Monsters Like You and MebySamuelx©
Let me be your hero, I thought as I gazed upon her as she slept in the Montreal-Nord apartment, on the bed we shared. How lovely she looked. Only five-foot-seven, slim, with light bronze skin, long black hair and light brown eyes. After gazing upon her countless times, I knew every part of her. Every strand of hair, every inch of skin, every touch and every smile. My Ayten. The first time I gazed upon her, I knew she was special. I still remember the two of us walking through the halls of Concordia University together, hand in hand. A young Somali-Canadian man and a young lady from Turkey, studying at one of Canada's top universities. Back in those days when anything seemed possible.
In case you're wondering who this is, my name is Rashid Abdullah, and I'm a gentleman ( among other things ) with a story to tell. I was born in 1986 in Somaliland, and about a decade later, I moved with my parents to the City of Montreal, Quebec. I'm a Canadian citizen of Somali descent, and I embraced both sides of my identity. I have led a very eventful life, considering my short years. I grew up in metropolitan Montreal, in a neighborhood populated by Somali immigrants along with Arabs and a few Chinese people. My father, Kasim, is a bus driver and my mother, Anisah, works at Wal-Mart as a sales manager. As for me, I work as a security guard while attending Concordia University, where I study Law.
Since I'm a Somali and there are so many stereotypes, both cultural and religious, about my people, I want to make certain things perfectly clear. Not every Somali person is ill at ease in North American society. My family and I, we've done alright for ourselves in this land. We respect other cultures and religions, by the way. We're not a very religious bunch in my family, and honestly, sometimes I was glad of that. A lot of Muslim immigrants don't adapt too well to life in Western societies. Of course, adapting and integrating to a new society doesn't mean giving up everything you are and everything you believe in just to fit in. Honestly, it shouldn't mean that either. Considering how bad things are for my people in Somaliland, a lot of us should be thankful to Canada for welcoming us with open arms in our time of need. My family came to Canada in 1995. I still remember the wars and the famine back home, some shit you just can't forget.
Anyhow, I was just a guy living my life in the metropolis until the day everything literally went to hell. Things were finally starting to look up, man. I was making fifteen bucks per hour working security for Hydro Quebec at various sites around the City of Montreal. I could finally afford to move out of my folks house in Laval, and found myself an apartment in Montreal-Nord. The commute to Concordia University was nothing to laugh at since I didn't have a car, but that's alright. When something matters to you enough, you do what you have to do. I was in Law School, pretty close to getting my Law degree too. I'd be the first lawyer in the Abdullah family. I'd become a high-powered attorney with an office downtown, make the big bucks and take care of my parents. Got to take care of my own, you know? A man who forgets where he comes from isn't a man. The places you've been and the people you've known, especially family and friends, they helped make you who you are, whether good or bad. That's my view of this life, you feel me? When you are who and what I am, you've got to navigate so many contradictions in your daily life it's not even funny.
At the start of this tale, I was entering my second year of Law School, and things were finally looking up. While walking around campus, I met this absolutely gorgeous young woman named Ayten Batur. She was an international student at Concordia University, hailing straight from the City of Ankara in Turkey. We met while I was in line for Tim Horton's. someone bumped into me and I dropped my money. The person who bumped into me apologized profusely and bent down to help me gather my loose change. I always carry up to ten dollars in loonies and toonies in my pocket. I don't like using my debit card for small purchases like some people I know. That's just me. Anyway, I looked at the gal who just helped me gather my stuff and found myself mesmerized. I mean, she was beautiful with a capital B, man! I smiled weakly and told her it was alright. Since I had never seen her around before, I asked her if she was new. As it turns out, she was. I promptly introduced myself, and wished her a warm welcome to Concordia University, the best school in Canada.
I had seen beautiful ladies of all hues before. The City of Montreal is full of them. From stunning Caribbean ladies like the Haitian, Jamaican and Trinidadian divas you see around the mall, strutting their stuff to sexy Latin American women from places like Brazil, El Salvador and Mexico. You'll also find lots of women from India, Pakistan and China. The ladies of southeast Asia are gorgeous, alluring and mysterious. Not to be outdone, the white women from the French Canadian community were in a class by themselves. If you're walking around in Canadian town and you see a white woman with a booty, odds are she's French Canadian. Quebec women are all that and the proverbial bag of chips, ladies and gentlemen. Ayten Batur was in a class by herself. The face of an angel, the gorgeously bronzed body of an Olympic athlete and the kind of booty that a Black woman would envy. If I knew there were women who looked like that in distant Turkey, I would have gone there a long time ago!
