Fangs Of Saudi Arabia

As Salam Alaikum, dear reader. Salwa Alzahrani here. I am a gal with a few things to share with you. In the movies and books, the Vampire Hunter is always a heroic guy, and he comes in and saves the day. Think of Van Helsing and his acolytes tracking down and eventually confronting and destroying Count Dracula.

Well, in real life, it doesn't really work out that way. Real-like vampires are like people everywhere, some are good, and others are bad, and most fall somewhere in between. Does that surprise you? It really shouldn't. Everything under the sun exists because The Most High wills it, and like you, I have choices to make and I am trying my best in these trying times.

Take me for example. I was born in the City of Dammam, Saudi Arabia, in 1977 and in 1997, while visiting relatives in the City of Toronto, Ontario, I was forcibly transformed into one of the undead by an ancient vampire known as Al-Sharif. The old one was losing his marbles, and not even the extreme longevity of the Undead could keep him from hurling himself through death's door, so he saw fit to curse me. What a guy, eh?

All things considered, I've done fairly well for myself since I joined the ranks of the Blood Drinkers. The City of Toronto is my home now. I honestly haven't left Canada since I became what I am. Traveling while Undead is not the easiest thing in the world. There are a lot of myths and stories about vampires, most of which are untrue but one thing they get right is the fact that we burn in the sunlight. Kind of sucks if you ask me.

Adaptation is what all living things, from people to animals and plants, must do in order to survive. Mother nature doesn't tolerate the weak. She is a cruel mistress, kind of like me. I'm five-foot-four, slim, with dark bronze skin, long curly black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. The Arab pixie, that's what some of my mortal friends call me. I might look cute, and soft and sweet, but I am a predator.

"Sister, do you know where Bloor Street is?" said a deep masculine voice, startling me out of my train of thoughts. I was sitting in a quiet corner of the train, another anonymous commuter in Toronto. The train was packed, and for the most part, people mind their own business while using public transit. In other words, strangers don't talk to you.

"New in town?" I replied, looking up at the tall, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned young African who was looking at me intensely. Both from his accent and style of dress, I could tell that I was looking at a relative newcomer. Clad in a Macawi robe and Kufi hat, this brother, who looked decidedly Somali, cut an imposing figure.

"You're almost there," I replied, when the tall Somali brother stared at me blankly. Definite newcomer who hasn't mastered the art of Canadian small talk, I thought. I remember what it was like for me during my first days in Toronto, more than a decade ago. Canada's largest metropolitan area is a far cry from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where I first saw the light of day. Can you say culture shock? I've adapted nicely since then, or so I'd like to think.

"Thank you sister, I am new in town, and my sister Khadija works at an office there," the tall brother said, and I smiled at him with all the kindness I could muster. He returned my smile, and looked at me a bit longer than considered socially acceptable. I felt alarmed, but not for the reason you think. I am a vampire, and certain humans can sense that I am different. I've got to be careful, you see.

"Sister, are you Saudi? I went to Makkah for Hajj last year, I'm Bilal Warsame," the Somali brother said, with a youthful exuberance that I found almost charming. Unexpectedly, nostalgia shot through me. As I said before, I haven't left Canada since I became a vampire. Traveling is hell when you're what I've become. I miss Saudi Arabia, and my family there, but I can never go back.

"Indeed I am, brother Bilal, my name is Salwa," I replied with a curt nod, and Bilal smiled and nodded respectfully. Like a truly religious brother, Bilal did not try to shake my hand, nor did I offer him mine to shake. I might have been in Toronto for over a decade but my Islamic upbringing is hard to let go of, even though I no longer go about in Hijab or traditional clothing.

As a vampire, I've got to blend in, it's essential for my survival. Besides, I look pretty good in a T-shirt and blue jeans. The City of Toronto is one of the most racially diverse places on the planet, with a lot of Asians, Africans, Arabs, Latinos and Indians among the 'traditional' hordes of white Canadians. People of color are now the majority in the Greater Toronto Area.

"Have yourself a wonderful day, brother Bilal, Bloor is just a few stops from here," I said to Bilal as I exited the train at the next stop. Downtown Toronto beckoned, and I for one was hungry. I walked around for a while, and it wasn't long before I found what I needed.

Sitting at a street corner was a bum, and I lured him into an alley. I sank my fangs into his neck, and drank my fill. No, I didn't drink enough to kill the poor bastard or turn him. I just left him unconscious, and stuffed fifty bucks into his pocket. I walked away, waited five minutes and then called for an ambulance to pick up my latest victim.

