From Kosovo with Love

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“Listen up, Todd, my name is Naima, if you can pronounce Wasilewska, or O’Rourke, you can definitely say my name right!” I said sharply to my manager, Todd Jenkins, and the portly, red-haired white dude stood there, gawking. And he wasn’t the only one either. Everyone inside the Loblaw’s Supermarket seemed to be staring at me, and for once, I didn’t give a damn.

Never let it be said that I, Naima Ali, let fools walk all over me. I’m five-foot-eight, a bit curvy but fit, with dark brown skin, black hair that I almost always hide away under my Hijab, and chocolate eyes. My friends call me Tiny Tornado because when you piss me off, I let you have it, no matter who you are. Todd here is about to experience the full power of Hurricane Naima…

“Miss Ali, perhaps we should continue this in my office,” Todd said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile like a man trying to save face. You know that manager from hell you see memes about on Facebook? That guy is a pure radiant saint compared to Todd Jenkins, I swear. I’ve never had daydreams about murdering someone until I started working for this bozo.

“Whatever,” I said, and even though I knew Todd was about to fire my ass, I didn’t give anything even close to a damn. I’m a Criminology student at the University of Toronto, and since this town has a problem with intelligent young people of color trying to get ahead, this is the best job I can get while still working on my undergraduate degree. Not that I’ll miss it, mind you. I hate this place more than I can say.

I followed Todd to the office out back, and every cashier and backroom worker looked at me as I walked by. Todd is a really mean dude who makes a habit of abusing his power, especially when dealing with people of color. A lot of people think Toronto is a friendly town with a lot of multiculturalism and all that jazz. The truth is that Toronto is a concrete jungle, and just people half the people living here are of non-European descent doesn’t mean that racism isn’t alive and well.

“I’ve been working here for six months, Todd, and I’ve watched you do nothing but demean people, and I’m sick of it,” I said flatly as Todd looked at me from his seat, a smug smile on his face. I wanted to get up and slap the shit out of Todd but willed myself to be calm. I figured this bozo wasn’t worth it. I knew Todd’s type all too well. That white dude who smiles a lot and flirts with all the minority women at work, but can turn around and be cold and snide to them in a minute, if he feels like it. Even if I weren’t a lesbian, I wouldn’t have touched Todd with a ten and a half foot pole. Seriously.

“Miss Ali, sorry for pronouncing your name wrong, but your outburst was unwarranted, consider this a formal warning, and please go back to your work station,” Todd said, and as I looked into his depthless blue eyes, I saw a coldness that an iceberg couldn’t match. Todd is an establishment guy, backed up by said establishment. People like that don’t lose their cool, they know the game is rigged in their favor.

“Cool,” I said, and I did something which nobody at the Loblaw’s Supermarket had done in the six months since I started working there. I walked out of Todd Jenkins office with my head held high. Three hours later, I was on the bus going to the suburb of Mississauga, where I live. I got off and walked up to my apartment on Hawkesbury Street, not far from the old public library. To add insult to injury, it started to rain right after I got off the bus. Frigging great!

The Hijab on my head did little to protect me from the rain, and I regretted leaving my jacket at home. It started out as a warm and sunny Saturday in early April, you see. That’s what I get for trusting the Ontario weather. I got home, and then took off my clothes, and stepped into the shower. I stood there and ran my hands through my hair, and let the warm water wash over me. How I wished it could wash away all memory of the horrible day I’ve had.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a green tank top. Grabbing the remote, I turned on my Smart TV and looked up free TV series in the On Demand section. I opted to watch the TV series Supergirl. In this episode, Kara Danvers A.K.A. Supergirl finally admits her feelings for Jimmy Olsen, played by the sexy African-American actor Mehcad Brooks, and they shared their first kiss onscreen.

Like a lot of comic book fans, I was surprised to see a black actor portray Jimmy Olsen, one of Superman’s best friends and an enduring icon of DC Comics, but I have to admit Mr. Brooks is doing a good job. As I watched Kara and Jimmy kiss, I felt a longing from deep within. I hate coming home sometimes, for the apartment I share with my beloved is now empty. It’s been three days since my girlfriend Arbena “Abby” Meksi went on a business trip to Ottawa. I sorely miss the lovely Kosovar woman who stole my heart. bursa escort bayan I remember how we met like it was yesterday.

