Bisexual Somali Men Today

Story Info
Bisexual Somali guy dates Yemeni woman in Ottawa.
3.5k words
2.4
9k
00
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Samuelx
Samuelx
2,118 Followers

If you're Somali and you're gay or bisexual, you should keep it to yourself. These words of conventional wisdom, which I'd heard somewhere, echoed through my mind as I walked out of the Masjid located in Vanier, Ontario. Just an ordinary young man walking down the street, that's me. In case you're wondering who this is, the name is Mohamed "Mo" Shire, and I've got a story to share with you.

"I want your faggot ass out of my house, you Qaniis freak!" shouted my father, Abdullahi Shire, as he clutched a copy of a certain gay magazine which he found under my bed at our house. I had just come home after a long shift at work. I'm a security guard for a small company located in Ottawa, and they've been cramming twelve-hour shifts down my throat.

Just when I thought I'd go home and get some sleep after a long-ass shift, I got this shit to deal with. My father works for the Ontario Ministry of Corrections as a prison guard, and like many men working in law enforcement, he's both suspicious and nosy. I've always dated girls, and kept my secret under lock and key, but today, Fate chose to expose me.

"Papa, what is this?" I asked defensively, and my father's eyes bulged in anger as he threw the magazine at my face. I narrowly dodged that incoming missile, and then I had to run out of there because, in stereotypical angry Somali fashion, my father chased me around with a hammer. I ran out of the house where I was born, never to return.

"Brother, tell me again what happened and go slow on the good parts," said my buddy Ismail Rahman as I sat in his basement and told him what happened, three hours later. Ismail and I have known each other forever. Short and chubby, with light brown skin and curly Black hair, Ismail is one of my best friends. He's from Yemen, and up until recently, he's the only person who knew about my, ahem, you know.

"Dude, this isn't funny," I said meekly, and Ismail rolled his eyes then threw me a beer. Ismail lives in a basement apartment off of Montreal Road, not far from the big cemetery. I caught the beer, a Miller Lite, the type of weak stuff that Ismail likes to drink, and gulped down half of it. Oh, well. It's a good thing you can pick your friends but not your family.

"Whatever, Mo, you can crash here, now, let's go to One For One Pizza and you can tell me the rest of the story," Ismail said, and I nodded and got up. Twenty minutes later, we'd made the trek from Montreal Road to the Arab-owned pizzeria on Saint Laurent Boulevard, not far from the Saint Laurent Shopping Center.

"What can I get you, brothers?" asked a tall, muscular Middle-Eastern gentleman. Taking out my Carleton University MBNA Mastercard, I offered to pay for our pizzas and drinks, and Ismail nodded in approval. I left a generous tip for the salesman, for I like to support my fellow Muslims, and One For One Pizza knows how to treat a brother. It's not like at White restaurants where they take our money and treat us like shit.

"Thanks for the grub," Ismail said, as he wolfed down his cheese pizza while I sipped on my can of Orange Crush soda. We sat opposite each other by the window. Ismail and I have been coming here for years. This neighborhood is part of my old stomping grounds, and I am dearly attached to it. Hell, I smoked my first joint near the Donald Street Towers, right by the Boston Pizza restaurant.

"Goes without saying my dude," I said, exchanging dap with Ismail. I didn't feel like repeating myself or talking about what had happened and Ismail understood. That's what it's like to be best friends with somebody. Ismail and I go back a ways. We've got each other's backs, no matter what.

When Ismail screws up, I usually step in. Last year, when he was dating Veronique, that tall, big-booty Jamaican chick whose family weren't keep on her having a Muslim dude in her life, I stepped in and saved Ismail from the sound beating that Veronique's brothers, Andre and Raymond, dished out. Ismail is slick and a smooth-talker but his short, round ass can't fight worth a damn.

Me? I'm six-foot-three, dark-skinned and Somali, and I live in uptight little Ottawa, you know I HAVE to know how to fight. Everyone wants to take a shot at us Somali brothers, from the racist White dudes who hate seeing us with White women to other immigrant types who seem to have something against us. Oh, and us Somali boys fight each other all the time as well. I almost forgot that one. Almost.

"Stay as long as you like, but chip in for food and we'll be okay," Ismail said to me as we walked back to his spot, and I bunked down on the couch to catch some Z's while Ismail did his homework. Ismail studies business at Algonquin College and dreams of one day working for the CRA. Me? I'm in the criminology program at Carleton University, and unlike Ismail, I'm not crazy enough to try summer school.

