Sharifa Fetieh of Saudi Arabia

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Saudi widow falls for Black man in Houston, TX.
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Samuelx
Samuelx
2,118 Followers

"So, where are you from, Sharifa?" said Kirsten Fontaine, the tall, forty-something, blonde-haired White woman with the frosty smile as she looked at Sharifa Fetieh with all the affection one typically shows to a scurrying cockroach spotted when the kitchen light comes on. This one doesn't like me, Sharifa thought as Kirsten looked at her Hijab, and sighed. So much for the myth of the uber-friendly Canadian...

The thirtysomething Saudi Arabian Muslim woman sighed, for she'd seen that look before. A lot of Canadians, women especially, tended to gawk at Hijab-wearing Muslim women like her. It most definitely took some getting used to. Of course, Sharifa learned to ignore such looks, put on a smile, and go about her day. For the sake of her sanity, and accomplishing her goals, of course...

"I'm from Dammam, Saudi Arabia, and I am here to find a job," Sharifa stated, hoping she wouldn't have to repeat herself because the woman didn't get her words due to her accent. Kirsten pursed her lips and looked at Sharifa's list of IDs. Her Saudi passport had been kept by the Canadian Border Services Agency when she entered the country through Fort Erie, at the border separating Canada from America. Since then, Sharifa only had the Ontario provincial photo card she'd made at City Hall, and her OC Transpo bus pass. Sharifa desperately hoped that these would be enough...

"Alright, Sharifa, here at the employment opportunity center, we help people find jobs and get off social assistance, we will find you something," Kirsten said, and Sharifa slowly nodded. The woman's words seemed hopeful enough, and Sharifa supposed that she ought to be grateful that they sent a lady instead of some man who might ask weird questions about her Islamic dress code and whatnot. Still, Sharifa couldn't help but feel uneasy, for Kirsten's eyes seemed truly cold.

When the U.S. government denied her asylum claim, Sharifa felt wracked with deep despair. The runaway Saudi woman didn't know what to do. A friend suggested that she ought to try her luck in Canada, since, supposedly, Canada was friendlier to refugees, especially the Muslim ones, than the United States of America. Sharifa fervently wished she'd come to America during the Obama years, instead of right after these golden years ended, but there was no sense crying over spilt milk and no way to turn back time.

What's done is done, Sharifa thought resignedly. As Kirsten looked through seemingly random files and then typed on her computer, Sharifa looked around for a bit. Inside the social services office/employment opportunity center located on Catharine Street in downtown Ottawa, Ontario, lots of people were milling about. A tall Native man was printing something, several young Black men were using the computers, and a woman who looked Persian was speaking in the wall phone. Looks like I'm in the right spot, Sharifa thought bitterly.

Two years ago, Sharifa Fetieh was leading a very different life. The daughter of a wealthy Saudi Arabian Muslim family, Sharifa married Sheikh Amir Ali, the eldest son of a Saudi Judiciary official, thus elevating her status further. Eight years into their marriage, Sharifa accompanied her husband Sheikh Amir Ali to Dubai, on what was supposed to be a vacation. It was a trip that would change their lives, for all the wrong reasons...

While gambling inside one of the Arab world's biggest casinos, Sheikh Amir Ali ran afoul of some unsavory types, and got himself killed. Fearing for her life, Sharifa fled the country, and booked a flight for Paris, France. Knowing the power of vendettas in the Arab world, Sharifa knew that her slain husband's enemies wouldn't rest until she was dead as well. Sharifa moved from place to place, going from France to the United States, where her asylum claim was denied. That's how she ended up in Ontario, Canada, trying to start a new life.

"Alright, Sharifa, do you have any marketable skills?" Kirsten asked, and Sharifa exhaled sharply, then nodded. She was expecting this question. In Canada like elsewhere, one's capabilities mattered a great detail. All of a sudden Sharifa was thankful that her beloved father, Hussein Fetieh, sent her to study at the University of Bristol in the United Kingdom. While there, Sharifa earned a bachelor's degree in Aerospace Engineering from the prestigious Faculty of Engineering.

"Well, I do have an Engineering degree from Bristol University, that's in the United Kingdom, you know," Sharifa said, smiling wickedly, and she proudly pulled out her diploma, and transcripts, which she'd had shipped over from Saudi Arabia while staying in America. Kirsten looked at the diploma, and remained nonplussed, but there was something different in her eyes when they next met Sharifa's, and that something caused the beleaguered but stoic Saudi woman to smile with satisfaction.

