Bisexual Muslim Men's Wives

As Salam Alaikum, dear reader. My name is Ameera Hussein-Jibril and I'm a young Black woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I recently graduated from Algonquin College with a bachelor's degree in Applied Business, and work for the National Bank of Canada. Life is alright these days, I guess. Well, professionally things are alright. Personally, things haven't been the greatest. You see, my husband Samir Jibril and I have some marital issues that we're working out.

When a woman's husband sits her down and tells her that he secretly fantasizes about both guys and girls, it can definitely be an upsetting experience. I'm not most women. I'm a Hijab-wearing Muslim woman of Somali descent. To say that I'm conservative would be the understatement of the bloody century, ladies and gentlemen. I believe in the Holy Koran, and follow the Teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. I am a devout Muslim and my religion is firmly against homosexuality. It's considered haram or dirty by most Muslims.

Still, I love my dear husband Samir and I believe that he can't help having those bisexual feelings, as he calls them. In the eyes of the world, we're an almost perfect couple. Samir was born in Toronto, Ontario, to a Somali immigrant father and a white Canadian mother. He's six feet two inches tall, lean and athletic, and very handsome. A lot of mixed guys like The Rock and Vin Diesel look good but my dear hubby Samir is in a class by himself. I was lucky to have snagged his attention while visiting my cousin Yasmin at the Sprott School of Business on the Carleton University campus three years ago.

Samir and I met and it was love at first sight. A tall, gorgeous Muslim brother with an MBA and a kick-ass job as an auditor with the Canadian Revenue Agency? The dude had a lot of women, black and white, fawning over him everywhere he went but he chose me over the rest of them. I'm five-foot-eleven, curvy and dark-skinned, with large breasts, wide hips and a big round butt but a somewhat plain visage. I consider myself lucky to have met Samir because he's quite a catch. Sexy as hell, and a devout Muslim, AND single? I'm glad I snagged Samir before somebody else did. Unfortunately, as I would soon learn, all that glitters isn't gold.

The bad thing about being the CARING wife of a secretly bisexual Muslim man? There is absolutely no one I can tell about it. Understand that if mainstream society is somewhat homophobic, then the Islamic communities of Canada are even more intolerant toward gays, lesbians and bisexuals. If I confided in any of the Muslim sisters at the local Masjid, people would find out about Samir and then his life would be in danger. Do you know of any openly gay or bisexual Muslim men? Of course not. If such individuals exist, and I believe that they do, then they definitely keep their sexual orientation to themselves. Otherwise they'd be deader than Elvis, and I absolutely mean that.

My husband Samir is bisexual, and I honestly wasn't sure how to deal with that. My feelings were deeply conflicted on this issue. The Holy Koran states that homosexuality and lesbianism are wrong. The western world states that gays, lesbians and bisexuals aren't weirdoes and that they're just as normal and wholesome as straight people. Canada even grants them the right to marry other individuals of the same sex. My western friends think there's nothing wrong with queers marrying each other. My Muslim friends at the Masjid think gays and lesbians should be stoned to death for their immoral lifestyles. I love my husband Samir dearly and don't wish him harm. What's a gal to do?

I decided to do what I'm sure lots of women who are madly in love with the secretly gay or bisexual men they married have attempted. I thought I could change him. When Samir came home, three days after this stunning revelation, he found me lying stark naked on the living room carpet. Looking at him lustfully, I winked at my dear hubby and spread my curvy, sexy legs invitingly. Samir grinned and came to me. That night, we made love passionately, just like we used to in the early days of our marriage.

Samir put me on all fours, spanked my big black butt and pulled my hair while slamming his big ole dick into me from behind. I screamed passionately as my darling husband fucked me real good, and backed my ass up, grinding it against his groin. Samir thrust his dick deep inside of me, and tore my pussy up with deep, powerful strokes. My hubby fucked me hard and fast, totally owning my cunt, just like a real man should. Afterwards, Samir and I lay, exhausted, on the living room carpet. He came twice, shooting his cum deep in my cunt. I sucked Samir's dick after, for I loved the taste of his cum.

As I lay there, safely snuggled in my husband's arms, it was easy for me to pretend, at least to myself, that Samir's revelation about his bisexuality had never taken place. I mean, my pussy was sore from all the rough pounding he'd given me. My husband is a strong and manly man. He's a rising star in his upscale job with the Canadian government. And he knows how to lay pipe in the bedroom. Maybe he was just confused. Maybe if I gave him more sex, he'd get over this bisexuality thing and realize that I'm the only one he needs. I wanted to cure Samir of his bisexuality thanks to my killer Somali pussy. I failed miserably.

The next time Samir and I got down, I decided to spice things up. I got on all fours, and spread my ass cheeks wide open. As my stunned hubby looked on, I tossed him a bottle of Aloe cream and told him to fuck me in the ass. Samir was shocked and quite reluctant, but once I pressed my big sexy Somali ass against him, my hubby stopped resisting me, just like I knew he would. Samir pressed his dick against my asshole after lubricating it, and eased his dick into my derriere.

As a Somali woman and a devout Muslim, I was raised to think of anal sex as dirty, something only weirdoes and queers do. It's considered haram in Islam, by the way. Yet I was desperately trying to hang onto my husband. From what I'm told, men who like men enjoy fucking other men in their asshole. Well, as a woman, I've got an asshole too. Unlike other women who might balk at the thought of anal sex, I was perfectly willing to offer my asshole to my husband Samir. Better he fuck my ass than some fruity dude's, I figured.

Gripping my wide hips tightly, Samir thrust his dick into my asshole. I gritted my teeth against the pain as my hubby began ramming his dick into my dirt box. In spite of myself, I cried out as Samir's dick invaded my asshole. For a long time he fucked me, real hard, cussing like never before, and fucking me rougher than he'd ever done. When Samir finally eased his dick out of my battered asshole, I slumped on the bed, sweaty, exhausted and spent. I had tears in my eyes. Samir gathered me into his arms and told me that he loved me.

Three days later, I got a call from the Civic Hospital on Carling Avenue. The phone call all women dread. My darling husband Samir was hospitalized, apparently he'd been brought in after trying to kill himself using some pills. He'd even left a handwritten note on his desk at work, before going to Rexall Pharmacy to make the nigh-fatal purchases. In the note, which the police handed to me, Samir blamed himself for his sexual immorality, and said I deserved better than him. He apologized to friends and family for being bisexual, and declared the world was better off without him. In the final line, Samir proclaimed his undying love for me and a fervent wish that he could be totally heterosexual.

Tears streamed down my face as I read the note over and over. I sat in the hospital room, and looked at Samir's unconscious body. The doctors gave him a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of his pill-induced coma. He could wake up tomorrow, fine and dandy, or he could die in the next few hours. It was all up to him. In my heart, I thought Samir might have lost the will to live. Gently I held his hand and kissed it. Come back to me, I whispered. Samir stirred in his sleep, his body shook and he kind of smiled but he never did wake up.