Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 20

During our naked mixed-wrestling sessions, I tend to "accidentally" fart in front of my boyfriend Steve Salomon, for, ahem, competitive advantage. Works every time because my favorite Haitian stud is exceptionally vulnerable to the toxic fumes emitted by my thick, round and absolutely mesmerizing all-natural Somali woman's derriere. I'm wicked like that, what can I say? That's just the way I get down.

My name is Yasmin Hussein and I'm a young Somali-Canadian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I recently graduated from Algonquin College with a degree in Accounting, and like many recent college and university grads out there in the Capital, I'm looking for work. I have sent out resumes and filled out over a hundred job applications both online and on paper. So far? Nada. Actually, less than nada. If I had nada, that would be something.

I feel a bit envious of my boyfriend Steve Salomon, because he recently got a paid internship with McMillan, one of the top companies in the City of Ottawa. All thanks to one of his professors at the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University. I'm happy for Steve, truly, I am. I hope you believe me. I've never been the type of female to feel jealousy toward those who find success. I believe that my time will come. At least that's what I tell myself.

Much has happened since I graduated from Algonquin College, to tell you the truth. I no longer work as a cleaner, I quit that job because I consider it beneath me. I have a degree from an accredited Canadian institution of higher education, I speak English and French fluently, and I have references up the yin yang, from former co-workers and instructors. By all rights, a person with my qualifications should be gainfully employed in the City of Ottawa. Unfortunately, that is not the case.

Steve Salomon is making twenty dollars per hour as a paid intern with the McMillan Corporation, and he gets to wear a tie and business casual clothing to work. Not bad for a guy who once used to borrow cash from me, eh? Heaven knows how much I supported Steve's dreams when he was just a rent-a-cop while studying business management at Carleton University. Never let it be said that black women, or Afro-Arabian gals like myself, aren't supportive of our men.

I spend my days wandering the City of Ottawa, spending time at employment resource centers, and public libraries, looking for work. Sometimes I dress up, in a stylish white blouse and pantsuit, while I go job hunting. Got to look the part of the professional woman if you want to get hired, you know? At least that's what I thought. Someone forgot to tell me that as an educated young woman of color, I am seen as a threat by some and a socio-cultural anomaly by others. Oh, and there's also good old fashioned discrimination at work. What's holding me back? Take your damn pick.

At last, I finally got an interesting lead. Aria Farouk, a young Arab Christian woman working at the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, told me that her bank's call center was looking for new employees. Bilingualism is considered an asset in such a field, Amina insisted, and I took down the number and address that she gave me. I called the number, and spoke to a lady at the other end. The woman put me on hold for ten minutes, and then she finally came back, and gave me an email address which I had for forward my resume to, to even be considered for the job.

I went through the process, and a day after I sent the email, I got a response. I was told to bring a copy of my resume to this address in the environs of Gloucester, Ontario. Not far from the Silver City movie theater, one of Steve Salomon's favorite places. It's where we go every Tuesday for date night. I showed up at this nondescript building, and walked in. In the lobby, I was greeted by a security guard, a middle-aged white woman with reddish brown hair in a dark blue uniform.

The security guard looked me up and down, and asked me to sit down. Then she went to her desk, called a number, and told someone that their "ten o'clock" was here. A few minutes later, someone else came into the room. A tall, attractive woman in her mid-thirties with black hair, dark bronze skin and brown eyes. Clad in a white blouse, dark gray silk pants and high heels, the gal looked real good.

Hello Yasmin I'm Noor, the woman said, extending a well-manicured hand for me to shake. I smiled and shook her hand, and then we walked past the waiting area, into a vast hall. We took the elevators to the third floor, and once there, Noor took me to her office. The place was small but tasteful. I looked at the walls, and saw that among her qualifications, Noor had a diploma in police foundations from La Cite Collegiale, and a bachelor's degree in sociology from the University of Ottawa. How does one go from studying sociology at university and police foundations in college to working at a call center? Ottawa is a strange place, man.