Typically, I don't do this, I prefer to receive blood from blood banks, but there's something about hot living blood from a living human being which no vampire can resist. I don't kill my victims, I simply take enough for me to get by. What I got from the bum will last me for three days. I'm not greedy. Just a regular gal trying to survive, albeit one with fangs.

"Someone's careless," said a feminine voice, startling me out of my reverie. I tend to feel a little woozy after drinking blood because, well, it packs a serious kick. For a vampire, human blood is food plus an energy drink, and it's easy to get addicted. Of course, we can survive on animal blood and some of us can stick to that. I can't.

"Hello Kari," I said with a sigh, and turned around to see my least favorite person in the world looking at me. Standing five-foot-ten, with blonde hair and green eyes, Kari Von Friedberg is a vampire whom I met in my early days in Toronto. I can't stand the bitch. I should mention that she's been around for at least a century, and doesn't think much of fledgling vampires like myself.

"Kind of sloppy of you, Sally, letting the bum live," Kari said, and then she flashed me a smile a shark would recognize. Kari's pearly white fangs glistened in the darkness, and I suppressed a shudder. Her fangs were a lot longer than mine. The older you get, the longer your teeth get, when you are one of us. It's a mark of pride among vampires.

"Don't call me Sally," I replied hotly, and before I knew it, I was standing practically nose to nose with Kari. The German-born vampire bitch smiled nastily at me, and more than anything, I wanted to wipe that smirk off her damn face. I willed myself to be calm, though. Unarmed, I didn't stand a chance against Kari and I knew it.

"Learn to cool your jets and clean up after yourself, otherwise, you could wind up a pile of dust, Sally," Kari said mockingly, and I caught her with a mean left hook. Or tried to. Kari laughed and caught my wrist in an iron grip, and I was suddenly doubling over, for she struck me in the gut. Before I could catch myself, Kari grabbed me and hurled me against the wall.

"Ugh," was all I could say as I collapsed with a thud. Kari stood over me, glaring at me imperiously, and even though it pained me, I held her gaze. Kari looked at me with all the contempt a person might reserve for the cockroach they see in their kitchen floor. Right before stepping on them, that is. I got the feeling that Kari would have done just that, if there weren't any folks walking by.

"Geez, Seniora, leave that poor woman alone," said a portly Mexican guy, as he walked by with his lovely but bored-looking girlfriend. I slowly got on my feet, on wobbly legs, and locked eyes with Kari, who smirked and looked at the two mortals. Instantly I tensed up. Kari is a sadistic bitch and I wouldn't put it past her to attack the humans, but fortunately she didn't.

"This isn't over, my little desert rat," Kari said, and then she walked away. I was helped to my feet by the Mexican dude, who introduced himself as Juan, and he and his wife Maria were real good Samaritans, inquiring about my health, and even offering to call the police, which I declined. I thanked them for their kindness.

"Be careful out there, Amiga, lots of crazy people in Toronto," Juan said to me, and his wife Maria nodded. I smiled at them, and then walked away, limping slightly. In the movies, vampires can do amazing things like leap incredible heights, shrug off bullets, turn into smoke and even fly under their own power. In real life? Not so much. I'm not human any longer, but I am far from invincible.

"Fuck that bitch," I said to myself as I limped into the darkness, intent on licking my wounds. I felt sore all over, for even with my inhuman physique, I did get hurt when Kari tossed me at the damn wall. With her superhuman strength, Kari Von Friedberg could take on ten healthy, normal-sized men. Me? I'm barely stronger than the average mortal. I don't drink much human blood, only enough to survive, and it weakens me.

"Sweet," I thought as I reached The Rex Hotel Jazz And Blues Bar, one of my favorite watering holes. As soon as I walked in, Mike the bartender, a stocky Irish dude, greeted me with a smile. I've been coming there for three years now, and they know me. I'm Sal, the short little Arab woman who can outdrink men twice her size. How cool is that?

"Tough day, Sal?" said Mike, and I smiled and nodded. I sat at a stool, and ordered my usual. Alexander Keith's beer, brewed in Nova Scotia, and hands down the best damn beer on the planet if you ask me. I smiled at Mike as he brought me my beer in a nice, thick mug and I thanked him. The hockey game was on, and like everyone else in Ontario, I was amazed that the Ottawa Senators, one of the NHL's worst, were on a winning streak.

