Copyright Oggbashan June 2004
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
This story is not intended to represent any particular Muslim practices. It is for entertainment, not education.
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My elder sister and I were born in the United Kingdom. So was our mother. Our father was not. He came from a rural area of Pakistan before immigration rules were tightened so that a marriage was no longer enough to obtain the right to live here.
My father is a fair man, and a good father, but...
He is too easily influenced by men he thinks are better educated than he is. He believes that women's roles are set by the Koran and the imams and cannot change. He doesn't understand that his daughter has aspirations far beyond those of women in a Pakistani village.
As the only son, my father expects me to support his definition of women's roles and to help him enforce the discipline he thinks is essential. My sister is not so sure that she sees me as superior and in charge of her honour. She thinks she is responsible for her own honour. I am inclined to agree with her so I am torn between my duty to my father and my love of my sister.
What I didn't expect was that my sister would be concerned about my honour and that she saw a role for herself as protector of her brother. If I had known, I would have been shocked. I was sufficiently traditional that I saw no need for my sister to look after her brother in that sense.
My father has a weak right arm as a result of an accident in the clothing factory he now owns. That weak right arm put me in an awkward role with my sister. If my father thought she deserved beating, I had to do it. I hated it. Every time I put my big sister over my knee and slapped her clothed backside it was unpleasant for both of us. The punishment was more in the humiliation than the actual slapping, which was loud but not effective. Once Serena became a teenager I would pretend to slap her behind a closed door. Actually I would slap a piece of furniture covered by a cloth. She was taller than I was until I reached eighteen. Now she is the same height, but taller if she wears heels.
Serena was always in trouble, torn between Western values and our father's simple belief in tradition. When she had been at school, her uniform had been the shalwar kameez – a tunic and trousers – topped by a hijab, a scarf worn round her head to completely cover her hair. Father thought that was going too far. He wanted her to wear the jilbab which covered all of her except her hands and face. If he thought she had been even slightly immodest and his standards were high, he would insist she wore the all-enveloping burqa outside the house, with only a slit to see through.
At home in her room Serena would wear western dress, always topped by the hijab, which looked odd above a miniskirt or shorts. Father never saw her like that. If he knocked at her door she would cover her provocative finery with the jilbab. She could have worn anything or nothing under it and father would never know. When she went to visit her friends the jilbab concealed her party dress or undress.
Now Serena was twenty-five and engaged, old for our customs, but father had allowed her some choice and wanted her to finish her degree and get settled in a career before marrying. She left the house to go to work in her jilbab. I knew, but father didn't, that she stopped at a friend's house just before the station and stripped off the jilbab to appear in a suit, without even a hijab. On the way home she reversed the process and a demure Serena would reappear on our doorstep.
Except for going to and from work I was expected to escort Serena wherever she wanted to go. It was not proper for her, even in a burqa, to be on the streets alone. It was a nuisance for both of us, but I love my sister and would escort her even to and from places that father would object to. Serena appreciated my tact, and repaid the favour by taking me to houses where I could meet my fiancée without my father or her parents knowing. Ayesha, my fiancée, had very tolerant parents, but they insisted on the proprieties for my father's sake. He would have been horrified if he thought I was to marry an immodest girl. By his standards, Ayesha was very immodest, but, if he had known, so was Serena. He was upset enough that Ayesha was slightly taller than his son.
One of these visits about a month before the wedding was disastrous for me and very humiliating. Serena and I were visiting my old schoolfriend Angee. Angee wasn't his name. His initials were N.G. and his nickname was Angee. We were supposed to be visiting one of Angee's sisters who was Serena's friend. Ayesha would also happen to be visiting and we would get an opportunity to talk together. Angee's older brother was Serena's fiancé but he would not be there. That would have been improper!
Angee's parents had only recently moved to a much larger house. They wanted to set up separate flats in it for Angee and his brother when the married. The house came with an outdoor heated swimming pool. The parents had arranged strict timetables for its use by the women and men.
When Serena and I arrived, Ayesha hadn't. Angee suggested that we use the swimming pool while I waited. I protested that I hadn't got swimming trunks. He brushed my objection aside.
"No one will see, Ahmed," he said. "I always swim naked, so should you. I'll join you shortly."
I didn't like the idea, but I complied. I stripped off my clothes and dived in. It was wonderful. I had never experienced swimming naked before. I scarcely noticed when ten minutes later Angee said he had to make a phone call, nor when he came back to tell me that he was running his parents to the station because the taxi couldn't come in time. They and my parents were going to Bradford for a wedding. My parents had left last night. I continued swimming.
I lay on my back in the water and thought of Ayesha. My tool reacted and stood up out of the water like a flagpole. I swam on my back watching it part the water. I was proud of it. I swam several lengths with it prominent before turning over and swimming several fast lengths. I liked my body. I hoped Ayesha would like it too. She had never seen it. I had never seen hers and wouldn't until our wedding night. As I climbed out of the water I was still thinking of Ayesha as I followed my prick to the long padded bench where I had left the towel Angee had given me. I dried myself before wrapping the towel around my waist. I lay down on the bench in the sun and closed my eyes.
I vaguely heard a slither of cloth over cloth and then I was attacked. I opened my eyes as a black rump thumped over my face. There was a rustle of clothing as many hands grabbed my body and limbs. I fought back but was overcome by too many hands that tied my wrists to my sides and my ankles and knees together. I felt that I had been bound with pantyhose around my waist and the bench and around my legs in several places.
The rump lifted slightly from its suffocating position on my face and slid down to my chest. A familiar hand grasped the loose material of her jilbab and uncovered my face. I looked up between it and another black robe behind my head to see Ayesha's face framed by the hood of her jilbab glaring down at me. Her breasts were heaving attractively, pressed against the jilbab that was tightened around her body by the strain as she straddled me. In her right hand was a pair of lacy panties.
"Open your mouth, Ahmed," Ayesha ordered.
I shook my head. She sighed resignedly.
"If you don't, I will squeeze your nose until you do," She added. Her slender fingers of her left hand reached towards me. I opened my mouth. She stuffed it full of panties. The black robe behind my head passed a black silk hijab to Ayesha. She tied around my head concealing all except my nose and eyes and tightened it over my mouth. Ayesha climbed off me. I looked around. Apart from Ayesha, all Angee's sisters were standing around me. I looked back to see Serena with a wicked smile on her face. She spoke.
