Turkish Woman For Somali GirlsbySamuelx©
My name is Ceren Armaghan, and I'm a young Turkish woman living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I'm an international student at Carleton University right here in the Capital. Whenever I tell people that I come from Turkey, they always assume that I am Muslim. Nothing wrong with being a Muslim, of course, but not everybody in Turkey is Muslim. There are large numbers of Atheists in the Republic of Turkey, along with a growing number of Christians and the majority of the population is secular. Almost as secular as North Americans, I think. I was brought up Christian, and my uncle Boris Armaghan is a Bishop with the Turkish Orthodox Church.
Lately, Turkish Christians have been leaving the country because state secularism is threatened by the rise of Islamic movements in Turkey after the Arab Spring. We don't want to be persecuted like the Coptic Christians of Egypt or the Maronite Christians of Lebanon, who are struggling even though the President of Lebanon is a Christian. When I graduated high school in my hometown of Bursa in northwestern Turkey, my family strongly encouraged me to study outside of Turkey. My older brother Bunyamin is presently studying at Christendom College in the City of Front Royal, Virginia, deep within the southern United States. My older brother is a good Christian who's seriously thinking about becoming a bishop someday. I wish him the best but all that religious stuff isn't for me. Oh, I believe there is a God but I don't want to become a nun or anything. Not my thing, thank you very much.
Anyhow, after growing up in Bursa, one of the liveliest cities in the Republic of Turkey, I found myself bored in Ottawa. Seriously, whoever decided to make the City of Ottawa the Capital of Canada should get smacked upside the head. It's the most boring place I've ever fucking seen! Thankfully, I know how to make my own fun. I'm a business administration major and most of my classes are boring, which doesn't help. There is much fun to be had in campus and in the surrounding metropolis, if you know how. I like to go out, and I do it three nights a week. Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. I really like Mansion, this fun night club located in downtown Ottawa. Last month I visited Maverick Night Club and the gothic scene kind of turned me off. I'm already depressed, I go to the clubs to be entertained, you know? I won't pay to get more depressed. I've already got Family Guy DVDs at home, thank you very much.
Anyhow, I ran into this Somali chick named Nadifa Muhammad in my sociology class and she definitely had an effect on me. I have a thing for Black girls and Nadifa was definitely what the doctor ordered. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew what she was. You see, if you're a person who's gay or bisexual, you can kind of spot your own kind. It doesn't matter how straight they look or act. It's kind of like a sixth sense, I can't explain it any further. I looked Nadifa Muhammad right in the eyes and knew that this five-foot-ten, chubby-but-sexy, big-bottomed Somali chick clad in a long dark brown robe and silver hijab was definitely not heterosexual. Whether she was bisexual or a full-on dyke, I couldn't tell you. It was the first day of classes and I smiled at her, for she had come late and most seats were taken since our class was kind of small. Nadifa smiled shyly at me after I wished her welcome.
All throughout class she kept looking at me, and I was thrilled by it but played it cool. I'm not exactly new to the game. I've been banging girls and the occasional guy for a while now. My conservative Orthodox family in Turkey has no idea. In their eyes, I'm sweet and polite little Ceren. And that suits me just fine because I don't need everybody knowing what I'm up to. As class went by, I talked discreetly with Nadifa, just two school chums talking. I learned that she came from the town of Mogadishu in Somalia and had been living in Ontario for nine years. She was twenty years old, a year older than me but she looked younger than me. Why is that? I guess it's true what they say. Black doesn't crack and all that.
Before class ended, I had gotten Nadifa's number, and added her as a friend on Facebook. I set out to seduce her. We don't have a lot of Black people in Turkey but I've seen a few, mainly coming from places like Nigeria and Ethiopia. Migrant workers and all that. Somehow, I developed a taste for Black female flesh after hooking up with a chick named Samantha Wahid last year. She's from Ethiopia and was one of three Black chicks at my high school. We hooked up during the summer after graduation. It was hot. Now I'm really into Black chicks. I once hooked up with a Black guy named Jose Etienne, from Haiti. Met him right here at Carleton. He was alright in the sack but I like girls better. I definitely wanted Nadifa, and I called her that night. We ended up talking for two hours on the phone. I got to know her a bit better and we seemed to gel. I asked her certain questions and her answers to them cemented what I already suspected, this chick wasn't straight. Trust me when I tell you that the average hijab-wearing Muslim gal doesn't think that same-sex marriage and openly gay policewomen are a sign of progress. Nadifa told me that she supported same-sex marriage, a fact which pleasantly surprised me.
I was thrilled to have finally met someone I thought I could have a good thing with. When I asked her to go hang out in the City of Ottawa together, Nadifa was all for it. We went to the Rideau shopping center and ate some delicious Chinese food, then we caught a movie together. At the end of the afternoon, we were arm in arm as we boarded the bus number four heading back to Carleton together. Ladies and gentlemen, I was smitten with that chick. And she was smitten with me. I showered her with compliments about how beautiful she looked. And she is beautiful. Tall and curvy, with light brown skin and sparkling brown eyes. Her full lips, her big tits and her wide hips beckoned for my attention. I like curves on a woman. Partly because I'm short and skinny.
