A Black Prince in England

In a past life, my name was Christine McCain. I was born in the City of London, England, to a family that didn't really practice any religion. My mother Abigail Rosenberg comes from a Jewish background and my father James McCain comes from a Christian background. By the time they had me, they were both Atheists. I attended Cambridge College for Business Administration studies, and that's when I met Aziz Muhammad, a tall and good-looking young Black man originally from the City of Jeddah in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. This handsome Muslim man changed my life and I fell madly in love with him. Aziz was born in Jeddah to a Saudi father and Senegalese mother. He's biracial, though like many people of partial African descent, he's a Black man in the eyes of the world.

Aziz Muhammad changed my life by introducing me to religion and to love. To him, Atheism was a truly vile concept. Even though he was raised in the most conservative society within the Muslim world, he told me he had much more respect for Christians and Jews than for Atheists because at least they believed in something. I didn't believe in God or Jesus Christ, nor did I believe in the prophet Mohammed or Allah. I didn't believe in Jehovah or Buddha either because to me, all religion seemed like nonsense. I looked down on all faiths, especially Christianity, Judaism and Islam. At the time that I met Aziz, I was dating a young woman named Kristin Dawson. I met Kristin at Cambridge College, where she was the President of the Gays, Lesbians and Bisexual Students Association on campus. This five-foot-ten, stocky woman with short red hair, piercing blue eyes and tattoos took my breath away.

Before I met Kristin Dawson, I dated this guy named Joel Sanchez, a handsome Mexican-born American student who came to Cambridge College from the University of Brandeis in the State of Massachusetts. My sexy Latin lover thrilled me sexually but I was curious about women and he wouldn't understand that. In Joel's eyes, homosexuality and lesbianism were wrong because of his strict Catholic upbringing. That's why I left him for Kristin Dawson. The first time I had sex with Kristin, the butch lesbian from Liverpool made me feel more alive than anyone ever has. We became an item, and I publicly dated her. I came out to my parents, and fully embraced my new identity as a lesbian. I became passionate about gay and lesbian politics. Whenever a gay or bisexual person on campus felt harassed or mistreated in some way, I was there to speak up for their rights. As a GLBT advocate, that was my job. Yup, I was passionate about my cause, my sexuality and the wonderful woman who changed my life.

They say that life can take some funny twists and turns, and you can never know for sure where you're going to end up. My third year at Cambridge College I met someone who changed my life forever. A six-foot-four, lean and athletic man with light brown skin, curly Black hair and golden brown eyes. Aziz Muhammad, the son of Saudi multi-millionaire Mustafa Muhammad and Senegalese-born Black British singer, lecturer and author Marina Camarra. The tall, dark and handsome young Black man was treated like royalty by all the Muslim students at Cambridge College. Now, as an openly gay female student who advocated for the rights of gays and lesbians as well as the cause of Atheism, I often clashed with the Muslim students on campus. Christian students will back down if an Atheist opposes putting up a Christmas tree on certain parts of campus, and Jewish students will back down if other students oppose the Israel Lobby, but Muslim students won't back down before anyone if you offend their religion. They'll come after you and in all likelihood, they'll get you. Trust me when I tell you that as a gay White female Atheist, I was terrified of Muslims. They had no respect for women's rights, or for any religion other than Islam, and they saw gays and lesbians as abominations in need of extermination. Yeah, we did not see eye to eye.

I was walking through the university center one morning when Aziz Muhammad walked up to me and offered me a flyer. It had to do with Islamic Awareness Week at Cambridge College, one of the most secular institutions of higher education in the City of London, England. I don't know what made me take the flyer. I looked into Aziz Muhammad's eyes, and what I saw there amazed me. I expected this tall dark-skinned Muslim guy from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to be cold, mean and condescending. He was polite and friendly, and he had kind eyes. When I asked him why he was giving me this, since I wore a button that said "challenge homophobia" on my shirt and I was clearly a gay woman, the Muslim guy smiled and told me that Allah loved all human beings, including the gays and lesbians of the world. Looking upward, he told me that we were all the offspring of the Most High. With a beautiful smile, he nodded and wished me a good day before walking away.

