“Mr. Gordon, if you don’t come back to the clinic for your follow-up, the immigration medical results won’t be submitted to C.I.C. and your case won’t proceed,” said the receptionist, a red-haired, chubby young white woman with a cold, super-fake smile. I stood in front of the receptionist desk inside Grandview Medical Center, the medical testing facility located on Carling Avenue, and sighed deeply. Dammit, they’ve got me by the frigging balls…
“Understood, um, how much will the follow-up cost me?” I asked tersely, and Miss Plump Redhead flashed a snarky smile and told me. The price was steep and pissed me off, but as a big and tall young black man in a professional setting, I knew I had to keep my cool. The last thing I wanted to do was lose my cool and do or say something that would mess up my chances with immigration. I’m smarter than that.
Thing are never easy for me in the Canadian Capital, I swear. For an international student from Jamaica who works a twelve-dollar-an-hour job as a security guard, forty five bucks for a simple urine test is a lot. My rent costs me five hundred bucks a month, and now that school’s out for the summer, my U-Pass is expired and I’ve got to use that damn Presto Card that makes your money disappear faster than dot-com stock…
“Thank you and have a good day,” I said with a shrug, and then I exited the Grandview Medical Center, coldly gazing at all the nice Canadian folks who get to visit the doctor for free because they have Ontario health cards and I don’t. My last one expired ages ago. Couldn’t renew it with an expired work permit. I reached the lobby, and smiled to myself as I realized that it had started to rain. Great, isn’t that frigging peachy? I walked to the nearest bus stop, intent on riding the 85 bus to the O-Train Station and grab it and get to Carleton University.
Six years ago, I came to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from my hometown of Mandeville, Jamaica. I was nineteen years old at the time. Couldn’t stand living in Jamaica after losing my parents, Nancy Vickers-Gordon and Omar Gordon Sr. to a tragic car accident. I decided to come to Canada to study civil engineering at Carleton University. I stayed with my uncle Geraldo Vickers, my late mother’s younger brother. After that fell through, I moved out, got myself a job, and began making my way into the world…
“As Salam Alaikum, are you alright brother?” came a feminine voice, snatching me out of my murky thoughts. I looked up and blinked, for the stranger who addressed me was…something else. A tall, strikingly beautiful woman stood about a meter from me, smiling and looking at me with concern in her brown eyes. Clad in a black leather jacket over a long traditional Islamic skirt, her hair hidden away by a Hijab, she looked…almost ethereal.
“Um, I’m fine,” I replied, and I took another look at her. The gal appeared to be Somali, and in her late thirties. I looked into that beautiful, smiling face, wondering what I was supposed to say. I’ve been living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, for a while. I came here as a visitor with a student visa and never left. Now I am trying to become a permanent resident, and the immigration costs are killing me. I’m just a student working as a rent-a-cop to pay the bills. I’m a little overwhelmed, that’s all…
“Brother, I saw you come out of the doctor’s office and you looked worried, and sad,” Miss Somalia said, and I bit my lip. Normally, I’d chastise this perfect stranger for blasting her way into my business. That’s the kind of person that I am. Not today, though. I’m feeling blue, and for some reason, talking to this lady actually appealed to me. Go figure, man.
“Today, I feel like the whole world is against me,” I heard myself reply to the strange, lovely lady, and she smiled and for some reason drew closer to me. I’m not big on having people get close to me. I’m the guy who puts his backpack on the seat next to him on a crowded OC Transpo bus…when it’s raining or snowing. I will call you out if you’re near me and sneeze or cough without covering up. And don’t even try to talk to me at the bus stop or on the subway platform. Even if your team has won, or you’re getting hitched, or whatever. I don’t care.
“We all feel like that sometimes,” Miss Somalia replied, still flashing that smile. I nodded, wondering if she would understand if she were in my shoes. When I applied to Citizenship & Immigration Canada to apply for my permanent residence under Humanitarian and Compassionate Grounds, it cost me five hundred and fifty dollars. Now they slapped another fee on me, the four hundred and ninety dollars of the Right of Permanent bahis siteleri Residence Fee. Followed by three hundred dollars for this medical exam. Sheesh, where does it end?
