The Mighty Hijabi

I wish people would stop staring at my husband Kareem Touré and I, seriously. Folks in the City of Detroit, Michigan, and its environs, have a nasty habit of staring at interracial couples, especially when half of the pair is a man of African descent. I tell myself that someday I'll get used to it but I don't see it happening anytime soon. My name is Afaf Ibrahim-Touré and I've got one helluva story to share with you.

"Where are you from, young lady?" asked the short little white lady sitting behind the counter at the bookstore. I looked her up and down, and sighed deeply. The Eastland Center, one of the finest shopping centers within a half hour's drive of the Detroit Metropolitan Area, looks quaint at first but it didn't take me long to realize that I didn't belong.

As a Hijab-wearing Arab-American Muslim woman, I don't do well in small towns and Harper Woods, Michigan, is definitely a small town. Sorry if you're from there, but anyplace with a population of less than a million people is a small town as far as I'm concerned. Dearborn, Michigan, may be home to a large population of Arab immigrants, but the rest of the State is pretty homogenous.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked her innocently, looking into those cold blue eyes, even though I knew exactly what the old crone meant. I was born in the City of Al Mukalla, Republic of Yemen, and moved to Michigan with my parents, Ali and Yasmin Ibrahim a few months after I was born. I was raised in the U.S. and have never even left the country, but because of my skin color and Islamic faith, I will forever be a foreigner in some people's eyes.

"You know, people who wear stuff like that thing on your head, are you from Arabia?" the old crone said, and she smiled wickedly, prejudice dripping out of her every pore. I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to smack the old bitch hard across her wrinkled face. Calm down, I silently told myself. I licked my lips, and paused before I replied.

"Yes, I am a proud Arab woman, and you know what? At least I came to this country legally, unlike your kind, who stole it from the Indians," I said hotly, hands on my hips. As the old bat glared at me, anger and shock registering on her pale face, I smiled with smug satisfaction. I turned to leave, but not before slamming the book I intended to buy on the store counter. I then let myself out, as people gawked.

I walked over to the Eastland Center food court, and found my husband, Kareem Touré, sitting at a table and sipping on his coffee. I smiled and greeted him happily. Kareem is looking pretty good in a blue silk shirt, black silk pants and black Timberland shoes. I love a sharp-dressed brother, and Kareem is oh so fine. I think I fell in lust with him from the first time I laid eyes on him at Wayne County Community College.

"Hello Afaf, looking good since I saw you half an hour ago," Kareem said, grinning and flashing those pearly white teeth of his. Kareem smelled really good, for he was wearing the I Am King cologne by P. Diddy which I bought him last week. I smiled and kissed him on the lips. Kareem chivalrously pulled a chair for me, and I smiled and nodded graciously, and sat across from him.

"Babe, you wouldn't believe the nerve on that old bat at the book store," I told Kareem, and he sighed then listened to me with rapt attention. Upon meeting us, people often remark on how different Kareem and I are. Kareem is six-foot-three, burly and dark-skinned, with a smooth shaved head and a goatee. People say he kind of looks like Hollywood actor Thomas Mikal Ford, who played Tommy on that old sitcom Martin.

Kareem Touré is a gentle giant if there ever was one. Calm, cool and collected in most situations, that's my Kareem, or "Mister K," as he likes to be called. Kareem embraced Islam a few years prior to our first meeting, and he's far more lax about the faith than I am. Me? I'm essentially his polar opposite. I'm five-foot-eight, somewhat chubby but sexy, with dark bronze skin, curly black hair and light brown eyes.

On more than one occasion, I've been told that I resemble Hollywood starlet Salma Hayek, only younger and curvier. Honestly, folks, I take offense at that. If anything, that bitch looks like me. Besides, I'm neither Mexican nor Lebanese. Everyone knows that some of the world's most beautiful women come from Yemen. I'm Yemeni-American, proudly Muslim, an avowed feminist and a staunch supporter of human rights and humanitarian causes around the world. The common thread of humanity is what binds us all together, at the end of the day.

