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Life is full of surprises, isn’t it? I certainly think so. How else would you explain how a biracial switch-hitter like me ended up converting to Islam and marrying a sexy and beautiful, Hijab-wearing Muslim gal from Djibouti? To say that my beloved wife Choukri and I come from different worlds would be the understatement of the century. The name is Sebastian “Saif” Morrison. I was born in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, to a Jamaican father and French Canadian mother. Anyone who looks upon my person would see a six-foot-tall, slim and fit brother with caramel skin, curly black hair and light brown eyes. At the time that my wife and I met I was going through all kinds of turmoil. It’s not easy being black and male and Canada and when you add bisexual to the mix, you’ve got a recipe for hardship, if not outright disaster.

At the age of eighteen my father, Reverend Theodore Morrison of the Fervent Hope Baptist Church of Nepean kicked me out of the house when he caught me getting busy with Liam Lloyd, a white dude who lived next door. He chased Liam out of the house and then beat me within an inch of my life. What pops didn’t know is that Lloyd and I have been fuck buddies since our high school days. We were on the wrestling team at Saint Augustine High School. I was the captain and he was my best pal…and more. After dad kicked me out, with my mother’s support by the way ( Eileen Tremblay-Morrison, First Lady of the Fervent Hope Baptist Church of Nepean isn’t anyone’s mommy dearest ), I began making my way into the world as best I can. The only one among my relatives to help me out was my cousin Ricky. He let me stay in his basement for a bit.

I moved to the City of Toronto, since I’d gotten fed up with Ottawa and felt like there was nothing down there for me. While in Toronto, I did odd jobs to make ends meet. Somehow, I ended up working as an escort. There are lots of rich, married guys in Toronto who have sex with men on the side. Such men don’t want their wives and families to find out about their secret lust for men and are willing to pay the big bucks to satisfy their manly cravings. That’s where I come in. I’m tall, light-skinned and fit, and lots of older gay and bisexual white guys seemed to have a craving for me.

Now, I’m not stupid. I honestly know about what’s out there. I wasn’t trying to catch AIDs or anything. That’s why I always used condoms for every sex act, and on a good week I’d make about a thousand dollars. Female escorts in Ontario typically advertise their services on the back pages of newspapers and online. They typically charge a hundred and twenty bucks for half an hour and two hundred for the hour. Male escorts make more. Much more. A handsome young man who is willing to sell his ass for money is in greater demand than a young woman who does the same thing. Closeted married men with money pass their male lovers around like the peace pipe among their like-minded friends. And they really liked the way I look. A lot of gay guys and some bisexual men tend to look effeminate and those guys aren’t what the closeted married men are looking for. As a tall, manly light-skinned young black man, I was their fantasy guy.

The summer after I graduated high school I made seven thousand dollars working as an escort. Since I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a roommate, I only paid four hundred a month in rent plus an additional hundred in groceries. I saved every penny. That’s why, when September came, I enrolled at the University of Toronto as a business major. Even though I was the same age as my classmates, I felt older than them. They were so innocent, talking about their graduation memories and even corny shit like Prom. I didn’t go to my Prom because my last girlfriend, Hannah June Anderson dumped me three weeks before the big event.

Hannah June Anderson was my first real girlfriend. I met her at the Silver City movie theater in Ottawa. The tall, dark-skinned sister with the big boobs and huge round ass definitely stood out waiting in line for movie tickets. They were showing The Dictator and I wanted to go see it with Liam, but he opted to go on a date with his Haitian girlfriend Helene Charles instead. I’ve always felt attracted to both guys and girls but haven’t had much luck with women. According to stereotypes and what television shows like Will & Grace would have you believe, women get along great with guys who aren’t straight. That’s not true at all!

Case in point? Take me for instance. Back at my old high school, the girls didn’t like me. I hung out with other guys for the most part, and straight ones at that. I didn’t associate with anyone who “looked” gay. In fact, one of the things I liked about my best friend/fuck buddy/wrestling teammate Liam was how manly he looked. He’s six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and strongly built. A square-jawed guy with brown hair, alabaster skin and green eyes. He was on the wrestling team our senior year and used to be on the football team. He went on to play football for the University of Guelph. Hmmm, enough about Liam. I sometimes miss the dude but what’s done is done. At the time halkalı escort that I met Hannah, I was feeling kind of down about myself. I was in my last semester at Saint Augustine and was still a virgin. Liam and I sucked each other off and kissed but we never went all the way. Crossing that line would make us fags, he said when I asked.