When I went home, I had a good look at the flyer and went online to look at the website listed on the paper. It showed a lot of interesting stuff. Tales of westerners who came to embrace Islam. A sixty-year-old White American woman who identified as a feminist left the feminist movement to embrace Islam. A Jewish woman who was once a captain in the Israeli Defense Forces embraced Islam. A bisexual White policeman from the City of Galway, Ireland, who once identified as a pro-LGBT, Atheist Irishman converted to Islam, married a woman from Yemen and was now studying to become an Imam. Wow. I wasn't expecting that. When Kristin came home, she found me on the website, still reading the testimonies left by Western reverts to Islam. My butch lesbian girlfriend wasn't amused, and she told me to get off the web. I did, because in our relationship, Kristin pretty much ran things.

I logged off the web, and that night, Kristin and I made love. As I lay on the bed, naked, with my legs spread, Kristin licked my pussy and thrust her fingers inside of me. I moaned, running my hands through her short, spiky red hair. I admired our reflections in the full-length mirror on the wall. We're so different, Kristin and I. she's tall and stocky, kind of masculine-looking in spite of having big tits, wide hips and a large behind. Me? I'm five-foot-four, slender, with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. People say that I remind them of that blonde actress from the American TV show Smallville. The one who played Superman's best friend. Yeah, people always stare when they see us together. I loved her, though. And she was really good to me, and terrific in bed too. Kristin finished pleasuring me, then donned her strap-on dildo. Winking at me, she told me to assume the position. Happily I did, getting on all fours.

Kristin spanked my arse for a bit before pushing her strap-on dildo into me, grabbing my hair as she did. I admired our reflections in the mirror, watching her as she fucked me. Kristin is loud and outspoken both in and out of the bedroom. In the lesbian community, she's what's known as a stone butch. Since we've been together, Kristin has explored every part of my body. She's fisted my cunt while buggering me in the ass with a dildo. She's hung me upside down while flogging me and sucking on my tits. However, she doesn't let me touch her pussy. I am not allowed to lick her pussy, or touch her. All she lets me do is hug and kiss her. However, I let her do anything she wants with me. She brings me enormous pleasure but lately, our relationship has hit a few snags. She fucked me really hard that night, making me squeal and cry tears of joy and pain as I came violently. Afterwards, Kristin wrapped her arms around me. She kissed me before falling asleep. As I lay in her arms, I thought of Aziz Muhammad...I wanted to see him again.

When I went to school the next day, as luck would have it, I ran into Aziz Muhammad. The handsome Afro-Arabian stud smiled at me and wished me a good day. I stopped him and told him that what I saw on the website amazed me. He grinned, and asked me to join him for breakfast. We grabbed sandwiches and coffee together at a small restaurant located right here on campus. As we ate and talked, I got to know Aziz a bit better. He told me that he had lived all over the world, from New York City in the U.S. to the Manaus region of Brazil. He loved life in Western societies, partly because he found life in Saudi Arabia too restrictive. I was amazed to hear a Muslim man say that, and Aziz told me that Saudi Arabia had to change, as did all things eventually. A dark look passed on his face as he told me of the racism he endured as the son of a Black mother and Arab father. Even his father's wealth couldn't shield him from that.

Aziz fixed me with that intense stare I would come to know and he told me that if he never saw Saudi Arabia again, it would be too soon. His whole life he felt trapped there. He never went a single day without being called "Abd" by an Arab guy or Arab lady. The word "abd" meant in Arabic what the N-word meant in the English language. Wow. That poor man! His words surprised me. He was definitely not what I expected. When I asked him why he felt that way, he told me that he was a young Muslim man who was tired of seeing his fellow Muslims do terrible things in the name of a God who was supposed to be loving and wholesome. Living in western society contaminated me, he told me with a laugh. I smiled at that. When he asked me if I wanted to be Facebook friends, I did him one better. I gave him my number. Then I gave him a brief hug as I had to leave for my next class. Aziz smiled and wished me well, then he departed. And that's how it all began. Over the next few weeks, Aziz and I would meet at school or at spots near school and we'd have dinner together and talk. We had a mutual fascination thing going on.

