Requiem For A Saudi Girls Dream

If my family knew I were doing this, they'd kill me and then dig me up and kill me all over again. Oh, well. What they don't know can't hurt them. My name is Rana Al-Sharif and I'm a young woman of Saudi Arabia descent living in the City of Toronto, Ontario. I'm in my first year at Humber College, and I've experienced a brand new world since moving to Ontario from the City of Bareq, northwestern Saudi Arabia. And I am passionately in love with Kelvin Stephenson, my roommate Farah's sinfully sexy older brother.

The first time I set foot inside Humber College, to pursue a Bachelor's degree in Commerce, I thought the place was really nice. It's a lot smaller than the University of Toronto, which rejected my application, by the way. I guess the big school didn't want little old me. I fell in love with this smaller, friendly and racially diverse school. The place felt just right to me.

One of the first people I met on the Humber College campus was Farah Stephenson, my future roommate. Tall, lean and athletic, with golden brown skin, curly black hair and lime-green eyes, Farah is one of those people whose friendliness and outgoing manner make her supremely likable and popular everywhere she goes. The gal plays rugby for our school and is the president of the Business Students Club. I envy people like that but I don't understand them.

"The world is what we make of it and not the other way around," Rana told me, after helping me move my stuff into the two-bedroom apartment we shared. I nodded, and smiled at this young woman who was so very different from me. I wanted to ask her about her ethnicity but it didn't seem prudent. Later, I would learn that Farah was born in Calgary, to a Jamaican immigrant mother and a white Canadian father.

"I wish I had your confidence," I told Farah, as I sat down on my bed. I felt beyond tired after dragging all of my stuff into the apartment. The other students moving into the residence had parents and friends helping them out. Me? I was totally solo since I'm an international student and my folks, Sultan and Bethari Al-Sharif are still in my hometown of Bareq. If Farah hadn't helped me, I don't know what I would have done.

Farah and I would end up becoming close friends, and she became my guide here in Toronto. The place was so much bigger than my small town back in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. "You're going to love it here," Farah said, smiling as we walked through the Eaton Center, the first western mall I had ever been to. The sheer size of the place amazed me. Wow, was all I could say.

I've always been painfully shy. I'm five-foot-four, and weigh one hundred and seventeen pounds soaking wet. I'm bronze-skinned, with dark brown eyes, black hair and features a bit sharper than those of the average Arab gal. There's a reason for that. My mother, Bethari Harun is originally from Malaysia, and my father, Sultan Al-Sharif, is a purebred Saudi Arabia. They met and fell in love while studying at Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario, in the 1980s. My father's family staunchly opposed their union, even though my mom comes from a prominent Malaysian Muslim family.

My folks eloped, and later returned to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia in secret. It was many years before my mother finally gained Saudi citizenship, and my father's side of the family accepted their marriage. My brothers Akil and Hakim still live in Saudi Arabia. I am the only daughter of the family, and the only one who manifested a desire to study abroad. Rather than stay in Saudi Arabia and end up prematurely married to some old bozo, I'd rather study abroad and expand my horizons. That's why I'm in Canada.

I didn't realize that the journey I began in Toronto would change my life in unexpected ways. The first time I laid eyes on Farah's older brother, University of Toronto football player Kelvin Stephenson, my heart went pitter-patter. "Hello there little lady," Kelvin said, smiling at his sister Farah as he hugged her fiercely.

Kelvin had stopped by campus to visit his sister, and I happened to be studying in our room when Farah answered the door and greeted him. I watched the two of them joyfully embracing. Farah is six feet tall, but next to her brother, she looked short. Standing next to him I'd be almost a midget. Kelvin Stephenson is six-foot-five, and quite brawny. Oh, and he's got a cute butt too.

"Who is this lovely young lady?" Kelvin said, looking me up and down while extricating himself from his sister's arms. Farah smiled and introduced us. I smiled politely at Kelvin while my heart thundered in my chest. The guy has such a presence. It's almost intimidating at times. In a good way, though. He's not scary or anything. Quite the opposite. Kelvin is...beautiful. Smiling, Kelvin took a step toward me and extended his hand for me to shake.

