Indian Girl 4 Bisexual Blac Man

"Wahid, what would you do without me?" says my lady Nadira Singh as she lay against me, her lovely face covered in a fine sheen of sweat after some passionate lovemaking. I smiled and gently stroked her lovely face, then kissed Nadira on the forehead. What would my so-called life be like without her? I shudder to think. I found a rare treasure in this vivacious young woman, that's for damn sure.

Nadira and I met in the Carleton University library last year. I noticed the five-foot-ten, curvy and vivacious young Indian woman walking about the third floor with the Criminal Psychology book tucked under her arm, how cute her face was and how amazing her big ass looked in her too-tight jeans. I noticed a lot of guys checking out Nadira as she walked by, and knew I had to act fast...

Like any brother worth his salt, I had to holler. South Asian ladies like Nadira Singh are definitely a challenge for a brother, but the way I see it, if you're not man enough to approach a lady, you don't deserve her. I pretended to need help with citations and Nadira seemed the studious type, that was my excuse. We met, talked, laughed and exchanged numbers. The rest, as they say, is history.

"I'm nothing without you dear," I replied, and Nadira purred with contentment like a kitten and stretched luxuriously on our bed. The fact that Nadira and I are together is a miracle, in and of itself. You don't see a lot of Indian women with men of African descent, do you? Well, there's a lot of reasons for that, racism and cultural differences among them, but that's not what this tale is about. Not entirely anyways.

Outside our apartment, located in the South Keys area of Ottawa, Ontario, snow fell rapidly. That's to be expected, since we are in the Capital region and being blanketed with snow around this time of year comes with the territory. I was born far from Canada, in a town called Mogadishu, Capital of Somalia. Yet I love the Canadian winter. Yeah, guess I must be a unicorn or something.

My name is Wahid Yusuf, and I'm a man with a story to share with you. I am the son of two very different worlds, and in my own way, a walking contradiction. I was born in Somalia and raised in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. My parents, Abdullahi and Choukri Yusuf came to Canada during the sixth summer of my life. They were part of that wave of Somali immigrants who came to Ontario, Canada, and Minnesota, USA, during the early 1990s due to political strife in Somalia.

I consider myself as Canadian as anyone living in the great white north, up to and including our famous and oh-so popular Prime Minister Justin Trudeau himself. That's why it irks me when someone, usually a middle-aged white person, asks me about my origins. The way I figure it, anyone who isn't an Aboriginal is technically either a direct immigrant or the descendant of immigrants. A lot of people in Canada tend to forget that, unfortunately.

What little I remember of Somalia continues to haunt my dreams. My dear Nadira doesn't get my sense of nostalgia about the place. You see, she was adopted by a white couple and doesn't remember anything of India, the land of her birth. I try to hang onto what little I remember of Somalia, the land of my ancestors. It's part of who I am, like it or not.

When I think of Somalia, I remember a bright, sunlit place. I remember a stone house, and a beach, along with dirt roads. I remember that the place was hot. These days, in spite of my best efforts to reconnect with my fellow Somalis, I continue to be apart from my people. There are many reasons for that. Not the least of which, drumroll please, is the fact that I am bisexual. That's right, bisexual Somali men do exist. Deal with it.

You'd never guess it to look at me, though. I stand six-foot-four, broad-shouldered and burly, with dark brown skin and thick, curly black hair that I've styled into an Afro. I have a thick beard and only shave once every three weeks, like clockwork. I am a practicing Muslim, believe it or not, and attend Friday prayers at the Masjid just like I was taught by my father and mother when I was little. A lot of people say that you can't be a gay or bisexual person and still be a Muslim. I say we leave it up to the Most High.

I recently graduated from Carleton University with my bachelor's degree in Civil Engineering. These days, I work for Ren Engineering, a small company located not far from Tunney's Pasture Station. We do a lot of work for the City of Ottawa, including renovations to several of the buildings owned by the Canada Revenue Agency. What I like about my boss, Mr. Wilson, is that he's not afraid to compete with the big guys, or take chances. Hence why he hired me right out of school. Guess I'm lucky.

Ren Engineering has a lot of employees and subcontractors, but I'm one of maybe six black guys working for the company here in Ottawa. They have an office in Toronto, and another one in Calgary. All in all, about a hundred people work for Ren Engineering. I do get stared at when I show up on a site to do inspections, or to talk to the construction workers and the government people. Ottawa lacks diversity in the major professions, and that's a damn shame.

