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Saudi Women Into Haitian Men

Confession time, people. Like a lot of brothers out there, I simply love big girls. Every time I see a chubby with a big booty woman wearing the Hijab, I get turned on. I especially like the Arab broads and South Asian chicks I see all day in the streets of Ottawa, looking rather sexy ( to me ) in their long Islamic robes, supposedly conservative in style, and their hijabs. Where I come from, people are either Christianity, Voodoo or the follow the Rastafarianism religion. That's us Caribbean folks for you, we keep it simple as far as religion and culture.

We don't have a lot of Muslims on my native island of Haiti, that's for damn sure. I certainly can't remember seeing any growing up in Jacmel. I've been living in Ontario, Canada, for three years now and my fascination with these unique ladies is only growing. What's a brother to do when he feels the thirst? Why, slake it, of course. The name is Devon Guillot, D.G. to my friends, and I approve this message. This is the true tale of one brother's quest to hook up with a fine, conservative Muslim chick with a big derriere. We all have our pleasures, I guess, and chasing the forbidden fruit is one of mine.

A lot of guys I meet in Ottawa tell me that I like playing with fire as far as the opposite sex is concerned. I'm twenty two years old, what else am I supposed to be doing? I'm in my second year in the mechanical engineering program at Carleton University, having transferred there from the University of the West Indies. A six-foot-two, lean and athletic, dark-skinned brother like myself stands out in Ottawa. The Capital of Canada is slowly changing due to an influx of Somali, Pakistani, Arab and Chinese immigrants, but it's going to take a long time for the town to get diverse enough for my liking.

Seriously, man, I've been to places like Toronto, Ontario, and Calgary, Alberta. Wherever I go, fools stare at a brother. And sometimes they ask impertinent and downright racist questions. And yet Canadians would like to believe theirs is a tolerant and progressive nation. Ha! Anyhow, where was I? Oh yeah, I was telling you about my hunt for them sexy hijab girls I be seeing all over Ottawa. I started reading up on Islam, not because I have any interest in that religion but because a good hunter knows the needs and wants of his prey. Muslim chicks are sexy, at least to me, and I have a thing for the conservatively dressed ones. I don't go for the westernized Muslim chick with the short hair and even shorter skirt walking into the club. That's not who I want to fuck. Who I want is the pious-looking yet unbelievably sexy Muslim mama in the hijab and long skirt, on her way to Masjid every Friday night. I see that and I get an instant boner. Don't judge me. I'm just acting the way I feel.

The solution to my issue practically walked into my arms one night. I live in the east end of Ottawa, a spot called Vanier. Rent is ( usually ) low in the area, partly because there's a ton of gangsters, prostitutes and wannabe thugs in the area. Lots of Arabs, Somalis, Pakistanis, Haitians, Chinese and Aboriginals make their home in Vanier, and it's probably one of the most ethnically diverse parts of Ottawa. Sadly, it's also among the most dangerous. I don't give a fuck because it's the place I call home. The one place in Ottawa where lots of people of color can walk comfortably because for once, we're NOT outnumbered. Needless to say, I love it!

Anyhow, I was walking out of the all-night grocery store one night when I heard a woman screaming. In this part of town, where there's sexual assaults, muggings and random beatings every other week, a woman screaming isn't an unusual occurrence. I walked into the store parking lot, and took a look around. That's when I saw a woman struggling against a couple of guys. They were pulling at her jacket and headscarf, and she was screaming her brains out. Personally, the only time I think it's okay for a man to put his hands on a woman is in the bedroom. What? Some chicks like to get spanked. I've dated a few!

Exploding into action, I hollered at the goons to take their filthy paws off the lady. Hands off her fellas, I shouted, and they stared at me, apparently surprised. A couple of skinny white guys, none over twenty, gawked at me as I rushed toward them. I tackled the one nearest me. We fell on the pavement, and struggled against one another. The dude was spry but tougher than he looked. His buddy came at me. Oh crap, I thought. Just then, the woman swung her bag of groceries, and struck him in the head. The dude fell like a sack of potatoes. I knocked out the bozo underneath me, then rose to my feet.

Nicely done, I said, dusting myself off. Finally I took a real good look at the woman I'd just rescued. The woman was tall, easily five-foot-ten or more, with light bronze skin, and wavy dark hair which she pulled into a bun before readjusting her hijab. Thank you brother, the woman said, looking at me with a strange look in her brown eyes. I smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. You're welcome lady, I said, and bent down to pick up her fallen bag. Just then, a dark-haired, turban-wearing clerk walked out of the grocery store. Dude eyed me suspiciously, but the lady waved him off. I am fine Kader, she said, then turned to me.

