Arab Wife For Black Husband

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Lebanese woman falls for Haitian Christian in Ottawa.
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Samuelx
Samuelx
2,121 Followers

Arab men hate seeing Arab women with non-Arab males, and these fuckers are racist as hell even though they will deny it until kingdom come. So I know when they see me with my new Haitian-Canadian lover Marcel, they want to tear their eyes out. Makes me shudder with pleasure just thinking about their reaction. The fact that Marcel is a proud Christian with a prominently displayed crucifix hanging around his neck upsets them even more. I'm an Arab woman I know these things. About a year ago, my life changed when I caught my husband in bed with another man. I decided to kick the liar to the curb, and make some changes in my life. This is how I did it.

My name is Farah Abdullah and I was born in the City of Nabatieh, Southern Lebanon, and raised in the City of Toronto, province of Ontario. For twenty years I was a good wife to one Ali Suleiman, a Lebanese-Canadian businessman I met while studying business administration at the University of Toronto. My father, Hussein Abdullah was quite taken with Ali Suleiman when I presented him to my family. We got married, and we were together for a long time but there hasn't been any love between us in the last years of our marriage. To add insult to injury, he treated me like shit and even put his hands on me. That's why I left him and took him to the cleaners. I got the house, most of the cars and half his business empire. Life is definitely good.

A lot of Arab Muslim women in Canada love talking about how much they love Islamist culture and all but when the shit hits the fan, they're glad they are lucky enough to live outside of the Middle East. Had I been in the Republic of Lebanon when I divorced my husband Ali Suleiman, I would have gotten next to nothing. In Muslim culture, in cases of divorce the man gets everything and the woman usually gets nothing. In order to marry me, Ali Suleiman had to pay a dowry to my father Karim Abdullah and the whole thing was a business transaction and not a romantic affair at all. He essentially bought me from my father. Muslim women can only dream of romantic love the way women in secular or Judeo-Christian countries can. Not much romance in Islam, folks. It's a rigid and inflexible world. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Now that I look back on it, I'm glad I left not only my husband but our way of life. As Muslim women, our lives are more than a little bit dull. First we belong to our fathers then we belong to our husbands. If we don't follow the rules when it comes to feminine decency and proper conduct, we could lose our lives. I trust by now you know about honor killings in Islam? Lots of young Muslim women are getting killed nowadays because their fathers and other male family members consider them polluted by western ideas. When we live in places like America, Canada or Europe, our families are particularly strict with us because they know that it's easy for us to deviate from the Islamic way and follow the Western way since the society around us actually encourages female power and independence.

To show you how incredibly hypocritical a lot of Muslim immigrant men are, they get mad if they see an immigrant woman from a Muslim country walking around Toronto, Vienna, New York or Paris wearing a short skirt and showing the world her sexiness. Yet they chase white women who dress sexily as if their lives depended on it. I cannot stand these hypocrites. Take my husband Ali Suleiman for example. He used to flip out if I smiled at a waiter while we were at a restaurant together. Yet he had numerous affairs with both male and female sex partners throughout our marriage.

I knew Ali Suleiman was bisexual. Male bisexuality is pretty common in the Muslim world. Lots of Muslim wives know their men swing both ways. We ignore it as long as they don't rub our faces in it. Appearance counts for everything in our world. That's what I did, until Ali took it too far. One day I came home to find him in bed with Michael, the twenty-year-old Jamaican college sportsman who lived next door to us. I got mad, called Ali a cock sucker and a faggot and then I threw something at him. Then I stormed off. Later, Ali got so mad at me for confronting him that he smacked me around, giving me a black eye. When I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning, I told myself that I would kill him. I honestly wanted to do it. Then I got a better idea.

Women living in Muslim countries basically have no rights. If our husbands want to divorce us, they can do it easily and they get to keep the house, and any offspring resulting from the marriage. In North America, things are different. Women actually have rights in this continent. That's why I hired the most wicked divorce lawyer in all of Toronto, a Jewish woman named Esther Rosenthal. Together with that one, I set out to destroy Ali Suleiman's life. I went after his money, his reputation and his life. My ex-husband was a wealthy man thanks to his successful real estate business and the three restaurants he owned. Arab men are notoriously shady when it comes to hiding their assets but I am an Arab woman, I know all of their damn tricks. I knew just what to look for. He couldn't hide the money from me by putting it in offshore accounts. I knew all his tricks, like I said. And I was ready for him.

