The Hijab Hunter: My Wife

You'll never know what hit you, I thought to myself as I smiled at Yasmin Khaled as we sat together inside the Eaton Center food court in downtown Toronto, Ontario. We just had coffee, and the six-foot-tall, pretty Hijabi from Somalia broke her own rules first by holding my hand and second, by allowing me to kiss her. I mean to get her into bed as soon as possible. I chase Hijab-wearing chicks and I seduce them and sleep with them. Tis what I am all about. The name is Dylan Bertrand, but you may call me the Hijab Hunter.

Anyone looking at me would see a six-foot-three, lean and athletic young man with dark brown skin and stylish dreadlocks. I was born in the town of Mississauga, Ontario, to a Haitian immigrant father, Jacques Bertrand and a white Canadian mother, Muriel Tremblay. These days, I'm studying criminal justice at the University of Toronto, and hope to get into law school someday. When I'm not in class, I'm chasing Hijab-wearing chicks left and right. I got a thing for them, folks. I can't explain it. Lucky for me, quite often, they respond to my advances.

After breakfast, I took Yasmin Khaled to the movies, and we watched The Hunger Games. Not my kind of movie. I'm more of a Divergent fan, but you got to keep the ladies happy if you want to get within even sniffing distance of their goodies. Ironically, Yasmin and I met at the movies, four weeks ago. You see, lots of Hijab-wearing Muslim chicks go to the movies with their female friends and look enviously at "normal" girls who are at the movies with their boyfriends. I like to capitalize on that.

You have to understand that a woman is a woman, regardless of religion or culture. All women want a guy who cares, and wants to take care of them. A lot of people tend to forget that Hijab-wearing Muslim girls are, well, women, when dealing with them. They think of them as another species altogether. With their myriad rules and codes of conduct, the Muslim ladies certainly don't make it easy for themselves.

Guys simply don't approach them because they think all a Muslim gal who wears the Hijab wants to do is pray and get married, that's it. They oversimplify these lovely Muslim ladies and deny both their womanhood and their very humanity. They don't think these ladies want to be wined and dined ( figure of speech about the wine part ) and dated and romanced and all that jazz. And that's their loss if you ask me. I treat a Hijab-wearing Muslim gal like I would any woman. With respect, and charm, and wit. The results are usually impressive. Treat a woman right and she'll usually treat you in kind. Doesn't take a bloody genius to figure that one out, eh?

Anyhow, where was I? Oh yes, dear reader. I was about to tell you about how I met Yasmin Khaled, the tall, curvaceous and sinfully sexy yet innocent-looking Somali Hijabi. I was coming out of the movies, on the prowl as usual, when I saw some chubby older white dude shove his way past the lady in question, actually bumping her pretty hard, judging by the way she rubbed her elbow afterwards.

I'm no angel and heaven knows I like to lie, cheat, steal and sleep around but one thing I don't do is hurt the female of the species. It takes a special kind of brutish son of a bitch to do that and, well, that's not me. Not by a long shot. In a display of chivalry, I went after the old white dude and confronted him for bumping the lady, and he looked at me, saw that I was an angry young black male, and mumbled an apology, lest I kick his tubby white ass.

After the tubby white bozo took off, I approached the Hijabi and asked her if she was okay, then I apologized to her for the dude's uncouth actions. The tall, pretty Somali gal with the angelic face smiled shyly at me and thanked me, then she asked me my name. Dylan Bertrand of Mississauga, I said, gently bowing my head. The lady folded her hands, nodded gracefully, and introduced herself as Yasmin Khaled. Thus we were formally introduced, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Yasmin Khaled and I come from different worlds, but we definitely had more in common than I would have thought. For starters, we're both biracial. I consider myself black because that's how I was raised but with my light brown skin, curly hair and pale brown eyes, I am often asked if I am mixed. I guess it's because I am technically mixed, but I embrace my blackness.

