Saudi Women Are Strong Too!

Come to bed my love, I whisper to Malusi's ear, wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders. Turning to face me, Malusi's dark brown eyes bore into mine. What we've done is wrong, he says simply. I close my eyes hard, and try not to think of last year's events. Try as I might, I can't forget the night when Malusi and I killed a man, my abusive former husband Jawad Al-Abbasi. His blood is on both our hands, but I do not mourn his passing. The day Jawad died is the day I began to live.

We're far away from Saudi Arabia now, hiding away at a house near a resort on the island of Saint Lucia. My name is Ghayda "Gaga" Al-Abbasi and I am originally from the City of Tabuk, northwestern Saudi Arabia. My father Kamal Mahamat was Saudi, and my mother Sana was half Arab and half Ethiopian. Being the issue of such parentage made me exotically beautiful, something both prized and shunned in the complex world of Saudi Arabia. You see, Saudis like to breed with other races but prize their own above all others even as they lust for those different from themselves. It's odd, to say the least.

Mother nature and my family lineage blessed me with the good looks that were to be my curse. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy and firm, with light bronze skin, long curly black hair and light brown eyes. My features are a beautiful blend of African and Arabian. I have large breasts, strong legs, and big, round buttocks that have made me the envy of the other women ever since I could remember. My height doesn't hurt either. While many men prefer women shorter than themselves, quite a few have an affinity for taller women like myself.

My father granted my hand in marriage to his old friend Jawad Al-Abbasi, whom he met at King Faisal University, a long time ago. I had met Jawad when he came to our house in the City of Khobar, and found him charming. At the time I was but a young girl, what did I know of marriage and family? I married Jawad in a lavish ceremony, and became his third wife. As a wealthy man, he could afford to marry more than one woman. Islamic law permits a Muslim man to marry up to four women as long as he can provide for them. It's not a pauper's game.

Thus, at the end of the holy month of Ramadan in 1999, at the age of eighteen, I married Jawad. I bore him no offspring, for apparently there was something wrong with me. They often blame the woman in these situations. Given the fact that Jawad had three sons and a daughter by his other wives, Jamila and Aria, perhaps the fault lies with me. For better or for worse, I never quickened. No offspring came from our union. We tried and tried, but to no avail. Jawad grew tired of me, and threatened to divorce me. He often beat me whenever he felt like it, for he was a short-tempered man.

Between 1999 and 2009, Jawad's finances took a nasty downward turn. He'd invested heavily into Saudi Aramco, and made several million but gambled it all away on trips to places like Las Vegas, and Toronto. Jawad was fond of traveling to America and Canada, and sometimes took me with him. I fell in love with the western world the first time I laid eyes on it. This was North America, the land of the infidels, loathed by Muslims worldwide. And yet, I found myself enamored of the place. The people were so loud and vibrant, so free, it was...intoxicating.

On those trips abroad, Jawad often indulged himself with wine and women. Along with Aria and Jamila, I followed him. Not because he wanted us there but because he liked to show us off to his North American friends. A lot of people from the West are curious about Muslim women, especially the ones from Saudi Arabia. Jawad liked to show us off, his obedient Muslim wives. His American friends, those rich oilmen who often got fleeced in divorce court by the greedy gold diggers they wedded were amazed by us. We were the types of women that western men didn't know exist. Women who absolutely believed it was God's will that men ruled over women.

While on one of those trips, I met the one destined to change my life forever. Malusi Dosi, a handsome young man of Sudanese and Lebanese origin. Malusi was born in the City of Toronto, Ontario, to a Lebanese Christian immigrant mother, Elisabeth Safadi, and Hassan Dosi, a Sudanese father. He studied business administration at Carleton University and later earned his MBA at the University of Toronto. He'd also worked for an oil company in Alberta, Canada, and another one in Al-Jahrah, Kuwait. The guy spoke several languages fluently including English, French, Spanish, German, Russian, Arabic and Mandarin Chinese. Impressive, huh? My former husband Jawad certainly thought so, for he hired Malusi Dosi to revitalize his businesses in Saudi Arabia and invited him to stay at our villa in Tabuk.