"Cool, see you tomorrow bud," I said, and pulled the sheets over my face, made myself comfortable and passed out on Ismail's couch. When you've worked from nine in the morning to nine o'clock at night, you'd think it would be easy to fall asleep, and you'd be wrong. I wanted to sleep, but couldn't. My mind was racing with thoughts, haunted as I was by recent events.

I got up to go take a piss in the nearby washroom, and noticed that Ismail had fallen asleep with the TV on. I shut it down, and went back to bed. Try as I might, I couldn't sleep. It's hard to fall asleep when your whole world is going to hell, seriously. My cell phone is filled with angry messages from relatives, since my father ousted me. Somali families aren't keen on gayness or bisexuality, just in case you're wondering.

Want to hear something ironic? My family hates me for being queer but I've never even had sex. Not really. I once had a crush on this dude named Abu, a tall Moroccan brother I met at an Islamic community event in Nepean. Abu was tall, dark and handsome, married to a fine Somali sister named Hodan, with whom he has a son, Yousef, and he worked for the Canadian government.

"You are a handsome one," Abu said to me as we stood, naked, in his basement one evening. Abu's wife wasn't home, having gone to Montreal with their son Yousef. I was only eighteen years old at the time, and a bit sexually confused. I find girls cute, and feel sexually attracted to them, but I am also intensely attracted to guys, especially tall brown or Black men. My heart skipped a beat as Abu drew me close and kissed me, then he took my hands and placed them on his sex. Abu's hands reached for my manhood, and he stroked my dick to full hardness, like an expert.

I looked at Abu's long and thick member in my hands and stroked it nervously, and the smiling Abu told me that he was ready for me. Well, I wanted to have sex with Abu as well, but I didn't have a condom. Seriously, I used to volunteer at a health center in those days and they gave out condoms for free. Does my timing suck or what?

"It's alright, Mo, I'm clean and safe," Abu said, and he pulled me close, fully intent on having sex with me. I shook my head and pushed back, driving Abu back, and he wasn't too happy about it. A look of surprise and disbelief crept into Abu's handsome face, and he shook his head.

"Well, Mo, if you don't want to fuck, you can get out of my house," Abu said, and I sighed and nodded, then rushed out of his fancy Nepean house as if Iblis the Devil himself were after me. I went home that night, feeling supremely disappointed in myself and in Abu. The guy was so handsome and sexy, with a BIG dick, but I didn't want to become a statistic. Another Black male with AIDs. Thanks but no thanks.

Yeah, I have lousy luck with the fellas. Don't have better luck with the ladies either. Last year, I met this gal named Zainab "Zee" Al-Masri, and let me tell you, she was something else. Six feet tall and willowy yet curvy, raven-haired and bronze-skinned, with an angelic face, and a big round ass that was absolutely to die for. Born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, to a Yemeni father and an Italian-Canadian mother. Hands down one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

"As Salam Alaikum, brother, do you know the way to the Minto building?" said a feminine voice, and I looked up and gasped, for Zainab had that effect on people. I was sitting in front of the Mac Odrum Library, having a smoke, when I apparently caught her attention. I looked up at the tall, gorgeous sister in the red sweatshirt and skin-tight blue jeans, and smiled, then nodded. I was new to Carleton University and barely knew my way around, but I heard myself volunteer to help this beauty.

"Walaikum As Salam, sister, I'll be glad to help you, my name is Mohamed," I said with a smile, extending my hand toward the tall sister, who smiled and shook it. The two of us walked through the crowded campus, through the Atrium, and finally down the elevators of the University Center, and through the parking lot, until we reached the Minto Center.

"You're so kind, Mohamed, I'm new to this school and around here nobody wants to help you," Zainab said, and I smiled and nodded. Students walking by stared at us. Zainab and I looked good together, this much I have no trouble admitting. You don't see a lot of Arab girls walking around with African guys, even though lots of African women date and marry Arab men. Even in a diverse school like Carleton, people gawked at us.

"It's the least I could do for a sister who looks like an angel who fell from Jannah," I replied, and amazingly, Zainab smiled and nodded instead of laughing at that supremely corny line. We reached the Minto Center, and I was just about to try to work up the guts to ask Zainab for her number when she actually beat me to it.