“Excuse me, could you please point me in the Bora Laskin Law Library?” I asked the tall, lovely young woman I saw walking into a Starbucks located near campus. I’d been walking around the University of Toronto campus for a while, and so far, nobody seemed to know where the library was. Like typical Toronto people, the bozos would smile at me and shake their heads, or just ignore me. I’m pretty sure they know, they just don’t want to help me. Fuck them, that’s why.

“Oh, absolutely, I work there, let me just grab my coffee and I’ll show you,” replied the tall brunette with the dark brown eyes and light bronze skin. Clad in a black leather jacket, red turtleneck shirt, blue jeans and black cowgirl boots, she was stunning. I like tall girls, by the way.

The beautiful stranger looked me up and down, and then smiled. Like someone who likes what they see, I think. Unless I am mistaken, that is. When she smiled, it was a genuine smile, not just a stretching of the lips. That’s kind of rare around these parts, believe me. Passive aggression and fake smiles are part and parcel of daily life when you’re a visible minority living in Ontario, I’m afraid.

“Thank you, I’m Naima Ali,” I said, and I held out my hand, which the lovely brunette shook without hesitation. We went into the Starbucks together, and she grabbed an espresso while I got a real coffee with lots of sugar. A few minutes later, my would-be benefactor and I exited the Starbucks together, and that’s when I finally learned her name.

“Oh, silly me, where are my manners? I’m Arbena, but everyone calls me Abby,” she said, and a pleasant frisson coursed through me. I smiled at Abby and nodded at her, and then we walked together through campus. Turns out the law library was not too far from where we were, and Abby even walked me through the doors. I was so unused to such niceness that I didn’t know what to say.

“Good to meet you Naima, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Abby said, and then, out of the blue, the tall, dark-haired white chick gave me a hug. I hugged her back hesitantly, and Abby clapped me on the shoulder, then looked into my eyes. I looked into hers, and don’t ask me how or why, but I knew I was in the presence of someone quite special. Call it a gut feeling, I guess.

“See you around, Insha’Allah,” I said, and I waved Abby goodbye, and I allowed myself a wistful smile as I watched her butt in them jeans. I then walked into the library, to get started on the assignment worth twenty percent of my final grade. I wish I could say that I got started right away, but instead I went to Facebook and looked up Arbena. I found her in ten seconds, and sent her a friend request, which she accepted. That’s how it all began, ladies and gentlemen.

Arbena and I became friends on Facebook, and in real life. We couldn’t be more different. I’m originally from Somalia. My parents Yusuf and Yasmin Ali moved to the City of Toronto from our hometown of Mogadishu in the third summer of my life. I’ve lived most of my life in Canada and, aside from a trip to Minnesota a few years back, I’ve never left Ontario. Getting to know Arbena exposed me to a brand new world…

“I was born in the City of Prizren, Kosovo and my parents are Albanian Muslims, and we moved to Toronto ten years ago,” Abby said, as we walked through Grange Park in downtown Toronto together. We sat at a bench to enjoy some sunshine. Two weeks after we met, Abby and I had become inseparable. We were really something. Two young women, as different as can be, found ourselves fast becoming friends.

“Do you remember much of Prizren? I was born in Mogadishu but can’t remember anything about it,” I said to Abby while sipping on my Pepsi. A faraway look crept into Abby’s brown eyes, and her lips trembled slightly. Her reaction startled me, and I worried I might have said the wrong thing. I have a habit of doing that, because, well, I have quite a mouth on me…

“Oh, sorry about that, Naima, um, I remember Prizren, but I can never go back, my parents and I came to Canada as refugees,” Abby said, and I froze. Seriously, if lightning had struck me, I wouldn’t have been more shocked. When I think of refugees coming to Canada while fleeing political persecution or seeking a better life, I don’t think of tall, athletic white chicks with dark hair and dreamy smiles.

“I didn’t mean to trigger any painful memories in you,” I said, and Abby nodded, and then, in a few short, terse sentences, she gave me the rundown of her family’s journey to Canada. Long ago in eastern Europe, Muslims and Christians clashed in places like Bosnia, the Republic of Kosovo and Albania. After the fall of the Soviet Empire, those small countries faced an identity crisis which turned bloody. Abby and her family görükle escort were caught in the crossfire, and came to Canada in search of a better life.

