The Hijab Hunter Confessions

Every time I see a hot chick walking by wearing a Hijab I get an instant boner, I said sheepishly, confessing one of my deepest, darkest secrets to Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud, my psychiatrist. The forty-something Saudi Arabian lady raised an eyebrow, and stared at me as if I were a Martian. I'm sorry, I said with a shrug. And I truly am. For I didn't mean to offend the good doctor. If she hadn't agreed to take me on as a patient I would be in the slammer. Still, if you're not honest with your shrink, who can you be honest with? My name is Gabriel Guerrier and by my own admittance I'm a very disturbed individual.

How did I end up in a shrink's office? Long story, folks. It began when I met this hot Jamaican chick named Sabrina Thompson while walking around downtown Ottawa. There are many attractive women of all hues in the province of Ontario but this dame stood out. Five foot ten, curvy and sexy, with big tits and a heart-shaped ass that just won't quit. A caramel-skinned Nubian goddess who needs to be worshipped properly. I figured I better holler at her before someone else does, you know?

I approached her, and even though she acted coy I could tell that she was feeling me. I've got that Montreal Haitian charm, you know? The lady was hesitant for all of ten seconds, then we began to chat. She just transferred to Carleton University from York University in Toronto. How about that? I transferred to Carleton from the University of Montreal. I got into some trouble with some punks in la belle province and my parents sent me to stay at my aunty and uncle's spot in Ottawa to chill. Sort of a Fresh Prince deal, I guess. I got a job as a computer repairman in the east end of Ottawa. I make seventeen dollars an hour and since I live with my uncle and aunt, I don't pay rent but I do chip in for groceries and cable.

Sabrina smiled when I shared that with her, and told me I'm slick. If she only knew. I'm as slick as they come. When I asked her for her digits, Sabrina took mine instead. Damn. When a female takes your digits instead of giving you hers, you can pretty much forget about it. Why? Women take forever to make up their minds about calling a brother. I'm only nineteen years old but I know this much is true. I thought I'd never hear from Sabrina but got the surprise of a lifetime when she texted me the next day. How about that? I called her and we ended up speaking on the phone for sixty seven minutes. Typically I don't spend a long time hollering at women on the phone. I like to show them what I can do instead of talking about it, if you catch my drift.

With Sabrina Thompson I kind of made an exception, and it turned out to be worth it. I invited her to catch a movie with me at the Blair Cinema. We saw The Colony, a science fiction featuring Laurence Fishburne, an actor I like. He's one of the giants of Black Hollywood, it's too bad his daughter Montana Fishburne is a dumb slut who decided to become a porn star. I shouldn't talk shit about her, I guess. Why is that, you may ask? Simple. I own all of her porn DVDs by the way. She's got a really nice ass. I like them light-skinned honeys and they like me. I'm a six-foot-one, somewhat chubby but still good-looking, chocolate-skinned brother. The women who find me the most attractive tend to be white chicks or light-skinned black women. The union of opposites, I guess.

After the movie, Sabrina and I walked through Parliament Hill and then went to the National Gallery to check out some artwork. I'm just getting to know this chick so I wanted to appear cultured and sophisticated. We were on our sixth date when she dropped the fact that she was engaged...to a white dude. Um, what the fuck? If she's engaged to some white bozo, why is she walking around with a brother? When I asked her this, Sabrina smiled sheepishly and told me that she just wanted to be friends. Man, I'm not the type of dude to smack a female but if I were, Sabrina would get smacked like the bitch she is. We were dining inside East Side Mario's restaurant when she dropped that bomb on me. Vexed beyond belief, I got up, paid and left.

The next time I ran into Sabrina was at Mansion, this night club in downtown Ottawa. She was there with a chubby, ugly red-haired white dude. Her fiancé Sean something or other. Sean and I had words, and I kind of knocked him out. I got into it with the bouncers when they tried to separate us. I was taken first to jail then to a psychiatric hospital because apparently I was foaming at the mouth and speaking in tongues. If I could I would have told them that I wasn't speaking in tongues, I was just irate and drunk off my ass.

I spent the next thirteen days at the Ottawa General Hospital in the lunatic wing, and once the doctors deemed me competent, I was released. I'm happy to say that no criminal charges were brought against me, though I've got a lifetime ban from the night club. As a condition of my release, the Crown Prosecutor's Office said I needed to attend anger management classes and also undergo psychiatric treatment. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up at the office of Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud, one of metropolitan Ottawa's finest shrinks...in every sense of the word.