Aziz wanted to know everything about the United Kingdom, and I wanted to know about the Arab world. I told him I thought I had him figured out the first time I saw him. He was from Saudi Arabia, he had to be a religious nutcase and an oppressor of women. Imagine my surprise when he told me that his strict father gave him a beating for supporting the Saudi King's decision to send female athletes to the London Olympics a while back. I didn't think there were Muslim guys out there who supported the idea of women's rights in their own countries. Aziz told me his father's brutality was legendary, even by Saudi standards. That's why his mother divorced him. Aziz dropped another bomb on me. He told me that in Saudi society, bisexuality was quite common. I was shocked to hear that. Aziz laughed and told me that in a society where women and men spent so much time apart due to religious and cultural rules, men often fucked other men and women often had sexual relations with other women. Everybody in Saudi society knew it went on but nobody admitted to it.

I stared at Aziz, and smiled. I wondered why he was telling me this. Aziz took out his touchscreen phone and showed me a picture of himself hugging a tall, good-looking Arab guy. Who's this? I asked. Aziz smiled that mysterious smile of his and told me that the young man in question was his former boyfriend Ahmed Khalid, a schoolmate from Jeddah City in Saudi Arabia. I gulped, and stared at Aziz, shocked. The young man smiled and shrugged, then casually told me that he was bisexual. I looked at Aziz like he had two heads. You see, in the back of my mind, I always knew that there were gays and lesbians among the sex-phobic and deeply conservative Muslims I encounter in London but I never thought I'd see one admit it. Aziz smiled, and told me that he missed Ahmed. When he said that, I felt a pinch of jealousy in my heart which shocked me. I'm a gay woman. I love another woman. What do I care if one of my guy friends likes both guys and gals?

I was blushing with emotion, and Aziz kind of noticed. He smiled at me and asked me if I was okay. I nodded hastily, and Aziz went on and on about his former boyfriend and the fun they had in private, when nobody was looking. He also told me about Maria, a Filipina chamber maid attached to Ahmed's household, whom he lost his virginity to. I perked up at that. So he does like women. Cool. After that revelation, my view of Aziz changed. You see, I seldom thought of Muslims as sexual beings. Sure, I had seen Pakistani guys, Somali guys and Arab guys with their wives and legions of brats in London's buses and knew they multiplied fast but still...I had been seeing a lot of Aziz lately. We've gone to the movies together, dined in restaurants together and we even went to concerts together. My girlfriend Kristin Dawson had grown cold and distant lately, and we weren't spending much time together anymore. I've seen her in the park with a cute and very femme young woman of African descent, a Nigerian chick named Imela whom I recognized from school. When I confronted Kristin about it, she smacked me. I think our relationship is on the outs. I talked to Aziz about it and he was most understanding. He told me that Kristin had no right to hit me, but he also advised me to go to couples counseling with Kristin rather than to drop her. Isn't that considerate of him?

The more I got to know Aziz, the more fascinated I became with him. He wasn't at all what I expected. He told me that he seldom went to mosques, in part because many hardline Muslim clerics were against the growing movement for female equality within Muslim establishments. Women were tired of praying behind men in mosques, especially in western nations. Aziz supported the women's rights movement in Islamic communities, of which his mother was a proud leader. Wow. I had no idea stuff like that was going on. Aziz further surprised me by showing me pictures of him playing with his dog, Mahruf, a burly and hairy thing that was the size of a Great Dane but looked like a greyhound. Apparently Saudis had dog breeds that were unknown to the outside world. Also, how come Aziz has a dog since he's Muslim? Aziz seemed irked by my question and told me he liked his dog better than he liked most people. I smiled sheepishly and apologized. Sheesh, I wasn't trying to offend the guy, I was just...curious.

I soon discovered that Aziz was a man who followed his own passions no matter what people thought of him. While walking with me, he openly checked out both girls and guys. He told me about Renata Monteiros, a big-bottomed Hispanic woman he dated while staying in Manaus, Brazil. I did not want to hear about his sexual escapes with that feisty Latina, so to shut him up I told him about Joel Sanchez, the Mexican-American guy I dated before I met my favorite butch lesbian, Kristin Dawson. Aziz listened patiently as I gave him the run-down about Joel and I, and I shrugged and told him that I had zero luck with either women or men. Aziz said nothing, and simply hugged me. Impulsively, I kissed him. I don't know why I did it, and almost immediately I apologized. Aziz grinned, took my hands in his, then he kissed me again. It was our first kiss and the first time I had kissed a man in ages.