When I saw Hannah standing in line wearing a red tank top and bright blue biker shorts, I felt a stir of desire. I gulped when she turned around, looked at me and smiled. With a boldness that was totally out of the ordinary for me, I asked her what movie she was seeing. The one with the guy from Borat, she said with a smile. Although I was mostly into men, when I think about women sexually I typically fantasized about dark-skinned chicks with big butts. Hannah was totally my type. The question is, would she be like the others? As the mixed-race son of a Jamaican dad and white mother, I’ve been called “too black” and “too white” my whole life. Would it surprise you to know that the white students at school were nicer to me than the ones from the Caribbean or Africa?

Hannah surprised me by asking me to sit with her when I told her that I was going to see The Dictator as well. We sat together in the back, and had fun. This chick was loud! An old white lady sitting in front of us tried to shush us but Hannah told her to mind her damn business. I would never have the guts to say something like that to someone. Hannah was fearless. At the end of the movie, we walked out of the theater together and caught the bus from the Silver City Mall to Hurdman Station. Before Hannah left, I asked her for her number. She told me she had no cell phone. I sighed, and gave her my number. I figured I’d never hear from her. That night, she called me and we ended up spending ninety six minutes on the phone. How about that?

Hannah and I met for a quick bite at Saint Laurent Mall three days after our first meeting and we began a tentative, flirtatious friendship. I learned that she was in her senior year at Saint Antonius and was headed to La Cite Collegiale in September. We began seeing each other regularly, and I spent less and less time with Liam. Not that the bastard noticed. He was too busy banging that Haitian heifer Helene Charles, the one that everyone at school considered the village bike. As in everyone’s hopped on for a ride. I focused on my relationship with Hannah, and found myself smitten with her. The gal was smoking hot, loud and funny, and had no fear. And she was with me!

One night, we were smoking cigarettes in Mooney’s Bay when Hannah put the moves on me. There we were, just smoking and throwing rocks into the water. My sexy black girlfriend leaned in for a kiss, my first with a woman, and our first as a couple. Looking into my eyes, she told me she wanted me. I pulled her close, and just like that, we were soon rolling around on the soft sand. I had done a lot of stuff with Liam sexually and although I still jerked off to lesbian and she-male porn online, I briefly wondered if I could get it up with Hannah. When she got naked I stared at her tight body, big tits and fantastic heart-shaped ass. My dick got hard as hell, and I pulled her on top of me, sucking on her tits as she stroked my dick.

Thus we made love, with her on top of me, impaling her tight pussy on my hard dick. Our moans filled the deserted beach, with only the stars as witnesses. The ecstasy I felt when my dick went into her pussy is a feeling that I’ll never forget. I’d been shy and hesitant at first but Hannah guided me through it. Hell, she grabbed my dick and put it inside of her during our first roll in the hay, or sand, as it were. Passionately we went at it, for the better part of an hour. In hindsight, we were both young and foolish but neither of us cared because it felt so damn good. I didn’t use any kind of protection with her. After we finished, I lay next to her, kissing her tenderly and caressing her. I felt at peace and happy for the first time in ages. I felt happy. I didn’t feel that way after engaging in sexual activity with Liam. Sometimes I felt guilty after letting him suck my dick. After making love with Hannah, I felt like the king of the world!

Hannah drove me home, and we kissed before she drove off. I went inside, and my father greeted me with both relief and anger on his face. You were out pretty late with that hussy, he said. When he called Hannah a hussy, I told him to watch it. My tone shocked him, for he blinked in surprise. My mom and pops only met Hannah once and the dislike between them was mutual. Hannah thinks my dad is white-washed and my dad thinks she’s a slut. Still, he was all smiles when I told him what Hannah and I just did. Glad you got that out of the way, he said, clasping my hand and smiling. I went to bed with a smile on my face. I’m no longer a virgin, I thought. I’m a man now.

I thought Hannah and I sleeping together would bring us closer together but it didn’t. interestingly, she began pulling away from me. She cancelled several of our movie dates haramidere escort with lame excuses, backed out of a dining agreement and in general seemed to avoid me. I finally went to the hospital where she volunteered and demanded an explanation. I’m just not that into you anymore, Hannah said flatly. Whipping out her iPhone, she showed me a picture of her all hugged up with some dude. He was either Arab or Italian, one of the two. I’m with Ali now, Hannah said firmly. I swallowed hard. If Mike Tyson had punched me in the chest it wouldn’t have hurt more. I see, I said, my face hot, my eyes growing moist. I walked out of there with my head down.