Wealthy Arabs hire contractors from the United Kingdom and North America all the time, but they're usually white. The sight of a tall, well-dressed Black man in business attire made heads turn in rural Tabuk, Saudi Arabia, that's for sure. Jawad drove to the airport to pick up Malusi Dosi, and greeted him joyfully. Then he introduced him to us, his wives, forgetting that at least one of us had already met the gorgeous Mr. Dosi. I couldn't forget the handsome black Canadian businessman if I tried. He was easy on the eyes but also friendly and humble. In the heartland of Islam, humility is a rare quality among men.

And so it came to be that Malusi Dosi stayed in the thirteen-room villa inhabited by Jawad, his other wives, their sons and daughters, and myself. I was intrigued by the handsome visitor from the get-go. As luck would have it, he noticed me as well. Now, in a country with cultural restrictions woven into the norm of everyday life like Saudi Arabia, women and men are kept apart. Only inside the home, surrounded by family, can a woman show her face. Otherwise we must wear the burka. It's the law in Saudi Arabia.

With Malusi Dosi staying in the two-bedroom guest house at the end of the six-hundred-foot fenced courtyard, I had to find a way to get to him. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I got to him. How did I do so? Simply through Facebook. Now, the Saudi government censors all social media sites and the web itself but someone as wealthy as Jawad knew ways around it. The Wi-Fi system at our house was completely unmonitored thanks to state-of-the-art scramblers which he installed to prevent both government and private parties from looking into his business interests.

I browsed through Facebook and looked for Malusi Dosi, then sent him a friend request along with my cell phone number. To my immense surprise, half an hour later, I got a text from him. Giggling like a schoolgirl, I texted him back and we chatted for a while. The next day, I went to meet him at the library. Jawad was off on business, and Malusi, who claimed that he hadn't yet adjusted to the shift in time zones, stayed behind. We met that day, and it was wonderful to finally meet him face to face without third parties around.

We didn't do much talking, Malusi and I. Nope, we were busy making the beast with two backs, as they say. We had sex over almost every inch of the library, which is saying a lot. He sat on a nearby couch and I climbed on top of him, tossing aside my dress, bra and panties. Malusi feasted his eyes on my naked body. Taking his big hands, I put them on my breasts. Feel them, I whispered into his ear. I smiled at him as he tentatively touched my breasts, then gently squeezed them.

I straddled Malusi, and felt his manhood hardening underneath me in his pajamas. His hands roamed all over my body, from my face, which he gently palmed, then my lips. Burying his face between my breasts, he kissed my chest and then started licking my tits. His tongue flicked over the areolas of my tits, then he took them into his mouth. I shuddered inwardly, and felt myself getting hot. Malusi's eyes bore into mine, and he stopped sucking my tits long enough to tell me he found me lovely. You're gorgeous, he said breathlessly. I smiled and shrugged.

You have to understand that in the culture in which I was raised, women try to draw as little attention to their bodies as possible. Even the simplest compliment during intimate moments make me blush. Still, it meant something that Malusi found me beautiful. I cannot remember the last time Jawad told me I was beautiful. I'm like an ornament to him. Something he's had in his possession so long that he's forgotten he had me. Malusi on the other hand was eager to explore the beautiful woman I was in his eyes. Grinning, he reached between my legs and slid two fingers into my cunt. You're warm inside, Malusi grinned. You got no idea, I thought, as I licked my lips in anticipation.

