Lifestyle of a Bisexual Djinn

"Life sucks and then you die, but sometimes you don't get to stay dead," that's what I would love to have seen on my headstone. Nope, they wrote the usual crap, rest in peace, and all that jazz. Someone even wrote that I was a beloved son and a kind soul. Ha! Kind of mundane, don't you think? Given the way I lived my life, raising all kinds of Hell, sometimes literally, I expected a little more.

Oh, snap. In case you're wondering who this is, the name is Maher James Abbas. M.J. to my close friends. No relation to any foul-mouthed political comedy dudes. I was born on February 7, 1988, in the City of Detroit, Michigan. My father Lincoln Woodson was Jamaican-American, and my mother Mariam Abbas was Lebanese. Odd couple, I know, but they made it work long enough to have little old me.

On November 17, 2019, something terrible happened. I died. I know, tragic, right? Yeah, I bit the dust. The world kept spinning. People continued to talk about American Presidents with bad toupees, the sex lives of the Kardashians and whatever Black athlete or celebrity they're dating/ruining, America's shifting demographics, and whether Spanish should become America's second language. You know, the usual?

Fortunately for me, death wasn't the end. You see, while in my twenties, I raised all kinds of Hell. I was a student at Northern Michigan University, majoring in Criminal Justice and had a blast. I drank and partied a lot. I slept with a lot of women...and a few fellas. Yeah, I'm Bisexual. It happens. Don't get bent out of shape over it. Don't start jumping up and down either. It's not essential to the story. Get over it.

I am who I am, and I've never flinched from a challenge. You see, growing up in the City of Detroit, I had to deal with my mother's somewhat hostile side of the family. My Arab American grandparents, Elias and Karina Abbas once told my mother that they considered disowning her for marrying a Black man. In case you didn't know, interracial relationships are taboo in Arab families, especially when it's an Arab lady dating or marrying a man from another racial background.

When I hung out with my cousins in Dearborn, I wasn't Arab enough for them on account of having a Black father, and to the other young folks in Detroit, I certainly wasn't Black enough. When you're a Biracial man who also swings both ways, you quickly realize that identity politics are bullshit. People want you to choose between different sides of yourself. It's like asking someone to choose their right hand over their left. What's the point?

The world is a hostile place for those who are unique. I soon learned to fend for myself, and trust no one. I grew up to be six-foot-one, lean and athletic, with light brown skin, kinky dark hair that I style into an Afro and light brown eyes. Folks say I look like Hollywood actor and artist Lenny Kravitz, only a bit taller. I honestly don't see the resemblance but whatever.

Anyhow, while at Northern Michigan University, I met this gentleman named Arif Aoun, Lebanese-born American scholar educated at Harvard University, and the school's resident expert on all things Middle Eastern. Arif taught Arabic at NMU at the time I was in attendance, and we became cool. His class was one of the easiest I'd ever taken, and with good reason. I already spoke Arabic, so that's that.

Professor Arif Aoun was something of a superstar on campus. At the age of fifty one, he was five-foot-eleven, lean and fit, with dark hair, bronze skin and dark brown eyes. He kind of looked like Hollywood actor Antonio Banderas...a little bit. The man had been married and divorced twice, and had two adult daughters, Laila and Nadia, who lived in New York City. Lots of young women on campus were fond of Professor Aoun...but others were fond of him as well.

Am I going to have to spell it out for you people? Professor Aoun and I were lovers. No, I didn't do it for the grade. I did it for the ass. The man was good in bed, and he was also good company. Like me, Professor Aoun was Bisexual. I prefer to get involved with other Bisexual men because in my experience Gay males and discretion simply don't mix. Also, it was cool to be involved with a man who appreciates beauty in both sexes just like I do.

"M.J. I enjoy myself with women, in and out of the bedroom, but our time together matters to me," Arif told me one night, after we came home from his fifty second birthday celebration. I smiled at my lover and kissed him passionately. We'd gone to diner at Baton Rouge, a chic restaurant located near downtown Detroit. After a sumptuous dinner and much wine and banter, Arif and I made love all night.

"You matter to me too, Arif," I told him, and I meant it. We had a grand old time that night, as usual. For a man in his fifties, Arif was certainly full of energy and passion. We had a great bedroom routine. Arif would have me lie down on the bed and kiss me from my head to my toes. Afterwards he would grab my dick and suck on it like a lollipop. I'd get hard as a rock, and then, after grabbing a condom, I would bend Arif over and fuck him hard.