“Sister, I’m from the island of Jamaica, I’m trying to build a life in Canada and the immigration authorities are making a brother jump through hoops,” I blurted out, and Miss Somalia looked at me, and suddenly her smile faded, replaced by a look of empathy. The 85 bus came, and she fumbled with her purse. I nodded at her, and let her go first. I barely noticed the fact that Miss Somalia had a rather thick derriere under her traditional Islamic skirt. That’s the kind of foul mood I’m in…
When my turn came, I took out my Presto Card and pressed it against the machine. I shook my head as the machine went “bleep” and stated that it was low on funds. I took out my wallet and fumbled for change. I had a toonie, and a loonie, and a silver dime, that’s about it. These days, riding the bus costs you three dollars and forty cents. The drivers are super anal about that. Fuck it, can this day get any better?
“It’s alright, brother, I have it,” Miss Somalia said, and as I looked on, amazed, she took out a couple of toonies, dropped it into the tray, and took the paper transfer that came out of the machine and offered it to me. I hesitated briefly and then took it, while Miss Somalia smiled at me. I went to sit in the middle of the bus, my usual spot, and she sat opposite me.
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” I said, and Miss Somalia smiled, and mentioned something about Ramadan being the month of forgiveness and generosity in the Islamic religion. I nodded, and took another look at her. This gal is about six feet tall, beautiful, well-dressed, and super friendly and generous. Even when dealing with a perfect stranger like myself. What’s the matter with her?
“You’re welcome, brother, I’m Nimco Ali, you can call me Nene,” Miss Somalia said, and I smiled and nodded. I was about to offer her my hand to shake, then remembered that Islamic women who dress all conservative and traditional aren’t big on shaking hands with men. Awkwardly I clasped my hands together and nodded respectfully, as though I were meeting the Pope or something. There’s definitely something about that lady…
“I’m Omar Gordon Jr. and my friends call me O.G. most of the time,” I replied, and Nimco, or, ahem, Nene, smiled. Thus I met the most amazing woman I’d ever encountered in my twenty five years upon this earth. As the bus rolled down Carling Avenue, Nene and I spoke, and I learned a bit more about her. Miss Somalia is a volunteer for the local Islamic community, and does a lot of stuff for poor people in Ottawa around Ramadan. Wow, I didn’t know people like that existed…
“Brother Omar, this coming weekend it’s Open Doors across Ottawa, and the West End Islamic Center is open as well, I’m volunteering there Saturday morning, if you want, you can come, it would mean a lot to me,” Nimco “Nene” Ali said to me, flashing that beautiful, fearless smile. I looked at her and smiled, and we both knew that after all she’d done for me, there was no way I could refuse her. I heard accept the invitation, and accepted the card that Nene offered to me…
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sister Nimco, I mean, Nene,” I replied, and Nimco Ali smiled and nodded. I was still staring at her and smiling when the O-Train Stop came, and I had to excuse myself and run off. Nimco waved at me, and I made a beeline for the O-Train. I took the steps three or four at a time, for I’d seen the train pull into the Carling Avenue station. As I got in, I noticed three burly white guys in uniforms, and realized they were fare inspectors. Remembering the transfer that Nimco had given me, I flashed it to them. Nice save, huh?
I reached Carleton University and got off, and even though I bumped into a construction bozo who didn’t excuse himself, I was in such a good mood that I didn’t cuss him out. I made my way to the campus library, reached the third floor and sat at a computer. I logged on Facebook and looked up Nimco Ali. As it turns out, the Somali cutie’s page was an open one. Let’s see what we have here, I thought to myself as I browsed through her profile.