"Yusuf, you know you're damn lucky the boss took a chance on you," said my co-worker Jake Wyatt, a red-haired white dude with glasses, as we inspected the work done by our guys on a CRA site in downtown Ottawa the other day. I took a moment to process this, and then decided not to let it go. I looked Jacob in the eye, took a deep breath and then took the bait, if only to reel him in.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, bud, now, do your job and I'll do mine," I replied with a shrug, and Jacob flashed me that fake smile which a lot of white dudes in Ottawa give to you when they really, really don't like you. I've been on the receiving end of that fake smile my entire life. During my undergrad days at Carleton University, I didn't see a lot of black guys in the engineering department and since I was smart, well-spoken and unafraid to call people out on their bullshit, I got a lot of stares. Like I said, I'm used to it. Too bad Jacob and his ilk are the least of my problems...

"Something troubles you, Wahid, and don't say it's nothing," Nadira says, snatching me out of my train of thought. I look up at Nadira, and hesitate. Should I tell her the truth? Truth is best, as has been said many times before. Nadira and I have been through a lot together, and she's been in my corner the entire time. I figured I owed her that much.

"Alright, I got into an argument with a racist co-worker the other day, a bozo who's not used to seeing professional brothers handling their business," I replied, and Nadira nodded, and then kissed me on the lips. I ran my hands all over her curvy, sultry body, and stopped at her thick, firm ass. My favorite part of her body is her booty, and we both know it.

"Hmm, I love it when you grab my ass like that, but don't think you're off the hook," Nadira said, and I nodded, and then went to work on her. I pushed Nadira back on the bed, and kissed her lips while caressing her tits. I kissed a path from her breasts to her slightly rounded belly, and then spread her thick thighs. Time to go downtown, as they say...

"Oh I know," I replied, and before Nadira could say anything, I buried my face between her legs and began eating her pussy. Just like that, I began pleasuring my lady. I flicked my tongue into Nadira's pussy while teasing her clit with my thumb. I know my lady's sweet spot and love torturing her in a most wonderful way. Nadira moaned deeply and thrashed about on the bed. Oh yeah, I love getting to her...

"Shit, you're in my spot," Nadira cried out, and I licked my way into her pussy, and next thing I know, she just grabbed me and started riding my face. I love it when Nadira does that because it gives me a great visual to work with. I spiced things up by propping Nadira on all fours and smacked her big butt while eating her pussy from behind. I licked Nadira and probed her and didn't let up until she shrieked, orgasmic.

Passion is as passion does, and that's something Nadira and I have never lacked. After my lady recovered from the sexual whammy I laid on her, Nadira and I really got our freak on. I put her on all fours, and Nadira shook her big sexy ass at me, giving me a great visual to work with. I smacked her ass lightly, and Nadira turned around and flashed me a coy smile.

"Wahid, stop playing around and fuck me," Nadira said in that pert tone I found oh-so sexy. Grinning, I put my hands on her hips and thrust into her. Slowly I worked my dick into her pussy, and then began fucking her with slow, deep strokes. A lot of dudes like to rush, but I like to take my time. Really savor the moment, you know? Nadira started grinding against me, and just like that, I cut loose and really let her have it...

"Ask and you shall receive," I said, and I bucked my hips, slamming my dick into Nadira's pussy, which caused her to scream. There are many different ways of making love, and I like to think that I savor each one with my Nadira. We went at it for the better part of the night, and didn't stop until exhaustion claimed us. Salima lay next to me, fast asleep and snoring louder than a herd of bison. Trust me, I love my sweetie but yeah, she does snore. A lot.

All is quiet in our apartment, aside from Nadira's snoring. It's two o'clock in the morning and I'm due at work by eight. I can't fall asleep. During the wee hours of the morning, that's when I do the most thinking, and thoughts and memories of days gone by assail me like gusts of wind in a storm. I just want to get some rest, but my mind won't let me...

I find myself thinking of Victor Durand, the person I loved before meeting Nadira Singh. Victor and I were teammates on the Afrocentric Swim Club at Carleton University, a club I founded to encourage African-descended youth to take up swimming. There were only seven people in our club, counting Victor and myself, but we had an awesome time.