"As Salam Alaikum I'm Rana," I said, and shook Kelvin's hand as a shocked Farah looked on. Farah looked at me dubiously. You see, early on, I told her about the dos and don'ts of life as an observant Muslim woman. Number one, observant Muslim women, such as Hijab-wearing sisters like me, don't shake hands with males they're not related to.

"It's alright Farah he's your brother," I said to Farah, who exhaled in relief. I looked Kelvin in the eye and he returned my stare. I smiled faintly, and I swear, right then and there, something passed between us. I should have known, right then and there, that this guy was trouble. With but a glance Kelvin made me break the sacred rules of my faith. He was trouble. And I wanted to know him better.

Later that day, I joined Farah and Kelvin for dinner at the campus food court. As we ate some delicious pizza and sandwiches, Kelvin regaled us with tales of his exploits at the University of Toronto. Farah seemed bored as Kelvin talked about football and girls and parties but I was fascinated. "My brother is a pig," Farah said, laughing.

Your brother is magically delicious, I thought wickedly as I looked Kelvin up and down while Farah wasn't looking. The guy looked good enough to eat. What? Do my thoughts surprise you? People forget that Hijab-wearing Muslim sisters like myself are women at the end of the day. We've got needs, wants and desires, along with fantasies, just like all other women. We do get crushes on hot guys. We're Muslim, and we're women. We're not unfeeling machines!

"Tell us more," I said, my hand on my chin, staring dreamily at Kelvin as he talked about that time he scored a touchdown against Carleton University's new football team. Farah looked at Kelvin, then at me. I could feel my roommate's eyes burning with intensity but I just smiled at her as if I didn't know what she was talking about. Farah caught me checking out her brother and did not approve. Kelvin did not notice the unspoken exchange between us. He's definitely a man. And, as I swore to myself silently, he's going to be my man someday.

"You should visit us again but tell us in advance so I'll cook a tasty Saudi dish," I said to Kelvin, giving him a brief hug before he left. Kelvin smiled at me, and hugged Farah goodbye before walking out the door. As soon as we were alone, Farah stared at me like I had two heads. I smiled at her innocently, as if I had no clue why she was mad.

"What was that all about?" Farah said, crossing her arms, her eyes filled with anger and distrust. I looked at her and took a deep breath. This requires careful handling. Farah Stephenson is a very nice person most of the time but she's also loud and intense when angry or outraged. I didn't want to risk our friendship. Farah is a cool person. Still, I wouldn't be bullied. So I used treachery.

"You've been telling me to relax and stop following all the strict rules of my faith and the first time I try to act nice and normal you get mad," I said, positively pouting and doing a good job of looking wounded. People don't suspect this about me but I am fairly manipulative. A woman has to be in order to survive a tough, patriarchal society like Saudi Arabia. Why do you think my uptight Arab dad agreed to let me study in Canada? I sweet-talked him into it!

Farah looked at me and I saw her resolve falter, her anger dissipating. Like a lot of black women, Farah is fairly protective of the men in her family. "I'm sorry for getting mad it's just that my brother has lousy luck with women," she said piteously. I smiled and nodded, then prodded her for more details.

That night, Farah spilled the beans about Kelvin's last relationship. Apparently, Kelvin was dating a Lebanese Christian chick named Rachel Lahoud, and her parents didn't approve because he was black, or, rather, part black. "The poor guy was heartbroken over losing Rachel," Farah said, shaking her head.

I nodded sympathetically, and smiled inside. So, Kelvin likes Arab women, eh? Good to know. I made peace with Farah, and that night, as I lay on my bed, I began scheming to get Kelvin. The way I see it, I'm in Toronto, far away from my folks, and I might as well enjoy my freedom. I crept through Farah's Facebook and easily found her brother. I sent him a greeting and a friend request, along with my cell phone number. Moments later, Kelvin added me as a friend and then texted me. Bingo, I thought, smiling victoriously.