That's how it went down. I took Ali Suleiman to the cleaners, and left him basically penniless. He swore revenge upon me, and did so in open court. The judge granted me a permanent restraining order against his sorry ass. After the cases of Omar Khadr, the young Afghan-Canadian terrorist recently released into Canadian custody by the authorities of Guantanamo Bay and the case of the Shafia daughters who got killed by their father, brother and mother, Canadian courts are very suspicious of Arab men. They're ready and eager to believe that every Arab man out there is a potential terrorist who hates women and wants the world dominated by the cruel doctrines of Sharia Law. Faking some tears in court and begging the judge to protect me from my evil Arab Muslim ex-husband was easy. It's always easy to get someone to do what they want to do anyways.

Throughout my marriage to Ali Suleiman I wore the hijab, but stopped wearing it in divorce court. My way of letting the world know that I am NOT one of those mindless submissive bitches who wear the veil and obey every order any random Muslim man barks at them. When I see white women getting seduced by Arab men and converting to Islam, walking around with their hijabs and acting coy, I shake my head and pity these sorry bitches. They got no idea what they're walking into. I was born in Lebanon, a country where half the population is Christian and the other half is Muslim. The President of Lebanon is a Christian man and the Prime Minister is a Muslim dude. Women in Lebanon have more rights than they do in most other Middle Eastern countries but we still fear for our lives down there when Muslim men get mad at us. There isn't much the state can do to protect a woman from a man who wants to kill her. The same holds true in most places in this world. Humanity is just evil, I guess.

After my divorce from Ali Suleiman, I found myself financially well-off but somewhat lonely. I lost all my friends in the divorce because Arab men don't want their women to associate with a divorced Arab woman who trounced her ex-husband in divorce court. They don't want their women getting ideas, you know? I made many changes in my life after the divorce. The number one change? I emancipated myself from the religion that dominated my whole existence through my forty years upon this planet. I am not an atheist, I still believe in God. I simply don't follow Islam anymore because men in Islam treat women like shit. They act all charming and smooth at the beginning, it's how they get you. Once they've got you, their true self will come out, and it's nothing good, trust me.

I was desperately lonely, like I said, and I didn't have any friends. I moved to the City of Ottawa, partly to get away from Toronto and partly because I just wanted a fresh start. It turned out to be the best thing I ever did. For it's in Ottawa that I met the man destined to change my life forever. Marcel Jean-Renaud, a tall, good-looking Black man in his late thirties. I was standing at a bus stop in downtown Ottawa when this great-looking Black man in a suit asked me what time it was. I told him the time, and he smiled and thanked me. We ended up talking as we got on the 96 bus to Kanata, where I lived.

During the bus ride, Marcel told me he worked as a manager with the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce and recently moved to Ottawa from Montreal, where he was born to immigrant parents. I correctly guessed that he was Haitian due to his French-inflected accent ( though he spoke flawless English ) and he laughed at that. I shared with him my fondness for Caribbean food, especially Haitian food, and he told me he'd love to take me out sometime. I smiled and nodded. I kind of surprised myself by giving this guy my number because I don't normally do that but shoot, I'm not getting any younger and good-looking guys aren't beating down my door anymore.

Two days later, Marcel and I had lunch at this quaint little Haitian restaurant in the east end of Ottawa, and then we went to the National Gallery of Canada in downtown Ottawa to check out an art exhibit. Marcel pleasantly surprised me with his knowledge of art and culture. I found him charming and gallant, and when he asked me if he could see me again, a resounding yes left my lips. Now, for Arab women to date non-Arab men is kind of rare and as far as I know, Arab women with Black men are the rarest of all interracial couples. I was breaking all kinds of unwritten rules of Arab society by dating Marcel, but I didn't care. I'm forty three. I've been a good daughter and a good wife and a good Muslim and all it's ever gotten me is a loveless existence and an empty bed. When does my life belong to me?

