Saudi Milf & Blac Scholar

Apparently, as a Saudi Arabian woman, I'm supposed to be soft and sweet, or so I have been told. My name is Amina Alzahrani and I'm a young woman of Saudi Arabian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study bio-medical engineering at the University of Ottawa, and hope to become a corporate engineer one of these days. I left the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia in the summer of 2009, and haven't been back there since. These days, I'm a permanent resident of Canada and honestly, life couldn't be better.

A lot of Saudis I meet in the City of Ottawa tell me that they miss home, and I honestly want to grab them and shake them for saying something so stupid. As if I could ever miss my uber-strict parents, Ahmed and Khadija Hassan or my ex-husband Samir Alzahrani back in my hometown of Yanbu, or the restrictive environment I called home for the first twenty years of my life. Ha! I came to Ottawa as an international student and decided right then and there that I didn't want to go back to Saudi Arabia, a land where women are little more than slaves.

It has often been said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, that's the only explanation I have for why some Saudi women living outside the Kingdom's borders often reminisce about their old lives. As if I could miss living in a place where I need a male's permission to work, travel, or even step out of the damn house. Hell, some women in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia can't even FART without male permission. Alright, I'm kind of exaggerating on that one but not by much. Trust me on that one.

Here I am now, thousands of miles from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, living life my way. I don't bother wearing a Hijab anymore, even though I did during the first year I spent in Ottawa. Old habits die hard, even for an empowered and liberated woman like myself. I still believe in Allah, the one true God, but have definitively walked away from the tenets of Islam. Why? Please allow me to explain.

To me, Islam has moved away from its core message of unity and fallen into fundamentalism. Look at what's happening across the Islamic world. Sunnis and Shiites are slaughtering each other, and even among these groups, splintering groups and factions are killing one another over minute differences. That's not what the Prophet Mohammed wanted, no Muslim will ever convince me of that.

In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the predominantly Sunni monarchical government is persecuting the Shiite minority, keeping them in line, I guess. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is the Heartland of Islam, we are the Chosen People who hold the Holy Sites, essential to the Muslim faith, and yet the way we treat each other, and fellow Muslims from other places, makes me shudder with anger at the sheer injustice of it all.

No, I cannot in good conscience continue to be a part of that. I respect Judaism and Christianity, but steer clear of them as well. The Eurocentric mindset I see at work in mainstream Christianity, particularly Roman Catholicism, the largest group among modern Christians, irks me. Jesus Christ the Messiah, whom I call by his Arabic name Isa Al Masih, was a brown-skinned Jew who lived in what is today called Palestine, the most hotly disputed piece of real estate in the world. The blond-haired and blue-eyed Teutonic white dude that Christians pray to, I honestly don't know who that is.

I prefer to live my life my way, and only God can judge me. I pray daily, but without any holy books, or the need to go a particular building. To me, God is not bound to mosques, or churches, or synagogues. The Creator of the Universe has always been around, and He existed long before Man reached out to Him. Did Adam, the first man, father of mankind, pray in a mosque, a church or a synagogue? I find that extremely doubtful. In all likelihood, Adam prayed to the Creator at a secluded spot in the woods, or someplace like that, and the Lord heeded his prayer.

I think that whether a person is Jewish, Christian, Muslim or Agnostic or whatever, it's the sincerity of the person's heart and the piety behind their prayer, that matters, rather than their religious affiliation or the type of building that they pray in. Of course, those are just my thoughts as an ordinary woman trying to make my way in a harsh world, ladies and gentlemen. I left the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia behind, and embraced my new life in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, but it hasn't been without its challenges.

A lot of people living outside Canada think it's a perfect place full of friendly, tolerant people. Well, trust me, it's anything but. Ontario, the most immigrant-friendly province in all of Canada, can be a hostile place at times. There are lots of newcomers, people hailing from places like Africa, the Arab world, Southern Asia, the Caribbean and Latin America. These people tend to flock to the major cities such as Toronto, Ottawa, Hamilton and the like. Now, these traditionally white towns have been flooding with non-white immigrants, their demographics are starting to change, and not everyone is happy about that.