"Dude, our club is going to be the stuff of legend," Victor said to me as we stood in the shallow end of the Carleton University swimming pool. I looked at the tall, dark and handsome Afro-Caribbean young man who stood near me, clad only in bright red swim trunks, and smiled. Victor is originally from the island of Haiti, and worked as a fisherman with his Dad before moving to Canada for university studies. I found his enthusiasm and wit positively refreshing.

"Amen to that," I said, and Victor and I exchanged dap. It was noon, and at this hour, the university swimming pool opens to the public for the public swim. Victor and I were the only black folks there, save for the Ethiopian-looking female lifeguard. Everyone else was white or Chinese. They all stared at us, two young black men relaxing in the pool. Go figure.

"Let's show these haters what we can do," Victor said, and then he dove under the water, flexing his powerful muscles, and switched lanes. I followed him, doing the front crawl since that's my favorite swimming method. I'm not as fast as some, but I do alright in the water. Victor and I stopped at the dividing line between the shallow end, which comes about five feet, and the deeper end, which is six feet or more.

"Lead the way, brother," I said to Victor, and he grinned and pulled himself up on the tiled white deck, and marched toward the deeper end. I followed him, and in spite of my best efforts, I checked out his ass. In those days, I was quite conflicted about my emerging bisexuality. Understand that I was raised Muslim, and in the Muslim community, being gay or bisexual is considered a sin.

All eyes followed Victor and I as we made our way to the diving board, and then I watched as Victor leapt without hesitation. Me? I took a dive from the deck, and not the board because, well, I have trouble with heights. Victor made a spectacular splash as he landed in the water, and then he emerged fearlessly from the depths, crowing proudly.

"Wahid, my dude, that's how you do it," Victor said, laughing, and I nodded and swam towards him. I looked into the eyes of this tall, athletic, dark-skinned brother from the Caribbean and saw absolutely no fear in them. Victor winked at me, and then dove under. I followed suit, and we had fun chasing each other in the water like dolphins, upsetting some of the white folks swimming there because, well, we were totally unexpected. Whatever, we're Carleton University students and we have the right to enjoy the pool. Haters can hate all they want...

"That was fun, we definitely need to get more brothers and sisters into the pool, they're missing out," I said to Victor, about an hour later, as we left the pool and emerged into the locker room. I removed my backpack from my locker and started putting my clothes on. I had my back to Victor, and turned around, only to find him standing awfully close to me, buck-naked, and with the beginning of an erection...

"Yeah, missing out alright," Victor said, and his dick hardened and he smiled cockily. I stared a second too long, then averted my eyes and finished getting dressed. I felt super uncomfortable and wanted to get the hell out of there, but Victor kept smiling at me as he got dressed. When we emerged from the locker room and walked toward the exit leading to the athletics building office, Victor looked at me sharply and I looked back, wondering what he wanted.

"What's up, bro? Say, back there, you should really be careful about overexposing yourself," I said, a bit nervously, I might add, and Victor grinned and stood way too close to me, and touched my shoulder. He said nothing and walked away. I watched him, and in spite of myself, I checked out Victor's ass. Dammit, what's wrong with me today?

"You and I, we're of the same breed, Wahid, stop being scared of it," Victor called out, pausing as he reached the exit doors. The brother's booming voice filled the hall, and he walked away with a smug smile. I stood there, feeling embarrassed about getting called out like that and not knowing what to do. What the fuck? Alright, I totally wasn't expecting that, as you can see...

I went home that afternoon feeling quite confused. Understand that while I was well aware of my attraction to both sexes, I'd never acted on it. Also, I have zero gaydar unless the queer person in question looks and acts like Jack McFarland from that old show Will & Grace. In the Somali community, people seldom discuss gayness or bisexuality, unless they're speaking of "bad western habits."

"Bro, yesterday, back at the gym, what the fuck did you mean by that?" I asked Victor the very next day, as I ran into him in the University Center Building. Clad in a burgundy Carleton Engineering jacket over a red T-shirt, blue jeans and Timberland boots, Victor looked pretty good. Still, I wanted to throttle Victor for calling me out like that in public, and felt I was owed an explanation.

"Ease up there, my brother, I simply meant that you and I are kindred spirits, and we have an appreciation for beauty in both male and female forms," Victor whispered, and he looked past me at a pair of tall, big-booty young black women who looked like twins. One of them was wearing Yoga pants, which made her big ass stand out. Walking with the twins was a tall, muscular black dude in a tank top and sweatpants. Brother was in shape, damn. In spite of myself, I smiled and nodded.

