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Black Muslim Lesbian Love Story

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“Stop talking shit about my religion, you lesbian feminist witch!” Those were the first words my future girlfriend Nabila Yassin ever said to me. Most of you would assume that things wouldn’t bode well for us, and this is where you’d be wrong. Absolutely wrong. The most passionate couples out there argue the most, and clashing isn’t always a bad thing. It translates into a lot of fire in the bedroom, let me tell you.

My name is Christina Mathieu, and I was born in the City of Kingston, Ontario, to a Haitian immigrant father and a French Canadian mother. My parents come from radically different worlds but they made their relationship and produced not so little and not so old me. Six feet two inches tall, athletic, brown-skinned, short-haired, green-eyed, tomboyish and fearless, and ragingly and openly lesbian, that’s me. I study Criminal Law at Carleton University.

I’ve sometimes been called arrogant, and that amuses me. Is there something wrong with being outspoken? Don’t answer that. I am simply a product of my environment. I grew up in the City of Kingston, Ontario, a fairly homogenous town where ninety nine percent of the people you meet are white. Do you have any idea what it was like to grow up the daughter of an interracial couple in such an environment?

My father Christopher James Mathieu is black, and works as a police constable with the Kingston Police Service. Not an easy job for a person of color, even in the twenty-first century, let me tell you. Small-town Canadians are notoriously xenophobic, though they often hide it behind a polite smile. Polite doesn’t mean good or open-minded, ladies and gentlemen. Polite simply means polite, at the end of the day.

Since Dad was born in the town of Cap-Haitien, on the island of Haiti, and came to Canada during his college days, he’ll never be Canadian enough for some people. The fact that he was born outside the country, and is non-European extraction, that’s something they can never get over. Never mind that my father loves Canada and has been a citizen for some time. To a lot of people in Canada, “real” Canadians are white Canadians.

My mother, Leanne Lapierre-Mathieu, born and raised in the City of Montreal, Quebec, and was doing her graduate studies in sociology at Queen’s University in Kingston in 1989 when she met my father, who was an international student at the time, and they fell in love and got married. My mother teaches sociology at Queen’s University these days, by the way. I’ve never met my maternal grandparents because they cut my mother off after finding out she’d fallen in love with a black man. Yup, that’s the kind of family I hail from. I am a fighter by nature.

Which brings me back to the story of my first meeting with my Muslim life partner, Nabila Yassin. We clashed over our differences, to be sure. Alright, maybe clashed is putting things a bit mildly. Nabila and I got into a shouting match in class, and after class, the diminutive yet gorgeous young Yemeni-Canadian Muslim diva ( hey, she deserves the title of diva, seriously ) basically got in my face. That’s okay, though. I like my women fiery.

“Nabila, I’ve got nothing against Islam, I respect your religion, I just don’t like it when insecure men use religion and cultural norms to control women,” I replied hotly, and the short, curvy young Yemeni woman glared at me angrily. I should mention that we were in the middle of a heated classroom debate at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario.

The class, Law And Society, taught by professor Joelle Harding, one of a few black faculty members tokat escort at our school, seemed destined for controversy. Discussing Islam and feminism is like a powder keg, I swear. Look, I’m not dumb enough to believe that feminism can solve all of the world’s problems. Plenty of white feminists I’ve met on the Carleton campus and beyond are just as racist as the worst redneck bozo you can imagine, if not more so. Still, the way that women are treated in certain countries irks me and I believe in speaking out against injustice. Unfortunately, that sometimes mean clashing with other women.

“Look, I think we both have a lot of passion for these issues, we don’t have to be at odds on women’s rights, we should talk about this and try to find a compromise,” I said hesitantly, and Nabila looked me up and down. Clad in a brown leather jacket over a black turtleneck shirt, blue jeans and boots, her dark hair hidden by a black Hijab, Nabila looked really good. This Yemeni gal is only five-foot-five, but I swear, when she gets mad, she looks like she might go toe to toe with the Hulk himself. I won’t lie to you, I found her anger and passion a tad bit intimidating…and a bit of a turn-on.

“Okay, Christina, we should continue this discussion some other time,” Nabila said, and then she took out her cell phone. My heart skipped a beat, and then, I dictated my digits to her. Nabila then sent me a ping, and told me to save her number, then she walked away. I watched Nabila as she walked down the hall, and turned around a corner, before disappearing from my line of sight. Feisty and bossy with a nice ass, I thought with a smile.