The next day, Kelvin and I met at the Eaton Center in Toronto. "It is good to see you again," Kelvin said, and hugged me. I hugged him back fiercely, and, linking my arm with his, we walked through the mall together. Later, as we sat down in the food court and ate some delicious Chinese food, I got to know him better. Kelvin is definitely not the party-crazed dumb jock his sister Farah makes him out to be.

Much to my pleasant surprise, Kelvin spoke some Arabic. "Masha' Allah that's wonderful," I said to him, excitedly grabbing his arm as he spoke to me in Arabic. What did Kelvin say to me? The magical words "Ente Jamile", which mean "you're beautiful" in Arabic. Kelvin's bright smile faded when I asked him where he learned my native tongue.

In a sad voice, Kelvin told me. "My ex is Lebanese and she taught me," he said, shrugging sadly. I gently laid my hand on Kelvin's arm and looked him in the eye. Smiling faintly, Kelvin looked up at me. I held his gaze and told him that this Lebanese broad was a fool for letting him go. Kelvin smiled and I swear, he brightened up like a sunflower.

"You're something else Rana," Kelvin said, laughing heartily. I winked at him, and we finished our meal and left the mall together. We went to a nearby movie theater and watched Hercules, starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. We had a really good time, and, just I thought he would, Kelvin put the moves on me. I acted a bit reluctant, but eventually rested my head on his shoulder. Judging by the way Kelvin totally relaxed, I had done well.

After the movie, Kelvin and I walked around Toronto and then sat down somewhere. A bench on a park, as I recall. "Rana I really enjoy your company but I'm the wrong religion and you're my sister's friend," Kelvin said, looking at me with a look of discomfort on that handsome mug of his.

I took a deep breath before answering. I should have seen this coming, yet it caught me by surprise. "Kelvin, I'm a grown woman and make my own decisions about what I do and whom I do it with," I said firmly, looking him in the eye. Kelvin smiled and nodded. Clearly, this was the answer he was looking for. I'd passed his test with flying colors.

Thus, the handsome Kelvin and I embarked on a passionate relationship. One rendered all the more complicated because we had to keep things hidden from his sister Farah. For months we kept up the charade. We would meet in malls, restaurants and movie theaters, far away from Humber College. Farah wasn't the only reason we were hiding. There are quite a few Muslim students at the college and I didn't want them knowing my business.

"This is so naughty," Kelvin said as we sat on the couch one night, cuddling and making out. Farah was away because the women's rugby club was on the other side of Ontario on a tournament. We had the apartment entirely to ourselves. Good. All this sneaking around is fun but it can leave a gal frustrated in the worst way, if you know what I mean.

"That's the best part," I said, grinning as I wrapped my arms around Kelvin and kissed him full and deep. My sexy stud kissed me back passionately, and I felt his strong, eager hands roaming all over my body. I took Kelvin's hands and pressed them against my chest.

"Make love to me," I said, looking Kelvin in the eye. Smiling, Kelvin nodded, and brought my hands to his lips. Gently he kissed them. Then, my gorgeous biracial stud proceeded to undress me. Off came my long-sleeved gold and blue T-shirt featuring the Humber College hawk, and then my sweatpants. Wearing only my bra, panties and hijab, I faced Kelvin.

"You look beautiful," Kelvin said, and then he suddenly stopped me as I began unwrapping my hijab, telling me that I looked beautiful with it. I smiled as he kissed me again, then unhooked my bra and fastened his full lips to my left breast. I sighed happily as Kelvin laid me down on the apartment's carpeted floor, and began making love to me.

I shuddered excitedly as Kelvin kissed a path from my breasts to my belly, and finally to the space between my legs. "Right there," I said, grinning happily as Kelvin began licking my pussy and teasing it with his agile fingers. I closed my eyes and relaxed and enjoyed as Kelvin began pleasuring me with his mouth and digits.

Soon, Kelvin had me crying out in pleasure as he stuck his wicked tongue deep inside my pussy. I moaned and writhed as incredible, unknown sensations flooded me. Of course, I'd pleasured myself. What woman hasn't explored her own body? I had never been pleasured by another human being, though. This was my first time being made love to. And I didn't want it to end.