The lovely Miss Yasmin Khaled was born in the environs of Ajax, Ontario, to a Somali immigrant father, Ali Khaled, and Karen "Khadija" Vincent-Khaled, a white Canadian mother who converted to the religion of Islam. I had honestly never heard of a Somali Muslim man marrying a white Canadian woman. From what I know of them, the Somali community pretty much shuns all others. Somalis usually marry other Somalis, or they marry Arabs on occasion. Yasmin definitely got the best of both worlds if you ask me. The gal was simply lovely. With her angelic face and sweet eyes, Yasmin tends to make my heart skip a beat when she looks my way. If I'm not careful, I could fall in love with her. Falling in love is the one thing I don't do.

Look, I hate to sound jaded or whatever but falling in love is for suckers. At least that's what I thought, until it happened to me. Yasmin and I were walking around Mississauga one afternoon when I slipped and fell, and twisted my ankle. It even got bloody. Yasmin screamed and looked at my bloody foot with concern on her pretty face. I assured her I'd be okay, and then I passed out because, well, I had accidentally hurt myself much worse than I thought.

I woke up at the hospital, and found a white female doctor and Yasmin Khaled looking at me. Welcome back, Yasmin said with a smile on her face. I looked at her, then quickly figured out where I was and what happened. The doctor filled in the blanks and told me that I was lucky to be alive. Apparently, I'd passed out not because of the twisted ankle and leg scratch but due to high blood pressure. A condition I hadn't even known I had. What the fuck?

Your lady friend here probably saved your life, the doctor said, smiling at Yasmin Khaled, then at me. I smiled at Yasmin, who held my hand, and the tall Somali Hijabi kissed me on the lips the moment the good doctor left the room. Don't ever scare me like that again, Yasmin whispered, and I saw tears in her lovely eyes. I smiled at her, and my heart skipped a beat, and then, I kissed her back and promised her I'd be good.

Man, that's how the bitch got me! Like, six months after that incident, I got converted to Islam and starting going to mosque every Friday. Yasmin Khaled introduced me to her people, and they were cool, and my parents actually liked her. Next thing I know, I'm engaged to her. Like, all I wanted was to bang the hell out of Yasmin Khaled's thick and round, majestic Somali booty and get to stepping but I actually went and fell in love.

The first time Yasmin Khaled and I made love, I got hooked. I was still on crutches, and sat in my apartment living room while Yasmin cooked in my tiny little kitchen. Except that when she came back into the living room, I forgot all about the new episode of Supernatural which I was watching, and my jaw actually hit the floor.

For Yasmin Khaled stood before me, her long Islamic dress gone, her womanly body bare, save for her Hijab. Hello sexy, Yasmin whispered, and gestured for me to come to her. I went to her like a moth to the proverbial flame. We kissed, and then began making love, right there on my ancient couch. Passion, folks. It makes you not give a fuck about anything other than fucking.

I kissed Yasmin's full lips, then sucked on her large, firm breasts. I flicked my wicked tongue over the areolas of her tits, and then licked my way to her cunt. I spread Yasmin's shapely thighs and inhaled the scent of her hairy pussy, then went downtown. I licked her pussy with gusto, taking my sweet time while pleasuring her and teasing her.

Yasmin cried out in pleasure as I licked and fingered her cunt, and when she came, I lapped up all of her hot girly cum with my hungry mouth. Yasmin tasted oh so good, folks. Afterwards, I put my sexy tall Somali Hijabi on all fours, gave her big booty a light spanking which made her laugh, and then I eased my dick into Yasmin's cunt.

The lady's cunt was warm and tight, and Yasmin turned around, smiled and told me that I was her first. Nodding, I smiled at her and thanked her for giving herself to me. Then I fucked her good and proper. I made Yasmin squeal in delight as I slammed my dick into her cunt. We went at it for hours, until we lay, exhausted, on my carpeted living room floor. I love you Yasmin, I whispered, and the gorgeous Somali gal smiled and kissed me.

It was our first time making love, Yasmin and I. Definitely one for the ages. Alright, I might as well fess up. Yasmin Khaled and I have a passionate relationship and we're actually quite happy together. The tall Somali Hijabi turned me into that smiling fool who shows up at his woman's job with flowers and shit. I swear, Yasmin got me hypnotized. We're getting married during Ramadan 2015. I freely admit that I'm pussy whipped, alright? Sheesh! Watch out for them Somali Hijab chicks, man. They'll make you believe two plus two equals five because Somali pussy is actually THAT good!