Three days later, Nabila and I sat inside the Starbucks located inside the Carleton campus library, and spent the next three hours talking about everything from campus politics to sports, and of course, feminism and Islam. I found her charming and friendly, and not at all the religious hardball I’d previously imagined. Oh, and I should mention, Nabila looked smoking hot in a red shirt featuring Montreal Canadiens defenceman P.K. Subban, black jeans and boots, with a dark gray hijab.

“You’re not at all what I expected, I’d never figure you for a Montreal Canadiens fan,” I said, laughing, and Nabila flashed me that fearless smile of hers, and I found myself thinking about how cute she looked, and I noticed her full lips, and the tawny tone of her skin, and her lively, golden brown eyes gaze at me with an intensity that I found, well, almost unbearable. In a good way, though.

“See, Christina, I was born in Yemen but raised in Canada, I love this country, but I can’t turn my back on my culture or my Islamic faith,” Nabila said, and for some reason, her voice trembled slightly. Out of concern, I gently laid my hand on hers, and Nabila looked at me, and suddenly I was worried that I might have crossed the line, and as I tried to mumble an apology, Nabila smiled and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Nabila, my pops is from the Caribbean, people are kind of touchy in his culture,” I said, by way of apology, and Nabila grinned, and then laid her hand on mine, and looked into my eyes. My heart skipped a beat, and I pursed my lips, and Nabila slowly nodded, answering a question I never voiced, and a fierce joy soared through me.

“Yes I am, yes, and um, I don’t mind touching,” Nabila said slyly, and I found myself smiling from ear to ear. Nabila and I were in a crowded Starbucks around lunchtime, but I swear, it felt like we were the only people in there. I smiled at her and she smiled at me, and that’s when tokat escort bayan I knew that I’d met the woman destined to change my life. We were as different as can be, but fuck it, that’s okay.

“Well, you’re full of surprises, Nabila, I’d certainly like to get to know you better,” I said to her, trying my best to display my trademark fearlessness, even though inside, I was melting. Nabila smiled at me, and her face drew closer to mine, and she slowly let out her breath, and we were so close that I could smell her mint, but we did not kiss. The damn teaser brought her face inches from mine, and she smiled with mischief, and then casually shrugged.

“Cool,” Nabila said, and I smiled and nodded. A couple days later, we went to see the Johnny Depp movie Black Mass at the Silver City movie theater in the east end of Ottawa. The movie was alright, but to tell you the truth, don’t ask me much about it because I wasn’t paying attention. Not with a smoking hot Nabila sitting next to me, clad in a black turtleneck shirt, black hijab, and a black leather miniskirt with black yoga pants underneath and black leather boots. Hmmm, I’m starting to think Miss Yemen here has a leather fetish. That’s hot!

After the movie, Nabila and I went to grab a bite at the nearby Blair Mall, and then went for a walk. Nabila was something else, folks. A feisty gal from the City of Dhamar, Yemen who was raised in the City of Montreal, my mother’s hometown, and moved to the City of Ottawa to study bio-engineering at Carleton University. A cutie, a smarty pants and a cultural crusader, pardon the pun, all rolled into one hot little package. I am starting to like this gal.

“Damn you’re beautiful,” I said bluntly, and across the table, Nabila smiled then sipped on her Pepsi. I looked at her, and found myself positively enthralled by this beautiful, friendly yet mysterious young woman. I had never met anyone like Nabila before, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she was from Yemen, or a Muslim, and everything to do with the fact that she was beautiful, unique and fearless. A rather unforgettable person.

“Right back at you,” Nabila whispered, and then, surprising the hell out of me, Nabila leaned closer, and I gasped as she grabbed me and then started to kiss me. I kissed her right back, and was quite surprised that rather than the ingénue I was expecting, Nabila kissed me deeply and passionately, her tongue dancing in my mouth like she’d been kissing women her entire life. Hot damn, she’s a good kisser!