Now, given how gorgeous she was, you'd expect Ayten Batur to be at the very least aloof in her dealings with men. Well, I'm happy to say this wasn't the case. This gal was genuinely friendly and outgoing. Gorgeous, smart, and actually friendly and easy to talk to. I didn't meet too many women like that, so I knew this chick was pretty special. Is it any wonder that I fell in love with her? We'd been hanging out for about six weeks when I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. We were sitting inside the cafeteria, eating some Chinese food, when I smiled and told her I had something important to share with her. When I finally told her how I felt, Ayten paused for a long moment without saying anything. Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips, shocking the hell out of me in the most pleasant of ways. What took you so long? Ayten asked, laughing. I shrugged and smiled.
Ayten Batur and I became an item, and we were inseparable. We went to movies, restaurants and museums together. Ayten was new to Canada and was curious about the wonders of Montreal. I was delighted to be her guide in the metropolis. Yeah, everything was fine, until the day I was approached by this weird Arab dude while chilling at the mall with my buddies Jean-Pierre and Leo. I'm friends with a lot of Haitian guys. Some Somalis don't like them because of the differences in our cultures and faiths, but not me. The way I see it, the whole world hates us Black guys. Why would I hate on a brother just because he's from another country or another religion? If Black people showed more love and respect to their own, we'd all be better off.
Anyhow, I was walking around the mall when this short, bearded older dude approached me. He started shouting in a language that sounded like Arabic but wasn't. I speak Arabic, and whatever jargon this dude was sputtering in, it sounded older than that. He came closer, and I told him to back off. That's when he pulled a flask from his pocket and hurled the contents at me. I found myself drenched in oil. I just froze, stunned. I mean, shit like that doesn't happen to me every day, you know? Even for a rough and tumble area like Montreal-Nord, this was too much. I took a step toward my attacker, determined to kick his ass. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he produced an ornate-looking dagger, and made a move to stab me with it. I leapt back, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the gut, then struck. I hit the dude with all of my might...and he went flying. I mean, when I hit him he went flying like a rag doll, and collapsed about twenty feet away. Standing next to me, Leo and Jean-Claude looked at the guy, who lay still, then at me. I looked at my friends then at my hands. What the fuck?
Later, plausible explanations for what happened would be provided. Mall security saw the whole incident on their cameras. I was kind of worried about how they'd react, because even when us young Black men are crime victims, the authorities are never on our side. My attacker, later identified as Mohammed Imran, would be taken to the hospital. He'd live. As to my awesome feat of strength, it was dismissed as adrenaline gone amok. That last part bothered me the most. I know myself, okay? There's no way I'd ever be able to do something like that. I'm five-foot-ten and weigh one hundred and eighty pounds. I'm healthy and all, but definitely not a superman. At least that's what I thought.
I went home and shared the story with my parents, and just like I expected, they freaked out on me. They got really frustrated with me, having warned me many times before that simply being who and what we are made us targets for those who hated our kind. For a moment I felt like they were blaming me for what happened. Also, they didn't approve of my "associations", either at school or on the streets. What the hell? I wasn't allowed to have friends? I was hanging out at the mall with my homeboys when I got attacked by a knife-wielding maniac. How is that my fucking fault? I didn't want to deal with this shit. I just wanted to keep living my normal everyday life. I went to visit Ayten at her dorm, because I wanted to get away from the craziness of my parents and nothing calms me down like my lady. When I shared the tale of my adventure with her, Ayten was quite worried. Gently I touched her face and told her not to worry. I'd already spoken to the police, and they were looking into the incident. Ayten smiled at me and told me that if something happened to me she didn't know what she'd do. I stroked her chin and kissed her. That night, we made love.
Slowly, tenderly, we undressed, and admired each other's bodies. I made gentle love to my sweet lady, licking her nipples and fingering her sweet pussy as she moaned in ecstasy, the bed shaking underneath us. I spread her shapely thighs and inhaled her womanly scent. I haven't had that many lovers but no two women smell or taste alike. I teased Ayten's pussy with my tongue before sliding my fingers inside of her, twisting them this way and that. She giggled and told me to keep going. I love going down on a woman. Nothing is as beautiful as an orgasmic woman, folks. You've got to see it to believe it. I licked, probed and prodded Ayten with my fingers and tongue until my sexy Turkish goddess was moaning in pleasure.
Ayten cried out in pleasure, and I held her fast in my arms as she writhed and moaned. She looked at me with wild, fluttering eyes, a burning need in her gaze. I smiled, and asked her if she was ready for me. Ayten grabbed my member, and stroked it. Winking at me, she pushed me back down. Lying on my back, my legs spread, I gazed at my lady as she began working her magic on that most sensitive part of my masculine anatomy. Ayten began sucking on me, gently teasing my cock with her tongue while fondling my nuts. I inhaled sharply as she continued sucking my dick, with more gusto this time. Hot damn, we'd had sex a couple of times before but she'd never done that to me, that's for sure. I just lay back, relaxed and enjoyed.