Malusi laid me on the couch and knelt before me. Spreading my legs, he inhaled the scent of my womanhood and then went to town on me. I felt his eager, hungry mouth on my pussy. Closing my eyes, I relaxed and enjoyed as Malusi made love to me, teasing my clit, fingering my cunt and setting me ablaze in the most intimate of places. I found myself groaning and moaning as Malusi worked me over, sending little thrills of pleasure deep inside of me. For what seemed like forever he licked and probed and cajoled me, torturing me in the most wonderful way possible. When all was said and done, I cried out passionately...

When I finally calmed down, Malusi had his arms around me. I'm fine, I said, laughing. Malusi looked at me, and I saw something...right there. In those eyes of his. I saw passion there, and something else. Affection, of a sort. Next thing I knew Malusi kissed me full and deep. I want you now, I said, and he winked at me. Off came Malusi's pants, and out came his long and thick dick. I grasped it with both hands, and caressed it. Wonderful, I quipped. Then I pressed his dick against my cunt, and told Malusi to fuck me.

Yup, just like that, skin and on skin, I made love with my husband's friend and houseguest. Malusi thrust his hard dick deep inside of me. I wrapped my arms around him, loving every stab of his hard dick inside my cunt. Malusi sucked on my tits and put his hands on my hips as he slammed his cock into me. I threw my head back and cried out like a madwoman, loving the feel of Malusi's throbbing manhood inside of me. You've got to understand that I haven't made love in ages, and even then, on those nights when Jawad came to me, he never made me feel like a woman. He never made love to me with Malusi's raw passion...

Malusi definitely helped me make up for lost time that night. My favorite moment was when he put me on all fours, and got really aggressive with me. He really loved my butt, and told me I wasn't flat-bottomed like most of the Arab girls he knew. I laughed and told him I had Ethiopian as well as Saudi in my family, thus explaining why I had a booty. Malusi literally kissed my butt, licking it and biting it gently before fingering my butt hole. Then he licked my ass. It was so unexpected, and so wonderfully nasty, I loved it. Lucky for him I showered an hour before coming to him. I loved having my butt played with. Don't know how in hell he guessed that but dammit, I loved it.

When Malusi asked me if I wanted to try anal sex, I nodded eagerly. Impromptu anal sex isn't something you should try, ladies and gentlemen. Malusi had a small tube of hand lotion in his pocket, and we used that. Even with the lubricant, Malusi's dick felt huge in my ass. He worked it in there slowly, inch by inch. I'd played with my butt before but I'd never let anyone fuck me this way. Jawad begged me but I refused him. Lots of Muslim men ask their wives for anal sex even though the rules of Islam forbid it. Men the world over like to have their cake and eat it too, you know?

Malusi slowly pulled out of me after about fifteen minutes. The reason why? Oh, it wasn't my whelps of discomfort mixed with the odd excited squeal. It was, um, because of a mess. Don't make me get specific, alright? Suffice to say, Malusi and I will be more careful next time. After this unforgettable first encounter, I went back to my chambers, showered and watched TV while Malusi went back to work. Over the coming weeks, we met in secret. We tried to be careful, but it's hard to hide in such closed quarters. Eventually, my co-wife Jamila caught us, and revealed the matter to Jawad.

Malusi and I had our fun, but one day, our world came crashing down around our ears. Malusi was gone for the day, and I was at home. Jawad came home unexpectedly early, and marched to my chambers, his belt in his hand. I looked at my husband and knew at once that our cover was blown. Our secret was out. Jawad knew about Malusi and me. He caught me in those arms of his and even though I put up a fight, he beat me within an inch of my life.

I think Jawad would have killed me right then and there, if it hadn't been for Malusi's timely intervention. Malusi came back to the house, returning from his morning jog, and heard my screams. He caught Jawad's arm in an unbreakable grip, and hurled him to the floor. Roaring in rage, Jawad pulled a dagger out of his vest pocket and tried to stab Malusi with it. I threw myself at Jawad, and we wrestled on the floor. In the end, it was Malusi who pulled Jawad off me. He took the dagger from Jawad and thrust it into his chest. Jawad gasped, and shuddered, then lay still.