I was stunned when the Senators beat the Boston Bruins, a team that I respect even though I hate their guts with a fiery passion. They have a history of making my Maple Leafs suffer, as do the Ottawa Senators, to be honest, but I will support any member of Team Canada against their counterparts from the States any day.

"Had a tough day, my friend, but I feel better now that the Bruins lost," I said to Mike, who laughed, and then I sipped on my beer. At this time, the bar was only half full. At a nearby corner, a young guy who looked Jamaican was in heavy conversation with a young Filipino woman. A couple of tattooed, burly truckers discussed the game. I like The Rex because it's friendly, diverse and open to all. Good beer, friendly company, and all that.

"What a small world!" a deep, masculine voice said, and I whirled around, totally on edge, for I'd just about had it with people sidling up to me for one day, thank you very much. Still, I was fairly surprised to see Bilal, the Somali dude from the train, as he walked into the bar, only he was wearing very different clothes. The brother looked pretty dapper in a red silk shirt, blue jeans and boots.

"As Salam Alaikum, Bilal, what are you doing here?" I said, somewhat alarmed to see him there. Bilal smiled and approached the bar, grabbing the stool next to mine as though we were old pals. In Canada, unless circumstances force otherwise, people don't stick too close together in public places. It's just not done, apparently.

"My big sister Khadija took my credit card by mistake, and I went and got it from her, then stopped by the Eaton Center for some clothes and here I am," Bilal said, matter-of-factly. Grinning at me, he looked at my beer, and I locked eyes with him. If Bilal is one of those traditional Muslim guys who feels like lecturing a sister on alcohol consumption, I was going to have to slap the hell out of this handsome face.

"Good evening, sir, I'll have what the lady is having," Bilal said to Mike, who smiled and nodded, and began pouring Alexander Keith's into a new mug at once. I looked at Bilal and smiled. The tall Somali brother was full of surprises. When I saw him earlier, I thought he was heading to Masjid or something. I was quite religious as a mortal, but now that I'm a vampire, holy places and I don't mix.

In the movies and poorly written novels, vampires fear crosses, Bibles and holy water. The truth is that religious symbols and artifacts from a variety of religions affect us negatively. The very presence of a church, mosque and synagogue can make me feel uneasy. If I touch a Bible, a Torah or a copy of the Holy Quran, my hands will blister. I guess the God of the Abrahamic faiths doesn't like my species. Most vampires are like that evil bitch Kari Von Friedberg, but I am not like that. I actually respect humanity, and I don't view them as cattle, like so many members of my species do.

"So, what brings you here?" I said to Bilal, and the Somali brother sipped on his beer before answering me. I must say, Bilal looked really good in western clothes. For some reason, he reminded me of Omar Hussein, this guy I knew back in Saudi Arabia. Born of an Eritrean mother and Saudi Arabian father, Omar was deliciously handsome and charming, and we grew up in the same neighborhood in Dammam.

Omar Hussein is the man I wanted to marry, when I was mortal, but there's so much racism in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia that it's not even funny. Lots of Saudi Arabian men have offspring with foreign women, mostly women from the Philippines, Africa or South Asia, and that's considered fine, but Saudi women are forbidden from having relations with men from outside the Gulf States.

I hadn't thought of Omar Hussein in a long time. It's weird how my memory works since I've become one of the Undead. As a vampire, I now possess total recall. My memory since I was transformed has become perfect. My memories from mortal life are fuzzy at best. Kind of like an old movie you might have seen in the old days. You remember a few key scenes and characters, but you have forgotten the movie title itself.

"Tough day at Ryerson, sister, a brother needs to relax, you know?" Bilal said, and I nodded as if I understood. Bilal told me that he was studying computer science at Ryerson University, and that he moved to Toronto, Ontario, from the Puntland region of Somalia four years ago. The brother was still relatively new to Canada, it would seem.

"Enjoy your college days while they last, brother, mine flew by fast," I said wistfully, as I thought of those halcyon days I spent at the prestigious King Abdullah University of Science and Technology in the town of Thuwal, Saudi Arabia. I miss those days. If you don't know, K.A.U.S.T. is the only coeducational, western-style school in all of Saudi Arabia. The only places where the sexes mix with relative freedom, and women can wear what they want. It's the size of a small city. For me, it was home, for a long while.