Sharifa discretely looked at the wall behind Kirsten and saw a diploma from Algonquin College there. Whatever, Sharifa thought, careful to keep her face neutral. The young Saudi woman hadn't been in Canada long but she had a fair idea of what many of the locals were like. In America, if you had talent and a bit of luck, you could achieve anything. Just look at Obama and Michael Jordan and Oprah Winfrey. In Canada, Sharifa sensed that things would indeed be different.

While on the run from her husband's killers, Sharifa moved a lot around the United States. By far, her favorite place was Houston, Texas, where she'd met a most remarkable person whom she considered a kindred soul. A smile creased Sharifa's face as she thought of Raphael Grant, the tall, dark and handsome young Black man whom she met while utilizing the University of Houston library computers to do research on her then-pending immigration case with the American authorities.

"Hola, se habla Espanol? Soy Raphael," the tall, handsome and well-dressed young man said, as he sat next to Sharifa. On that day, Sharifa had a long summer dress, and her Hijab was concealed by the sombrero given to her by her Latina neighbor Maria Alonzo. She looked at the handsome, dark-skinned young man who sat there, smiling, and a bit too close for comfort...at the time.

"Um, Salaam, no I don't speak Spanish, and my name is Sharifa," a somewhat peeved Sharifa replied, and Raphael kept on smiling, then held out his hand for her to shake. Sharifa, a Muslim woman born and raised in the City of Dammam, Saudi Arabia, the very heartland of Islam, hesitated briefly, then shook the stranger's hand, breaking centuries of Islamic protocol. Raphael, well-meaning but clueless, would only learn of such things later on.

"Oh snap, I thought you were Mexican, you look like you're from there, but your accent is all wrong," Raphael said, and Sharifa bit her lip. A lot of people thought of Saudi Arabian Muslim women like myself as soft and sweet, the eternally oppressed and forever veiled ladies from the other side of the world who had zero rights, and lived under male oppression. Of course, such people had never met Sharifa Fetieh, a particularly feisty gal who didn't suffer no fools...

"Listen, buddy, I'm from Saudi Arabia, not frigging Mexico," Sharifa heard herself all but hiss at Raphael, before she resumed typing on the library computer. The young man looked at her, stunned, and then resumed smiling. He pulled a book out of his backpack, and then logged onto his computer. Sharifa glanced at him, and saw that Raphael was looking up Saudi Arabia on the web. He pulled up the webpage, tapped on Sharifa's table to get her attention, and flashed her that fearless smile of his before he spoke some more.

"Wow, Sharifa, if the ladies of your homeland all look like you and this Princess Amira person, I just might join your religion and move there," Raphael said, and then he sighed deeply, and burst out laughing. Sharifa looked at Raphael, then at the picture of famed Saudi Arabian royal Princess Amira Al-Taweel. In spite of herself, Sharifa actually smiled. The thought of this naïve African American guy, totally clueless about Islamic norms, or the prejudices of the Arab world, gallivanting about her homeland actually made her laugh.

"Buddy, you wouldn't last ten minutes there," Sharifa said, grinning, and Raphael looked at her, and grinned, and then pestered her with questions about the Saudi world, and about Islam. Sharifa should have told Raphael off. He was a stranger, he was socially awkward even for an American, and he didn't seem to get the concept of personal space. Still, he was funny and friendly, and she soon realized that he was harmless...mostly.

"You looked like you could use a friend, sister, nice to meet you, do come back to campus sometime," Raphael said to Sharifa, a couple of hours later, as he excused himself, bade her farewell, and then exited the University of Houston library. Sharifa nodded, and wished him goodnight. She watched the tall, handsome, swaggering young African American student with the thick Afro and fearless smile, and shook her head. African American men are something else, Sharifa thought.

"Sharifa, are you there?" Kirsten said, and Sharifa blinked, the woman's shrill voice snatching her out of her little trip down memory lane. The young Saudi woman looked at the employment center employee, and nodded, wishing the lady hadn't gotten so damn loud. You interrupted a rather pleasant daydream of mine, bitch, Sharifa thought, somewhat bitterly.

"I'm right here, Miss Fontaine, no need to yell, Wallahi," Sharifa replied, and Kirsten shot her a look, then launched into a tirade. Sharifa didn't understand all of it, as Kirsten switched back and forth between English and French, but the woman's tone of voice and body language said it all. Sharifa sighed, and then told Kirsten to go fuck herself before walking out of the employment agency with her head held high...