"Don't hold back, habibi, break my ass," Arif would scream, as if I needed any encouragement. Folks, I love a nice ass and I don't care if it's attached to a female or a male. Arif knew this about me. I would slam my dick up his ass until he begged for mercy, then I would bang him some more. We would fuck and suck the night away until exhaustion claimed us. Good times, folks. Good times.

"To many more days like this one," I told Arif, leaving his bed and his house on the morning after his birthday. I've got something of a bad reputation when it comes to my lovers. I like to seduce a lady or a fella, get them into bed and then leave them. Arif was not like the others. I found him intelligent, kind, good in bed, generous, and never clingy or possessive. Such attributes are rare in any human being these days...

While Arif and I were seeing each other discretely, I continued to date several young women on the Northern Michigan University campus. Arif was never jealous, that's the beauty of being two Bisexual men in a secret relationship, we understood one another completely. My favorite among those young ladies was Alexis Heller, a six-foot-tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed young woman originally from Amarillo, Texas.

Alexis Heller was a beautiful contradiction, and I couldn't get enough of her. Prior to meeting her, I thought that white women with big butts were a myth, like the Easter Bunny or something. Alexis certainly proved me wrong. The tall, alabaster-skinned and big-bottomed Texan gal rocked my world, in and out of the bedroom.

"You're trying to kill me with that dick of yours," Alexis told me, after riding the hell out of me. I looked at her, this ravishing young woman who gazed at me adoringly. I kissed her lips and caressed her breasts, and then buried my face between her thighs. As I began eating her pussy voraciously, Alexis moaned softly and caressed the back of my head, urging me to continue. Like I needed any encouragement...

I love eating pussy, for I am delighted by the way a woman looks and smells down there. Alexis tasted hella good, and I sucked on that clit like my life depended on it. After giving Alexis's pussy a tongue bath, I put her on all fours and eased my dick into her. Hmm. The sight of her big beautiful pale ass swallowing my dick. Hot damn. Gets me hard thinking about it even now.

"Give me that ass, Miss Texas," I told Alexis as I fucked her. The sultry Texan blonde gave as good as she got, grinding that ass against my groin. I don't know if it was the taboo factor, a country gal from Texas getting down and dirty with a gentleman of color like myself, but it felt wonderful to bang the hell out of Alexis. I left her pleasurably sore, and probably with a bruised pussy. I had a great time.

One day, I went by Professor Aoun's office, wondering if he could speak to his colleague Professor Theresa Hussein, a tall, raven-haired and beautiful but unfortunately hard-ass Arab American broad who teaches Western Literature, on my behalf. I wanted Professor Aoun to talk Miss Hussein into giving me an extension for a pain-in-the-ass Lit assignment on Jane Austen. I found the Prof's door ajar, which was weird, and went inside. That's when I saw...it.

A man-shaped, transparent creature of an amethyst hue, with glowing red eyes. It stood over the Professor's body. I couldn't believe my eyes and thought I'd seen a ghost. The creature looked at me, and it smiled, with a world of malice in those crimson eyes. Without being capable of telling you how or why, I knew that I was in the presence of a Djinn. I remembered my mother's stories...

"Djinn," I said, almost petrified with fear, and the creature nodded. I looked at it and it looked at me. I should have bolted. I wanted to bolt. I wanted to run away, find a quiet place and hide there. I wanted to go to the washroom and take the dump of the century. I did none of the above, and instead looked at the creature, determined not to show the fear that was slowly overwhelming me.

"You, mortal, have born witness to my vengeance," said the Djinn, and I nodded, as though I understood what it meant. From what my mother told me of Arabian mythology, the Djinn are about as different from Disney's Aladdin and that weird, at times funny remake with Will Smith as you can get. The only accurate representation of the Djinn I could think of is that old movie Wish Master.

"I meant no disrespect, Mr. Djinn, I mean, the door was open," I replied, and the Djinn froze. I looked at it and it looked at me, and then, amazingly, it laughed. Before my very eyes the Djinn solidified, and then it began to change form. The purple-hued, humanoid creature that looked like a slimmer version of Thanos morphed into a tall, dark-haired, bronze-skinned man wearing a sharp dark gray Brooks Brothers suit.