Nimco “Nene” Ali’s profile was quite interesting. A picture of her in traditional Islamic feminine attire, standing next to a couple of younger Somali gals. Pictures of her playing basketball while in a dark Hijab, T-shirt and sweatpants. Pictures of her playing Paintball. And last but not least, a picture of her holding hands with a tall, dark-skinned dude. Nene is married, I thought. And then I looked canlı bahis siteleri at the comments under the picture, lots of “Rip” and then shook my head. Nimco is a widow…
That night, as I lay on my bed in my small, overpriced room in a townhouse in the Cambrian Avenue area of Nepean, Ontario, I thought of Nimco “Nene” Ali. The tall, curvy Somali cutie with the thick ass, the one with the angelic face who looks so good in a Hijab. You know what? I think what happened today was a sign. I am definitely going to the Islamic community center on Saturday. I want to see Nene again. I really want to THANK her for her kindness, if you catch my drift…
“As Salam Alaikum, welcome, everyone, ask me about Islam please,” Nimco said as she stood at the women’s entrance of the Islamic community center with a trio of other Muslim women. I smiled at her and she beamed upon seeing me. I nodded as she came towards me, and this time, she held out her hand to shake and I shook it. It was good to see her again…
“Walaikum Salaam, good to see you again,” I replied, and Nimco Ali grinned, greeting me joyfully. The two of us joined the group of men and women of all hues walking into the West End Islamic Center and I took a look around. The place was really nice, the Arabic décor, the oriental rugs, and the serenity of the place seemed to put me at ease. I’ve never been in a Muslim setting before, but this was nice…
“Omar, you know, your first name is an Islamic one, and a beautiful one at that,” Nimco Ali said with a smile, and as I stroked my goateed chin, she lightly touched it with her finger. I smiled and thanked her. I love it when women touch me like that. It’s a sign that a woman just might be into me. I looked at Nene and noticed that twinkle in her eyes. Yup, this gal is kind of flirting with me. Hijab-wearing Muslim woman or not, I know what’s up. Going to make my move…
“It’s funny you should say that, I’m kind of curious about Islam, there’s a lot of Muslim students at Carleton University, and they seem like an awesome bunch of people,” I replied, and Nimco Ali grinned. We walked around and talked for a bit, and she gave me a brief introduction to the history of Islam, the rise of the Prophet Mohammed, and how Islam spread across the Arab world and Africa. Fascinating stuff, to be sure. I acted interested, and thoughtful. Now, let’s see if Nimco took the bait…
“Masha’ Allah, I’m glad you want to learn about Islam, my brother, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Nimco “Nene” Ali said excitedly, and then I took out my beat-up old Alcatel phone. She got the hint and told me her digits, which I casually punched into my phone. I also discretely took a pic of her to add to the phone under her name and number, of course. She didn’t seem to notice. Nene was looking at me the way I imagine fans look at celebrities…
“Sister, I’m glad we met and I’ll be in touch, what you did for me the other day really touched my heart,” I said, with utmost seriousness and sincerity, and Nimco smiled and nodded. Imagine my surprise when she touched my elbows, and nodded gravely. I nodded and wished her a good day, promised to keep in touch, and then she waved me off.
“Salaam, brother, hope to see more of you,” Nimco Ali called out, and I smiled, pleased with how things went. I walked away, but not before turning to take a last glance at Nimco’s butt as she got on her own way. And I found her standing there, looking at me with a smile on her face. Busted, I thought with a smile. This lady is something else and I definitely want to get to know her better. Much better…
“You are beautiful, Nimco,” I said, smiling as I looked up at her, and Nimco Ali smiled and nodded. Spreading her thick brown thighs, I inhaled the scent of her pussy, which was glistening and hairy. Nimco nodded, licking her lips as I pressed mine against her womanhood, and then I began feasting on her sweet little flower. I love eating pussy, and Miss Somalia here was in for a treat…
“Hmm, thanks, handsome, but ahem, less talking and more licking,” Nimco said, and she sat on my bed, looking at me with an impatient look on her lovely face. Flicking my tongue over her clitoris, I began to tease her. After a while, Nimco began to relax and enjoy. Earlier, we’d gone to Soleil Des Iles, a nice Haitian restaurant located in the Vanier area. This was our third outing. Indeed, on our first we’d gone to see Wonder Woman and attended a Muslim Basketball Association event on the second. Nimco likes Haitian cuisine a lot, and now I wanted to know what she tasted like so after dinner, I brought her home for some canlı bahis fun…
“Hmm, nice,” I paused to say, as I continued to eat Nimco’s pussy. The gorgeous Somali Muslim MILF moaned softly as I teased and probed her with my fingers and tongue. Things got even more thrilling when Nimco sat on my face, smothering me with her pussy and ass. I licked her pussy while grasping her thick ass cheeks with both hands, loving the way they felt.