“You are full of surprises, Nabila, what on earth am I going to do with you?” I whispered once we came up for air, and she smiled at me and shrugged. The two of them were all smiles as we walked out of the mall, an hour later, and then headed back to campus. We were joking and laughing as we boarded the number four bus heading to Carleton University, and didn’t even notice the time fly by. We found ourselves on campus, and unsure what to do. Why must good times end?

“Come over for a nightcap, my dear, ” Nabila whispered in my ear, and I smiled. Alright, normally I don’t go home with girls after the first date, but fuck it, there was something almost electrical between Nabila and I, and I didn’t want to go against the current, so to speak. I acquiesced, and Nabila and I shared our second kiss of the night. The second of many, I might add.

Half an hour later, Nabila and I were in bed together, making sweet love to one another. Slowly we undressed, and began exploring each other. Nabila looked absolutely stunning escort tokat with her long hair flowing on her shoulders, the Hijab gone for once. Hot body on her too, by the way. Passionately Nabila kissed me, and I kissed her back. Gently I caressed her breasts, and felt her small, sleek hands caressing my body. Lord, the smell of her, and the sheer loveliness of her curvy body. I wanted her and couldn’t get enough of her, my sweet Nabila.

“Christina, my beautiful Christina, please let me taste you,” Nabila said, and I smiled hesitantly. Grinning, Nabila kissed my lips, then her fingers slid into my pussy, and she brought her fingers to her lips, then to mine. Nabila buried her face between my thighs, and I felt her tongue on my clit, and shuddered in pleasure as she began exploring me.

Alright, so I’m butch-identified, and usually the one in control in bed, but fuck it, this time it was different. I absolutely hate feeling vulnerable. The butch chick who dons the strap-on and fucks the hell out of her girlfriends, that’s me. Yet for some reason, with Nabila, I found myself feeling almost eager to open up. When Nabila worked two fingers into my pussy, and licked it vigorously, I opened myself up to her and cried out in sheer pleasure.

“Nabila, fuck me, I want you to,” I said, my words coming out almost as a hiss, and the gorgeous Yemeni gal looked at me and smiled, then nodded. Kissing me, Nabila worked three fingers into my pussy, and then pinched my nipples with her other hand. I urged her to pinch them harder, and Nabila laughed and happily obliged me. Lord, I love the rough stuff, and it seems I’ve found a gorgeous femme who can dish it out to me.

“Oh, cutie, if you like it rough, we’re totally going to get along, now get on all fours,” Nabila said in a bossy tone I found so damn sexy. Happily I got on all fours, face down and ass up. Nabila slapped my ass, and then began licking my pussy from behind. I cried out in pleasure as I felt Nabila’s tongue in my cunt, even while one of her fingers slid into my ass. Um, I love butt sex, mostly giving but also sometimes receiving. Frigging hot, that’s what it is.

“Yes ma’am,” I heard myself cry out, and an increasingly bold Nabila grabbed my short hair and yanked my head back even while shoving three fingers into my cunt, then a fourth. I actually squealed ( that’s right, butch women can squeal, fuck you if you don’t like it ) in delight as Nabila fucked me. The short cutie from Yemen didn’t let up and fucked me silly until I frigging tapped out. Femme fucked the hell out of butch, and butch loved it. You heard it here, first!

“Ah, the things I am going to do with you, my tall Amazon,” Nabila said as she gathered me in her arms, and I smiled and kissed her. Nabila kissed me back, and then we lay there on my bed, basking in the afterglow of a hot fuck which was actually something more. I don’t do this with every queer or bisexual chick I meet. I am actually quite selective, thank you very much.

“Well, I definitely want to see more of you, if that’s okay,” I said to Nabila smiled and kissed me, and then nodded. The Yemeni cutie then asked me for permission to smoke, and I happily granted it. I don’t smoke, and as a student-athlete, I am something of a health nut, but I don’t mind smokers. Imagine my surprise when Nabila pulled out a weed stick, and lit up.

“You and I are going to be fabulous together, my tall and wonderfully argumentative Amazon feminist cutie with the fantastic booty,” Nabila said, gently caressing my bare, and rather thick high-yellow ass, and I laughed and slapped her thigh. Nabila grinned, and took a hit off her blunt, and winked at me. And just like that, we began round two of our sexual explorations. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how I met my future wife. We’re an interracial and interfaith lesbian couple on the Carleton campus. Don’t like us? Fuck you sideways!

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