Saudi Milfs for Zulu Studs

I read in a women's magazine somewhere that life begins at forty. Well, for me, I've decided to let that saying be true. My name is Maimuna Sultan-Alzahrani and I'm a Hijab-wearing, pious yet modern Saudi Arabian Muslim woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I moved here three years ago from my hometown of Dammam, in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I never thought I'd live in the West, but life had other plans.

My ex-husband Mahmoud Alzahrani divorced me, supposedly because I couldn't bear him any sons or daughters. Truth be told? Mahmoud ditched me because he wanted a younger wife. I'm forty years old, standing five-foot-ten, chubby and bronze-skinned, with long curly Black hair and dull brown eyes. I'm a chubby Arab woman with a fat ass, and I'm past my prime. My ex-hubby traded me in for a younger model, and I despise him for it.

I came to Canada and sought refugee status. Life is pure hell for divorced women in the Islamic world's most conservative country, and I wanted no part of it, thank you very much. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is no place for a woman on her own. I didn't want to end up homeless or completely destitute, since my parents, Ali and Mariam Sultan were ashamed of me because of Mahmoud's lies and wanted nothing to do with me.

I came to the Capital of Canada, determined to survive and make a new life for myself. At first, things were hellish. As a newcomer to Ontario with no papers, I stayed at a women's shelter. Not the nicest of places. When I did my daily prayers, I asked Allah, the one true God, to deliver me from my torment. What I endured in that place, I shudder to think of, even today.

In my hometown of Dammam, Saudi Arabia, I lived in a villa with my former husband Mahmoud Alzahrani, who was a wealthy oilman. Mahmoud was a rotten bastard and a creep but he kept me in a life of luxury while I was his wife. In Canada, I stayed at a shelter. I lamented my new dwelling but knew I wouldn't stay there long.

The Most High heeded my prayers, and I soon received a work permit and a social insurance card in the mail from the Canadian government. As soon as I got these much-needed documents, I went to a nearby Loblaw's and applied for a job. I didn't want to depend on the social workers and the welfare bureau anymore. I wanted to get a job and earn a living, like everyone else.

The manager of the Loblaw's was a South African Muslim guy named Ibrahim Zithulele. A big and tall, thirty-something Black man with a tough demeanor but a gentle soul. Ibrahim is from the Zulu clan of South Africa. Ibrahim looked at me and told me that he would do his best to help me. Since I wasn't exactly fluent in English at the time, Ibrahim hired me as a shelf stocker, and I embraced my new job. I started working on the overnight shift.

While working the overnight shift at Loblaw's, I met quite a few interesting people. Most of the crew was made up of visible minorities, people of color who had come to Canada from somewhere else at some point. Ahmed, a tall young Somali guy with thick nerdy glasses became like the brother I never had. The kindness and generosity of the Somali people never ceases to amaze me, ladies and gentlemen.

In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, we Arabs are often cruel to Africans, who mostly come to our land as migrant workers or domestic servants. In Canada, I learned to appreciate and respect people of African descent as the fine human beings that they are. I wish people around the world would stop being prejudiced against Africans, seriously. They're among the nicest people around.

In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, I was just as racist as everyone else. I thought of the African migrant workers who came to my wealthy homeland as somehow inferior to me and my fellow Arabs. Never mind that superiority based on skin color goes against every principle of Islam. The beautiful religion of Islam teaches that all human beings stem from Adam and Eve, no matter their color or national origin.

The prophet Mohammed himself, peace be upon him, had an African named Bilal among his friends and protectors, and he treated Muslims of all colors with respect. Of course, many of us modern Muslims have deviated from the true path of Islam and harbor disgusting and vile practices like racism and xenophobia. I am ashamed to say that I once believed such things. Now I know better. All human beings are creations of Allah, and skin color does not matter.

The first thing I did since I started working at Loblaw's was get myself a place to stay. I found a one-bedroom apartment in the Vanier sector of Ottawa. A lot of people in the Canadian capital think of Vanier as a bad place. I grew to love it because of its diversity. In my neighborhood, Donald Street, we have lots of Lebanese, Somalis, Pakistanis, Haitians, and some cultures and ethnic groups which I cannot even identify. What a marvelous place!

I finally had a place of my own and a job. Not bad for a gal who'd never worked a day in her life, eh? My English was improving day by day, thanks to my interactions with people. I found Canadians decent for the most part, although there's an undercurrent of passive-aggressive racism that irks me at times. In the Arab world, if someone doesn't like you, he or she lets you know. We're a brutally honest people. In Canada, people smile to your face and pretend to be your friend while plotting your downfall. It's eerie!