I went home depressed, feeling sad and low. When Liam called, I told him what Hannah had done and he came over to “cheer me up.” You know the rest. My dad caught us getting busy. It was three weeks before Prom, four weeks before graduation and my father kicked out of the house, calling me a fruitcake and a loser. Oh, and my girlfriend dumped me for another guy. The saga of the bisexual black man in Canada continues. I graduated high school and I was the only person in my entire class who didn’t have anyone show up. Not a single friend or family member. When I called my parents the day before, begging for forgiveness and asking them to come to my graduation, my own mother told me I was dead to her. I walked on that field with my classmates, got my diploma and then left. I left the City of Ottawa, determined never to return.

Toronto here I come, I thought as I boarded the bus at the Greyhound station on Catherine Street. I ended up in the world’s oldest profession, as I told you before. I got enough money to enroll at the University of Toronto by selling my body, and began my first semester of higher education. I met a gorgeous young woman in one of my classes. Her name was Choukri Fatimid and she was all that and the proverbial bag of chips. Five feet ten inches tall and curvy, with light brown skin, a moon-shaped face and the eyes of an angel. Choukri was biracial, born in the City of Tadjourah, Djibouti, to a Moroccan father and Somali mother. Even in her long-sleeved sky-blue shirt and ankle-length navy-blue skirt she managed to look sexy. A light blue Hijab framed her face beautifully. I don’t care how many layers of clothing she put on she couldn’t hide that thick, round ass of hers. I’ve seen a lot of sexy butts, both male and female, but Choukri had the best ass I’ve ever seen, hands down. Her derriere looked like it could walk around all by itself without needing the rest of the body. Hot damn! The woman from Djibouti got a booty!

The first time I laid eyes on Choukri ( or Miss Djibouti Booty as I called her in my head ) I was late for my Business Ethics class and looked for a seat in the crowded lecture hall packed full of students. Someone in my row dropped a pen and like the helpful soul that she is, Choukri bent down to pick it up and handed it to the timid-looking Asian chick it belonged to. I hadn’t even seen Choukri’s face and I was already in love…for I had seen her thick round ass. Sometimes, I admire female booty so much and with such longing that I almost fool myself into thinking I’m straight. And then a muscular, dark-skinned guy walks by and my body reminds me that I’m bisexual.

As luck would have it, the last seat in the row ( right next to me ) was empty, and Choukri smiled at me and asked me if it was taken. Once I looked into those golden brown eyes of hers, I felt mesmerized. It’s free, was all that I could squeak out. As class went on, I kept stealing discrete glances at her. Now, at my old Catholic high school in Ottawa we had a few girls in hijab because they were born to Christian mothers and Muslim fathers. Still, I’d never spoken to one because they kept to themselves and seemed pious and reserved. Most of them seemed shy. Not Choukri. This chick was loud and outspoken. Stop staring at me and just ask me my name, she said, shooting me a warning look. I gulped, and extended my hand, too late I remembered that chicks in Hijab don’t shake hands with guys outside their family. To my immense surprise Choukri shook my hand without hesitation. Good to meet you Island man, she said with a smile.

We became friends right then and there, and I added her on Facebook. I was fascinated by her. This lovely young woman was well-traveled, bold, beautiful and fearless. She had dual Moroccan and Canadian citizenship thanks to her father, and typically spent her summers in places like Paris, Djibouti City, Casablanca, Vienna and Dubai. Her father Abdullah Fatimid runs a textile business from Casablanca and has holdings in all those cities. Impressive, to say the least. Me? I was born and raised in Ottawa, Ontario, and my folks took me to Atlanta, Georgia, once. I really liked it. That’s the only place I’ve ever been to outside Canada. Next to her I felt provincial. I mean, she had money and she was so…cultured. Just call me a black Canadian roughneck, I told her with a self-deprecating smile as she expressed surprise when I revealed to her ikitelli escort that I’d never left North America. You’re not a roughneck mon ami, Choukri said, gently touching my arm. When her fingers touched my bare skin, I felt a thrill coursing through me. Yes ma’am, I said. She smiled, then asked me if I had any weekend plans.

