to go back to black. I'm back in black like the song says, and not a moment too soon.

Seriously, had I known that Somali women were this passionate in bed, I would have tried one a LONG time ago, folks. Of course, Mariam Hanaffi is the only one of those lovely East African Muslim ladies that I've been with thus far, and the Somali cutie is definitely a handful. I mean this in the most flattering and respectful way possible, of course. 

Last night, Mariam and I came home from the movies, and let me tell you, the gal definitely laid her unique brand of magic on me, folks. Mariam simply grabbed me and started kissing me, and I didn't dare resist. I kissed Mariam back passionately, and we didn't even make it to the bedroom. Nope, we got down and dirty right there on my living room floor, and it was definitely one for the ages.

First, Mariam kissed me from my head to my toes, then she grabbed my long and thick, uncircumcised Haitian dick and sucked it with gusto while massaging my big hairy balls gently. I sighed in pleasure as Mariam pleasured me, and when I warned out that I was about to cum, the lady simply winked at me and continued what she was doing.

Mariam can suck a mean dick, folks. I bet you never thought you'd hear that said about one of them Hijab-wearing, long-skirted and Koran-quoting Somali Muslim girls you see on the OC Transpo bus or on the streets of Ottawa, eh? Well, now you know. Mariam licked my dick and sucked on my balls, causing me to moan and writhe in pleasure. Seriously, I didn't know that Little Miss Somalia got down like that, for real.

Mariam sucked me off until I came, and when I did, the gorgeous Somali cutie surprised me by drinking up every last drop of my cum. Watching her lick my sperm turns me on like you would not believe. When Mariam finished licking me off, the gal winked at me and asked me if there was more where that came from. I looked into Mariam's dark, lovely eyes and saw lust and mischief there. What do you think I said to her?

Mariam and I continued with our fun, and we began making love in earnest. I laid my thick, wonderfully curvy Somali cutie on the carpeted floor of my living room, and went to work on her. The sight of Mariam Hanaffi, lying stark naked with her legs spread before me thrilled me like you would not believe. I kissed my sweetie's lips, then sucked on her breasts before making my way to the space between her legs.

Mariam sharply drew her breath as I buried my face between my legs and I looked into her eyes and saw some nervousness there. Mariam explained to me that she was a bit different down below, due to some barbaric things that were done to her by the women of her family/clan in Somalia. Due to that unpleasant bit of business, Mariam feels quite self-conscious about her womanhood, but I assured her that I found her lovely and would do my best to pleasure her. I considered it a challenge, I guess.

With that being said, I smiled and told Mariam to relax, then I went to work on her. I inhaled the hot, womanly scent of Mariam's pussy, then began to lick and probe her cunt with my tongue and fingers. I licked Mariam's pussy like there was no tomorrow, tasting every taste, delighting in the smell of her, and taking my sweet time savoring every sensation. Finally, as I pleasured her, the tension went out of Mariam and she began to relax and enjoy herself. A world of woman opened up to me, and I delighted in exploring it.

Mariam Hanaffi cried out and I watched as she moaned and writhed in orgasmic delight. Truly a wonderful thing to behold. Afterwards, we got our freak on. I put Mariam on all fours, and admired her big, round ass. Gently I caressed Mariam's big Somali ass and lightly spanked it, then at her urging, I began fucking her. I wanted to get into her pussy but Mariam had other ideas. 

Winking at me, Mariam pointed to the lotion on the nearby table. Dumbly I looked at the bottle of Aloe cream, then at Mariam. What did my lady love want with that? Mariam groaned in frustration, and told me that anal sex without lubrication simply doesn't fly. I smiled at Mariam and nodded, then grabbed the bottle of lotion and made good use of it. Rubbing my hard dick, I pressed it against Mariam's butt, and the lady grinned and welcomed me inside of her.

How to describe the feel of Mariam Hanaffi's well-lubricated yet still tight asshole around my dick? It was simply amazing. Gripping her wide hips, I worked my dick into Mariam's asshole, which was wonderfully warm and tight, and the lady ground her big butt against my groin, driving me deeper inside of her. Mariam cried softly and urged me to fuck her ass harder. As if a horny brother like me needed any encouragement. I thrust my dick deep into her asshole, and Mariam's screams of passion mingled with my own.

