Let me, Qamar, first tell you how I met this particular woman I am gonna talk about in this story and how I met her.
She had responded to my article asking for stories and I went to her home to meet her.
As I went in and knocked the door, she opened. I asked,
"Miss Rasheeda?"
"Yes"
"I am Qamaar, the story writer. Eh, you know what stories. So, I am here to take your story."
"Oh, come on in"
She was still sticking to her early traditions of covering everything but her face and her hands. Lemme explain how she looks like.
She is around 5 feet 9 tall, slender body and her skin color was some very light brownish color, native to the people of Sri Lanka, but a lighter version of it. She showed me a picture of a man, who was apparently over 6 feet tall and with a beard, looking dangerous. She said,
"This is Hamid. I am gonna narrate to you how I met him. I still live with him in this house. He will come later.
First, lemme narrate to you my earliest interactions with Hamid.
He was a university student at the same batch as mine, the same faculty but a different clan. I was okay with the guys of my religion and since he was of a different religion and a different clan nonetheless, I was always upset with him. But I started having something for him and I guess he sensed it too, and he also started having something for me.
Two days he followed me to my home and I started having fears about his stalking so I alerted my brother. After all, there was no way I could have married him since he was of a different religion. He looked tough and he behaved the same way. There was no way he would have converted because of me.
Later, once I was out with my degree, I was married off to a guy from the same university whom I had known for a long time, named Bashir. Hamid disappeared, and never came back.
At my first night, I was laying in bed, hoping to have a real good time with my husband. Was this not the night I was eagerly waiting for?
But I had to close my eyes without him around and I later woke up, feeling a heavy load over me.
It was Bashir on me and he, without no foreplay, pulled up my dress and deflowered me, and it was painful as hell, in spite of his small penis. That night, I screamed a lot and as he laid by me and closed his eyes, I also slept with tears in my eyes.
In the morning, we prayed together and there was not a single word about last night failed sex. That morning, his parents came and saw the blood on the mattress and they were happy that I was pure that night.
Since then, my life with him was a sexual disaster. He never cared about my pleasure. Infinitely many times I wanted him to kiss me and please me before sex but he never cared for me during sex. He was a scary man, who used to beat me with his hand and green branches, saying it was his religious duty. There was not a single day that passed I did not shed a tear because of him.