I want to take you to a movie this Friday, I said, keeping my fingers crossed while watching her face. I’ve got Masjid on Fridays, Choukri reminded me. I sighed, thinking oh well I tried. I want to check out Resident Evil Retribution, Choukri said with a wry grin. I smiled. Let’s do this, I said confidently. Saturday night I took her to the Scotia Bank Theater and we caught the five o’clock show for our favorite zombie movie series. During the movie, Choukri provided loud commentary about Alice’s fluctuating zombie-fighting skills, how the Resident Evil movies stacked up to the video games, and how hot Boris Kodjoe looked. I thought Boris looked good too but I wasn’t about to admit that to Choukri. I mean, she seems relaxed and open-minded but she’s still a Muslim woman and last time I checked, if you’re any kind of LGBT, people of many religions won’t like you.

After the movie we went to grab some Chinese food, and during dinner, Choukri and I got to know each other better. The feisty Djibouti gal was born under the Scorpio sign, which made me smile because Scorpio women are supposed to be lively and very sexual. I’m an Aquarius, and no, I’m not an airhead. Like me, Choukri had no siblings. Her mother died giving birth to her and her father raised her alone. I’m a die-hard tomboy, she said, showing me pictures of herself playing rugby at her old high school in Mississauga. Good for you, I said. When she asked me about my family and my past, I was hesitant. Out with it mister secretive, Choukri said with a frown. Alright, I said. I told her…everything. And I do mean everything. My preachy, intolerant parents, my dalliances with Liam and Hannah, my father’s fury when he found out I was bisexual, and the exact details of how I paid my way into the University of Toronto.

When I finished, I looked at Choukri Fatimid, closely watching her beautiful face for any signs of disgust or shock. You’ve lived an amazingly hard life my dearest friend, she said with a smile. I was flabbergasted by her response. I expected her to get up and leave, or start preaching to me about how homosexuality and bisexuality were haram or something. Instead Choukri gently touched my hand, smiled and thanked me for being honest with her. You still want to be friends? I asked her, still shocked. Choukri grinned and told me to stop acting stupid. Then she whacked me upside the head. You’re not supposed to touch guys you’re not related to, I reminded her, laughing some more. Choukri cocked an eyebrow. As a woman I’ve got the right to smack fools who speak nonsense, she smiled. A Chinese waitress walking nearby echoed that sentiment and Choukri winked at her. No tip for you, I muttered under my breath.

I looked at Choukri, and noticed that she was still looking at the Chinese waitress. What are you staring at her for? I asked her, out of curiosity. Choukri smiled and licked her lips, then she locked eyes with me. I was checking out Miss Asian beauty over there because she’s hot, my favorite Djibouti lady said evenly. When those words left Choukri’s lips, I gasped in shock. You’re into women? Choukri shrugged. I like both men and women but it really depends on the day, she said with a smile. Wow, I said, and it was all I could say. I’ve been around the block a few times. Hell, I even did a steamy threesome with a rich bisexual white guy and his Filipino wife in their mansion in suburban Ajax. I know that men and women from all walks of life are gay and bisexual. Still, I never thought of a Hijab-wearing Muslim woman having a sexual appetite…or desires.

Choukri must have read my mind for she admonished me for it. Just because I wear the Hijab and I’m a Muslim woman doesn’t mean I’m as sexless as a rock, she said vehemently. I held up my hands in surrender. I apologize, I said quickly. Choukri smiled and playfully smacked my shoulder. You’re such a wimp, she said. I rubbed my shoulder, for it stung a bit. Her Henna-covered long nails kind of grazed my skin and it hurt a bit. I’ve noticed you checking me out from day one, Choukri said. Really? I asked, a bit surprised. I pride myself on my discretion. I check out both girls and guys daily, and sometimes hourly and I never get caught. Like most masculine bisexual guys, I’m invisible. Why else would I sit next to you? Choukri laughed.

When Choukri said that last bit, I had to smile. Touché, I admitted. So you think I’m hot, Choukri said. It wasn’t a question. I nodded, and, suddenly filled with inspiration I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips. I think you’re beautiful my sister, I said earnestly. And I meant every word. Good answer Island man, Choukri said. Thus began my whirlwind romance with the most unique woman I’ve ever met. Choukri was full of surprises, and I loved that about her. On one of our dates, she took me to an adult video store called the Red Tent Sisters. I was hesitant to walk in with her since she’s a Hijabi and all but to my immense surprise, the woman working behind the counter was a friend of hers. The two of them greeted each other joyfully, and Choukri introduced me to her gal pal Monique. Wow, was all I could say.

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