“Hmm, Mr. Jamaica, I want you to eat this ass,” Nimco said, as she got on all fours, and shook that thick Somali ass at me. Marveling at her magnificent derriere, I got behind her and caressed her big bum. Reverently I kissed Nimco’s ass, and she laughed and pressed her ass against my face. spreading Nimco’s ass cheeks wide open, I inhaled her ass funk and then I began to eat her ass. I’m an ass man through and true, and don’t apologize for it. Any of it.
“Dammit your ass tastes good,” I whistled, playfully smacking Nimco’s thick ass, loving the way it jiggled. I bit it, and she yelped, then laughed. Laughing, I resumed eating Nimco’s ass, sliding my tongue deep into her asshole. I love the taste of female ass, and Nimco’s was deliciously juicy and funky. When the Somali MILF accidentally farted, she started apologizing profusely, but that just made me laugh…
“I’m so sorry, Omar, that fart just kind of slipped out,” Nimco said, still apologetic, and I laughed and slapped her big ass and then dug into her butt hole with my tongue. I thrust two fingers into her wet, hairy pussy while eating her ass and she started squealing and moaning. I had Miss Somalia right where I wanted her, and she was at my mercy.
“I love this ass,” I said, even as Nimco moaned and writhed, driven to the edge of ecstasy by my ass eating and pussy probing action. When she came, thrashing wildly on my bed, I watched her, caught in the throes of orgasmic delight. Such a beautiful thing. When Nimco came down from cloud nine, I gathered her in my arms, and she looked up at me adoringly…
“You’re amazing, Omar,” Nimco said breathlessly, and I smiled and kissed her. grinning naughtily, Nimco playfully tugged on my chest hairs and then her hand slipped between my legs. I smiled as Nimco grabbed my dick and started stroking it. I held my breath as she kissed my lips, then my chest, and finally brought her face close to my groin. Nimco winked at me, and then took my dick into my mouth…
“Oh my,” I replied, and Nimco grinned and then began sucking me off. I leaned back on the bed as Nimco started pleasuring me. I grinned as Nimco slid a finger up my ass while sucking me off, and it was a pleasant surprise. Nimco’s lovely head bobbed up and down as she sucked my dick. This Somali gal was full of surprises, and I was quite pleased by that. I knew she was a freak underneath, almost all women are…
As the evening rolled on, Nimco and I had ourselves some fun. After polishing my dick with her succulent lips, the Somali gal climbed on top of me. I gently stroked her beautiful face and caressed her large, firm breasts, and smiled. Reaching for the stack of condoms on my night stand, Nimco unwrapped one and handed it to me. I rolled it on my long, hard dick and then Nimco frigging grabbed my dick and rubbed it against her pussy…
“Omar, think you can handle all of this?” Nimco asked me, her eyes locked with mine, and I heard a challenge in her voice. Nodding, I gave her big ass a firm slap, and Nimco grinned. Bucking my hips, I thrust into her, and Nimco sighed as I entered her. just like that, we were finally one. My hands went to her hips and I began to fuck her with swift thrusts.
“Damn right I can,” I retorted as I gripped Nimco “Nene” Ali’s hips firmly and slammed my dick into her. Nimco’s pussy gripped my dick tightly, and I fucked her with gusto. Nimco rode me hard, shrieking in pleasure as I fucked her. I loved the way she grinded against me, giving back as good as she got, and then some. I put her on all fours and slapped her ass while fucking her, and she howled in pleasure and cried out my name. Nimco and I fucked over every inch of my room, and even took the action to the basement. By the time we finished, Nimco and I lay side by side on the basement carpet, tired as can be, but so damn happy…
“I’m glad I met you, Omar,” Nimco said as she snuggled against me, and I kissed her forehead. Nimco looked at me and I looked at her, and we exchanged a smile. Gazing upon the tall, beautiful, feisty and passionate Somali Muslim woman lying against me, I felt content. For this wasn’t just a fuck for either of us. I’m feeling Nimco and I think she’s feeling me. We’re going to see where this takes us. Hand in hand, we got dressed and then went out for a walk. My life is full of twists and turns, but sometimes, just sometimes, unexpected things happen and work out much better than I expect…