Marcel and I began seeing each other, and this charming Haitian man was an injection of life into my otherwise dreary existence. That's why I decided to offer myself to him, mind, body and soul, two months after our first date. We were hanging out in his house in Kanata South one Friday evening, just chilling as he calls it, when I put the moves on him. I was leaning against Marcel, and rubbing his thigh with my hand. His eyes were fixed on the TV, where the movie Hancock was playing on basic cable. Let's see if I can't get my man's attention, shall we? I began stroking Marcel's inner thigh, getting dangerously close to his member. He looked at me and I looked at him. I kissed him full and deep, then grabbed his crotch. All of a sudden, the movie was the last thing on our minds.

Marcel embraced me passionately, and when I kissed him and fondled him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that I wanted him, my normally mild-mannered banker turned into a lion. And I loved it! I had never seen this side of him before. Marcel and I undressed in a haste, throwing our clothes who knows where. He sucked on my tits and worked his other hand between my thighs. I shuddered as he slipped first one then two fingers into my pussy and then began twisting them around my sweet spot. I cried out in pleasure and begged him for more.

Marcel kissed me all over, from my lips to my nipples and finally he brought his mouth to my pussy. His tongue slipped inside of me, and he lapped away at my cunt like a nomad in the desert slaking his thirst at an oasis. I lay on the couch, writhing in pleasure as Marcel fingered and licked my pussy. Had me shaking all over. I finally cried out, orgasmic, and he held me tightly until the pleasurable shudders that wracked my body went away. I looked at this beautiful Black man who brought me such pleasure, and decided to return the favor. Without a word, I grabbed his dick and started sucking on it.

Marcel leaned back on the couch, exhaling sharply and watching me as I sucked him off. I flicked my tongue over his dick head, and grabbed his balls tightly while sucking his head and just his head. Marcel moaned, and I looked up at him, seeing his handsome face contorted. Oh, yeah. He was completely in my power, and I relished it. I slipped a finger in his ass and he didn't stop me or say anything. Instead his dick got even harder in my mouth. Looks like someone's enjoying what I'm doing to him! I sucked him good, and when he came, I drank his cum. Every last drop. I so wanted him to fuck me but alas, we didn't have any condoms. Marcel rushed to the nearby store to grab some and when he came back five minutes later, he found me on all fours, right there on his living room floor, face down and ass up. I shook my big round butt at him and told him to come and get it. And he sure did!

Marcel beat my pussy up, as he calls it, grabbing my long curly black hair and yanking my head back while slamming his dick into my pussy from behind. I cursed in Arabic, French and English as he smacked my big ass, pulled my hair and fucked me. It was hot. We went to his bed, and continued with our fun. I sucked his dick some more and climbed on top of him, and we fucked in that position for a while. Somehow, we ended up in the bathroom, and I let him first fuck my feet then he blew his cum on my toes. I've always liked it when men did that, and Marcel was happy to indulge me. After that, we fell asleep in each other's arms. Thus went our first night of love.

Marcel and I are seeing each other pretty seriously now. He introduced me to some of his friends from work and they're cool people. He's getting a bit too serious for me and I have asked him to slow down. We went on holiday in Trois-Rivieres, Quebec, stayed at a chalet and had a great, passionate time. Marcel keeps inviting me to his church and I kept giving him excuses as to why I couldn't show up. I didn't consider myself Muslim anymore. I still believe in the One True God but to me organized religion is bullshit. Want to know what all of the organized religions of the world have in common? They elevate men and subjugate women. Marcel assured me that the nondenominational Christian church he attended was different.

Finally, I agreed to go with him one Sunday. I was unprepared for this, to tell you the truth. In mosque, men and women pray in separate areas. The men up front and the women either at the back or in a separate room altogether. At Marcel's church, men and women sat together, side by side in the pews. They were all together and happy, and the church felt more like a meeting and a family gathering than a place of prayer. Even more surprising, the person standing at the pulpit, leading everyone in prayer, was a short Black woman. In Islam, women are not permitted to be Imams. Women cannot lead men in prayer. There are rumors of female Imams in China but they're not considered part of mainstream Islam. Yet at this Christian assembly, a woman was leading people in prayer, speaking the Word of God from a holy book, and nobody seemed to mind. Wow.