"Allah Hafiz, I have a good feeling about you, Mohamed," Zainab said, after I punched the number which she dictated to me in my four-year-old Blackberry. I smiled and waved her goodbye, then I managed to make it to the OC Transpo bus station before I did the victory dance, like the exceptionally nerdy bastard I truly am.

"Dude, Zainab is a goddess," I said to Ismail when I saw him the next day, as we walked to the Masjid together the very next day. I was on cloud nine, seriously. I texted Zainab the night before, just to say hi, and not only did she call me, but we ended up talking on the phone for two hours. It was one of the most amazing conversations I've ever had in my life.

"Mo, you always say the same thing when you meet a hot chick but you never follow through," Ismail teased, and I glared at my buddy, who smiled sheepishly and shrugged. I don't know what it's like for other gay or bisexual guys but I get nervous around beautiful women. When Zainab's eyes met mine in front of the Carleton University library, my heart skipped a beat. Women certainly don't leave me indifferent, that much is clear.

"This Zainab chick is different, Ismail, and I want her," I said, and when Ismail dared me to ask Zainab out, I got the balls to call her and ask her out. I'm a basic brother, so I asked Zainab to go see a movie with me. I wanted to see her so badly. A hot chick like that won't stay single for long at a place like Carleton. The guys at school are, ahem, Thirsty Mac Thirst.

"Sounds good to me, I was thinking we could go see that new movie No Good Deed, Idris Elba is so cute," Zainab said, laughing into the phone, and a thrill went down my spine. My heart thundered in my chest, and for a moment, I was speechless. This Arab chick likes the brothers, I thought happily, and then finally managed to answer her.

"Cool, we can go see it at Silver City in Gloucester around five on Tuesday," I said, as nonchalantly as possible, and I managed to stay cool when Zainab agreed, and told me that she'd meet me there. I smiled and nodded, and then exchanged dap with Ismail.

"Mr. Shire, we'll make a ladies man out of you yet," Ismail said, stroking his goateed chin, and then we both laughed. That's how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. On that special day, I went to watch the movie with Zainab, and we had a good time, and this led to more outings. Thusly, I finally got myself a girlfriend.

"How did a brother like me get so lucky?" I asked Zainab one night as we grabbed supper in the food court of the Rideau Shopping Center downtown one evening. We'd just attended a Muslim Basketball Association event, and were feeling pumped. I looked alright in a red T-shirt and Black jeans, and Zainab was on fire, clad in a Black tank top and booty shorts even shorter than Rihanna's. People stared at her disapprovingly but I didn't give a damn and neither did Zainab. We're the new Muslims, the sexual Muslim woman and the liberal, free-thinking Muslim man. Enough of that conservative and uptight bullshit!

"Fate sent me to you sweetie," Zainab said, and then the tall, gorgeous Arab sister took my face in her hands and kissed me full and deep. I looked at Zainab, who smiled coyly at me, and a thrill shot through me. In that moment, I was absolutely attracted to her. This woman moves me in ways no woman ever has. I still can't explain it to this day.

"You are amazing," I said to Zainab, and then I took her hand in mine, looked at it and then, hesitantly I brought it to my lips like I'd seen Idris Elba do to ladies in the movies. Zainab grinned when I kissed her hand, and, much to my amazement, this exquisitely beautiful woman blushed. How about that? I am a lucky brother!

There's something almost magical that happens when a man steps out with his new lady. Zainab and I became a couple, and everywhere we went, people always looked at us. On campus, in restaurants, at the library, at the Hurdman bus station, at the movies, wherever we set foot. Just an attractive couple of university students, stepping out in the Canadian capital. That's Zainab and I. Folks, I couldn't be prouder of us!

I realized that with a beautiful Muslim sister by my side, a whole new world was opening up to me. Other guys looked at me with respect. I'm tall, burly and dark-skinned, and nerdy on top of it. I'm not a player and never will be, not with women or men. Average at best, those are my looks. Yet when Zainab looked at me, this woman made me feel like a king. I became more confident, and people took notice.

"Good job son," my father said to me, after I introduced him to Zainab, and I smiled as my father looked at me with pride in his eyes for the first time in ages. I smiled at my father, and found myself dreaming old dreams. It's not easy to be gay or bisexual when you're a Muslim male. I used to pray to turn straight, but now that I had Zainab in my life, I absolutely felt like my prayers were answered.