"Earth to Afaf, are you alright?" Kareem's deep, masculine voice snatched me out of my reverie. I looked at Kareem and smiled. I sometimes experience zone-outs because, well, I had both anxiety and attention issues in my younger days. Oh, and I'm slightly bipolar. I can't explain it, I just get lost in my own world sometimes. It can be dangerous, and catches me at the worst possible moments sometimes. Indeed, that's why I don't drive anymore.

"I'm cool, boo, just lost in thought there for a bit," I said, and Kareem nodded understandingly. Kareem is really patient with me. When we met at Wayne County Community College, I'm afraid to say that we butted heads. As the sole daughter of a proud Yemeni-American Muslim family, and a Hijabi, to boot, I felt defensive about my Islamic faith at school because many people in American society hold negative views of Muslims in general.

I wasn't exactly the trusting kind, and even though I found Kareem cute, I was far too shy and neurotic to do anything about it. It's a good thing that Kareem, a hard-working, no-nonsense brother born in Burkina Faso and raised in the majority African-American township of Benton Harbor, Michigan, wasn't the type to give up easily. Kareem pursued me doggedly and finally won me over...after a year of courtship.

Long story short? Kareem and I fell in love, and I introduced him to my family. Now, there's quite a bit of racism among Arabs, especially when it comes to their views of blacks, but I am proud to say that my parents and siblings weren't like that. Indeed, they were thrilled when I introduced them to Kareem, a good-looking, educated brother who's a good Muslim. Seriously, they threw Kareem and I a mini-party when they met him.

Yes, I am lucky to have such an open-minded family. Or perhaps my family, which has been put through all manners of hell over the years by the antics of yours truly ( examples of my antics include accidentally setting the shed on fire, and taking my mom's car from an inter-state joyride ) was glad that, at last, someone had come to take me off their hands? Ha! Maybe. Guess I'll never know.

Kareem and I graduated from Wayne County Community College three years ago. After earning his Criminal Justice degree, Kareem began working for the Michigan State Department of Corrections as a corrections officer. Me? I'm a bank teller, a job I do just to pay the bills. I'm currently at the University of Detroit Mercy, studying for my MBA. I earned my bachelor's degree in accounting last year. I'm a gal with beauty, brains and ambition, what can I say? I'm the original triple threat!

Like all couples, Kareem and I have our ups and downs. Lately, things have been tense between the two of us. I want to become a mother. Kareem wasn't quite sold on the idea. He wants to be more established in his career. Me? I have mere months left in the MBA program at school. My twenties are running out on me. I want to be a mom while I'm young enough to enjoy it, you know?

"Sweetie, go easy on these small-minded small-town folks, they didn't sign up for Hurricane Afaf," Kareem said, laughing. I fixed him with a wuthering stare, which didn't deter him one bit. I have a bit of a temper, as you might have guessed, and I'm not always pleasant to be around but Kareem Touré is never scared of my mood swings and unique brand of craziness. Yeah, he's unique, isn't he?

"Are you trying to start a fight, Mr. K?" I asked Kareem coyly, and he smiled and reached across the table, taking both my hands in his. Gently Kareem brought my hands to his lips and kissed each of them in turn. For some reason, this simple gesture sent a tingle down my spine. Kareem smiled at me, a wicked look on his face. One I recognized as the let's get busy look. A few minutes later, Kareem and I were getting busy in the nearby bathroom.

"Damn you taste good," Kareem said, as he kissed me passionately, his hands groping my tits. I smiled as Kareem pressed me against the bathroom wall. I could see our reflections in the mirror as Kareem and I did our thing. Kareem grabbed me and hoisted me up on the bathroom counter. I hiked up my skirt and spread my shapely thighs invitingly.

"Oh, I taste even better down there," I said, smiling wickedly, and Kareem knelt before me and buried his face between my legs. A pleasant tingle coursed through me as Kareem began eating my pussy. Nobody eats pussy like my husband, seriously. Kareem knows how to tease my clitoris with his tongue, while fingering my cunt deeply, teasing the hell out of me like only he can.