"Whoa that was awesome," I said, sighing happily after riding the waves of pleasure Kelvin unleashed upon me. Grinning, Kelvin told me I hadn't felt anything yet. He pulled me up in his strong arms and placed me firmly on his lap. I felt Kelvin's manhood harden underneath me and ran my hands all over his hairy, muscular chest.

"I'm ready for you but be gentle with me," I whispered to Kelvin, who smiled and nodded. Planting my hands on Kelvin's broad shoulders for support, I straddled him and slowly lowered myself onto his member. Gently I touched his hard dick, delighting in feeling it in my hands at last. It was big, but not scary. I sighed deeply as Kelvin entered me in one swift, smooth move. And just like that, I was a virgin no more.

The ultimate sin for an observant Muslim woman who is unmarried to commit is to give herself to a man who is not her husband, and here I was, doubly sinning by giving myself to a male lover, and a non-Muslim one at that. Yet I didn't think any of that as Kelvin and I made love. I felt his hard dick inside my cunt, and places inside of me that had gone untouched, unexplored and unloved for an eternity were finally breached, prodded and filled. Kelvin filled me up, and I welcomed the deliciously hot pain and wicked pleasure. I cried out in sheer happiness as he thrust into me, fucking me like I so richly deserved.

"That was amazing," I whispered into Kelvin's ear, collapsing on his sweaty chest, feeling his hot breath against my neck. We'd been going at it for who knows how long, and now, exhausted in the most pleasurable way possible, I lay in my lover's strong manly arms. Kelvin kissed my forehead and I looked up at him. We exchanged a smile.

"Damn you're a wild one Miss Rana," Kelvin said, smacking my bum for good measure. I smiled and shrugged, then kissed him on the lips. I swear, people always underestimate us Hijab-wearing Muslim girls. Either that or they make assumptions about us. We're supposed to be dull, boring and submissive. That's what Islamic culture expects of us. It's what Muslim men have come to expect of us. Well, I am a Muslim woman and I have a mind of my own.

For my first lover, I chose Kelvin Stephenson, a handsome biracial Canadian sportsman and a real sweetheart. So what if he's not Muslim? As long as he treats me right, we'll be alright. That night, I fell asleep in Kelvin's arms. The next morning, we ate breakfast together, and then chilled at his single-occupant apartment at the University of Toronto. We spent the whole day together, and he returned me home shortly before Farah got there.

"You're real precious to me Rana," Kelvin said, kissing me on the forehead as he stood on my doorstep. I stood on my tippy toes and somehow managed to kiss him on the lips. Grinning, Kelvin pulled me close and kissed me. For a long moment we stood like this, simply holding each other. Lovebirds, that's what we are now.

"You make me feel things," I said, smiling at Kelvin. He looked at me and smiled. In that moment, I didn't care if anyone saw us. Canadians are definitely not used to the sight of a Hijab-wearing Arabia woman walking around with a Black guy. Let them stare. I like Kelvin and he likes me. I feel a real connection between us, something with real potential. And I am determined to explore it.

"Better get out of here before Farah returns," Kelvin said, gently stroking my cheek before wishing me goodnight. He got in his car and drove away. I stood there, and waved him goodbye. Tears streamed down my eyes, and I looked heavenward. Silently I cursed the fates for plaguing my existence. I went to my room, fuming.

I refused to get out of bed, not even when Farah arrived triumphant from the women's rugby tournament. I cursed the fates for cursing me. That's the fate of Muslim women everywhere. We are forced by the rules of tradition and religion to share our beds, our bodies and indeed, our very lives with men who are not of our own choosing. Most of us quietly submit to this soul-crushing atrocity because we don't know any better. I don't think I'll be able to follow through with it. You see, I've changed. Thanks to Kelvin Stephenson, I now know what love is. And I'm not giving that up. Whatever pain may come. Wish me luck. I am definitely going to need it.