"Spoken like a woman who's been there, Sister, but you're about the same age I am," Bilal said, and I smiled. You see, I stopped aging the night I became a vampire, over a decade ago. Chronologically speaking, I am thirty five years old but I looked twenty, to Bilal's eyes, and everyone else's. One of the perks of being what I am, I guess.

"Thank you for this, you're a sweet man," I said, and I laughed and gently tapped Bilal's hand. The young Somali smiled and nodded, even though he clearly didn't get it. We talked about our lives, or rather, Bilal talked about his life and I listened. I am undead, folks. I am not alive, I merely exist. That's my lot in this universe.

"Have you been to Saudi Arabia recently, sister Salwa?" Bilal asked, and I smiled wistfully when he told me that I had a look of longing in my eyes when he mentioned the Hajj. Like the sharp observer he is, Bilal the Somali caught it and was now querying me on the subject. I love sharp mortals, they can sure be a thorn on my side.

"Very perceptive of you, Bilal," I said and he smiled at me and nodded firmly. Bilal definitely had my curiosity piqued. I don't meet tall, good-looking, educated and uncommonly sharp Muslim brothers every day, especially ones who remind me of my mortal love. This young Somali man definitely had my interest, now let's see if he can maintain it.

"My sister, wait till you get to know me, you'll realize that I am a sharp brother, I say this modestly," Bilal said, his face closer to mine than was deemed acceptable either in Canada or the Islamic world. This young brother Somali was ballsy, and I like that in a man. That's why I decided to order another round of drinks for us both. Bilal looks like he can keep me entertained...in more ways than one.

"I don't usually do this," I said to Bilal, an hour later, as we reached my place in North York. My two-bedroom apartment was nothing to write home about, but at least it's quiet. I value my privacy above all. North York is a sketchy place, which means ghetto or suspect in the Canadian lexicon. Lots of minorities around, mostly Indians, Jamaicans, Arabs and a few others. Lots of white Canadians think very little of the place. I love it for its diversity. As a Middle-Eastern woman, I fit right in.

"Me neither, gorgeous," Bilal replied, as he looked around, his gaze taking in everything around him. We left The Rex half an hour ago, and I brought Bilal home because, after the day I've had, I needed a little pick-me-up. Bilal here might be just what the doctor ordered. As a vampire, I lead a solitary existence. Most of my kind do. We aren't the type to seek out others for company. It's not in our nature. Still, I am more human than most, since I need company from time to time.

"Come to me," I said to Bilal, as I sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably, like a queen on her throne. The tall Somali stud walked up to me, and smiled. I gestured for him to undress, and Bilal complied. The brother immediately began doing a bit of a strip tease, and I smiled in appreciation as Bilal's shirt came off, exposing his muscular chest and washboard abs.

"Like what you see, Salwa?" Bilal said, and I nodded, and motioned for him to continue. Laughing, Bilal took off his pants, and stood before me, stark naked. My eyes roved all over his golden brown body. Afro-Asiatic men like Somalis and Ethiopians are uniquely beautiful, and they look so different from other Sub-Saharan Africans. I've always found them beautiful.

"Absolutely," I said, and my eyes widened when they took in the sight of Bilal's manhood. The tall, lean and athletic Somali brother was definitely packing, as they say in North America. I smiled appreciatively, and Bilal grabbed his package, moving his long, dark dick this way and that, teasing the hell out of me. I felt a wetness begin between my legs. Hot damn, I wanted this man...badly.

"If you're ready for a taste, you know what to do," Bilal said, with a smile on that handsome mug of his and his hands on his hips. I smiled, both amused and turned on by Bilal's cockiness....and his cock. I got off the couch, and walked up to him...on all fours. I stopped right in front of Bilal, and our eyes met. Smiling at me, Bilal gently caressed my face, then nodded. I love it when a guy takes charge, it's actually very sexy.

"Alright, Bilal, if that's how you want it," I said, and then I got on my knees and took Bilal's dick in my hands. I stroked it, marveling at its length and thickness. Bilal wasn't porn star big but he impressed me nonetheless. I kissed his dick, then took it into my mouth, my eyes never leaving Bilal's. Unsurprisingly, the Somali stud sighed happily as I began sucking him off.

As a vampire, I possess superhumanly sharp senses of sight, smell and hearing, but my sense of taste is also far sharper than a human's. So you can believe me when I tell you that no two humans smell or taste alike, not even identical twins. Bilal's musky scent was sharp, manly and hot, and I couldn't get enough of it. Oh, and that dick of his? Tastes magically delicious.