"Mortal, you amuse me, what is your name?" Mr. Djinn asked, and I calmly told him my name. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that. Perhaps I should have run. Still, for a guy who'd seen a shape-shifting supernatural entity stand over the body of his ( probably dead ) professor, I was actually holding my own. I didn't panic, or piss my pants. Nope, as usual, I was too cool for school.

"Um, I'm Maher, say, Mr. Djinn, sir, did you kill the Prof?" I asked, and the Djinn frowned. Sure, he looked human but I knew he could revert back to Lethal Purple Dude in a flash. I waited anxiously for his response, not because I thought I could do anything about it, but because I was curious. It's not every day that a creature shows up at your favorite professor's office...

"Uh, nope, the Prof was dead when I came here, you see, I am a Djinn and whenever my Master dies, I must be present for the new one," the creature replied. I looked at the Professor's body, and then nodded at the Djinn. Slowly, the implications of the Djinn's words entered my mind. I've always been something of an opportunist, as you shall soon discover...

"Cool, so, do I get like three wishes?" I asked, stepping over the professor's body to take a closer look at the Djinn. Frowning, the Djinn resumed his purple form, and I marveled at him. Emboldened, I tried to touch the creature, and my hand passed through its transparent body like smoke. I nodded and smiled, filled with a new confidence.

"Look, Maher, this isn't a Disney cartoon, and I'm not the late great Robin Williams, someone killed my Master, and since he was a good dude, I am asking for your help in avenging him," said the Djinn. I nodded, stroking my chin. All kidding aside, I was still disturbed over Professor Aoun's death. I wanted to find his killer...and then get the Djinn to make my wildest wishes come true.

"You've got a deal, Mr. Djinn, the good professor was a friend of mine so we will avenge him, and then I get my wishes, deal?" I said, extending my hand, and the Djinn shook it. I didn't know it at the time. Like the slick, cocky young man that I was, I thought I had everything in the palm of my hand. I didn't realize that I was messing with forces beyond my comprehension...

"Deal, and please, call me Afreet," said the Djinn as he shook my hand. That's how it all began. The event which changed my life...and forever denied me the afterlife. After sealing the deal with Afreet the Djinn, I called the NMU campus police, and they came to the professor's office. An investigation was launched, and after a great deal of time and money was spent by the authorities, they found the culprit.

The culprit in question happened to Professor Theresa Hussein, who poisoned Professor Arif Aoun because he left her for an unnamed male pupil with whom he was having an affair. As the unnamed male pupil, I felt a certain level of satisfaction when the Michigan State Police hauled Professor Theresa Hussein away in handcuffs. In mid-lecture. How cool was that? Yeah, I never liked that broad.

"Arif left me for one of his male students, he broke my heart, I wish I could have killed him twice," Professor Theresa Hussein spat as the cops took her away. I'm told that a lot of her students were happy to see her in such dire straits. Apparently, I wasn't the only student she was extremely hard on. Serves the bitch right if you ask me...

A hard-ass Lit teacher who was also a spurned lover turned murderess. Hmm, sounds like Professor Theresa Hussein could have starred in one of those tawdry female-led romance novels that she forced her students to read. I do hope they send Professor Theresa Hussein to a nice women's prison where she can read Jane Austen while some gal named Big Brenda pulls her hair. Yeah, I said it...

"Now you're free, Afreet, Professor Aoun has been avenged, now I can get my wishes," I said, standing beside the Djinn. We were at the national cemetery in Dearborn, Michigan, right in front of Professor Aoun's grave. I'd come to lay some flowers on his headstone and pay my respects. I wasn't lying when I said I liked Professor Arif Aoun. The man taught me about life, love and passion. I had tremendous respect for him. It's a shame that bitch Theresa Hussein killed him.

"Yes, thank you, Maher, now I am free," Afreet the Djinn said, and then he pulled a blade out of his coat and shoved it into my abdomen. As I cried out in pain and fell to my knees, Afree laughed. I wanted to ask why he betrayed me, but only blood came out of my lips. Taking solid form, Afreet touched my blood and then licked it. As I lay on the soft grass, mortally wounded, Afree looked at me with contempt.

"Every slave must kill his master before he can be free, I watched Aoun for a long time and knew about your affair, I let Theresa know of his infidelity, I set him up, but I also had to avenge him, you did everything I needed, thanks," Afreet said, and then he vanished. The evil thing that had tricked me and ultimately destroyed me vanished before my very eyes, like a mirage...

