Saudi Wife for Jamaican Stud

Lying on a straw mat next to the man she loved, Ameera Almahdi ran her hand over his hairy chest, caressing his smooth, dark skin. Absentmindedly she looked at the stars. For the thousandth time Ameera tried to see the constellations she grew up watching. Under the Saudi sky, out in the desert, she'd gone stargazing with her older brothers Omar and Yousef many times back in the day. A passion for all things cosmic, it's what led Ameera to leave her hometown of Yanbu, in the Al Madinah province of Saudi Arabia for the strange world of Ontario, Canada. She'd gone to study astrophysics at York University, right outside the City of Toronto. Little did she know how much her time in Canada would change her.

For a young Arab woman born and raised in rural Saudi Arabia, the Confederation of Canada was as different as could be. Almost like another world, actually. At the Toronto International Airport she saw women in police uniforms, and even a female soldier. In this strange society men and women mingled freely and seemed very affectionate with one another in public. In the chaste, pious and strict world of Saudi Arabia, this Haram behavior simply wasn't allowed. The women in Canada went around unveiled, indeed some went around half-naked, and everyone seemed to be fine with that. For in this country they were ruled by secular, humanitarian laws heavily influenced by the women's rights movement, the polar opposite of Sharia Law. Her first days in this strange country where women drove cars and went around unescorted by male chaperones were confusing, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Ameera was determined to make the most of her time in Canada. It hadn't been easy to convince her father, Hassan Almahdi, to allow her to go to Canada to study. The venerable old Sheikh had worried that the Western world would change his only daughter so much that she would never want to come back to her native land. The West is like another planet, her father warned. Ameera had insisted that the benefits of a Western education outweighed the risks and the old man had to agree. He'd looked into the dark eyes of the five-foot-ten, plump young woman whom he'd raised alone since her mother died giving birth to her, and given her his blessing to study abroad, though he hated to see her go.

All birds must leave the nest someday, Sheikh Hassan Almahdi mused. Now it was his eighteen-year-old daughter Ameera's turn to spread her wings and fly away. Her two older brothers Yousef and Omar were already married and had produced grandsons and granddaughters. Soon it would be Ameera's turn. Since she was going to be married soon, why not let her see the world? He didn't see any harm coming out of it. For he raised her well. If only he knew. For her first month in Canada, Ameera was homesick. She watched TV, ate, did her prayers, read paperback romance novels and seldom left the house. When September came she began her courses at York University, and thus the strangest and most wonderful time of her life began.

At York University Ameera Almahdi met the two people destined to change her life forever. The first one was a tall, slender young Jamaican-born Black Canadian woman named Persia Johnson and her boyfriend, a Turkish-born Russian Muslim émigré named Ferit Romanov. Persia Johnson ran track and field for York University and Ferit was on the University of Toronto men's varsity soccer team. The two student-athletes met at a community event and sparks simply flew between them. They'd been dating for a year at the time that Persia and Ameera met.

Persia and Ameera had the same major and were in some of the same classes. The two of them became friends and Persia introduced Ameera to her boyfriend Ferit Romanov. The tall, spiky-haired Turkish guy with the tattoos and Spiderman T-shirt didn't even register as a Muslim to Ameera's eyes but she'd learned that most foreign Muslims were liberal when compared to a Saudi Arabian national. The fact that Ferit, a Muslim guy from Turkey owned a dog and dated a Christian gal like Persia Johnson also surprised Ameera but she took it in stride. The world outside Saudi Arabia was a strange place indeed. Persia and Ferit became her guides and indeed her only friends at school for a while.

Thanks to them Ameera stopped spending so much time at the school library or in her apartment and actually went outside. They showed her the environs of metropolitan York, which, while a fine town, couldn't hold a candle to the City of Toronto itself. Ameera, who grew up in a tiny rural town, found herself intimidated by the size and scope of Toronto at first but with Persia's encouragement she came to see it as a challenge. Go out and explore and don't be a chicken, Persia chided her. Ameera heeded her friend's advice, and went out. She fell in love with the City of Toronto, where so many people of diverse races and ethnicities mingled freely. She ate some delicious rice and beans in Jamaican restaurants, she prayed at a mosque where eighty percent of the attendees were Somali, and even became fascinated by rap music, much to Persia's delight. Her friendship with Ferit and Persia was changing her. Back in Saudi Arabia and much of the Arab world, blacks were considered an inferior group, good only for labor. Yet after knowing Persia and some of the Jamaican students at York University, Ameera realized how wrong she'd been. Black people were friendly, easygoing, good-hearted and God-fearing. The Prophet Mohammed was right when he said the Black man was nobody's inferior in one of his more famous Hadiths.