People are always afraid of what they don't understand. I am a Saudi woman, the fact that I broke away from Saudi culture and walked away from the tenets of Islam ( while nevertheless hanging onto my faith in God ) doesn't change the fact that in the eyes of white Canadians, I'll always be the cultural other. I stand five feet nine inches tall, decidedly on the voluptuous side, with dark bronze skin, long black hair and light brown eyes. I am a person of color, what Canadians call a visible minority, and nothing can change that fact.

In Canada, white people tend to be passive-aggressive with their racism rather than purely in-your-face about it. I don't wear the Hijab or traditional Islamic clothing anymore. Hell, I developed a fondness for knee-high skirts and long-sleeved T-shirts with political or sports figures on them, and I am damn proud of it. I have several Che Guevara T-shirts. I still stand out in a crowd of white Canadians and many of them stare at me like I'm something other than human. Covert hostility is the Canadian way. That's very different from what I experienced in the United States, which I visited last year.

I went to the City of Buffalo, New York, and spent eleven days in town. I stayed at the Embassy Suites Hotel. I spent my time walking around Buffalo, one of the most racially segregated places I've ever been to, and couldn't believe the toll that the recession had taken on this once thriving town. I shopped at the Galleria Mall, and spoke to Americans of all hues. Many of them thought I was Hispanic, but I assured them that I'm a Saudi Arabian woman. One who's been living in Canada for the past few years.

Now, living in Canada, I heard all kinds of unpleasant things about the United States. To Canadians, Americans are a bunch of trigger-happy, arrogant bozos. Given what I'd seen on the news about racial shootings of unarmed minority males by trigger-happy white cops in the City of Ferguson, Missouri, I was inclined to believe the Canadian viewpoint that the United States of America was a dangerous place.

In Buffalo, New York, I met a lot of friendly people, and most of them were African-American. One of them I shall never forget until the day that I die. Tyrone Ferguson is his name. A security guard at the Galleria Mall who helped me find my way back to my hotel after I'd gotten lost while walking around Buffalo. The big and tall, dark-skinned young man went above and beyond to help me, this on one of the coldest winter nights ever, and I thanked Allah for sending me such an angel to save me.

Thank you brother, I told Tyrone, who smiled and nodded gratefully after walking me back to my hotel. We exchanged names and pleasantries prior to arriving at our destination. Tyrone wished me good luck, and said he had to get back to work. Apparently, he works the overnight shift at the Galleria Mall. I watched him go, a beautiful, dark-skinned brother with a heart of gold. The man everyone in the United States of America was taught to hate and fear because of his size and skin color is a decent, kind-hearted man who helps a hapless woman in need. This was my first experience with an African-American man, and I found him kind and decent.

I returned to Ontario, Canada, with a lot of fond memories of Buffalo, New York. I thought I'd never see Tyrone Ferguson again, and returned to my quiet life in Ottawa. So you can imagine my surprise when one day, while I sat inside the busy food court of Billings Bridge Mall having coffee, I was approached by a vaguely familiar giant. Hello Amina, said a deep, masculine voice. I looked up and gasped, for the voice belonged to a man whose face I would never forget.

Tyrone, I said breathlessly, looking him up and down. There he was, the tall, dark and handsome young giant from New York. Clad in a black leather jacket over a red silk shirt, black silk pants and boots, Tyrone looked absolutely fantastic. Once I caught my breath, I smiled and invited him to join me. Tyrone smiled and nodded, happily joining me. Seriously, dude was the last person I expected to run into at Billings Bridge, that's for damn sure.