I lay there, dying, and wondered how I could have been so foolish. Like a fool, I'd done everything that the Djinn asked of me. What a ponce I'd been, dammit. I'd been had, like those poor souls who tangle with the supernatural in the myths and folklore of every tribe, every race and every culture since time immemorial. I was done for, unless...

"Let me rise from this and get revenge," I said, as I looked at the sky just before I breathed my last. I closed my eyes. The rest was par from the course. I was found, taken to the hospital, pronounced dead, and later buried. Three days after they put me in the ground, I arose as something powerful and neither alive nor dead. I had become one of the Djinn.

The curse of the Djinn is this, there can only be so many of us at a time. Every Djinn was once a human being. A person must die before he or she can become one of the Djinn. The Djinn have many vast powers including shape-shifting, weather manipulation, intangibility, invisibility, and immunity to aging and disease. Still, they're bound to the Pact, which dictates the Djinn must serve a Master or Mistress until they can pass their curse to another...

When I rose from the grave, I walked through the snow-covered streets of Dearborn, Michigan. I did not realize that I was invisible until I walked into a store, and tried to purchase something. The owner, a portly old Arab man, could hear my voice but he could not see me. I willed myself invisible, and upon seeing a purple-skinned, transparent creature materialize in front of him, the shop owner passed out.

"What is happening to me?" I wondered aloud, looking at the disinterested heavens as I exited the shop. I didn't know it at the time, but my journey was just beginning. There was a whole world for me to discover. A world full of supernatural beings far stranger than the stuff of myth and legend, and they go about disguised as ordinary men and women.

For months I wondered, at first traveling all over Michigan, and then I left the U.S. altogether. I crossed over into Windsor, Ontario, and that's when I felt...it. An irresistible call, a summon of sorts. I found myself teleported to the City of Toronto, Ontario, a place where I'd never been before. I was summoned by a most unusual soul...

"Wow, cool, you actually showed up," said my Summoner, a twenty-something young woman with bright eyes. I looked at her, this short, blue-eyed and freckle-faced redhead wearing a University of Toronto sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. Later I would learn she was a dabbler into the occult, the Internet age version. She'd read some incantation from a book of magic she'd bought at a garage sale, and actually summoned me, the world's newest Djinn...

"Curb your enthusiasm, ginger," I said, smiling as I materialized in her bedroom, and the young lady frowned. Who says a purple-skinned, red-eyed Djinn can't have a sense of humor. I assessed the Summoner as she assessed me. She was thrilled that the incantation worked, but she was also not surprised. Magic users are typically driven men and women who, even as amateurs, don't scare easily. I ought to know...

"Um, alright, I'm Aileen, what's your name, Genie?" asked my Summoner, smiling as though we were best friends. I sighed, and willed myself to be...myself. When teleporting or being summoned, as I would later discover, I am purple, intangible and transparent. When I want to, I can become solid matter. I became what I'd been a mere year before, a tall, brown-skinned young man with an Afro and a perpetual smirk.

"I'm Maher, and please don't call me Genie," I replied, and Aileen nodded, then shook my hand. I hesitantly shook her hand back. I looked at her, this lovely but naive young woman, this dime store magic user for the Internet Age who was messing with powers far beyond her comprehension. According to the Rules, I had to do her bidding until I found a way to trick her and kill her indirectly, then avenge her, and then I would be free...

"Cool, so, um, my Dad has cancer, can you use your magic or whatever and help him? If you do, I'll set you free," Aileen said, and for a brief moment, her bravado slipped, her face fell, and I saw the vulnerable person underneath it all. I sat on her couch, crossed my legs, and then wished two bottles of Pepsi out of the ether. Casually, I tossed her one, and Aileen grinned.

"If you keep your word, we have a deal," I said, and Aileen nodded. We went to the Toronto General Hospital, where Aileen's father, Mr. Aidan Jenkins, was battling stage four stomach cancer. I looked at the feeble old man, who was unconscious, and gently touched him. Focusing my mind, I willed my power to affect his body, to transform him as I transform myself with the power of my thoughts.

"Please save my Dad," Aileen said as she fell to her knees, watching me work. I willed my energy into Aidan Jenkins barely living body, and transformed his cells from within. Slowly, I began to heal him...by transforming him into a slightly younger, healthier version of himself. I hit the rewind button on his cells, so to speak. The old man began to glow, and his breathing steadied, and now he looked like he was sleeping, rather than dying...