Mormon Girls for Muslim Guys

Salutations, people. My name is Julie Saint-James, or Sister Jay as my friends like to call me. I was born in Salt Lake City, State of Utah, to Peter and Mary Saint-James. I was brought up in the Mormon faith and like all Mormons, I did my missionary work over a period of two years. Something happened when I got sent to preach and share the Word with the people of metropolitan Detroit, Michigan. I met an amazing man who transformed me from a lily-white Mormon gal into a wanton slut. All those years of repression came bubbling to the surface thanks to the man I will forever remember as Mr. Rashid Osman or Big Ra as he calls himself.

I knocked on a lot of doors, approached a lot of people during my mission days in the City of Detroit, Michigan. Finally, I knocked on the door of a nice-looking house in a middle-class section of Detroit, and got a surprise. Instead of the portly, middle-aged white suburban guy I was expecting, I was greeted by a tall, good-looking young black man. He smiled politely at me and asked me how he might help. I introduced myself as Sister Julie from the Mormon Church. Then I asked him if he had a moment to talk about the Lord.

To my immense surprise he said yes, and invited me inside. To tell you the truth, I was quite nervous. I'm five-foot- four, freckle-faced, red-haired and green-eyed. I weigh one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. What chance did someone like myself have against a six-foot-four, 200-pound black guy? I'm ashamed to say that this is how I thought in those days. When you grow up in the lily-white suburbs of Utah without exposure to other races and cultures, you can develop a certain closed mindset. Well, I have since learned better.

Mr. Rashid ended up surprising me in more ways than one. He told me about his parents, and spoke proudly of his Irish-American mother Deirdre Morgan and his Somali immigrant father, Abdirashid Osman. I knew there were interracial families out there, but I had honestly never seen one in the flesh. At my old high school in Utah, everyone was white. There were a few Chinese people in town, along with some Mexicans and Blacks but they lived far away from where my family and I lived. I'm as white-washed as they come, I'm sorry to say. Rashid told me he was a freshman at Westminster College, which surprised me because that's in Salt Lake City, my neck of the woods. Apparently, he'd opted to study outside Michigan, how about that? Rashid smiled at that and told me he met a lot of Mormons there. I asked him what he thought of my faith. Rashid shrugged and told me that while he was raised Muslim, he respected all religions.

I smiled and nodded. Even though we Mormons claim to respect other faiths, many people in our religion view other religions as filled with lies. That's unfortunate but true. After sitting together for about an hour and talking about religion and society, Rashid walked me to the door. I asked him if I might come back another time and he said yes, and when I offered him The Book of Mormon, he happily took it. I went home that night feeling quite surreal. I couldn't get Rashid out of my head. Tall, good-looking, well-spoken, educated and a God-fearing man. Sure, he still believes in the falsehoods of the Muslim faith but that's okay. All he needs is a good Mormon gal like me to teach him the truth.

The following week, I showed up at Rashid's house, and his parents weren't there. He welcomed me, and we sat together in the living room, talking about God. Rashid was very curious about the Prophet Joseph Smith, Founder of the Mormon Church. Since the creator of my faith is one of my favorite subjects, I happily talked to Rashid about him. Rashid told me that his Christian preachers taught him to be weary of false prophets. Since I was expecting that question, I reassured him that Mormonism encouraged its adherents to question their prophets. Basically, any man or woman who calls themselves a prophet of the Lord yet disobeys the rules of the Bible is a false prophet. This brought a smile to Rashid's face, and he nodded.

There we were, two young people sitting in the living room of a truly nice home, talking about our Christian beliefs. An Arab friend of mine once told me that when a man and a woman who are unrelated are alone in a room, the Devil is a third party. How else would you explain what happened? One minute Rashid and I were talking, and then my hand accidentally brushed against his thigh, and he apologized, and I told him not to apologize, and then, I, um, kissed him. It was sudden and it was wrong but felt so damn right. I had been wanting him for a while. Ever since our first meeting I caught myself thinking naughty thoughts about him. Rashid held me in his arms and told me we should stop. My mouth agreed with him but my body disagreed. We began the kisses again, and unfortunately, we didn't stop there...

Somehow, Rashid and I ended up on the carpeted floor of his living room with our clothes off. I admired his muscular, sexy and dark-skinned body. Rashid laid me on the carpeted and spread my thighs. Pulling down my panties, he began licking and fingering my pussy. I found myself moaning in pleasure and crying out his name. Rashid pleasured me, and as he worked his tongue into my cunt, I heard myself shout obscenities completely unworthy of a good Mormon Church gal like myself. And I didn't care. In no time Rashid made me cum, and I cried out in pleasure. Moments later, I knelt before him and grabbed his dick. I admired his long and thick, uncircumcised black dick. Gently I began sucking his cock while massaging his balls.

Now, I wasn't a virgin when Rashid and I got down, but I wouldn't call myself sexually experienced either. Mormon or not, a young woman has her needs and I've fooled around with a few guys. After getting Rashid's dick nice and hard, I climbed on top of him. The sexy black Muslim stud put his hands on my hips and thrust his hard member deep inside of me. Licking my lips, I swayed back and forth as I rode Rashid, loving the deliciously hot pain I felt deep inside. Rashid's hands reached for my small, pert breasts and pinched my nipples. Grinning, I urged him to fuck me harder.

We sucked and fucked over practically every inch of his living room. At some point Rashid took me on all fours, whispering into my ear that he liked to take his women face down and ass up. Just fuck me, I shouted, pressing my butt against his groin. Rashid laughed and thrust his dick into my cunt, ramming it home nice and deep. Just the way I liked it. I cried out in pleasure and pain, my lust-filled moans filling the house. Rashid made sexy grunting noises as he fucked me, slamming his dick into me with all the passion he could muster. We went at it for a while, the better part of an hour, I think. Left me pleasurably sore. Fun.

Afterwards, I put my clothes back on and left. I didn't look at Rashid as I got dressed. I couldn't bear to look into his eyes. He was talking, asking me when he could see me again. I mumbled something, then hurried out of the apartment. My own conduct shamed me. I walked into this young man's house to share the Word with him, and instead of doing that, I behaved like a wanton whore. And I couldn't even blame him for what happened, for I definitely wanted it. I hurried home, showered and then went to bed. I never forgot about that night. There hasn't been one like it since. The night a good Mormon Church gal like me gave herself to a Somali-American Muslim. I'll be damned. I moved on, though. I got married, and had a daughter. I never told anyone about that experience. And I'll never set foot in Detroit again.