Yes, her time in Canada had been strange, at times confusing but ultimately wonderful, Ameera Almahdi had to admit. She aced her classes at York University, but when summer came, she felt a pang of regret at leaving the campus and town which felt like home. Come back to us, Persia said, giving her a fierce hug at the airport. I will miss you sister, Ferit said with a smile and nod. The tall Turkish sportsman was quite surprised when Ameera simply went up to him and hugged him. Observant Muslim women didn't touch men they were unrelated to, even if they were of the same faith. For a Saudi gal like Ameera, who never left the house without her hijab, long-sleeved shirt and long skirt, to hug Ferit, now that was really something. I will miss you both every day, Ameera said tearfully as the final call for her flight rang out throughout the airport lane. Smiling sadly, she waved her friends goodbye and boarded the plane.

Once inside, Ameera went to her assigned seat, sat down and tucked herself in. Slowly she drifted into a deep sleep, and dreamed of Toronto and her friends. When she opened her eyes, everyone around her was screaming in a blind panic. The airplane was going down, that's all she could remember anyone saying. She'd been heading home, back to Saudi Arabia, on a long flight that would take her from metropolitan Toronto, Ontario, to the City of London, England, and only once in Europe would she make her way to the Kingdom. As the plane dropped out of the sky, Ameera Almahdi silently prayed to God that she might one day see her friends again. Her goodbyes had been slow and painful, and there was much she'd left unsaid.

The odd thing is that even as the plane fell out of the sky like a rock, all she could think of were her friends, her university and her old life in Toronto. She hadn't had the heart to tell her friends the truth, that her father, the esteemed Sheikh Hassan Almahdi had summoned her back to Saudi Arabia because a young man from a good family had requested her hand in marriage. If everything went according to plan, she would never set foot in Ontario, Canada, again. She'd become the wife of some wealthy young Saudi businessman and henceforth her only preoccupations would be wifedom and motherhood. Such was the fate of all Saudi women, from the Princesses of the royal House of Saud to the lowly beggars.

Ameera woke up slowly and painfully. When she opened her eyes, a dark face loomed over her. Eyes widened with shock, she blurted out several phrases in Arabic before realizing that the dark-skinned young man couldn't understand her. Do you speak English? he asked in an accent she vaguely recognized. Ameera nodded, and the young man introduced himself. I'm Achilles Jackson, he said. You're Jamaican, Ameera said, recognizing in his inflections something similar to the way her old friend Persia Johnson spoke. Born and bred in Montego Bay, he said proudly. Thus she met the man who pulled out of the airplane wreck and dragged her to this beach, on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. Where are we? she asked him. Sister I don't have a clue, Achilles said wistfully.

It didn't take long for Ameera or Achilles to realize the precarious nature of their situation. They were stuck on a desert island in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere between North America and Europe, Achilles said when Ameera repeatedly queried him on the subject. The island, which seemed only about five kilometers long and two kilometers wide, had an abundance of fruitful trees and a couple of streams so they wouldn't starve or die of thirst. Still, life on the island would be a struggle for survival at best for the two stranded castaways.

At first glance, Ameera Almadhi, first daughter of Sheikh Hassan Almahdi of Al Madinah, Saudi Arabia, had very little in common with Jamaican-born Toronto college student/aspiring rapper Achilles Jackson. They were both air breathers and came from Toronto, that's it. As they foraged the remains of the plane for anything they might use, the burly Jamaican's habit of whistling and singing got on Ameera's last nerve. She lasted all of one hour before telling him to shut the fuck up. When she said that, Achilles burst out laughing, and when she cocked an angry eyebrow at him, he told her she was the first Hijabi he'd heard cussing like a sailor. Ameera smiled, and told Achilles that the rumors of Hijabis being soft and sweet were greatly exaggerated.

The first day proved to be one of the toughest, for they realized that they were stranded on the island, the sole survivors of a plane that crashed a mere six hundred meters from the beach, in shallow waters. From the plane's wreck they found very little they could salvage, but Achilles was undaunted by their situation. He told Ameera he would build them a shelter, but he needed her help. The proud daughter of a rural Saudi preacher promised the Jamaican castaway that she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. After all, her father had been too poor to hire many workers and she and her brothers often lent a hand around the family farm.

