Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 17

Face down and ass up, that's the way I like to pray. That's how we Muslims do it. I never gave much thought to how it must look, until someone very dear to me, who happens to from another faith, pointed it out. The things one never notices, eh? My name is Yasmin Hussein and I'm a young Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario.

I study accounting at Algonquin College, and live in Vanier with my boyfriend Steve Salomon. We're an interfaith couple living on the east end of our fair Capital, just regular folks with our ups and downs. Steve Salomon attends Carleton University, where he's studying business management. We're both close to completing our programs at our respective educational institutions, and we're slowly building a life together.

Steve Salomon and I have been through so much lately, as has Ottawa, the town we both call home. The death of a Canadian soldier in downtown Ottawa at the hands of a Quebec-born radical forever changed daily life for the people of the Canadian capital. As a Muslim woman, I cannot escape the suspicious looks I get from otherwise decent and normal Canadian citizens who now think of my faith as dangerous and radical. If they only knew.

Millions of Muslims call Canada home, and most of us are peaceful. I am a young Muslim woman of Somali and Arabian descent, and since I like to go out wearing the Hijab and a traditional long skirt, I get stared at. In the eyes of most Canadians, I will always be the cultural other. One of those Hijab-wearing women. An anomaly. Something different. I know this and I refuse to let it phase me.

When terrible hardship comes one's way, one tends to fall back on what one knows. I am a Muslim woman, that means that I submit to the Will of Allah, the one true God. I am devoted to my faith, and I believe the Creator of the Universe has good things in store for me, but these days, life is far from simple or easy.

I am madly in love with a young man of the Christian faith. Steve Salomon, the big and tall, roughly handsome Haitian stud who stole my heart. According to the most sacred rules of Islam, a Muslim woman must not have relations with men of other faiths. I have broken this rule in the name of love. I love Steve Salomon and I wouldn't give him up even if you put a blade to my neck. Love is a powerful thing, ladies and gentlemen. A disease from which I have no wish to be cured.

I read a few passages from the Holy Koran and then knelt down and prayed in the living room. It was the wee hours of the morning, the time of the first prayer. I rose from the bed I shared with my beloved, and gently kissed my sleeping lover Steve Salomon on the forehead before leaving our bedroom. I got dressed, grabbed my holy book and went to the living room, my designated prayer area, and prayed.

I was close to finishing my prayer when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and saw Steve standing there, clad in his crimson boxers, and nothing else. My handsome Haitian lover stared at me, open-mouthed, eyes filled with surprise. I guess in all the time we'd been living together, Steve had never seen me pray. I sighed deeply, finished my prayer and then slowly rose to my feet. Good morning Stevie, I said warmly, greeting my lover with a hug and a kiss.

Steve pulled me into his arms, and took my face into his hands. That was beautiful, he said, smiling. I looked at him, and smiled as well. Steve looked me in the eyes and asked me how come he'd never seen me pray before. I bit my lip before answering. Shall I tell him the truth? I took a deep breath, then answered Steve's question as truthfully as I could. I told him that given all the problems our religious differences caused our relationship, I prayed in private. I'd come close to losing Steve after we had a nasty argument over our differences, and didn't want a repeat experience.

Steve looked at me, shook his head and a sad look crept into his handsome face. Your faith is part of you and I respect it more than you think, he said to me. My heart warmed upon hearing these words and I kissed him passionately. Steve smiled and told me that next time, we would pray together. I hastily agreed, and then, well, we went into the kitchen for breakfast. I swear, Steve must part Somali or something because when he said "let's make breakfast", he just sat his black ass down at the kitchen table and grabbed a book while looking at me expectantly.

Guys, I swear, they've got the same bad habits regardless of culture. I'm going to school this morning and I've got to make breakfast for Steve. Ha! Haitian guys, just like Somali dudes, sometimes need to be reminded that their lady is not their Houyo ( mother ). Steve busied himself reading the Ottawa Sun newspaper while I made us an omelet, and fried some halal hotdogs. I looked at Steve pointed as he put his feet up on the table. The burly Haitian flashed me a sheepish grin, and then took his feet off the table.

I watched as Steve went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of orange juice and two plastic cups along with ice cubes from the freezer. My way of helping out, he said with a grin. I rolled my eyes and smiled. Hey, at least he got us the drinks. That's more than the Somali dudes I grew up with would have done. In Islamic households, cooking and cleaning is the woman's duty. The men do, well, next to nada. Thank the Most High Steve's Haitian mother gave him some home training.

I was just done with the omelet and turned off the stove when I felt a pair of strong arms embrace me from behind. Steve hugged me tightly, and I felt his tongue on my earlobe. You look so sexy in the kitchen Yasmin, Steve whispered into my ear. I shuddered with excitement as my sexy Haitian lover caressed my big brown ass through my long, traditional Islamic skirt with one hand while his other hand stroked my breasts.

Oh Steve, I whispered hotly as my sexy Haitian stud grabbed me and then put me on the kitchen counter. Steve kissed me full and deep, and then proceeded to unbutton my shirt, thus freeing my breasts. I groaned softly as Steve sucked on my tits, and his hand slipped between my thighs. Steve's agile fingers darted into my pussy. Grinning, Steve remarked that I wasn't wearing any panties. I smiled wickedly, and kissed him. Steve continued fingering my cunt, and I cried out in pleasure as he slid three, then four fingers into my wet pussy.

A little while later, I was writhing and moaning on the kitchen table as Steve buried his face between my legs, eagerly licking my cunt. Slow down, I whispered, and Steve flicked his tongue over my clitoris, sliding his fingers deep into my pussy. I squealed in delight and urged Steve to continue, and my sexy stud definitely did not let me down. After licking my pussy till I cried out, orgasmic, Steve grinned wolfishly. Taking my hands, he pressed them against his long and thick, uncircumcised Haitian dick which he freed from his boxers.

Grinning, I got on my knees and sucked my boyfriend's dick with gusto. Steve sighed happily and stroked my Hijab-covered head as I sucked him off. I massaged his balls while going down on him. I sucked Steve off until he came. And when he did, instead of shrinking back, I braced myself for what was to come. Steve came, and his cum splashed across my face. Some of his semen even got on my Hijab. I sucked every last drop of cum out of his dick, until it went soft in my mouth.

Sighing happily, Steve pulled me up and kissed me full and deep. You're amazing, he said, taking my face into his hands. I smiled and hugged him tight. It's amazing how much I love this crazy, wicked and at times infuriating but always charming young Haitian man. After this delightful session of oral pleasure, we sat down and ate breakfast as if nothing had happened. I had to change my outfit before heading to school, though. Cum stains are hard to get out of one's Hijab, as I'm finding out. Steve walked me to the number nine bus stop, and waited till I got on the bus. I blew him a kiss and waved him goodbye. Wallahi I love this Haitian dude!