Soleil Des Iles Encounter

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Somali Hijabi has sex with Haitian guy in Vanier.
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Samuelx
Samuelx
2,123 Followers

Summer has finally come to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, after the coldest winter ever. Personally, while everyone is complaining about the blistering heat which chokes the Canadian Capital, I am loving every moment of it. I absolutely love the heat, and I wish them White folks would shut the hell up and enjoy the bright sunlight. Can't be winter forever, dammit!

My name is Samira Ibrahim and I'm a young Muslim woman of Somali and Moroccan descent living in the Vanier sector. Everyone talks bad about Vanier like it's the hood, full of drug dealers and prostitutes. The truth is that it's actually a nice place full of hard-working people. It's not all crime and bullshit. Vanier is a working-class neighborhood if you ask me.

Perhaps I have a bias because I'm a Francophone and no spot in the City of Ottawa is more French-friendly than Vanier. I was born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, and love my francophone roots. I miss la belle province but for now, the City of Ottawa is home. I'm in the MBA program at Carleton University and I'm not leaving the province of Ontario until I complete my degree. Color me ambitious, I guess.

Clad in a bright red and blue T-shirt featuring the Montreal Canadiens logo, a long Black skirt and a modest ebony Hijab, I looked damn good and I absolutely knew it. My father, Yousef Ibrahim is originally from the City of Mogadishu, Somalia, and met my mother, Mariam Fakri, while studying at the University of Montreal in the 1980s. My mother was born in Marrakesh, Morocco, and moved to Quebec for University studies. They hit it off, got married and had little old me.

I've often been told that I stand out in a crowd, and it's largely due to my great height. I stand six feet two inches tall, with light brown skin and almond-shaped golden brown eyes. My features are a beautiful blend of Northeast African and Arabian, thanks to my truly unique parentage. You don't often see Somali men with Moroccan women, or Arab women of any nationality, for that matter. That's a peculiar thing in the Muslim world.

Lots of Muslim men, from places like the Arab world, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Indonesia often marry African Muslim women but those same men don't like when women from their communities get with African Muslim men. My father told me that when he met with my mother's Moroccan parents, they were less than thrilled to see their precious daughter in love with a Somali guy. Even though the Holy Koran states that Muslims of all colors should marry one another and form one gloriously diverse Islamic community or Ummah.

When I'm out with my parents, we get stared at a lot. For the most part, it's White Canadians staring at us but Muslims of all shades look at us as well. We are different with a capital T. The interracial Muslim couple with their awkwardly tall daughter. Welcome to my life. I ignore the bozos who stare at me and my family. Since us Muslims tend to have larger families than White Canadians, and our reproductive rate is second to none, someday we'll be the majority in Canada. Just you wait and see.

That fine Sunday morning, I went for a walk from my spot off of Overbrook all the way to Prince Albert Street, before making my way to this quaint little Haitian restaurant called Soleil Des Iles. In French, it means "Sun of the Islands". I absolutely love Haitian food, and Soleil Des Iles is one of the best. There's another reason why I like going there, and it has to do with Jean-Claude, one of the regulars.

Six months ago, I was walking down Mac Arthur Avenue after doing some shopping at Loblaw's supermarket one late evening when something real bad happened. You see, Vanier used to be a mostly White, French Canadian town, until a lot of us visible minorities started arriving in the 1990s. We came from Somalia, Morocco, Algeria, Djibouti, and a bunch of other countries. Slowly, we spread until we became the majority. Now Vanier is a mostly minority area, and lots of White folks don't like it.

I was walking on my way home, with bags full of groceries in my hands, and that's when a trio of racist White dudes attacked me. They grabbed me and started pulling at my clothes, trying to get my Hijab off of my head. I struggled mightily but the fools were too much for me. I thought I was done for, and saw hatred and anger on their pale, jeering faces.

That's when a tall, dark-skinned young man stepped out of the shadows and slammed into my three attackers. The three bigoted bozos were caught by surprise and the young man waded right into them. I picked up my handbag and hurled it into one of the bozos faces, and the dude howled in pain. I kicked him in the balls and he fell to his knees.

My savior fought off the other two, and then he told me we had to leave. Like a daring vigilante in the night, or better yet, like an anonymous superhero, my rescuer escorted me to safety. Before leaving, I told him my name and he revealed himself to me. Jean-Claude, I repeated to myself as I watched the tall, dark-skinned young man as he vanished into the darkness. The brother vanished utterly, like an apparition. I was amazed, and simply awed.

Imagine my surprise when I went to my favorite restaurant, Soleil Des Iles to grab some Haitian food the next day, and saw Jean-Claude standing at the counter, impatiently waiting for the griot he'd ordered. My heart thundered in my chest, and I looked into Jean-Claude's eyes. Truly it was him, my savior, and I saw recognition in his eyes.

Jean-Claude smiled at me, and extended his hand for me to shake. Even though pious, Hijab-wearing Muslim sisters like myself don't usually shake hands with males, I broke with protocol and shook Jean-Claude's hand. Thus we were formally introduced, Jean-Claude and I. Smiling, I looked at the tall, dark-skinned, ruggedly handsome young Haitian man. Damn, Jean-Claude looked good in his red silk shirt, blue jeans and boots. When Jean-Claude asked me to join him for lunch, I happily acquiesced. Thus began the romance destined to change my life.

Jean-Claude and I met at Soleil Des Iles, and ate some delicious Haitian food while watching television, then I excused myself and went to the restaurant basement. Five minutes later, Jean-Claude joined me downstairs. Once we were alone in that filthy, cool, darkened basement, Jean-Claude and I got our freak on. My Haitian stud can't get enough of his favorite Hijabi, and I wouldn't have it any other way...

Jean-Claude and I kissed passionately, and then he boldly pulled me on top of him. Feverishly he kissed my breasts once I freed them from my bra. I whispered into Jean-Claude's ear, letting him know that I wasn't wearing any panties. Jean-Claude grinned, and slid his hands underneath my traditional Islamic long skirt. I gasped as I felt Jean-Claude's fingers slide into my wet, hairy pussy. I am a naughty Muslim chick, and my Haitian Christian boyfriend Jean-Claude absolutely loves that about me. We're freaky like that.

I lay on top of a filthy table, my traditional Islamic skirt lifted, my Hijab still on, as Jean-Claude buried his face between my legs and licked my pussy. I moaned softly and rubbed Jean-Claude's head as he licked my pussy, fingering me and sending hot tendrils of pleasure coursing throughout my core. Jean-Claude's tongue teased my clitoris, and soon I was crying out his name, orgasmic, in every language I damn well knew. What can I say? My man rocks!

Afterwards, Jean-Claude put me on all fours, spanked my big Muslim butt, and then eased his long and thick, uncircumcised Haitian dick into my cunt. I licked my lips, loving the feel of Jean-Claude's big dick inside my pussy. Furiously he fucked me, slamming his dick roughly into my pussy. I cried out, I moaned, I squealed and I howled as I got fucked. Jean-Claude got me right where he wanted, and we both knew it. My boo fucked me real good till he came, exploding inside of me.

Panting and moaning, Jean-Claude and I were still at it in the basement of Soleil Des Iles restaurant, until the noise we made attracted attention from upstairs. You should have seen the look on the little old Haitian lady's face when she saw Jean-Claude and I fucking. Gasping, the old broad ran back upstairs. Jean-Claude and I laughed and hastily readjusted our clothes, then did the walk of shame as we left the restaurant, with everyone staring at us. Oh, well. I don't apologize for having passion in my life. I'm a biracial Muslim woman who loves the D! If you don't like it, you can kiss my ass.

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,123 Followers
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