Tyrone and I sat down, and talked. I looked at this handsome young man, and was filled with questions. What was he doing here? Tyrone told me that after graduating from Buffalo State College with a bachelor's degree in accounting, he looked for work and couldn't find it. That's why I came to Canada for my MBA, Tyrone said, and he pulled a small white card out of his wallet. I looked at the card. It had Tyrone's picture on it, along with the Carleton University logo, and his new student number. Congratulations brother, I said with a smile, then handed the card back to Tyrone.

Tyrone Ferguson smiled at me, and for some reason, my heart skipped a beat. I'm a twenty-seven-year-old divorcee and definitely no spring chicken, but something about this tall and dare-I-say beautiful young African-American man was making me nervous. We talked about life, and studies. I'm in graduate school at the University of Ottawa, and although I'm somewhat lonely, life is okay. I had so many questions for Tyrone. What could prompt a black guy born and raised in America to move to Canada's Capital?

Tyrone smiled and gently touched my hand, a gesture that surprised me, and smiled before answering. I became curious about Canada after meeting you my dear Amina, he said, grinning. Upon hearing those words, and seeing that fearless smile on Tyrone's handsome face, my heart skipped a beat. Very good answer Mister Tyrone, I said with a smile, sipping the last dregs of my morning coffee. Very good answer indeed.

It's often been said that when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Well, I say that when life sends a handsome, tall and masculine, chocolate-flavored American stud your way, if you're a lonely Saudi Arabian chick who hasn't gotten laid in ages, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Tyrone Ferguson of Buffalo, New York, was just what the doctor ordered, ladies and gentlemen. That fateful morning at Billings Bridge, we added each other on Facebook and exchanged numbers.

I promised Tyrone I'd be his guide in all things Ottawa, but I didn't start showing him the city till much later. You see I was, um, too busy giving him a proper welcome to Ottawa in a most carnal way. I was showing him a good time in the bedroom, and let me tell you, the brother from New York made my toes curl. I was purring with contentment by the time Tyrone was done with me, ladies and gentlemen.

Tyrone and I tried to set a world record on our first roll in the hay, so to speak. I think that's what we unconsciously tried to do, seriously. Three days after our fateful encounter at Billings Bridge, I invited Tyrone to my apartment in the Meadowlands for some tea. I greeted the African-American stud in a crimson negligee, and let me tell you, we didn't drink any tea.

Tyrone and I went to bed, and had ourselves some fun. I laid the gorgeous chocolate stud on my bed, and explored every inch of his sexy body. Like a lot of Arab women out there, I've got a thing for black men but as long as I lived in an Arab country, I could never explore my lust for the chocolate brotherhood. In Saudi Arabia, and most Arab countries, you see lots of Arab men with African women but you seldom see African men with Arab women. That's not by accident. Arab guys HATE seeing "their" women with men of other races, trust me.

At long last, I got to quench my thirst for some chocolate. I kissed Tyrone full and deep, and licked him from his head to his toes. I loved the smell and taste of his fine body. African-descended men are so masculine and beautiful, their bodies are like works of art. I inhaled the masculine musk around Tyrone's groin, and stroked his long and thick, uncircumcised dick.

A lot of Muslim women find uncut men repulsive. I don't. The only other guy I've slept with since moving to Canada is a Mexican immigrant named Enrique Chavez, and he was uncut. Unfortunately for me, Enrique moved to Alberta for work. I missed Enrique and his big brown dick sorely, but fate provided me with a much-needed replacement. Tyrone Ferguson, the fine brother I met at the Galleria Mall in Buffalo, New York. I am so thankful to have him back in my life...

That's why I sucked Tyrone's long and thick, dark dick with gusto. Groaning softly, Tyrone raked his fingers through my long, curly dark hair. Hair I spent years hiding underneath a Hijab. Happily I sucked his dick and licked his balls, and when Tyrone warned me that he was about to cum, I stopped sucking and waited. Finally, Tyrone came and when he did, I welcomed his cum with an open mouth.