“Life hasn’t been a bed of roses for me, and my parents and I are estranged, which sucks,” Abby said, and she wrapped her arms around herself and sighed deeply. The conversation was getting a little bit too deep for me, but I was curious about Abby, and couldn’t help myself. It’s been said that curiosity killed the cat, and I am one bad kitty, I guess.

“Why are you guys estranged? I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be estranged from you,” I said, and Abby smiled sadly, and I could tell that she was struggling with something. I gently touched her shoulder, a gesture I hoped she found reassuring and Abby looked at me, that faraway look on her face for a moment, then she licked her lips, then shrugged.

“Naima, we don’t know each other too well, so, what I’m about to tell you must stay between us, for you see, I am gay,” Abby said, and I stared at her, absolutely astonished. Um, let’s just pause for a moment. You see, I have absolutely no gaydar. Unless a woman is super-butch, with short hair, tattoos and rainbow flag buttons on her bag and clothes, I can’t tell what she is. Sucks to be me sometimes.

“Oh wow, I never would have guessed,” I blurted out, and then Abby looked at me, a shocked look on her lovely face. Shaking her head, she got up, and turned to leave. Oh fuck I blew it again, I thought as I got up, and started after her. Abby got about ten meters away from me before I caught up with her. I reached for her arm, and caught it.

“What do you want, Naima? Are you going to stand there and start to lecture me about how being a lesbian is haram and I’m going to hell?” Abby asked vehemently, and her lovely face flushed bright crimson. There was an anger in Abby’s face which stunned the hell out of me, but also quite a bit of pain as well. Were those tears brimming in her brown eyes.

“I’m the last person to judge another woman for her sexuality, not when I got a closet full of secrets of my very own,” I replied, and I swear I heard Abby gasp. I stood there, at the edge of the sunlit park, one of a few green spots in the otherwise uniformly concrete world of downtown Toronto, and waited for Abby’s answer. The tall Kosovar woman looked at me like I had two heads, then understanding dawned in her eyes.

“Oh my, Naima, you mean, you are…like me?” Abby said, and she stood there, her lips trembling slightly. My own words surprised me. You see, when it comes to gayness and lesbianism, they’re things that we Somalis don’t even acknowledge go on within our communities. Somalis living in Great Britain, the U.S. and Canada are a bit more liberal than the ones living in Africa, but trust me, queerness isn’t something many of us admit to. Yet here I was, coming out to a Kosovar woman I barely knew.

“Yes, Abby, I am a woman who loves women, like you,” I said firmly, and Abby smiled, shook her head, and then, all of a sudden, she was standing much closer to me. Grange Park was full of people, but Abby and I didn’t give a damn. I could smell Abby’s perfume, and she looked at me, her eyes boring into mine, searching. I stepped closer, and next thing I knew, our faces were mere inches apart.

“Glad we’re on the same team, Naima,” Abby said, and then she kissed me. I was quite surprised, to tell you the truth, but I just went with it. I kissed Abby back, and she gently put her arms around me and pulled me close. Thus we shared the first of many kisses. A tall white chick and a Hijab-wearing Somali woman, kissing and hugging in the park. Only in a town like metropolitan Toronto, folks.

“Hmmm, I think I really like our team,” I said to Abby, once we came up for air, and Abby smiled at me. Arm in arm, we continued with our leisurely stroll through Grange Park, not caring what anyone thought of us. It’s funny how things happen in this life, seriously. I’ve been closeted my whole life, always lying to family and friends about my true self, and then I met Abby, and everything changed.

Abby showed me what true love is. We moved in together, exactly two months after we met. Yeah, I know, it all seems a little fast but trust me, when you’re with the right person, you simply know. Sure, Abby and I come from different worlds, but so what? Abby is Albanian and I’m Somali, and we’re both Muslim, and lesbians. I’m in Criminology and want to go to law school after doing my undergrad, and Abby is a business major. Oh, and we like each other. The world can think whatever it wants, we’re too busy living to care.

We’ve had a wonderful couple of years together, Abby and I. To my parents, I am simply mad. They hate my guts and no longer speak to me but I don’t care. At least I’m honest with myself. You see, most Somalis see gayness and lesbianism as “social diseases of the West”. I hate bursa escort bayan it when my fellow Somalis say things like that, because we all know better.

Trust me, there’s a lot of gay men and lesbians in African Muslim communities. People hide who and what they are in those communities because they’re afraid, that’s all. The Muslim man or Muslim woman in Africa who screams anti-gay slurs the most is quite likely to be a closet case. I was one of them, until Abby came along. Now, thanks to her, I have love in my life…and passion.

