Christian Men for Muslim Chics

Right now, I can't talk because I've got my mouth on Farah Al-Rashid's ear and we're making out in a movie theater but I've got a tale I'd like to share with you. My name is Dwight Hollister. I'm a young Black man living in the City of Ottawa, province of Ontario. I'm originally from the City of Boston, Massachusetts, but got sent here by my parents for school because I was having too much fun at Emerson College down in the Bean. Ever since I came to Canada's Capital region, I've been obsessed with Somali women. They're obscenely hot but like to hide it because of the whole Islamic modesty thing. What's a brother to do? Especially since I get a raging boner every time I see a hijab-wearing Black chick with a big booty? My obsession consumed me, man. I began doing my research on Somali culture in order to get myself one of these lusty ladies.

I met Farah Al-Rashid inside the library of Canada's Capital University, which we both attend. Guys, the first time I laid eyes on this Somali beauty, it was lust after first sight. You should have seen her, man. Five feet nine inches tall, chubby but sexy, with a big round ass and a really pretty face. She wore a long-sleeved red T-shirt featuring Vin Diesel and a silvery hijab along with tight blue jeans that looked like they could have been painted on. They were that tight. I love tight jeans on big women. On some of them, it's a hot look. I approached Farah and asked her for directions, and she called my bluff because she'd seen me inside the school library plenty of times and wasn't about to buy my story. I had a lame tale about being lost and looking for the data center archives. Farah looked at me with raised eyebrows and smiled. I smiled too.

I introduced myself. Dwight Hollister. Born and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. My father, Devon Hollister, is Irish-American. My mother, Jeanne Michel, is of Haitian descent. My mother's family moved to Florida from the island of Haiti in the late 1970s. Mom moved to the State of Massachusetts for school and dad moved to New England from Northern Ireland for the same purpose. They met at Northeastern University Law School in Boston more than twenty years ago, fell in love, got hitched in a Catholic church and had little old me. A six-foot-one, hefty but handsome stud with caramel skin, hazel eyes and curly Black hair. My pops is white and my mom is Black. I guess that makes me biracial but I consider myself one hundred percent African-American. Although I'm the same exact shade as that rapper T.I. people say I look like Vin Diesel. I smiled at the picture on Farah's shirt and asked her if she liked my twin. Laughing, she told me she was in love with Vin Diesel and loved all of his movies. I'm a Vin Diesel fan myself. I've got the entire Fast And The Furious series, including the latest one with The Rock in it and also flicks like Pitch Black, Boiler Room and The Chronicles of Riddick. Farah loved science fiction and thought Vin Diesel got a bad rap over the flop that the Riddick movie turned out to be. I smiled and told her Vin Diesel was gearing up to star in a movie adaptation about the life of General Hannibal Barca, the legendary North African military leader who almost destroyed the Roman Empire during the wars between the Carthaginians and the Romans.

Farah Al-Rashid laughed out loud and people all over the library stared at us as she went on and on about how much she loved the story of Hannibal Barca. I always loved ancient history courses so I knew a lot about Hannibal Barca. Farah told me that the Carthaginian General Hannibal Barca's heroic exploits were dear to her because she was of partial Tunisian descent. Her father Ahmed was Tunisian and her mother Fatima was originally from the nation of Djibouti. Farah was born in the City of El Mourouj in the republic of Tunisia. Wow. Man, I was surprised to hear that. I thought Farah was Somali and told her as much. Laughing, she told me that most Somali people lived in two places, the republic of Somalia and the nation of Djibouti. They considered themselves one people. Wow. I didn't know that. Farah and I spent the better part of an hour talking about Arab and African politics, and she seemed really surprised that a Black guy from the United States of America knew so much about life on the other side of the world. I told her that the rumors about African American men being intellectual slouches were greatly exaggerated. Plenty of us hit the books instead of the basketball court. She laughed at that and nodded understandingly. Where did everybody get the stereotypes about Black folks?