I stared at my husband's corpse, mouth agape in shock. Jawad was dead. Malusi stood there, the bloody dagger in his hand. He let it fall to the floor. We must go, he said. I took one last look at Jawad's body, then I fled the house in which I'd lived the past ten years. It wasn't easy for Malusi and I to leave the Saudi Arabian kingdom. The authorities were looking for us. Murder carries a penalty of death by beheading for those found guilty. The Saudi courts are notoriously merciless.

Malusi and I paid some crooks to help us cross the border between Saudi Arabia and Yemen. From there we made our way to Canada, where I applied for political asylum and got denied. With the threat of deportation and imminent death looming over my head, Malusi faced a difficult choice. The Canadian government wanted to send me back to Saudi Arabia even though it has no extradition treaty with the kingdom. I'd be thrown in jail and later executed, and they knew it. I'm a mixed race woman who defied the laws of Saudi Arabia, and of Islam itself. I cannot be permitted to live.

In the end, Malusi and I boarded a flight bound for Saint Lucia. We moved to the City of Dennery, and bought a house. The island is full of people of African descent, as well as people with mixed European and Afro-Caribbean ancestry. A lot of the local women look like me, and I found them friendly and welcoming. The whole island is beautiful, full of friendly people. I have Saudi and Ethiopian blood in my veins, and it's high time that I embrace all that I am. Saint Lucia is perfect. A far cry from the stifled and dead world of Saudi Arabia. It wasn't easy for me but eventually I let go of the foolish notions that a woman's body was a forbidden object to be hidden away in shame. I now strut my stuff on the beach in a bikini, and I look damn good doing it. Just ask Malusi, he's certainly not complaining.

Yes, we're building a new life for ourselves here in Saint Lucia. As far as I know, the Saudi government is still looking for us but I doubt they'll ever come to the Caribbean. Here, among the palm trees and on the sandy beaches, that's the very last place one would think to look for who I used to be. A female citizen of Saudi Arabia. A woman who spent her entire life wearing a burka, due to an obscure religious law which demanded that women cover up to protect men from their baser nature. They wouldn't recognize me anymore, not the tanned, fit and thong-wearing, bikini-loving island beauty I have become.

Malusi and I opened a restaurant, with a souvenir shop and a bookstore attached to it. We run it together, and business is good. Yes, the island and its people have been wonderful to us, and we love them back. We might look a little different from the average black person, true, but that doesn't diminish the fact that both Malusi and I are of partial African descent. He's half black and half Arab, I'm seventy five percent Arab and twenty five percent Ethiopian. The Afro-Caribbean people of Saint Lucia are our brothers and sisters, distance and cultural differences be damned. We've learned the language, and embraced the local culture.

Malusi was raised Christian, and since we've moved to Saint Lucia, he's reconnected with his Christian faith. At first when he would invite me to the local Adventist Church, I hesitated because, even after all I'd seen and done, I still considered myself a Muslim, however loosely. Yet the more Malusi told me about his church and its people, the more fascinated I became. And so it came to be that I eventually started accompanying my lover to his church, and a few months later, I embraced the faith. Before assembled witnesses I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior and the path to God Almighty. Malusi and I were married shortly after.

Want to hear something odd? Oh wonder of wonders, I found out yesterday that I'm pregnant. Malusi was stunned, but no more so than I, for I thought I was as barren as the desert country that spawned me. We asked the local doctor to check and double check, for neither of us could believe what the old black woman was saying to us. You're about to become parents, Dr. Nadege Jean-Francois told us with a smile. I looked at Malusi, and smiled contentedly. Grinning, Malusi rubbed his hands over my still-flat stomach. Let's go home daddy, I laughed. Malusi looked at me, a pleased look on his face. I want to fuck you so bad, I whispered into his ear. Giggling, we made our way out of the clinic, rushing to get home.