"Alright, so, how did you know about me?" I asked briskly, and Victor laid his hand on my shoulder, smiled and led me to the nearby elevator. We rode it to the fourth floor, and then went to Starbucks. Victor got two coffees, and then we sat down at one of the nearby metallic tables. I sat across from Victor, who smiled as he sipped his coffee.

"Wahid, let's cut the bullshit, I'm bisexual and so are you, it's not the end of the world," Victor said, matter-of-factly, his intense brown eyes boring into mine. I looked at Victor, stunned and flabbergasted to hear those words come from him. Victor is over six feet tall, athletic and strong-looking, with a deep voice. When I think of a queer person, he's not my first thought that's for damn sure...

"Cool," I replied, even though I was near panicking about being found out, and Victor smiled reassuringly and told me my secret was safe with him. I leaned back in my chair, and finally took a sip of coffee. I willed myself to be calm. Being exposed as queer in the Somali community could get my ass killed, but I sensed I could trust victor. So I relaxed...

"You can always be yourself around me, Wahid," Victor said, and amazingly, he winked at me. I smiled hesitantly, and looked in his eyes. I didn't know it but this was the start of a beautiful friendship with sexual overtones. When Victor and I first met, we were the only black male students in a civil engineering introductory seminar which included twenty five students. There were six other black students but they were all female. Imagine that.

I've always felt that Victor and I were unique, and I was about to discover how unique. We came from different worlds, Victor and I. Haitians hail from the Caribbean and they are predominantly a Christian nation. Somalis hail from Northeast Africa and we're a predominantly Muslim people. Yet Victor and I were united by our friendship, and the secrets that we shared...

Victor and I began hanging out regularly, and I even introduced him to my parents as a close friend from school. Victor was cool when I took him to Friday prayers at the mosque and to Islamic community events like tournaments of the Muslim Basketball Association. In turn, I accompanied Victor to the Haitian Seventh Day Adventist Church he attended in downtown Ottawa, and got to know him and his community. I found myself liking the Haitian people, for they're friendly, lively, welcoming, and their cuisine is to die for.

"Victor, my man, that dinner was something, shoot, I feel like I gained ten pounds, your people sure make some tasty food," I said to Victor, laughing, as we walked out of Soleil Des Iles, a quaint little Haitian restaurant located within walking distance of his Donald Street apartment in the suburb of Vanier. After a sumptuous meal of white rice, brown bean sauce and spicy goat meat, I was more than full. Damn, them Haitians sure can cook!

"Well, Captain Somalia, I know a surefire way you can work off those extra pounds," Victor said slyly as he put his arm around my shoulders. There was a burning intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before. I smiled and nodded, feeling quite nervous but also excited. Victor and I walked back to his place, a brownstone building right across from the nearby park.

"Damn it's hot, Victor, I'd like to hit the shower, if that's okay with you," I said to Victor, who smiled and nodded. I took my clothes off and entered the shower, and left the door ajar as is my custom at my place in South Keys. It's a bad habit I have, I guess. Except I wasn't in South Keys but in Vanier, at Victor's place. Dammit, when will a brother ever learn?

"Make yourself at home," Victor said, and I gasped in surprise as I heard him come in, and I watched him stand in front of the toilet bowl, dick in hand. Victor casually took a leak as I looked him, watching him through the shower curtain. Victor turned around and looked at me, smiling. I said nothing, and neither did he. Taking off his clothes, Victor joined me in the shower.

"Well hello there," I said, my heart going pitter-patter as I faced a smiling Victor, who stood there, stark naked, hard-bodied, gorgeously masculine, and hard dick in his hand. Victor stepped forward, and drew his arms around me. As the warm water fell over our bodies, Victor drew me close and then he kissed me. My first time kissing another man, but definitely not the last...

"You're so beautiful," Victor said as he kissed me passionately, and his hands roamed all over my body. I'm a big and tall, kind of chubby guy but Victor looked at me like I was Will Smith or Brad Pitt or something. We kissed, and then slowly, gently, made love. It was my first time, and it was definitely memorable. My first time crossing the invisible, irreversible line that separates straightness from gayness and bisexuality. And I loved it.