The good doctor asked me what I found so attractive about Hijab-wearing women. I think my fascination with them began when I met Ayaan, one of the Somali nurses at the hospital. She was cute, petite and big-bottomed, and wore the Hijab. Out of the entire staff, Ayaan is the only person who was nice to me. The Hershey-colored twenty-something Somali lady was a life saver, man. She's the only person at the hospital who treated me like a human being. The white nurses acted all nervous and shit whenever they had to give me my medication. The hospital security guards loved wrestling me to the ground and grabbing me so much that I honestly think they're more than a little bit on the fruity side. Honestly, I got nothing against queers, let them marry each other if they want, but I don't like dudes grabbing me or hugging me. That's not Kosher.

All this I told to the good doctor. Smiling, Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud took notes, smiled, and asked me what I thought of Muslims, especially Muslim women. I told her that I was raised Catholic but checked out fine-looking women of all races and religions. I don't care if a woman wears a Hijab or a bikini. If she's got a cute face and a nice ass, I will check her out. I'm a man. Alright? When I said that, Dr. Mahmoud smiled and asked me some personal questions. Has there been a woman in my life since the fiasco with Sabrina Thompson? I kind of blushed when I told the good doctor that I've been sexless for the past month. Seriously. My balls are bluer than the morning sky. Dr. Mahmoud laughed when I said that, and then our hour together concluded.

I went home after work that night, and thought about the lovely Ayaan, of her curvy body, fantastically rounded Somali ass and full lips. That fearless smile and those almond-shaped brown eyes of hers haunted my dreams. I lay there on my bed, somewhere between dreamland and wakefulness, completely naked, stroking my average-sized, uncircumcised dick. I pumped my dick hard and fast, visualizing Ayaan's hot booty, and of course her Hijab-covered head. I don't know why but chicks in Hijabs turn me on. I found a website that features porn actresses wearing Hijabs while engaging in sex acts with men and other women. It's called Beurette Tour and I honestly can't get enough of it. I imagined Ayaan bending over for me while I smacked her ass and eased my dick inside of her. Hot damn, this caused my dick to harden like steel. Just before I came, the image of Ayaan vanished from my erotic fantasy, replaced by someone else...guess who? Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud.

What the fuck? Where did that come from? I have been in Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud's presence numerous times. The tall, curvy, raven-haired and bronze-skinned Saudi-Canadian shrink is lovely but doesn't light my fire. I mean, she's hot, but...before I could stop myself, my twisted mind was conjuring an image of her, leaning against her oak desk, stylish pantsuit off, wearing nothing but a bra and panties...and her Hijab of course. I walked up to the good doctor in my birthday suit, and she reached for my ebony cock, stroking it before kneeling before me and taking me into her mouth.

Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud sucked me good, licking my balls and lathering my cock with her mouth and tongue. When I came, she guzzled up every last drop of my cum. I looked at her, and I must say the sight of my cum on her face thrilled me. I'd gotten a few drops on her Hijab as well...I'm so naughty. Next, I laid her on the desk, and spread her legs. I kissed her full and deep, and suckled at her tits for a bit while slipping my fingers into her panties. I slid first one finger then two inside her cunt, causing her to moan. I kissed a path from her tits to her belly, and made my way to her pelvic area. I inhaled the scent of her pussy, smiled then went to work. I love eating pussy, folks, and no two women smell or taste alike.

Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud moaned softly and urged me to lick her pussy real good, and like the gentleman that I am, I did as the lady asked. I thrust two fingers into her cunt and teased her clitoris with my tongue. Her screams of delight filled the office. I didn't relent until she begged me too. Next, I slid my cock into her pussy and we began fucking. The good doctor wrapped her arms around me, and I buried my face between her tits while slamming my cock into her. Her pussy gripped my dick nice and tight, and I gave her all that I got, man. It wasn't long before I came, flooding her twat with my manly spunk. My eyes snapped open as cum oozed out of my erect penis, and I looked around, wondering where I was. Slowly it all came back to me. I was in my uncle and aunt's place in Orleans. In my room. Safe and sound. And alone. It was all a dream. Some dream, dammit!

A few days later, I went to Dr. Nafisah Mahmoud's office in Alta Vista. I noticed something different about her. She wore a long-sleeved flowery greenish T-shirt, black silk pants and a Hijab. This immediately caught my attention. I'd never seen her in Hijab before. She looked...lovely. The good doctor caught me staring, smiled and asked me if I was alright. I nodded, and asked her how she was doing. With a disarming smile the doc told me she was excited about the upcoming Ramadan. I nodded understandingly. Fasting is always a good thing, I told Dr. Nafisah, patting my belly. She smiled bashfully and told me not to fret, that I still looked good. I looked at the Hijab which framed her face so beautifully, and felt a stir down below. I crossed my legs to conceal my growing erection. Had a good night? The good doctor asked me. I smiled. Had an awesome night, I said, as we began the session.