With the viselike pressure of Mariam's tight butt hole gripping my dick, it didn't take me long to cum and when I did, I shouted like a madman. Mariam moaned deeply then shrieked as I came inside of her. We shouted in unison, then lay on top of each other in the living room, kind of exhausted and dirty, but happy as can be. Mariam Hanaffi shot me a wicked grin, and we kissed, then headed to the showers.

As you can see, Mariam Hanaffi and I get along famously. When we're out together, people honestly tend to stare. There's a lot of Black folks in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, but you don't often see a Haitian brother with a Somali Muslim sister. We're from opposite sides of the world and hail from radically different cultures, ethnicities, nationalities and faiths. That doesn't stop Mariam and I, Jean-Bernard Guillot of Haiti, from being happy together, though. Love is love, folks. Fuck all the rest. Peace. 



Mariam Hanaffi Of Somalia



What's up dear readers? The name is Mariam Hanaffi and I'm a young Black woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I was born in the environs of Nepean, Ontario, but my family hails from the town of Mogadishu, Somalia. My brothers Ahmed and Ali and I were raised in Canada's Capital region. Until the day I die, I will forever be the daughter of two worlds. Canadian citizen, and Somali blood kin, inseparable and everlasting. 

I'm a Hijab-wearing, dark-skinned female in a world that worships skinny white girls, so it's definitely not easy for me as a Somali woman living in the Confederation of Canada. I'm five-foot-ten, curvy and chocolate-hued, with short Black hair that I always tuck under my Hijab. I wear traditional Islamic clothing, and this irks many Canadians. I'm just being open and honest here. Canada likes to present itself as a racially diverse, liberal and tolerant country and that's fantasy rather than reality for a lot of us. What do I mean by that? Please allow me to explain.

I was born and raised in Ontario, Canada's most populous region and I speak English and French fluently. I'm as much a Canadian citizen as Prime Minister Stephen Harper himself. Yet not a day goes by that some idiotic white person doesn't ask me where I come from. In the eyes of the white Canadian society, I'll always be the cultural other because of my skin color. And people wonder why so many Somali Canadians feel left out in Canada. 

I'm a criminology student at Carleton University, and the other day, I went to a meeting of like-minded students. The room was full of white students, with a few Asians and Arabs here and there. I was the only Black person besides this one other stocky Black dude there, and I felt totally left out. At this meet and greet, I was the odd woman out. I spoke to this Asian dude named William and he was cool, but everyone else just gave me the cold shoulder.

That's Canadian society for you. They talk a good game about diversity and inclusion, but they know how to make you feel like you don't belong, all without a single word. The country is becoming more racially diverse in part because white folks aren't making babies while the racialized people, we who are called Africans, Arabs, Latinos, Chinese, Hindus and others, are breeding like crazy. 

This fascinates me, to tell you the truth. I call it the revenge of the minority. We're changing Canada's demographics and this worries members of the Conservative party, hence the changing immigration rules. Too late if you ask me. Canada's major cities are already on their way to being mostly non-white, and the trend isn't changing anytime soon. I am proud of myself as a Somali-descended Black Canadian Muslim woman. If white Canadians don't like it, they can kiss my thick Somali ass, thank you very much.

In recent years, I've turned to my Somali culture and my Islamic faith for comfort in a world that's increasingly hostile to me. I wasn't raised in a very religious family. My father, Abdirahman Hanaffi didn't make us go to the mosque or anything. He's a very secular and liberal sort, after all. Ditto for my mother, Manal Hanaffi. They were too busy trying to keep a roof over the heads of my siblings and I to worry about other stuff.

I felt at odds with Canadian society and its hypocrisy. It's quite evident in the City of Ottawa, where a subtle but ever-present racism is always at work. Don't believe me? Watch out white folks, especially the middle-aged males, look at any well-dressed, confident Black person walking around the downtown core, the so-called business center. They'll look at you with your professional attire, your work ID hanging around your neck and the fact that you look like you know what you're doing bothers them.