At some point during the ceremony, everyone started shaking everyone's hands. I was quite surprised by that because in Islam, people typically don't shake hands with those they aren't related to. All around me, people were hugging and shaking hands and it was a joyous moment. A little old white lady sitting next to me hugged me and I hugged her back. An old Asian guy offered me his hand to shake and after a brief hesitation, I shook it. I looked at Marcel, who smiled at me and nodded. I smiled back weakly, a bit overwhelmed by it all. Later, during the ceremony, the female preacher asked that all first-time visitors stand up. I stood up and waved weakly at the hundred or so members of the assembly. They smiled and clapped, wishing me a warm welcome. I smiled, nodded and then sat down. Hey, I wasn't used to all this stuff, alright?

After the service concluded, the preacher, who introduced herself as Reverend Theresa Almond, wished me a warm welcome to the Great Hope United Church of Christ. I smiled and shook her hand. I had so many questions for this woman. How could she, a woman, lead men into prayer? Could she perform wedding ceremonies like an Imam could? Did the members of her assembly come to her for spiritual advice or for explanations of the Word of God? Her amused answer was yes to all of the above. I smiled, and hugged her. Marcel and I left to go home shortly after. I had a great time at church, and I was definitely intrigued. That's why I began attending service regularly with Marcel. To my surprise, I wasn't the only Arab person at the Great Hope United Church of Christ.

Marcel introduced me to a Turkish Christian man named Erol Ayberk and his wife, a Syrian woman named Regina Abdul-Hamid. I was thrilled to meet Christians from my part of the world among the members of this church, which is about forty five percent Afro-Caribbean, with a lot of French-Canadians and Asians. At last, I didn't feel so alone in Ottawa anymore, and I owed it all to Marcel. This wonderful man who came into my life, turned it upside down and made it better than it ever was. I decided to cut all ties with my old life. I enrolled at Carleton University to get my Master's degree in business. I've always wanted to continue with my education, which I put on hold when I married Ali Suleiman. I also found a job with a small, privately owned art gallery down town. I called my ex-husband to let him know I didn't want his alimony checks anymore. I was ready to stand on my own two feet. With Marcel by my side, I felt like I could do anything.

When Marcel asked me to move in with him, I did so happily. A life with this wonderful man I love so much sounds wonderful to me. This morning, I went to the doctor for my annual physical, and what happened during my consultation shocked me. I mean, I'd been feeling a bit weird lately. I felt dizzy sometimes, and just plain weird. I thought I might have diabetes or something since it runs in my father's side of the family. That's why I went to the doctor. Well, he tested me for diabetes and I don't have it, though my blood sugar is kind of high. Why is that, you may ask? Well, um, I'm pregnant. When the doctor told me this, I almost passed out. I was that shocked. I mean, one of the reasons why my ex and I had major issues was my apparent inability to conceive.

The doctor smiled at me, and told me I was about to become a mom. I sat there, feeling more shock than I would have if lightning struck me. The doc asked me if I was okay and I smiled faintly. I got up and impulsively hugged her. She hugged me back, and told me to come back to see her soon. I went home, and shared the news with Marcel. Honestly, I wasn't sure how he would take it. A lot of things were running through my head. I'm forty. Marcel is thirty seven. This might be my last chance to be a mother. My only chance. Marcel is always speaking of traveling and adventure. What if he didn't react well to the prospect of fatherhood? Nevertheless, I owed him the truth. So I sat him down and talked to him. When I finished, Marcel took my hand in his and kissed it. His happy, fearless smile was totally intoxicating as he told me how happy these news made him. I hugged him fiercely, and looked at the sky through the window. Ah, the odd turns life takes, eh? I thank God for His blessings.

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,121 Followers
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AnonymousAnonymousover 2 years ago

I love it that you found a bigger better more powerful man to take care of you and please you

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 11 years ago
Just Fucking Die

!

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