Sharifa took a deep breath as she crossed the street, and waited for the OC Transpo bus. She boarded a bus which was going to Carleton University via Catharine Street, and even though it was going in the wrong direction, Sharifa wanted to get warm since she was freezing. The snow had started to fall. Sharifa sat in the middle of the crowded bus, and took out her headphones, plugged them into her old Blackberry and began listening to her favorite song, Something Evil, by the alternative band Psy'Aviah. Her favorite singer, Moroccan icon Mona Roukachi, was featured in the video. The video wouldn't play, and, frustrated, Sharifa ripped the headphones off her damn ears...

"Are you alright, sister?" came an Arabic-speaking female voice, and Sharifa looked up, to see a dark-haired, bronze-skinned young woman looking at her with concern. Sharifa looked at the gal and smiled, and then blinked in surprise when she saw whom the gal was with. A tall young Black man with a shaved head and a slick mustache, clad in a Carleton University football sweatshirt.

"Salaam, I'm fine, thank you," Sharifa said, and then she looked at the unlikely young couple, before telling them that they looked good together. The young woman, who looked Lebanese, or perhaps Syrian, seemed surprised by Sharifa's words. Sharifa grinned and then flipped through her phone's photo gallery, and pulled out a picture which was dear to her.

"You two remind me of my Raphael and I," Sharifa said, and the young couple exchanged a smile. As the bus rolled on through the streets of Ottawa south, barreling through the snow on its way to the not so distant campus of Carleton University, Sharifa got to know the young couple. They were very interesting, to say the least...

"I'm Habiba and this is Omar, we met in World Literature class and have been together ever since," the young Arab woman said, smiling at Sharifa, and her boyfriend, Omar lovingly wrapped his arms around her. A lot of the other passengers on the bus, students mostly, were staring at Omar and Habiba, but the young interracial Muslim couple paid them no heed. Sharifa admired their courage, and spunk...

"Have a good day, see you around, Insha'Allah," Sharifa said, and she waved at Omar and Habiba as they got off the bus in front of the Minto Center. Sharifa got off as well, and boarded the O-Train, heading to South Keys, where she lived. Sitting on the train, Sharifa smiled to herself as her thoughts drifted away from her mundane existence in the City of Ottawa, back to an earlier, somewhat happier time...

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Raphael said to Sharifa as they sat inside Frenchy's Chicken, a nice little restaurant located on Scott Street, near the University of Houston. It was a gorgeous day in Southeast Texas, and somehow, Raphael talked Sharifa into venturing someplace other than the library, or her immediate neighborhood, or the legal aide office. And you know what? Sharifa actually enjoyed herself.

"You're the first person to make me smile in a long time," Sharifa said to Raphael as they dined, and the brother smiled and nodded. It was two weeks after they met, and they'd become fast friends. At first, they only met in the school library, and then when Sharifa got more comfortable with Raphael, they ventured further. Raphael invited her to grab a bite at the restaurant where he worked, and Sharifa ended up having a blast...

"Sharifa, my friend, Texan cooking will put a smile on anyone's face," Raphael replied, and Sharifa winked at him. She looked at Raphael, who looked handsome in his Black leather jacket over his red silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black dress shoes. He'd recently twisted his hair into cornrows, and although Sharifa wasn't used to such exotic hairstyles, she had to admit that the look absolutely suited Raphael...

"Thank you for this," Sharifa said, and Raphael looked at her, and for once, he wasn't smiling. Gently he brushed his hand against hers, and nodded. Sharifa looked at his hand on hers, and smiled, but said nothing. When she looked into his eyes, she saw an intensity that surprised her. Raphael is just a friend and we are simply hanging out, Sharifa silently told herself.

"Sharifa, if you ever need anything, come to me," Raphael said to her, after they went for a stroll around the beautiful City of Houston, Texas, after dinner. Sharifa looked at the handsome brother who was escorting around one of America's most beautiful metropolitan areas, and smiled. Raphael was something else. A civil engineering student at the University of Houston, a lover of exotic as well as local cuisine, and a wonderful soul. What a man, Sharifa thought, as she parted from Raphael's company, then went back to her one-bedroom spot.

Life hadn't been kind to Sharifa Fetieh ever since her husband Sheikh Amir Ali brought her to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. He got himself killed, and left her a widow and a runaway, always looking over her shoulder for vendetta killers. In over a year, Sharifa hadn't allowed anyone, male or female, to get close to her. She'd made few friends, and had no lovers. After being married to Sheikh Amir Ali, a handsome, wonderful and generous but impulsive man, Sharifa didn't think she'd ever crave another man. Until she met Raphael Grant...