I quickly realized that to have a chance at any kind of life, I needed a Canadian university education. Of course, I'd seen lots of visible minorities with degrees from Canadian colleges and universities working at Tim Horton's because White Canadians didn't want to hire them at jobs worthy of their credentials, but I refused to let that stop me. I enrolled at Carleton University, to pursue a degree in accounting. I've always had a head for numbers, and numbers are numbers whether you're in Saudi Arabia or frosty-ass Canada.

Canada's capital surely makes for strange bedfellows. I struck a friendship with Ibrahim, the burly South African manager at my job. Six feet six inches tall and heavily muscled, with very dark skin, Ibrahim scares a lot of the fake-smiling White Canadians who came to our store. Clad in his customary White silk shirt, Black tie and Black silk pants, Ibrahim was always polite and friendly to both customer and employee. The man is a gentle giant!

The more time I spent around Ibrahim, the more fascinated I became with him. At the age of thirty six, Ibrahim Zithulele had lived in many places around the world. Born in the Soweto township of South Africa, Ibrahim moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, with his parents in the 1990s. He studied at the University of Ottawa, graduating with a bachelor's degree in business. Ibrahim looked for work across Ontario, and, unable to find any, decided to go to the States for a while.

Ibrahim Zithulele moved to the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and stayed with his cousin Octavio. While in Boston, Ibrahim enrolled at Northeastern University, where he earned an MBA. Ibrahim worked in the U.S. for a while, moving from place to place. Ibrahim settled in the City of Baltimore, Maryland, and made decent money at his corporate job with Wells Fargo but in the aftermath of 9/11, the U.S. government became hostile to immigrants and Ibrahim returned to Canada. Ibrahim sought a managerial position with Loblaw's and got it.

I was impressed with Ibrahim's tale, seriously. The big Black guy from South Africa had seen much of North America. Unlike Ibrahim, I only know two cities, Dammam and Ottawa. And I'm older than him! I wish I had Ibrahim's fearlessness and sense of adventure. When I told him this, Ibrahim smiled and shrugged. There was a sad look on Ibrahim's darkly handsome face, and for some reason, my heart winced.

With trembling hands, I reached for Ibrahim's face, and looked into his gentle brown eyes. I smiled hesitantly, my heart thundering in my chest. Ibrahim looked at me, and I froze. Without thinking about it, I did something which absolutely stunned us both. I kissed Ibrahim. It was a ten-second kiss, nothing like what you see in the movies today, but a kiss nonetheless. I don't know who was more surprised, Ibrahim or me!

Ibrahim looked at me, surprise all over his face. The big, dark-skinned South African smiled, and then took my hands in his. Gently Ibrahim brought my hands to his lips and kissed them. My heart skipped a beat when Ibrahim did this. I'd only seen this in movies. You don't see men kissing women's hands in a country like Saudi Arabia, with its touch-me-not rules for inter-gender conduct. I smiled at Ibrahim and the South African smiled at me. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how a life-changing romance began.

Ibrahim Zithulele and I began seeing each other, and at first, we kept things a secret. Ibrahim is the sole minority manager of a Loblaw's in the region of Ottawa, a job that's hard to obtain and easy to lose because of White racism and the pitfalls of the business world. He was risking much by dating me, an employee. I was initially ill-at-ease because, according to Saudi Arabian rules, no Saudi woman may have relations with a non-Saudi male, but I didn't live in Saudi Arabia anymore, so, I didn't give a fuck, pardon my French.

What a pair we made, Ibrahim and I. A 40-year-old Saudi Arabian woman and a 36-year-old Black man from South Africa. We went to movies and restaurants, holding hands and kissing and giggling like couples half our respective ages. People stared at us, but we didn't care. Life is too short to worry about what people think, that's one of the many things which Ibrahim and I agree wholeheartedly on.

The South African stud is supremely passionate, in everything that he does, and I swear, Ibrahim is like an injection of life into my otherwise dreary existence. When we make love, Ibrahim takes me to new heights of pleasure which I once could only dream of, seriously. The brother leaves me pleasurably sore, every time, and I'm a happy woman.