It took them three days but they built a hut out of wood, leaves and a thatch roof. It wasn't much but it would do. As the days droned on, Ameera and Achilles were forced to rely on one another. They were each other's only hope for survival until they were rescued. At least that's what Ameera told herself. Even though Achilles wasn't Muslim ( the heavy-looking silver crucifix hanging around his neck made that clear ) he was a pretty decent guy. In Saudi Arabia, rape and sexual harassment were so prevalent that the clerics made it national law that women couldn't go anywhere without a male protector. Westerners believed that this was a way for Saudi men to control their women but Ameera could see both sides of the coin as a Saudi woman. There was a rape epidemic in Arab and North African countries but this seldom made news since everyone was so busy talking about oil prospectors, interfaith conflicts and terrorists, often in the same breath.

In many ways, Achilles surprised Ameera. He was always polite and friendly when dealing with her, though he was sarcastic and brutally honest. The long-sleeved T-shirt and long skirt she'd been wearing when flying comprised the sum of her belongings, and it wasn't long before they became rags. The Jamaican didn't see anything wrong with walking around in his boxer shorts and T-shirt, since the silk pants and black leather jacket he'd been wearing on the flight were ill-suited for island life. In spite of herself, Ameera noted that Achilles was good-looking, albeit in a very rough and rugged kind of way. He reminded her of the Mauritanian construction workers she'd once seen in an oil plant while visiting the capital province. The Mauritanians, with their unique blend of African and Arabian bloodlines, were a beautiful people. Of course, none of them swore as much as Achilles did, that's for sure.

Achilles sighed as he rested under a tree, catching his breath after swimming in the ocean. The waters surrounding the island weren't as warm as those of his beloved Jamaica but they would do fine, for the duration. He'd invited Ameera to go for a swim but the young Saudi woman declined, something about modesty and propriety, blah blah. Achilles had rolled his eyes and gone in. Ameera watched him on the beach, before going deeper into the woods to forage for fruit. Achilles, an expert swimmer, had gone pretty far out into the ocean, almost a kilometer from shore, before heading back to the island. He'd emerged from the surf half a kilometer from the beach where they'd made camp.

Lying there under the tree, Achilles found himself growing a bit sleepy, for swimming was a tiring endeavor, but something moving in the beach caught his eye. It was Ameera. The young Saudi woman stood about ten feet from the water, and looked at the surf. She hesitated, then began undressing. Off came the long-sleeved T-shirt, then her long skirt, followed by her underwear. Naked, she stood on the beach, a tall, curvy young woman with bronze skin and raven hair. The sight of her stirred an all too familiar longing deep within Achilles. He watched as Ameera tentatively set foot into the water, then went inside. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she went deeper into the surf. Achilles watched her intently. He'd never seen anything so beautiful. If the average Saudi women were half as beautiful as Ameera, he understood why their men made them cover up. Hot damn! She had a thick round ass like an island mama, and as a Jamaican man he would know!

Achilles watched as Ameera went deeper and deeper into the water, frolicking among the waves and enjoying herself with an innocence that was touching. He felt himself harden, and felt slightly guilty. He shouldn't be doing this...she was so sweet and innocent, he could see that, even when she tried to act tough and pushy. He blinked when he saw her splashing about in the surf. What the fuck? She was drowning! He leapt to his feet and rushed headlong into the beach, before wading into the waves. Kicking furiously, he made his way toward her. God don't let me be too late, he prayed silently as he neared her. Ameera fell beneath the waves, and he dove under to reach her.

Achilles caught Ameera's floundering form, and brought her back to the surface. Clasping her in his arms, he carried her to the beach, laid her on the soft sand. Hot damn, she was even better-looking up close. Big, firm breasts, wide shoulders, a round belly, wide hips, thick legs, and that derriere. Focus, he told himself, as he brought his lips to hers, to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He pressed his hands against her chest, and slammed his fist there, then breathed into her mouth again. She wasn't moving. Nor was she breathing. Achilles looked heavenward. Please God let her live, he said. Once more he breathed into her mouth while pressing her chest. Moments later, Ameera's eyes snapped open and she shuddered while vomiting violently. She looked around, haggard, panic in her eyes. You're safe, Achilles told her with a smile.