If it weren't for you they would have hurt me, the lady said. I shrugged. Good ole Devon always here to help, I said casually. The woman's face lit up like a flashlight. I am Zainab, she said, extending her hand for me to shake. At the time, I was so unfamiliar with Muslim customs and ways that I didn't understand the significance of that gesture. Good to meet you ma'am, I said, and nodded respectfully before walking my ass home. It was close to midnight. I live a five minute walk from the grocery store, so it's no biggie. I did see Zainab get into her car and drive off safely. Good for her, I guess.

I went home and lay on my bed, thinking about the evening's events. What a night, I thought, Zainab's face flashing through my consciousness right before slumber claimed me. I woke up the next day and hopped on the number nine bus, then got off at Hurdman Station and caught the four to Carleton University. Just another day in Ottawa. I figured I'd never see Zainab again. Yet I was wrong, for Fate had other plans. I walked to the library to get some homework done, and guess who I ran into?

Why, none other than Zainab, of course. I sat at a computer on the third floor, busy working on Ethics of Engineering, when I felt someone tap my shoulder. Hello brother, Zainab said, a big smile on her pretty face. I looked her up and down and smiled. You study here too? I said, quite surprised. Damn, Zainab looked really good in a long-sleeved black T-shirt featuring The Walking Dead logo and blue jeans. Jeans that seemed molded to her thick, shapely thighs and butt, I might add. I tried to keep my eyes from zeroing in on that ass of hers, but failed miserably.

Small world, Zainab said, and grabbed the chair next to mine. I smiled at her. Damn she looked good. Never one to pass up an opportunity, I chatted Zainab up. After half an hour, I knew her last name, Ismail, and had added her on Facebook. Let's go for a coffee, I said, after Zainab and I had been chatting for forty five minutes. No can do, Zainab said, and I tried to contain my disappointment. Okay, I said, with a touch of sadness. Let's go for Shawarma instead and it's my treat, Zainab said, touching my arm gently. Who was I to disagree with the lady?

I've been at Carleton University for a couple of years, and until Zainab brought me to the little Lebanese shop inside the food court, I didn't even know it was there. Zainab and I dined on delicious Shawarma sandwiches, along with rice sprinkled with Hummus, and washed them down with Pepsis. Love this stuff, I said, licking my fingers. Zainab nodded. First time trying middle-eastern food I take it? Zainab asked. I nodded sagely. Yes ma'am, I quipped, seriously wishing I could go back for more, but it would seem...impolite, with the lady sitting across from me.

The more Zainab and I spoke, the more I liked what I was hearing. The lady was born in Bareq, northwest Saudi Arabia, to a Saudi Arabian Muslim father and an Ethiopian Christian mother. Her family moved from Saudi Arabia to Ontario, Canada, ten years ago, and Zainab is presently studying Nursing at Carleton University. You've got black in you? I exclaimed, gawking at Zainab with surprise all over my face. Seriously, that revelation caught me by surprise.

The gal looked Arab or Moroccan or Hispanic to me, not black at all, except for...I looked closely at Zainab's face, and took note of her round face, full lips, prominent ( but still pretty ) nose, and also remembered her curvaceous figure and wavy dark hair. Da kink in her hair! I smiled at her. Wow, I said, shaking my head. Zainab smiled and shrugged. I'm part African on my mother side and proud, she said, all seriousness now.

I smiled and nodded at the lady. You're very beautiful Zainab, I said thoughtfully. An odd look crossed her lovely face, then she smiled and nodded. Thank you Devon, Zainab said, finally uttering my name. Something passed between us right then and there. Call it chemistry, call it seizing the moment, call it whatever. I had a good feeling about Zainab, and decided to go with it. That's how it all began. From that first encounter in the university library the day after we met, Zainab Ismail and I forged a special connection.

Look, initially I just wanted to find a way to get a conservative Muslim chick to let me get at her pussy. I just wanted to add another notch on my belt. I've fucked white women, Asian women and Hispanic women. Just wanted to get a taste of Arab/Muslim women. When Zainab Ismail came into my life, I got more than I bargained for. The lady is twenty four years old, well-traveled, smart and lovely, and quite simply amazing. Zainab told me about all the places she'd been to, from her mother's hometown of Jimma, southwestern Ethiopia, to Makkah, Saudi Arabia, along with Melbourne, Australia, and even London, England.

