This is a story set in the American South and examines what happens when a horny 18 year old teen discovers the charms of a married Arab woman. And his mothers reaction! And his sisters! Please take the time to send me your comments. It's the feedback that makes writing stories fun.
*
Hinesville, Georgia, September 2005
"So whadaya think of them sand niggers done moved in next door to you," Billy Joe Cooper asked, as he, Sam Rowland and I sat smoking in the stands of the baseball field. Or at least the other two were smoking; I'd finally kicked the habit during my five weeks up north.
"Sand niggers?" I asked, totally confused by Billy Joe's comment.
"They moved in last week. Into old man Drake's house."
"Who did?"
"The camel jockeys! Ehhhrabbb terrorists," he giggled, making me wonder if he was smoking something besides tobacco.
"It's true Rod," Sam said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Next door to us?"
~~~~~
Sis, Mom and I had just returned from our annual five week vacation on Cape Cod to visit Mom's family and so were way behind on local news. At least Sis and I were.
"What's this about Arab terrorists moving in next door Dad?" I asked as I burst into the family TV room an hour later.
"They're invading fucking Georgia now son."
"Johnnie!" Mom hissed at Dad.
"It's true honey. Why can't they stay where they belong? Stay up north and blow up Jew York."
Dad had to have had a couple of beers before he dared say that in front of Mom, I thought. We all saw the steam building up behind mom's eyes and all of us knew better than to stay and wait for the explosion.
"Just kidding hon, got to get over to Al's, see you later," Dad backtracked as he fled from the room, Sissy and I hard on his heels.
"Roddy, Sissy, get back in here," she ordered.
"Yes mum," we both agreed meekly.
"An Arab family has moved in next door Sissy," she started, "as your father and brother have so effectively pointed out." We were both holding our breath, knowing from long experience that no response was expected or allowed.
"Strangely enough Arabs are still considered as members of the human race in most areas of the world."
Mom, nee Sophie Von Scouries, was raised in Boston, the daughter of what Dad's brother, Uncle Teddy, called 'damn commie intellectuals', although never in front of Mom.
She, an eighteen year old Duke freshman, eager to study Philosophy, Art History and French at the South's most respected university, had somehow ended up in Dad's bed her third day in Durham. Dad had been a senior at N.C. State, an agriculture major from a well known farming family, the Malloys, of eastern Georgia.
Ma was pregnant before the school year was up. And then, against all odds, and the active opposition of both their families, they got married and then had me. Eleven months later they'd had my sister Rebecca. It was the sex that got them together and had kept them together. The rest of the relationship had been much tougher.
"And notwithstanding your father's remarks, or others you two children will likely hear in the coming days from our enlightened friends and neighbors, I expect the two of you to act accordingly."
"Yes ma," we both responded meekly, our only possible answer given ma's anger.
"But who are they," I ventured timidly.
"Their name is Mahmoud, and they have two children, Ali 7 and Fatima 5."
"You've already met them?" I asked.
"Yes Roderick," the Roderick a further sign of Mom's displeasure, "and in spite of all the rumors I'm sure are being spread all over Hinesville, Georgia, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Mahmoud are members of Hezbollah or the Moslem Brotherhood. Nor is their seven year old son a suicide bomber."
"What are they doing here mom?" sis asked tentatively.
"Well Rebecca, like a million other northerners, they've decided to move to the south and just happened to choose our lovely town."
"But where are they from?"
"I believe Brooklyn."
"But...before that..."
"Well, current science now seems to believe we all can trace back our roots to an area in Central Africa," Mom said in a tight controlled voice.
"But," Sissy started again, but then stopped as mom stared daggers at her.
~~~~~
Mr. Mahmoud, it turned out in the days that followed, was actually the front man for his great-uncle, an Egyptian-American man who turned out to be the largest Dollar Store operator in the northeast.
"Claims he's here to open a hundred of them stores in Georgia and the Carolinas, every small town from here to Tennessee," Dad told us a couple of days later as we sat out at the farm with the whole clan for our Sunday afternoon BBQ.
Mom, who herself had been hard at work finding out about the Mahmouds, interjected, "apparently he has an M.B.A. from Cairo University."
"What's that?" Uncle Ted asked snickering, "Master of Blowing up Americans."
"No my dear Edward," Mom hissed as the rest of the family burst out in guffaws at Uncle Ted's words.
Sis and I were always caught in the middle of the continuing family drama, in love with mom and accepting of most of her liberal views, while at the same time surrounded most of the year by a more southern and redneck approach to life.
We had learned to love both worlds, knew that behind the crudity, small mindedness and racism of our town lay another reality; friendly cookouts, Fourth of July parades, neighbor helping neighbor, little league baseball, patriotism...
Every family in our corner of Georgia had a brother, or a son, or a cousin, or a father who'd proudly worn the uniform of our country. And when my northern cousins pontificated about the loss of civil liberties, I could never forget that Hinesville blood had been spilled in the dusty fields and fetid towns of Afghanistan and Iraq.