A little while later, a fully dressed but still shaken Ameera sat across from Achilles. You shouldn't go swimming alone, he told her, it's dangerous. He smirked, and reminded her how lucky she was that he was around. Ameera nodded, then suspicion flared in her lovely brown eyes. How did you come by so fast? she asked, her eyes narrowed to slits. Um, Achilles began. Anger contorted Ameera's beautiful features. You were spying on me, she said through gritted teeth. Standing up, she glared at him angrily. Not exactly, Achilles said weakly. He took a step toward her, meaning to apologize, but she apparently took it the wrong way. He felt the ringing slap on his cheek that sounded out like thunder to his ears. And then Ameera was gone in a huff. Rubbing his cheek, Achilles watched her go. Damn this woman had an ass on her!

That night Achilles slept alone in the hut. His balls were bluer than the northern sky. The next day, he went looking for Ameera. He found her with a makeshift basket full of fruits, and his stomach grumbled loudly. I'm here to make peace, he said weakly. It is I who should apologize, Ameera said, and when those words left her lips, Achilles froze, stunned. If lightning had struck him he wouldn't have been more shocked. You saved my life back there and I thank Allah for your help, the young woman conceded. I was sleeping under a tree when you went into the water, Achilles offered. Ameera shot him a look, then smiled. I guess I woke you up, huh? Ameera said with a wry grin. Achilles shrugged and smiled. I'm only human, he said with a cocky grin.

They shared the fruits, then sat down and talked. They'd been on the island for seventeen days now, and while they still had ample fruits and plenty of water to subsist on, there would come a day when they would have to find other sources of food. I'm going to teach you how to fish, Achilles said. Ameera laughed at that. The idea of a college guy and wannabe rapper like Achilles fishing amused her. My father is a fisherman you know, he said defensively. Seeing his expression, Ameera apologized. I didn't mean to offend you, she said, gently touching his arm. Achilles looked at her hand on his, and held his breath. The whole time they'd been together on the island she'd kept him at arm's length. Ameera looked at Achilles, and when her skin touched his, she felt something akin to an electrical shock and her heart thundered in her chest. I'm sorry for touching you, she said, shaking her head. Achilles leaned closer to her. Don't be sorry, he said. Then he kissed her. And much to his surprise, Ameera kissed him back.

Gently, Achilles pulled Ameera into his arms and kissed her full and deep. I shouldn't do this, Ameera said hesitantly when they came up for air. You're beautiful and I've wanted you from the first time I saw you, Achilles countered. When she heard that, the young Saudi woman blushed. Really? she asked hesitantly. Achilles nodded. I'm a virgin, she said, I don't know how to...silencing her with a kiss, Achilles stopped her. Let me take care of you, he whispered into her ear. Gently he laid her on the straw bed, and undressed her. Like many curvy women, Ameera was a bit self-conscious about her body but Achilles, who worshipped big beautiful women of all races, assured her that she was lovely.

Looking into Ameera's lovely eyes, Achilles assured her that he wouldn't hurt her. Gently he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. He kissed her neck and she giggled softly. He kissed her breasts, suckling on the surprisingly large areolas of her tits. Ameera licked her lips as Achilles went to work on her. He kissed a path down her lovely body, from her breasts to her round belly. He flicked his tongue into her belly button and she laughed. He made his way to her pelvic area, and spread her big, sexy legs. Ameera clamped her legs shut, and Achilles looked into her beautiful, worried face. Will it hurt? she asked softly. I will only bring you pleasure, Achilles assured her. The young woman took a deep breath, then nodded and relaxed.

Once more Achilles spread her legs, and looked at her hairy pussy. Ameera lay on the bed, tense from head to toe as Achilles played with her pussy. A proper Muslim woman should only expose her awrah ( shameful parts ) around her husband and no one else. Islamic law was adamant about that. And here she was, allowing herself to be touched intimately and pleasured by a man who wasn't her husband. Hell, he wasn't even Muslim! She shouldn't be doing this and she knew it. Yet, her body cried out for his touch and she knew it. Achilles gently slid his tongue into Ameera's pussy, and the young Saudi woman cried out sharply. I'm going to give you the Jamaican special, he warned before burying his face between her legs. As Achilles tongue slid deep into her pussy, followed by his agile fingers, Ameera cried out in pleasure. Places that had never been touched became filled with pleasure as they were explored and pleased at last. Orgasmic for the first time in her life, Ameera cried out in Arabic, Farsi and English!