That night, Aziz and I went back to his place, a nice apartment located not far from the Cambridge College campus. Once there, we unleashed our passions. Aziz laid me on the bed, and began to gently make love to me after undressing me. He kissed every inch of me, kissing my neck and rubbing the areolas of my tits. He spread my thighs and inhaled my womanly scent before thrusting his tongue into my pussy, followed by his agile fingers. He worked his magic on me, sending tremors of pleasure deep inside of me. I loved what he was doing to me, but I couldn't wait. I wanted him, and so I told him to fuck me. Aziz grinned and continued licking my pussy, fingering me and teasing me before finally, I squealed in delight as I came. Spasms of pleasure wracked my body and I writhed in the bed, moaning in orgasmic delight.

A little while later, Aziz and I were at it again. This time, he slipped on a condom before teasing my pussy once more by rubbing his cock against my vaginal opening. I looked at Aziz, rolled my eyes and told him to stop fucking around and fuck me already! Aziz grinned and finally pushed his cock into my pussy. As he entered me, I felt a strange kind of feeling. For years, the only things I let into my pussy were fingers and toys, usually Kristin's. Aziz was the first man to do me in ages. Gently he made love to me, kissing my forehead, licking my tits and embracing me as he thrust his cock deep inside of me. I was enraptured by Aziz's masculine energy as he took me to the edge, fucking me with wild abandon. I first moaned then howled as he fucked me roughly, slamming his dick inside of me like there was no tomorrow. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, and hung on for dear life. After what seemed like hours of lovemaking, fucking, or whatever in hell you want to call it, Aziz and I lay exhausted on the king-sized bed, with enough sweat on our bodies to drown in.

This encounter changed me in more ways than one. You see, until Aziz and I made love that night, I thought my days of having sex with men were behind me. I thought I was a lesbian, and Kristin Dawson was my partner. I thought I knew who and what I was. And now this man came along to confuse me. This wonderful, strange and confusing man from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I was an Atheist, and he shook my faith in the fact that all faiths were poppycock. Religion didn't have to be an oppressive force along cultural and gender lines, not if we didn't let it. I thought I was a lesbian, and he showed me that I still enjoyed sex with men. Yeah, I was in love with Aziz. The bisexual son of a Saudi sheikh and a Black British woman from Senegal. Born and bred in Jeddah City, Saudi Arabia. Life can sure take some strange turns, doesn't it?

The next morning, when I woke up, Aziz served me breakfast in bed, and told me we had to talk. He assured me that he cared for me a great deal and respected me, and that what happened between us last night wouldn't change that. Before he went any further, I stopped him. I told him that last night meant a lot to me. I also told him I wanted us to preserve whatever was growing between us. Aziz smiled, and told me he felt the same way. I smiled and kissed him. I needed to have a conversation with Kristin. It wouldn't be easy. Still, I knew what I had to do. I went home, and faced an incensed Kristin. She didn't know where I was, and was mad as hell that I spent the night someplace she didn't know. When I told her that I was leaving her, she grew even more pissed. I stood my ground, and told her that I found someone else. A man. And not just any man. Aziz Muhammad, the man who routinely turned both male and female heads at Cambridge College. Kristin tried to smack me but for once I beat her to the punch. I smacked the shit out of her. She stared at me, stunned. Smiling, I let myself out.

And that's how I met the man who would become my future husband and the father of my brats, ladies and gentlemen. A year after Aziz and I met, we got married. We plan on getting married in a civil ceremony, attended by both of our families, because even though I've come to respect religion as a concept, I'm not converting to Islam. Aziz and I have an understanding. After we got together, Kristin Dawson, my ex-girlfriend, somehow found out that Aziz was bisexual and she revealed it to the world. The media ate it up. The son of a wealthy Saudi sheikh living as a switch-hitter in London, England. You know the media loves juicy tidbits, especially about those with money. Aziz pretty much got disowned by the Muslim community, but that's alright because we both live a pretty secular lifestyle anyway. I mean, we're a bisexual couple. Aziz and I sometimes look online for men and sometimes women to join us for steamy threesomes. We have a lot of fun as we entertain these sensual visitors in our bed. Yeah, my Muslim husband and I are swingers. Now you've seen everything. I hope you enjoyed this tale, ladies and gentlemen. I'm pregnant, and must get my daily amount of exercise. I'm taking our mutt Mahruf to the park. The local bitches can't get enough of him.