I know exactly what's going on in their heads at this moment, folks. You're a threat to them if you're a person of color who's intelligent and even halfway ambitious. They hate you because you're probably smart and university-educated, and you might make more money than them, but you don't look like them. Welcome to Canada, folks. I can't stand these bigoted bozos, and I can't wait until the day comes when white people are no longer the super majority in Canada. I know I will see that day within my life. 

After all, white folks in North America have worse breeding habits than the Panda. Their populations are plummeting and they don't seem to notice. Good news for people like me, I guess. What can I do in the meantime? I educate myself, and not just in my studies at Carleton University. I read books by African and Afro-Caribbean writers, and learn about the world beyond what white academia deems right for me to know.

I also read books by Arab writers, for Arabian literature has a long and colorful history, even though much of the world is ignorant of it. That's what education is, the pursuit of knowledge. I also reach out to other intelligent people of color at school. There's bad blood between Somalis and Ethiopians because of religious and geopolitical issues. Somalis are predominantly Muslim and Ethiopians are for now a mostly Christian group. We've had many, many wars in the past and even today, Somalis and Ethiopians living in Canada and beyond don't like each other.

I'm not one of those dumb people who continue to do foolish things without learning from their mistakes. Canada has a growing Black population, and that worries a lot of people, including other minority groups that dislike or downright hate us. In the eyes of the bigots, it doesn't matter if you're Haitian, South African, Ghanaian, Ethiopian, Black Brazilian, Black British, African-American, or whatever. If you're Black, you're fair game to them because of your skin color and they hate you.

Why would I make the task of the racists easier by hating my own people? Black folks need to stop letting religious and cultural differences get in the way of unity, seriously. Those who hate us don't care about these things. They would wipe us all out if they could. Why make things easier for them by fighting our own? I thought I was the only Black person in the world who understood that, until I met Jean-Bernard Guillot.

Jean-Bernard, or "J.B." as he prefers to be called, is a six-foot-tall, lean and athletic, ruggedly handsome young Black man whom I met while walking through the Atrium at school. The fine, well-dressed brother approached me and asked me if he could have a minute of my time. I hesitated, then nodded. Something made me stop to listen to J.B. and I'm glad I did. For J.B. was inviting me to his new club, African Unity Center, and he and I became the founding executives. 

Jean-Bernard Guillot is a civil engineering student at Carleton University but honestly, the brother has a future as a civil rights lawyer or a human rights activist if you ask me. He's quite passionate about fighting injustice, especially racism and discrimination. I've never met a Black Christian man who was so respectful of Islam or so passionate about African unity. What can I say? I was quite taken with J.B. from the get go.

J.B. and I recruited quite a few Black students for the African Unity Center, and we got Haitians, Jamaicans and a few Nigerians in. Along with that obligatory bleeding hearts white liberal that likes to hang on in "Black" spaces. We're pro Black but not racist in any way, honest! Working together with J.B. for the club, I got to know him better, and I found the brother smart, sexy and charming. That's why, even though Jean-Bernard Guillot is a Christian and thus off-limits for me as a Muslim sister, I decided to claim him for myself. 

J.B. and I began dating, discretely at first because, well, Somalis gossip a lot and I didn't want people to find out about us until I was good and ready. Eventually, though, I stopped caring. It's my life. One day, as we walked out of the Silver City movie theater in the east end of Ottawa, J.B. pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I kissed J.B. back passionately, and a shock of lust coursed through me as he caressed my bum while his tongue slid down my throat.

Wow, I thought, smiling at J.B. after we shared our first kiss. Hand in hand we walked around, like a true couple. We sat on the bus together, just smiling at each other and talking. I'm a Somali Muslim sister who's fallen in love with a tall, fine-looking Haitian brother. Too bad he's a Christian. Perhaps I can convince J.B. to embrace Islam and maybe we'll be able to truly be together, you know? Do wish me luck, folks. I am going to need it.