The sound of keys jiggling snatched me out of my thoughts, and I blinked, realizing that the TV show episode was over, and there was someone at the door. I got up, and the door swung open, and I found myself looking at a stunning six-footer clad in a bright red top and black leather dress who could give Wonder Woman a run for her money. Winking at me, Abby dropped her travel bags, and I smiled and went to her.

“Welcome home, Abby, you won’t believe the day I’ve had,” I said, right after I greeted my sweetie with a hug and a kiss. Abby took my face into her hands, and then looked into my eyes. I love it when she does this. Seriously, it’s both a romantic and thoroughly reassuring one. Abby and I were made for each other. She’s calm, even-tempered and easygoing, and I’m hot-blooded and at times, sharp-tongued, but she likes that about me.

“Come here, babe, you can tell me all about it,” Abby said, grinning as she dragged me to the couch, and I sat on her lap. Instantly her hands went to my ass, and I shuddered happily as Abby kissed my neck and throat, and then fixed her eyes on my face. Damn, I’ve been waiting to tell someone about my crappy day at work but you know what? It can definitely wait. Right now, I’m horny as can be!

“You’re insatiable,” Abby whispered, and I grinned, and licked her lips. My woman has a special glow on her when in the bedroom, I swear. I saw a look of pure lust in her eyes. Lying on top of her, I stretched luxuriously, as beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. Abby gave my thick Somali derriere a firm slap, and just like that, we began round two.

“I just want to make up for lost time,” I said to Abby, and then I buried my face between her legs. It’s been three days since I held my sweet Abby in my arms, and incidentally, it’s also been three days since I made love to her. I pushed her back on the couch and a grinning Abby spread her legs wider, granting me greater access. I like to take my sweet time while going down on my woman. I love the way Abby smells and tastes down below.

“Missed you too babe,” Abby whispered, and she rubbed her breasts together as I fingered her cunt while teasing her clit with my tongue. Abby’s entire body shook violently, and her legs twitched this way and that. I stabbed at her clit with my tongue, and buried three fingers inside her cunt. Soon Abby was squealing and crying out in pleasure, and I knew I had her right what I wanted her. I know what my lady likes, what can I say?

“Show me how much you missed me,” I said to Abby as I got on all fours. Abby laughed as I shook my ass from side to side, and then got behind me. I bent low, and spread my ass cheeks wide open. Abby is an ass woman through and true, and the woman I call my Kosovar Amazon can’t get enough of my sweet Somali booty. Luckily I just took a shower, so it’s nice and clean.

“How I love eating that ass,” Abby said, and then she proceeded to do just that. I closed my eyes and purred happily as I felt Abby’s tongue on my asshole. At the same time, Abby slid her fingers into my pussy. This is simply heaven to me right there. When my sweetie eats the booty like it’s groceries. Abby stuck a finger up my ass, then added a second one. Like the kinky freak she is, Abby twisted her fingers in my ass, and I found myself moaning in pleasure.

“Bought this strap-on dildo at Pleasures N Treasures while in Ottawa,” Abby said, much later, after making me cum twice. Seriously, her finger and tongue action on my pussy and ass drove me absolutely nuts. My heart skipped a beat as Abby pulled a strap-on dildo out of her purse, and I grinned as I recognized it. It’s a model I am quite fond of, designed to mimic the penis of well-endowed African-American porn star Sean Michaels.

“Hmm, let’s take it for a test drive,” I said, and I watched as Abby strapped it on, and then we got it on. I climbed on top of Abby and straddled her. My sweetie’s hands reached for my breasts and she pinched my nipples as I slowly impaled my cunt on her strap-on dildo. Abby’s hands went to my hips, and she bucked her hips upward. Time for me to ride this new toy. Soon I was singing a whole different tune as Abby fucked the hell out of me…

“I missed you so much, Naima, it’s good to be home,” Abby said to me, much later, and we exchanged a kiss before going to bed. I missed my sweetie so much. Lying in bed next to Abby, I felt safe at last. All the events of the day, the crap that I went through at work, it all seemed both distant and insignificant now. My life isn’t perfect but it’s the only one that I’ve got. Got my school, my place, my job and last but not least, my darling Abby. And I’ll fight to keep them.

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