Once Ayten had me hard as a piston, I was ready for the main event. I rolled a condom on my jimmy, and asked my lady to assume the position. I love taking Ayten doggy style, but this time she had other ideas. She just jumped on top of me, and without a word being spoken, proceeded to impale herself on my member. I felt her tight flesh gripping mine, and winced in pleasure. I reached for her breasts and gently massaged them as she rocked back and forth while riding me. Laughing, Ayten batted my hands away, and just rode me. Locking eyes with me, she told me to go harder and faster. Notice I said she didn't ask, she TOLD me. Like a true gentlemen, I did as the lady commanded. What else could I do? We made love till exhaustion claimed us, and not a moment sooner.
I woke up during the night to go take a leak, and since the window was ajar and it was a full moon, when I came back I could clearly see Ayten lying in bed, curled up with the covers barely reaching her navel. My gorgeous Turkish goddess. My Eurasian princess. My Turkish delight. Oh yeah, I've got a lot of nicknames for my sweetie. When I looked at her, I forgot about all my problems. I wanted to be with her, always. Yet a part of me I'd rather not acknowledge warned me that simply by being near her I was endangering her. What do I mean by that? Ladies and gentlemen, I must ask your forgiveness. In the name of the Most High, the God we all love and worship whether we're Jews, Christians or Muslims, I beseech you to forgive me a lie of omission. My family and I are different, and not just because we're Muslim immigrants from Somaliland living in Canada. We're different and not just because of our national origins, our ethnicity or our faith. It goes deeper than that, and it's much more complicated than I've been willing to admit, even to myself.
You see, there is a world different from the one you know. There are things out there that look like people but aren't. What if I told you that vampires, werewolves, ghouls and monsters from various origins were all real? The stuff of myth isn't relegated to the crumbling pages of ancient books. It walks with you and bumps into you on the subway, at school or at work. It's so well-hidden that you'd never guess it was right in front of you. My parents and I, we're from that same otherworldly breed. Throughout time, humans have had many names for our kind. We call ourselves Kinfolk. All you need to know about us is that we existed in the Motherland of Africa long before the first white man ever set foot on the continent. We've lived through it all. The glory days of African empires like Nubia, Axum and Mali, and along with the Arabian invasions, both before and after Islam, and finally, the European invasions, the nightmare of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, colonial Africa, the struggle for independence, and the arrival of so-called modern times.
We look exactly like normal human beings, only we're stronger and faster, and we heal quickly from almost anything, including injuries that would kill ordinary humans. We can live for a long time, perhaps a few thousand years, even. My parents often talk about the Horn of Africa and what it was like long before the rise of Christianity in Europe, the coming of Islam in the Middle East and its spread to East Africa and beyond. Me? I wasn't kidding when I said I was born in the 1980s. My people don't reproduce a lot. Just three times a century. Worldwide, there are perhaps four or five thousand of us. A very long-lived breed. We don't interact with each other much, and prefer to keep to ourselves. We simply are what nature made us out to be. None of us can escape that, apparently.
Our lives aren't easy, though. From time to time, we encounter the Hunters. A secret society of men and women which hunt our kind. They seek to rid the world of all supernatural creatures. Well, they consider werewolves, vampires and other monsters to be supernatural. The truth is that we're the result of natural evolution, just like humans are, only we're older and I guess a bit stranger. The Hunters are relentless, but getting attacked by them is nothing new. We've fought several wars against them in the past, and I'm sure there's another one around the corner. Mohammed Imran, the bozo who attacked me at the mall, probably was but the first salvo in a coming conflict. As strange as that may sound, I'm not half as worried about the prospect of war against hordes of fanatical, well-armed humans as I am about losing my beloved Ayten in the midst of the coming chaos.
Gently I touch Ayten's beautiful face, and she stirs in her sleep without waking. It's astonishing how much I care for this young woman. If I don't get dismembered and burnt to ash I might live for thousands of years. It's in my DNA. Every member of my species has the same potential. An eternity awaits me, and I've only been alive for a little over two decades. As I gaze at her, I can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. What would she think if she knew who or what I truly am? Would she fear me and despise me as humans have often despised and feared my kind, the few times some of us have revealed ourselves to some of them? Sharing the world isn't exactly the human race's strongest attribute. As I go to sleep, I choose to believe that my Turkish delight, my darling Ayten is different from the rest. The truth is that I'll never know.