I look so average that it bothers me sometimes. I'm only five-foot-four, and weigh 118 pounds soaking wet. I have short, curly black hair, light bronze skin and light brown eyes. My family is multiethnic. My father is Turkish and my mother is a Lebanese woman from the Maronite Christian community of Lebanon. She was born in the region of Baalbek, southern Lebanon, and moved to Turkey for University studies. She met my father there, and they got married. It explains why I look like a lot of things I'm not. I've been mistaken for Lebanese, Brazilian and even Portuguese. People never believe me when I tell them that I'm a Turk. Isn't that something? I really liked Nadifa, and I thought she liked me too. Especially judging by the way she bristled when I checked out a big-booty Black chick with braids who walked by us as we walked through Rideau together.
And that's how it all began. Nadifa and I began seeing each other regularly, under the pretext of being friends. We studied together, and hung out together all the time. She surprised me in many ways. Nadifa was a real sports fanatic. I was stunned to discover that this hijab-wearing Somali gal once played for her high school softball team in Toronto, Ontario. Also, she told me she wanted to try out for the women's rugby team at our university. The only sport I play is soccer. I always found rugby too brutal, but I supported Nadifa's dream of one day playing rugby at the university level. One night, behind some dusty book shelves on the campus library's third floor, she kissed me. I was surprised by that, to say the least. Nadifa Muhammad had been demure and shy throughout our outings and to see her take the lead now was kind of refreshing. I returned her kiss, wrapping my arms around her gently. Her lips were soft but firm, and her breath smelled of lemon and peppermint. I looked into her eyes and smiled. She smiled at me, and without a word, we left the library together.
Hurriedly we ran to my dorm, which was located near the bus stop, a good ten minute walk from the library. We made it in three minutes. As soon as we got to my room, Nadifa unleashed her hidden but powerful passion, and all I could do was hang on for dear life. Suddenly, my shy and soft-spoken hijab gal transformed into a real dominatrix. Seriously. She grabbed me, undressed me and took me to bed. Nadifa laid me there, and gently kissed me. She kissed me all over, paying special attention to my breasts. When she spread my legs and began licking my pussy, I let out a sharp cry. I'm a bit on the butch side, and I rarely let women, or men for that matter, go down on me, though I am forthrightly bisexual. Still, there was a part of me that ached for Nadifa's touch so I let her do her thing.
Nadifa definitely knew her way around the female body. The gal sent shivers down my spine when she thrust her fingers into my cunt and blew on my clitoris before teasing it with her tongue. Mercilessly she teased and probed me, until I shouted in orgasmic delight. Fuck yeah! When I recovered from the sexual whammy she laid on me, I wanted to return the favor and she seemed a bit reluctant. The whole time she was going down on me, she kept her clothes on. What the fuck? I asked her to show me what she was working with, as they say. Nadifa stood up and disrobed, revealing a very beautiful, curvy body. I don't know what she was so shy about. If I had her big tits, sexy thighs and fine ass, I'd want to show them off! I rose to my feet and kissed her full and deep, then we tumbled in bed together. I slipped my hand between her thighs as I kissed her full lips.
When my fingers began reaching for her pussy, Nadifa clamped her thighs shut. I was a bit surprised. Is everything alright? That's what I asked her. Nadifa hesitated and bit her lip. I kissed her again and promised her I'd be gentle. She nodded, and I began playing with her pussy gently, sliding only one finger inside. I licked the areolas of her big tits, and then made my way to her pussy. The first thing I noticed was that hers was somehow, um, different. No, I'm not talking about the Somali practice of female circumcision. I mean, everything was right where it should be, but somehow different. Nevertheless, I busied myself eating Nadifa's pussy. I licked her real good and fucked her with my fingers and tongue. She moaned a little as I fucked her with my fingers but was otherwise silent. Something was wrong here but I thought it had to do with my technique. Afterwards, Nadifa gathered me in her arms and kissed me. I kissed her back. I had a lot of questions, but they would wait.
When I woke up the next morning, I found myself facing a smiling Nadifa Muhammad. My sexy Somali girlfriend was still here, and she'd gone and cooked me breakfast. An omelette, buttered bread and some orange juice. I smiled and kissed my sexy impromptu chef, and she kissed me passionately. She whispered in my ear that last night was perfect. When she said that, I froze. Last night...while I was going down on her...her pussy...it was different. A dark look came upon Nadifa's beautiful face. She sniffed, and I watched as tears rolled down her big brown eyes. My heart sank, and I gathered her in my arms, apologizing for my comments. She shook her head, and told me I had a right to know. Then, in a few simple words, she told me.
Nadifa Muhammad was born as Nasser Muhammad in Somalia. She was born a man. A man who never felt right in his own skin. So, after moving to Ontario, Canada, the young Somali man who was once teased for being gay and deeply effeminate in Somalia, contacted a doctor. Said doctor diagnosed him as a transgender person. That day changed Nasser Muhammad's life. He decided to become the woman he was born to be. A few years and many surgeries later, he became Nadifa Muhammad. The beautiful young Somali woman I just made love to. Nadifa looked at me with a sad look on her face, and told me that she'd understand if I never wanted to see her again. I hesitated. My mind was spinning. The woman I had fallen in love with had been born a man. Nadifa Muhammad was a post-op transsexual. Wow. All of a sudden, a lot of things made sense. Did those things change the way I felt about her? Absolutely not. As Nadifa got up to leave, I grabbed her hand. I love you, I said. Then I kissed her.