The name is Julianne Bosworth, and I've got a story to share with you. I was born in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, to an English-Canadian father and an Aboriginal Canadian mother. Five-foot-eleven, curvy and sexy, with light bronze skin, long Black hair and light brown eyes, that's essentially me in a nutshell. Exotically beautiful, those are the words I hear most often from people who meet me. Can't say that I dislike them words, folks. Every woman loves to be complimented, respectfully of course.
Race is a source of conflict when it comes to our identity-obsessed society, ladies and gentlemen. I am a natural-born citizen of Canada, a woman, and an agent of law enforcement, that's how I define myself. I am a biracial female, and that's often been the source of grief in my twenty seven years upon this earth. I've been mistaken for everything from Japanese to Puerto Rican or even Mexican, but I always tell people that I am half White and half Aboriginal Canadian. I do this proudly, since it's the truth. I was raised Christian, but these days, I don't subscribe to any particular religion.
The way I see it, religion is just an opiate for the masses. One that's been the source of countless conflict throughout human history. I've looked at Roman Catholicism, Islam, Judaism and a few others, and they're time-honored and proven methods of social control if you ask me. I do believe in a Creator, but I don't much care for the madness of organized religion. Look at all the conflicts between Jews and Muslims in the State of Palestine, and the frequent wars between Maronite Christians and Sunni Muslims in the Republic of Lebanon. Without religion, I feel that we'd all be better off.
I met my husband Kader Osman while attending Carleton University. I studied criminology and Kader, a proud Somali-Canadian scholar, studied civil engineering. Six feet two inches tall, slim and fit, with dark brown skin and curly Black hair, Kader Osman looked simply beautiful to me. The Somali stud was quite shy around the ladies but I went after him with a vengeance. I always go for what I want, folks. And I got my sweet Kader.
After graduation, my husband Kader Osman got hired as a rookie civil engineer by Hydro Ottawa, and I began working for the Canadian Department of Corrections. That's a fancy way of saying that I'm a prison guard working in a federal penitentiary, folks. I do what I can to provide for my family. Family is everything where I come from. You can ask any Aboriginal Canadian person, folks. To my people, faith and family are sacred.
I am the half-Aboriginal wife of a Black Muslim man from Somalia, and the mother of two mixed-race sons. Life isn't easy for me. Sometimes, I think the most hated minority groups in the vastness of Canada are Africans and Aboriginals. All other groups seem to hate on us. If you go to prisons in Ontario, most of the people there are either Aboriginal Canadians, or Canadians of African descent. The cops target these two minority groups the most. I work in law enforcement and the racism I see daily disgusts me, but I've got a mortgage to worry about.
The only friend I have at the Canadian Department of Corrections is Ramon Furtado, a handsome young man who got hired as an officer last year. Ramon was born in the region of Manaus, Brazil, to Jao Furtado, a Black Brazilian father and Maria Vasquez, a White mother originally from the region of Majorca, Spain. Ramon's family emigrated to Canada's Capital region in the 1990s and they've been here ever since. We get all kinds of newcomers in the beautiful province of Ontario, don't we?
Tall, dark and handsome, Ramon Furtado was educated at Ryerson University in the City of Toronto and speaks six languages, including English, Spanish and Portuguese. The guys at the Canadian Department of Corrections, mostly middle-aged White guys, are intimidated by Ramon because of his manliness and his skin color. All the women at work fawn over Ramon, but he's politely distant in his dealings with them. I respect Ramon for his professionalism and charm, and I sometimes talk to him after work.
These days, my marriage is in trouble. I won't even consider the possibility that my husband Kader Osman might be cheating on me with another female, folks. I love my husband Kader something fierce. Tall, dark and handsome, proudly Muslim, that's my Kader. We came from different worlds, but I loved Kader enough to silence the naysayers. I bore Kader two sons, Ibrahim and Ahmad. We live in a nice house in the suburb of Barrhaven, in the West end of Ottawa.
My parents, Jefferson Bosworth and Marcia Ojibwe, weren't thrilled when I told them that I wanted to marry a tall, handsome young Muslim man from the distant land of Northeast Africa. I was mad at my parents for a long time and called them hypocrites, since I thought they opposed my union to Kader because of skin color and his Islamic faith. Apparently, interracial couples can discriminate against other interracial couples. What a word we live in! To be fair, Kader's parents weren't thrilled to meet me either. Xenophobia and racism work both ways, folks.
When I met my future husband Kader's proud Somali folks, Ali and Amina Osman, they thought ill of me for my Christian faith and the fact that I wasn't Somali. I was born of an Aboriginal Canadian mother and a White English father, believe me when I tell you that I am used to being hated because of who I am. Kader Osman and I stuck it out, got married and had two sons. Just a normal family living in the West end of the Canadian Capital, that's us.
Kader and I love each other, but as I said before, we've been having some problems. Lately, Kader hasn't shown much interest in making love to me. I remember the last time Kader and I made love, five days ago. Kader was coming out of the shower, his gorgeous, masculine body looking sinfully sexy. I went to him, and kissed him. Kader kissed me back hesitantly, and I stroked his hard dick. We went to the bed, and did our thing.