There's nothing I enjoyed more than holding hands with Zainab in public or kissing her. I must have had a hundred pictures of us on my Facebook account, which I've recently deactivated. I was falling in love with this young Arab woman, and she was most definitely into me. I was romantically and sexually attracted to her. The question is, could I actually have sex with her? The answer came unexpectedly.

Zainab and I sat in her car one night, having come home after watching the movie Focus, starring Will Smith and Margot Robbie. I looked at Zainab, who looked stunning in a red tank top and Black booty shorts. I pulled her into my arms, and kissed her on the lips.

"Mo, why haven't you made love to me yet? We've been going out for months," Zainab said to me, a questioning look in her lovely golden brown eyes. I held her tightly in my arms and kissed her. When Zainab pressed her body against mine, her breasts against me, her sweet-smelling body so near, I felt myself harden.

"I'm going to rectify that at once," I said, and kissed her once more, and my hands went to her breasts, which I began caressing. Zainab smiled and pulled off her tank top, and my eyes widened when I saw her tits. Zainab unbuttoned my shirt, and I gasped in shock when she went for my zipper.

"Let me see it," Zainab said in a lusty tone, and I grinned nervously as she unzipped my pants, freeing my hard dick. Smiling, Zainab took my hard dick in her hands, and then, winking at me, she leaned over and brought her face down to my lap. I held my breath. Was Zainab actually about to do what I think she was about to do?

"Oh," was all I could say as Zainab took my dick into her mouth. I sighed happily as Zainab began sucking my dick. Got so good that I closed my eyes, happy as can be. Zainab sucked me off like an expert, and I soon felt like I was about to burst. I opened my eyes, and looked down to see Zainab's beautiful face looking up at me with my dick in her mouth. I was about to say something when the unthinkable happened...

"What the hell is going on here?" a loud male voice shouted, and I looked up and saw the face of an angry, screaming Arab glaring at me, shining a flashlight into the car. I gasped in shock, as did Zainab, and I howled in pain, for, um, she kind of clamped down on my Johnson if you catch my drift. Zainab pulled her mouth off of my now sore dick, and then I was grabbed by the collar, punched and dragged out of the car by her father, Saleh Al-Masri.

"You're going to pay for this, you filthy bastard!" Saleh yelled, and then he tried to stomp my head into the ground. Caught by surprise, I nevertheless attempted to defend myself. Fortunately, Zainab managed to get her father off of me. Bloody, with my vision blurry, and my pants unzipped, I watched as Zainab attempted to restrain her enraged father.

"Run, Mo, I'll hold him off," Zainab said, right before Saleh smacked her. This time, I hurled myself at him. I tackled Saleh, and we wrestled furiously. Someone must have called the police because they came and we were both arrested. I was let go the next day, and no charges were filed against me because the Ottawa Police didn't want another "honor crime" case.

Zainab and I found ourselves on the lam, as both of our families found this whole situation scandalous. In the end, the pressure proved too much for us. I returned home, to face hell from my father. Zainab's family shipped her off to Quebec and I never saw her again. I sincerely hope she's still alive. The Arabs are crazy, man. Truly cray-cray. Wouldn't put it past her psycho father Saleh Al-Masri to try to murder her over me.

That's how things went in my first relationship, ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes I wonder what I was doing when my life went to hell. Zainab, the only woman I've ever had sexual or romantic feelings for is gone, removed from my life by the forces of racism, xenophobia and tradition. Abu, the one guy I thought would be a safe outlet for my 'masculine' urges turned out to be a creep. Ah, the wonderful and exciting life of a bisexual Somali Muslim male in Ottawa, eh?

Oh, and my caring father Abdullahi Shire just kicked me out of our house because he discovered I'm not straight. I'm crashing on my buddy Ismail's couch, and I'm down to four hundred dollars in my TD Bank Account until the next payday from the security company I work for. I remember a meme I saw online the other day. I don't need sex, life screws me every day. Sad but true. Wish me luck, will you? I am definitely going to need it!

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,118 Followers
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
Share this Story

story TAGS

Similar Stories

Bisexual Men At Work Bisexual man proves both sexes love anal sex. in Group Sex
The Witch and the Incubus Ch. 01 A young woman is ensnared by a demon as his sex slave.in NonHuman
Transcript Author's half of a very stimulating cyber session.in Letters & Transcripts
Lingerie for Rod She finds out what Rod really likes - & she likes it, too.in Fetish
Baby and The Stranger My master watches while his Lesbian friend dominates me.in BDSM
More Stories