"Scream for me," Kareem pauses to say, and I look at him and gasp as he stabs my cunt with two fingers, and his teeth lightly graze my clit. This wicked, sexy, infuriating and downright fearless man knows exactly how to light my fire. I squirm and squeal in delight, as Kareem torments my cunt with his fingers and tongue in the sweetest way possible.

"Oh fuck!" I scream like a banshee, not caring that my husband Kareem and I were having a quickie inside this locked washroom, far from our usual digs in Detroit. I didn't care that my screams might attract curious passersby, or mall security, or whoever. Nope, all I cared about in those heated, passionate moments was my pleasure, and Kareem brought me plenty. I came, and it was absolutely spectacular.

"Fuck that was awesome," I managed to squeak out, a few moments later. Kareem smiled at me and rose to his feet. I pulled him into my arms and kissed him. Kareem caressed my breasts, pinching the nipples, and I caress his hairy chest, and then go straight for his zipper. I free Kareem's dick, which is long, thick and dark. Without hesitation I stroke it, and Kareem smiles at me.

"Let me taste you for a change," I whisper, and before Kareem can answer, I hop from the bathroom counter. I fall to my knees, to worship at the altar of the towering, gorgeous and sinfully sexy chocolate stud whom I married. My eager hands massage Kareem's balls, and I take his dick into my mouth.

"Oh damn," Kareem whispers, and it comes out almost like an agonized plea. I suck Kareem's dick gently, massaging his heavy, low-hanging balls. I look up, into Kareem's dark, handsome face as he gets pleasured by yours truly. A lot of guys get awkward as hell while getting their dicks sucked. Kareem's eyes are closed, and his face is completely relaxed. Hmmm, this gives me a wicked idea.

My fingers go from massaging Kareem's balls to the space under his nut sack, which leads to his ass. Just another couple of inches and I'm there. I "accidentally" slid a finger up Kareem's ass. Kareem's eyes snap open and he gasps, then stares at me, clearly surprised.

I smile, well, as much as it's possible for any woman to smile with a mouthful of dick. Kareem doesn't protest, and I happily continue fingering his ass while sucking him off. Judging by the way Kareem is moaning, dude is clearly loving what I'm doing to him. Soon I've got Kareem harder than a rock, and he stops me.

"Let's do this babe," Kareem says in that deep, charismatic voice of his. I rise to my feet and kiss my husband passionately. Kareem grins, then turns me around bends me over the bathroom counter. As he gropes my thick butt cheeks, I giggle softly for I know I am totally going to get it.

"Smack my big Yemeni ass big man," I whisper, and Kareem happily indulges me. Kissing my neck gently, Kareem licks my ear. Then I feel his hard dick rub against my butt. Kareem guides his manhood into me as I press my ample derriere against his groin. I sigh happily as Kareem enters me with one swift thrust, his thick dick invading my cunt oh so nicely.

Gripping my hips tightly, Kareem pumped his dick into my pussy. I screamed loudly, and begged Kareem to fuck me harder. When my face all but pressed against the bathroom wall, I could watch myself getting fucked by Kareem, and it was such a turn-on. Kareem and I got lost in a world of our own, and we were only pulled out of it by the unwelcome sound of someone banging on the bathroom door.

"This is security! What's going on in there?" A loud male voice snapped, and Kareem and I laughed, and then he pulled out of me. I hated that, him withdrawing from me like that, but under the circumstances I understood. Giggling, Kareem and I readjusted our clothes, and then emerged from the washroom, ready to face the Eastland Mall security team.

Look, I won't bore you with the details but suffice to say that my husband, Kareem Touré and I are banned from the Eastland Mall of Harper Woods, Michigan, for the rest of our natural-born lives. We had to sign papers to that effect in order to avoid ending up in police custody. I swear, those small-town hicks got no sense of humor, man.

Kareem and I were laughing our sick heads off as we drove back to Detroit, though. Come on, you've got admit the whole thing was pretty funny, us getting caught having sex in the washroom like that. We returned to our house in Detroit, safe and sound, and once there, we continued what we started in that mall washroom. Folks, I do have some good news. A couple of weeks after that incident, I discovered that I'm pregnant. Yup, Kareem and I are about to become parents, Insha'Allah and we're simply ecstatic. Wish us luck, eh?