~~~~
I was eighteen, a tall, rangy boy/man who'd lost my virginity to my second cousin Joanne, a twenty-four year old, just divorced nurse, just weeks before on a beach up in Cape Cod.
I was lucky; I'd been ready and she'd made it easy. An experienced lover, she been both gentle and demanding, teaching me in ten days more than most men learn in a lifetime.
She'd been understanding when my cock had spurted before I'd even got it in, told me it was a compliment.
"I'm sorry...," I'd started to stammer.
"Just shows you like me," she'd laughed as her fingers caressed my still hard, sticky shaft. "You're so big Roddy," she'd whispered as she slid to her knees and took me into her mouth.
"Oh fuck, fuck Jo, I'm going to come again," I cried as her tongue and lips worked me, wanting to pull out and fuck her but unwilling to leave her moist mouth. I bucked again and again between her lips, watched as she milked my shaft, swallowing hungrily.
"You taste good honey," she said grinning, a strand of cum hanging from her lower lip.
"I do?"
"Here," she offered as her lips sought out mine. Unsure, I met her lips, felt her tongue push into my mouth, tasted my sperm, reveled in the feel of our tongues dueling.
"You're hard again," she laughed as her fingers found my straining cock, and then pulled me down to the blanket on the sand.
I went crazy when I finally thrust into my first pussy, simply banged away like a wild man, unconcerned about anything but my pleasure. Jo was screaming when I finally exploded.
"God, I've never had anyone like you," she whispered as we lay gasping on our backs on the sand. "You're the biggest, the best," she said adoringly as her hand lightly held my softening snake. Her compliments, whether true or simply to encourage me, were the nicest things she could have done to give confidence to such an unsure lover.
Every virgin needs someone like Jo to school them in the art of love. For ten days she taught me, teaching me how to both please a woman and myself. We both cried when I had to leave and go back to Georgia.
"You be gentle with all those Georgia girls Rod," she'd ordered. "I don't want you breaking every heart in Hinesville." Christ, I'd wanted to quit school and move in with her in Boston.
~~~~
Of course, once a teenage boy gets laid for the first time, he doesn't think of a fuck of a lot else besides sex in the succeeding days and weeks and months. 'How can I get someone else in bed' becomes the overriding priority in life.
I was no different and so it happened that the continuing simmering anger at our new Arab neighbor's presence in our community was largely ignored by me. I was trying to figure out how to get Bobbie Anne Gilliam's panties off and my dick inside her... or Bonnie Smith... or Jenny...or, or...
That is until I happened to take a period off at eleven one morning and decided to go home and have lunch with Mom.
A young, beautiful, olive skinned woman was sitting casually at the kitchen table talking with mom, sipping tea, when I barged through the back door.
"Roddy, what are you doing home?"
I stammered as I explained about a cancelled class, my attention totally on the gorgeous, dark haired woman in front of me.
"Am I that strange?" Mrs. Mahmoud asked throatily, the sound of her voice the sexiest thing I'd ever heard.
"ROD! Don't stare."
"Oh sorry mom," I finally answered, my eyes moving to meet hers for a second before darting back to Mrs. Mahmoud.
"Rod, I'd like you to meet our new neighbor, Mrs. Mahmoud. Miriam," she said turning, "this bumbling idiot is my son."
"You're young," I babbled, "I mean younger than I thought...and you speak English..."
"As you can see Miriam, my son has extraordinary powers of observation. Strange, he's never realized that people who come to America from foreign lands often master the English language..."
"Don't tease him Sophie," Mrs. Mahmoud instructed mom, smiling happily at me as she spoke.
I fell in love! Or lust. Who knows exactly what happens in your brain at that moment when someone captivates you totally. Bobbie Anne and the rest of the females in my senior class were instantly forgotten. I was going to fuck Mrs. Mahmoud or die trying. She was my destiny.
They let me sit at the table with them as they talked and laughed together. I was oblivious to most of the conversation, captivated solely by Miriam's beauty. The only contribution I made was glazed eyed nods to questions I didn't hear and one totally dumb question.
Her scarf, her head covering thing, was nowhere to be seen, and I asked, "Where's your bandana thing? ...You know...for your head," I stammered as both looked at me in surprise.
"ROD!"
"It's alright Sophie. How will people learn if they don't ask? I just have a scarf today Rod, not my hijab," she said turning to me and taking a crimson silk scarf from her purse. "I don't always wear it when I'm among women."
"What about in front of me?" I asked eagerly, interested to learn her beliefs.
"I should be covered in front of you...in fact I shouldn't even be in the same room as such a handsome young man," she teased.
"Do you want him to go?" Mom asked.
"Of course not," Miriam replied with a shake of her head, causing her long, black, silky strands to dance and float around her head and shoulders.
"When I was a girl in Beirut we were freer...less strict than my husband's family...my sisters and I...we were able to talk and live more openly."
"How old are you Mrs. Mahmoud," I asked, rudely interrupting.