Noor told me about the CIBC Call Center, and about herself. Born in Egypt and raised in Montreal, Noor moved to Ottawa to attend university. While in town, she graduated, got married and began working at the call center. Good for you Noor, I thought, wondering why this gal felt like telling me her whole life story. While speaking, Noor accidentally slipped into Arabic, and apologized for it. I smiled and shrugged, and answered her in Arabic. You see, a lot of Somalis speak the Arabic language, the mother tongue of Islam, and I was no exception.

Noor seemed pleased that I spoke Arabic, and at the end of the interview, the Arab gal smiled pleasantly and asked me when could I start. Right away, I said happily, and we shook hands. Noor gave me a few forms to sign, and made copies of my Ontario driver's licence, my social insurance card, and my health card. For human resources, Noor told me, and I nodded eagerly. I managed to keep my cool as Noor walked me to the elevator but once inside, I giggled and squealed in delight. Finally, I got myself a J.O.B. Thanks be to Allah, the Most High.

I felt giddy with happiness as I walked to the bus station at Blair. Man, this was definitely a good day. The call center job pays sixteen dollars per hour to start. What's the best part? I'll get to wear stylish business clothes and have a cool work ID with my picture on it and the company logo. Just like all those overly proud and stuffy government workers I see walking around downtown Ottawa. How cool is that? Now, this isn't what I pictured myself doing when I went to Algonquin College to study accounting. Still, as I'll be helping people with banking transactions over the phone, my accounting knowledge will definitely come in handy.

I went home that day with a song in my heart. I called Steve, for I wanted my boyfriend by my side so we could celebrate good and proper. Know what the foolish Haitian stud told me? He couldn't come home right away to satisfy my womanly needs because he was busy with his corporate job. Ever since one of his managers hinted that Steve might be shortlisted for upcoming job openings, my darling boyfriend has been insufferable. I honestly think corporate Canada has gotten to Steve's brain. My boo has always been proud, but now he's becoming kind of a dick. Oh, and he's too busy to give me the D? Damn. I didn't see that one coming.

With my boyfriend away and my body wracked with horniness, what's a gal to do? I lay naked on the bed Steve Salomon and I shared, and pleasured myself. First I caressed and pinched my breasts, then I slid two fingers into my pussy. Slowly but surely, I found my "on" button, and turned it up to the max. I closed myself as I finger fucked myself. I visualized Steve's thick Haitian dick invading my cunt. Got my pussy all tingly. Still not sated, I took a dildo, dipped it in Aloe cream, and slowly worked it up my butt hole.

I was masturbating furiously, thrusting the dildo up my ass and my fingers up my pussy when a deep sigh caused my eyes to snap open. I hadn't even felt Steve's presence, yet there he was. My boo stood there, looking fantastic in a red silk shirt, black silk pants and black tie. I smiled at him, blushing because, well, Steve caught me masturbating. Typically, women catch men jerking off. Well, tonight, the shoe is on the other foot.

Don't stop on my account, Steve said, grinning. I smiled and spread my legs invitingly. Looking deep into Steve's eyes, I continued fingering my cunt. If you want it come and get it, I whispered. I swear, Steve must set a world record in speedily undressing and leaping onto the bed. I laughed and playfully tried to push him away as he came for me, naked and horny, a big Haitian craving my sweet Somali pussy.

Steve and I wrestled and this time I let the fool win, because, well, I wanted the D. I sighed happily as Steve put me on all fours, smacked my big butt and eased his big dick into my cunt. Welcome home, I whispered as Steve held my hands behind my back and pressed my body downward. Face down and ass up, that's the way I love to do many things, especially fucking. Steve pounded into me, slamming his hard dick deep into my pussy. We fucked just like old times, roughly and passionately, for that's our way of doing things.

Much later, Steve and I lay side by side, on a bed soaked with our juices. The bed reeked of semen and smelled like pussy, two most wonderful smells. Resting my head against Steve's chest, I told him about my day, and casually dropped the fact that CIBC's Call Center just hired yours truly. Congrats my love, Steve whispered into my ear. I smiled happily and I was about to tell him more about the job, but he started kissing my tummy and then buried his face between my legs. That's when I, um, forgot what I was about to say.