"Passion makes the world go around," Sharifa was fond of saying, thinking of her old life of adventure with her slain husband Sheikh Amir Ali. They weren't the typical Saudi couple and liked to travel, and have fun and adventures. Now that he was dead, part of Sharifa would always miss him, and another part craved feeling alive again. Sharifa yearned to feel embraced, and wanted, and loved.

"We only live once, my dear Sharifa, don't hold back from life," Raphael told her one night, after they'd gone on a ride on the Ferris wheel at an amusement park. Sharifa looked at Raphael and nodded understandingly, still giddy from that ride which spun through the air faster than she'd ever thought possible. Raphael promised her a night of fun, and definitely kept his word...

The truth of that statement about life became evident to Sharifa in the hours that followed. They went back to Raphael's place, and Sharifa ended up going on a ride of a different sort. The brother from Houston took her breath away, and slowly brought her out of her shell. Sharifa surprised Raphael, and herself, by responding to his flirtation, and welcoming his advances. That night, they made love for the first time...

"Raphael, be gentle with me, I've never been with anyone other than Sheikh," Sharifa said, and Raphael nodded, and gazed at the lovely, voluptuous woman who lay in bed next to him. Only five-foot-six, Sharifa was curvaceous, nicely thick, with large, firm breasts, wide hips, thick thighs and a big round ass. Everything that Raphael liked in a woman...and more. At last he got to see her without her Hijab, and her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders like a stream. Her hauntingly beautiful brown eyes locked onto him, and she pursed her full lips expectantly...

"You have my word," Raphael said, and then he embraced Sharifa, kissing her full and deep while gathering her in his arms. He began making love to her, well aware that it had been a while for her. Sharifa was tense at first, then she relaxed and enjoyed as Raphael licked her from her head to her toes, his lips sucking on her breasts, his hands roaming all over her curvy body, caressing her sweet spots. When Raphael brought his face between her thighs, Sharifa closed her eyes, anticipating the delights to come...

"Oh yes, go for it, Habibi," Sharifa sighed happily as Raphael worked her over, his fingers stimulating her pussy while he teased her clitoris with his tongue. Raphael took his sweet time as he licked, probed and teased Sharifa's pussy, and she was like putty in his hands, moaning and squirming on the bed, completely in thrall to her ardent lover. Not long after, Sharifa cried out, orgasmic, and Raphael eagerly licked her hot girly cum, loving the taste of her essence flooding his tongue...

As the night rolled on, Raphael and Sharifa explored many pathways to pleasure. Sharifa surprised herself, and Raphael, by orally pleasuring him. Grabbing the brother's dick, Sharifa took him into her mouth. She had never done this before, not even for her late husband Sheikh, ( who considered such an act dirty yet loved to play with her ass ) but she liked Raphael a lot and wanted to please him. Raphael had to give Sharifa some coaching, of course, but in the end, she had his dick harder than a rock...

"You have a beautiful ass, my sweet," Raphael said to Sharifa as she got on all fours, and shook her big ass for him, a wicked smile on her lovely face. Raphael stroked his long, dark dick, watching the big-bottomed, bronze-skinned and raven-haired temptress before him. He went to her, unable to resist any longer. Caressing Sharifa's big ass, Raphael playfully smacked it, and then pushed his dick into her.

"Hmm, at last, fuck me, Habibi," Sharifa squealed, and Raphael grinned, gripping her wide hips tightly as he began fucking her. Sharifa, who hadn't had any in a while, desperately wanted to make up for lost time, and Raphael was just the man to help her out. The brother from Houston showed the curvaceous Saudi Arabian Muslim beauty the true meaning of southern hospitality. He slammed his dick into her pussy so hard, it's almost as if he were trying to brand her. Sharifa cried out, moaned, squealed and shrieked as Raphael pounded away at her, and they fucked well into the night. By the time they stopped, the sky was turning from Black to pink, and dawn was on its way...

"Last stop, ma'am," said the O-Train driver, a tall, dark-haired, sturdy woman in a dark uniform, and Sharifa blinked, temporarily unsure where she was. Lustful daydreams had a way of making her lose track of time and space. The memories of her time in Houston, Texas, were deliciously addictive. Much more interesting than anything she'd experienced or anything she'd met while in Ottawa, Ontario. Nodding at the train conductor, Sharifa grabbed her stuff and exited.

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,118 Followers
12