Ibrahim absolutely loves my body, and he endlessly tells me that as a tall, curvy woman with big tits and a big ass, I'm the epitome of beauty in his eyes. Wow, an African man appreciates me, an Arab woman, far more than any Arab man ever has. Will wonders never cease? Ibrahim loves to kiss and lick me all over. I love it when Ibrahim sucks on my tits and fingers my cunt before licking my sweet pussy till I cry out his name.

Ibrahim definitely knows his way around the female body. Oh, and the way he eats my pussy, sticking his tongue and fingers in there, making me squirm and moan, dammit the man is awesome! My favorite thing to do is sit on Ibrahim's face and have him voraciously feast on my pussy then my asshole. Ibrahim loves my thick Saudi Arabian booty, and delights on eating it. Can't say I blame him. I've got one hell of a derriere!

Ibrahim just makes me want to do things, seriously. My ex-husband Mahmoud was a short guy with a small tool, if you know what I mean. As a big beautiful Saudi woman, I kind of intimidated him in the bedroom. Well, Ibrahim is tall and big, and can handle whatever I throw at him. The South African stud loves to put me on all fours, smack my big Arab booty and slam his big dark dick into my cunt. I scream passionately with wild abandon as Ibrahim fucks me with gusto, and I cry out his name every time. What can I say? Ibrahim is one hell of a man!

With Ibrahim, I am discovering that true passion need not have limits. That's why, even though it goes against certain Islamic rules governing sexual behavior, I let Ibrahim fuck me in the ass. Truth be told, I've been curious about anal sex for a while and just never had the guts to try it. Ibrahim indulged my curiosity. We started slow, with some fingering and ass licking, and then some toys, and then finally, I was able to take Ibrahim's dick up my ass.

Ibrahim took his sweet time and used plenty of lubricant as he worked his dick up my ass that first time, and I was thankful for that. I lay on my bed, stark naked, legs spread, my butt sticking in the air as Ibrahim fucked me. I winced as I felt Ibrahim's big dick invading my asshole. This wasn't our first time playing around with my bum but I'd never taken Ibrahim's dick up my butt before. Yup, it was a new experience for me.

My South African stud looked strong and sexy as he worked his dick up my butt hole. That big Arab booty of mine can take a pounding, but I was still nervous. So much that I, um, farted. That's right, I farted with a dick up my ass. Don't judge me. Ibrahim looked at me, clearly surprised. Then he burst out laughing, and so did I. Come on, got to admit it's kind of funny. Hey, it's good that my man Ibrahim has a sense of humor about such things.

Ibrahim went right back to fucking me, and this time, the South African stud plunged his dick so far up my asshole, cramming it in so damn tight that I couldn't have squeezed out a fart even if I wanted to. And I loved it! I fingered my wet pussy as Ibrahim fucked me, filling my ass with his long and thick dick, and amazingly, I came. I hadn't known that was possible, for a woman to cum vaginally while getting fucked in the ass. I cried out in orgasmic delight, and at the end of it, I looked at Ibrahim through eyes filled with joyful tears. I was thankful beyond belief.

Afterwards, Ibrahim Zithulele and I held each other tenderly and ended up falling asleep in each other's arms. I love this man, seriously. I love waking up next to Ibrahim, and I love walking around the City of Ottawa with him, proudly holding his hand in public. I am proud to be Ibrahim's woman, and the fact that lots of Arab Canadians stare at us with hostility in their eyes doesn't bother me one bit!

Honestly, I think the Most High sent me an angel in the form of this towering, beautiful chocolate prince. My sole regret is that I was barren, and Ibrahim spoke fondly of his big family, and his many siblings. I met Ibrahim's family and they're real nice people. We'd been seeing each other for a few months and all was hunky dory, until I learned something shocking when I went to the clinic due to chronic fatigue.

There are always long lines at the clinic in my neighborhood, and I waited over an hour before I saw the good doctor, Dr. Evelyn Singh. The tall, pretty Indian lady sat me down and explained to me that what I thought was fatigue due to my work habits and slight weight gain was something else entirely. Smiling, the doctor told me I was pregnant. I was stunned, to tell you the truth. I didn't think I could get pregnant. Hell, my ex-husband Mahmoud divorced me because of that.

I protested, thinking that the good doctor was wrong but Dr. Singh shook her head and affirmed that I was pregnant. Stunned, I sat there, silent. Tears streamed down my face, and I smiled while looking heavenward. May the Most High be praised for His endless miracles. Ibrahim Zithulele and I are about to become parents! I can't wait to share the good news with the man I love. This is going to change our lives for sure. Something tells me that we're going to be just fine, though.