I drank every last drop of Tyrone Ferguson's cum, and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at him. Come here, Tyrone said, a wry grin on his handsome face. Pulling up in his strong arms, Tyrone kissed me, and then I straddled him. Fuck me Habib, I whispered, loving the feel of Tyrone's strong hands on me. His hands caressed my tits, and playfully smacked my thick Saudi Arabian derriere.

I hissed in pleasure as Tyrone squeezed my big ass cheeks, and I grabbed his dark, handsome face. Fuck me already, I said, and it was a demand, not a request. Tyrone nodded, and thrust his hard dick into my cunt without so much a word. I gasped in surprise as Tyrone's thick dark dick suddenly entered me, and sighed happily as I felt a sharp pain followed by wicked pleasure. At last, I said, grinning happily and wrapping my arms around Tyrone's torso.

Just like that, I began riding Tyrone. The chocolate stud from Buffalo, New York, thrust his hard dick deep inside of me, stabbing my cunt with his thick dark sword, and I cried out in sheer pleasure. My pussy had gone without for a long time, and Tyrone's dick was just what I needed. You've got to understand that I'd gone without a man's touch for almost a year.

I'm just being open and honest here. I haven't gotten laid since Enrique Chavez left Ottawa for the oil sands of Alberta. I missed the Mexican and his dick terribly. No more. For I found another mighty dick to ride on, one that belongs to a beautiful specimen of man. Tyrone Ferguson, the stud of my dreams. And the African-American Adonis definitely did not disappoint. Tyrone pounded away at me, filling my cunt with his thick dick, and I howled in pleasure, for I loved every minute of it.

Much later, Tyrone put me on all fours, smacked my big butt and fucked me doggy style. I absolutely love getting fucked like this. I think it's the animalistic intensity of it. Tyrone got really aggressive with me, smacking my ass and pulling my hair as he rammed his dick into my cunt. I squealed in delight and moaned deeply, urging Tyrone to fuck me harder. I loved the feel of Tyrone's dark dick inside of me and if loving it was wrong then I definitely didn't want to be right. For real, as they say in this part of the world.

Passion is something no human being should live without, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks to Tyrone Ferguson, the handsome brother from Buffalo, New York, this lonely Saudi Arabian divorcee has passion back in her life. We became an item, and spend a lot of time together. For ages I'd gone without someone to go to movies with, someone to go to restaurants with, someone to make love to and someone to hold. Tyrone's presence in my life filled all those holes, pun intended.

When we're out together, people tend to stare. Although still a mostly white town, Ottawa has become quite diverse in recent years. Lots of Somalis, Haitians, Jamaicans, Lebanese, Indians, Latinos, Chinese and other ethnic minorities in town. Yet you seldom see lots of interracial couples among the different minority groups. It's far more frequent to see an Indian woman with a white man or a Chinese woman with a white man than with a black guy. Lots of minority women are brainwashed into hating black men. I'm happy to say that I'm not one of them.

To me, Tyrone Ferguson is beautiful, and more than that, he's actually a decent human being. The guy treats me right, takes excellent care of me and more importantly, Tyrone supports my dream of one day becoming a corporate engineer. That's why I support him as he pursues his MBA at Carleton University. It's not easy for Tyrone as an international student from the United States. Carleton University typically charges international students five times what local students pay.

Tyrone doesn't complain but I know things are tough for him. On top of his studies at Carleton University, Tyrone is working for not one but two security companies in Ottawa. Just to make ends meet. What a brave guy! I feel bad when Tyrone buys me expensive gifts but he's very old-fashioned and won't take no for an answer. In Tyrone's eyes, the man should pay when a couple is out, not the woman. To make my boo's life easier, I've decided to file for him to become a permanent resident of Canada. Once that happens, Tyrone Ferguson will pay the same rates Canadian students pay. What can I say? I think I'm in love with the Buffalo brother. I don't want him going back to New York when he's done. I want Tyrone to stay in Ottawa, with me. I want us to have a life together. Wish us luck, eh?