Yeah, that's how I met Farah Al-Rashid. I caught her glancing at her watch and hesitated. She had somewhere to go. I came to the library to do research for my sociology class and ended up flirting with a hot chick. I had to get her number and quick. It's now or never. You never get a second chance to make a first impression. I crossed my fingers, and opened my mouth. Before I could say anything, Farah flashed me a bright smile and asked me for my digits. What the fuck? That's my line! I was stunned, but not so much that I didn't tell her. Six one three. Eight nine seven. Something plus something plus something plus something. Farah smiled, winked at me and told me she'd be in touch. I grinned, and asked her to text me so I'd have her number. Smiling, she nodded. I watched her walk away, gawking at that mesmerizing big round ass of hers. Damn. Somali women got it going on!

I smiled to myself, feeling pretty good. It's ten o'clock on a boring Monday morning. I didn't have class until two and I've already got the phone number of a seriously hot chick. Not just any hot chick. A hot Somali chick. In Canada, two kinds of women are hard to get. Somali women and Arab women. Actually, Indian women are hard to get too, so I guess three kinds of females are hard to get. Somali women, Arab women and Indian women. These ladies are very beautiful but seldom date men outside their cultures, races and religions. I lucked out by getting Farah's number. Actually, I looked at my phone and realized that I didn't have her number, even though she texted me. Oh, shit. I forgot that I don't have call display on this crappy TELUS phone! I rushed to the Rideau Shopping Center downtown and asked the clerk at the cell phone store to hook me up with call display. He agreed, and told me there would be a monthly charge. I crossed my fingers and smiled. Then I turned my phone back on. Luckily, the last text I received displayed. Farah Al-Rashid's phone number. Nice. I promptly saved it. Phew. That was a close one, eh?

Yeah, I got Farah's digits. The problem now is when do I call her. I called my buddy Jose, a skinny dude from Venezuela, and he told me that two days was the mandatory time. What the fuck? Um, pardon my French, but who the hell made up that rule? I am not waiting two days to call up a hot chick. So many lame-ass dudes in Ottawa, Farah might run into some bozo named Mohammed or Abdullah or something and then forget all about me, the Bostonian Sensation. I decided to call her that same night. It turned out to be one of the best ideas I've ever had. We ended up talking for ninety six minutes straight, and I was almost told her whole life story. Growing up in Tunisia was fun and exciting for Farah, especially since her father was wealthy. Of course, being partly Black in a mostly Arab country did expose her to some subtle and not so subtle racism. Especially from her father's Arab wives, who disapproved of him marrying a Somali lady and having a daughter with her.

When Farah told me about her father Ahmed having four wives, my mind kind of drifted into la-la land. Man, Muslim guys get to have four wives and us good Christian men in the Western world usually get no appreciation from the selfish and feministic women we marry. Half of them end up divorcing us anyway. And they take half our money plus the brats and the house with them when they go. In Muslim societies, the man keeps the brats and the house and the woman goes back to her family in the event of a divorce. Nice! Small wonder a lot of people are turning Muslim these days. I'm a proud Catholic but damn, the thought of having four wives was pretty tempting. Farah noticed I'd gone silent on the phone and asked me what was up. Absentmindedly I told her what I was thinking about.

Man, this whole multiple wives thing was making my head spin. Dude, if I could have four wives, I'd marry a blonde-haired white chick, an Arab chick, a Chinese woman and a big-booty Black chick. I'd never bother with condoms with any of them and probably have twenty or so sons and daughters. Word up! Um, Farah went silent after I told her that. Oh, shit. I told her I was just kidding and she told me that she was one hundred percent against polygamy. In fact, many Muslim women in places like Turkey and Indonesia were against polygamy. Wow. I did not know that. I thought women living in Muslim countries were fine with their men having multiple wives. Shows you how little I know about what goes on in female minds.

Nevertheless, I pleaded with Farah to forgive my poor attempt at humor since she felt so strongly about polygamy. She finally relented, and I hastily changed the subject. I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere Friday. She told me she had nada to do. I smiled, and asked her to go to the movies with me. The flick Think Like A Man was finally playing in Ottawa and I wanted to see it. Well, Farah loved Black movies so she was down for it too. We agreed to meet at the Blair movie theater Friday, and that was that. I wished her a goodnight, and she told me I was full of surprises before wishing me goodnight and clicking off. I lay in my bed, and slowly exhaled. Not bad for a Monday during summer school, eh? It's Monday night and I've got a date for the upcoming weekend. Not bad at all, huh? I'm going to have lots of fun with the Somali princess. She won't know what hit her. Word up. The Boston Sensation is in da house!