I was amazed by Zainab's travels. You see, I've been to exactly two places in my lifetime, Canada and Haiti. My family does fairly well for itself, Zainab told me, casually mentioning that her father worked for the Saudii Diplomatic Association here in Ottawa and was also president of Islamic Cultural Association. We were sitting inside Goyave Restaurant in Orleans, a Haitian spot I decided to take her to that Thursday evening. I'm impressed, I admitted bashfully, and Zainab gently laid her hand on mine. I like you, she said, her golden brown eyes boring into mine. Good to hear, I said, then I leaned in and kissed her.

It was a gentle, passionate and sweet kiss. Nothing like what you see in the movies these days. Zainab Ismail's lips pressed against mine and our kiss deepened. I think I expected her to be soft and sweet but the lady was a voracious, passionate kisser. Her tongue darted into my mouth aggressively, seeking mine and ensnaring it. Pushy broad, but I like bossy women. You've got sweet lips, I told Zainab, when we came up for air. Grinning, Zainab shrugged with a malicious look on her face. The rest of me is even sweeter, she said suggestively. I winked at her. Check please, I said, and hollered at the waitress to come over.

Zainab and I were making out in the parking lot pretty heavily, and I'm not sure we were going to make it to my place. As luck would have it, we didn't. In the darkeness of the parking lot, I propped Zainab up on the hood of her car, and we got busy. Clad in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, long crimson skirt and matching hijab, Zainab was the picture of Islamic feminine modesty. Lick my pussy, she commanded, and I did as I was told. Spreading Zainab's thick and sexy thighs, I pulled down her panties and inhaled the scent of her womanhood.

No two women smell or taste alike, and I for one liked the smell and taste of Zainab Ismail's cunt. Tasty, I said, and worked my tongue inside her. Zainab shuddered as I began licking her pussy. Go slow, she whispered, and I obeyed, sliding my fingers inside her, teasing her gentle folds while licking away. I buried my face between Zainab's thighs and licked her hairy cunt like my life depended on it. I was determined to bring her pleasure. Hell, if it's this Muslim chick's first time hooking up with a Christian guy, I definitely don't want to bring down the team, you know?

Zainab's moans filled the deserted parking lot, and soon her squeals took on a whole different tone. Oh shit I'm cumming, Zainab cried out, and I stabbed her clit with my tongue while digging up her cunt with my fingers. Moments later, I felt something hot and wet against my face. It was there, Zainab's copious womanly cum. My lady just squirted all over me. That was intense, Zainab said, her face flushed, as she tried to catch her breath.

Babe you haven't felt anything yet, I said. Later, as I bent her over the car hood, and ran my hands all over her big round ass, I showed Zainab Ismail of Saudi Arabia what us Haitian men are working with. Before, though, I made her suck my dick good and proper. Zainab can really polish a cock, man. I slammed my dick into her, pounding her hard and smacking her big booty for good measure. Give it to me faster, Zainab squeaked, and I smiled, giving her ass a firm clack as I rammed my dick inside her cunt. Her tight pussy gripped my dick like a vise, and it wasn't long before I gave it up. I'm almost there, I groaned as I finally gave it up, blowing my load deep inside Zainab. Trembling, I collapsed on top of Zainab.

And that's when someone from the Goyave Restaurant staff came out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. What the fuck are you guys doing? the short, dark-skinned woman with the thick French accent asked. Oh shit, Zainab laughed. We're just leaving, I said, and tumbled off of Zainab and onto the ground, for my pants were at my ankles at this point. Horrified, the woman began to scream. Let's get out of here, Zainab squealed, and we hurriedly hopped in the car.

That was close, Zainab squealed as we hauled ass out of the restaurant parking lot. I looked at her, the wild look on her face, and shook my head. You're a wild woman, I said, amazed. Zainab winked at me. I'm the woman of your dreams babe now keep your eyes on the road, she said, pointing at the windshield and oncoming traffic. You're right, I said, and tried to focus on the road as Zainab readjusted her clothes. I smiled wickedly as I noticed a suspicious stain on Zainab's hijab. I guess I must have cum on her hijab while she was blowing me earlier. What are you looking at? Zainab asked suspiciously. Nothing babe, I said innocently, smiling quietly as I drove on.

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