A Somali Strapon Wedding Story

When most people look at me, they see a six-foot-one, lean and dark-skinned Black man with curly Black hair and light brown eyes. They make all kinds of assumptions. I'm presumed to be some kind of criminal simply because I am Black and male. I'm also presumed to be a potential threat to national and even global security because I come from a Muslim background. Oh, and I'm supposed to be an oppressor of women. Wow. People and their ideas, eh? The name is Washim Mohammed, and I'm a Black man of Somali descent living in the City of Calgary, province of Alberta. I grew up in poverty in Somalia, but God's mercy and my parents quick-thinking allowed us to start a new life in Western Canada. I love Canada, it's my home and I will defend it against anyone, man or woman, no matter their race, religion or nationality. Believe that. My family almost got killed by another clan of Somalis because of who we were, I feared my own people from an early age, and with good reason.

It's sad that no matter where you look, from Somalia to Nigeria, from Ethiopia to Jamaica, from Eritrea to Haiti, from Dominica to South Africa, in most Black nations, it's us killing our own people. From the Caribbean to Latin America, from continental Africa to the West Indies, Black men and Black women need to stop persecuting their own over questions of ethnicity, religion, politics and of course, the fight for territory and natural resources. When I moved to Canada, I embraced the new nation in which I found myself, but I never forgot where I came from. My parents, Saif and Khadija, made sure of it. My father worked as a cab driver and my mother cleaned houses while I was growing up in Calgary. Back in Somalia, dad was a university professor and mom was a nurse. They left their good jobs in Somalia because our nation was going through hell with the inter-clan wars and general strife that plagued us.

I have always been quite gifted academically, so when I graduated high school in 2004, I won myself an academic scholarship to the University of Calgary. I didn't get it because I was Black, or an immigrant. I won this national merit scholarship because of my brains, nothing more and nothing less. I studied business administration and got my bachelor's degree in 2008. By 2010, I had my MBA from the University of Calgary and felt ready to tackle the working world. I had a university degree, a clean record, and I spoke English and French fluently, having attended one of the few bilingual schools in the province of Alberta. Black men with college and university degrees are seen as upsetting the order of things both in America and Canada. If you're educated, healthy, have a clean record and you want to get a good job, White people will fear and hate you. They'll deny you at every turn. The one thing a racist White person fears the most is the educated Black man who knows who he is, where he came from and where he wants to go. They don't fear thugs, jocks, rappers and hustlers. They fear the Black college man, that's why they put so many hurdles in his path. I began looking for a job and eight months after graduation, I got one. I started working for the Canadian Revenue Agency. Thank God for all those accounting classes I took as electives back at the University of Calgary!

I was a Somali male with a Canadian university degree, and a good job. Statistically, I was beyond rare. I'm the kind of brother that most Somali sisters don't believe exists, hence why a lot of them are turning their eyes to Arab males and Black Muslim men from other nations. It saddens me that they're starting to abandon us, but what can I do? The first thing I did with my newfound good fortune was help my parents. For most of our lives in Canada, my parents and I lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a seedy neighborhood of metropolitan Calgary. As a new auditor with the Canadian Revenue Agency branch in downtown Calgary, I had a salary of sixty eight thousand dollars a year after taxes.

Since I was lucky enough to win scholarship after scholarship while in university, I didn't have any student loans to pay back. So I got my parents a nice place in one of Calgary's nicer neighborhood. My mother always dreamed of going back to school. Nursing is her passion, cleaning houses was something she did just to help our family. I knew how much going back into her old career meant to her. I paid for her to study nursing at Robertson College, a career institution with many locations throughout Western Canada. As for my dad, he assured me that he was doing okay. I still helped him buy a new car. Like most old-school Somali men, my dad is a proud guy and doesn't believe in asking for help. As a good son, it's up to me to help him. He'll never ask, and he shouldn't have to. Hey, I believe in taking care of my family, my friend. Don't believe all the stereotypes you hear about all those criminally inclined, woman-hating and hyper-violent Somali males. We're not all like that. There are many good men in the Somali community, and we are the ones you never hear about.

I loved my new job at the Canadian Revenue Agency, but it isn't always a smooth path. The Black man is the last hired and first fired, always. I was one of eight Black males working at entry-level positions in the company when I started. The highest-ranking Black person in the company was this Jamaican woman named Isabel Thompson, and this broad was mean as hell. She was a manager within the auditors division, my department. Everyone thought she was unpleasant, especially the other Black employees at the company. At an office party, I soon discovered why Isabel Thompson was so damn mean. She was married to this White guy named Mark something or other, and had a daughter by him. Good for her, I guess, but why the hate toward us brothers?

It's an open secret at the downtown Calgary branch of the Canadian Revenue Agency that Isabel Thompson displays a lot of hostility toward the other Black workers at the company, especially the men. It seems that a lot of Black women with White boyfriends/husbands have a strong antipathy toward Black men. Why is that? I'm a Black man and I don't get mad when I see a White man with a Black woman. It's none of my business, who a Black woman chooses to date, marry or sleep with. I mean, Isabel is Jamaican, she isn't one of my Somali sisters, hell, she isn't even Muslim. Why did she think I even noticed her very existence? The one person she hated the most at our office was the only non-Somali guy I've ever called 'my brother'. I'm referring of course to Jean-Michel Seraphin.

I met Jean-Michel Seraphin during my first week at the Canadian Revenue Agency. The big and tall, dark-skinned brother in the sharp suit was hard to miss. Jean was born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, to immigrant parents from the island of Haiti. He earned his bachelor's degree in business from the University of Montreal and later got himself a master's degree in accounting from McGill University. Even in redneck Alberta, McGill University is respected as the top school in all of Canada. Jean was good-looking, smart and definitely going places. He was married to this tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed Caucasian lady named Madeline Tremblay, and they had two sons together, Joseph and James. The brother was doing good and everyone seemed to know it.

By all regards, Jean and I came from different worlds. He was a proud Catholic, and I'm a lapsed Muslim with secular tendencies. Yet this man took me under his wing at the Canadian Revenue Agency. He befriended me, supported me and protected me. Before I met Jean, I thought that Black Christian men and Black Muslim males were too different and couldn't be friends. I didn't think that a Somali man like myself had anything in common with a Haitian brother, except maybe our skin color. Jean showed me how wrong I was. This man was heaven-sent. He protected me from the racists at the C.R.A. because they targeted me as the new guy just like they once targeted him, before he became one of our managers.

My new friend and benefactor Jean was a good man, and many at the Canadian Revenue Agency hated him. Educated Black men with power and ambition are attacked from all sides, and sometimes, their attackers are Black women. Isabel Thompson hated Jean-Michel with a passion. It never ceases to amaze me, how Black women with White husbands cannot stand the sight of Black men who are happily married to White women. You'll never catch a Black man with a White girlfriend being friends with a White guy with a Black girlfriend. Quite often, it's because of the Black woman. Isn't life funny?

I owe so much to Jean, for he wasn't just my colleague and good friend. He also introduced me to my future wife. Rheeya Nasser, a beautiful young Somali woman whom he knew back in Montreal. Rheeya was a newcomer to Calgary, and she was studying criminal law at Athabasca University. This lovely young woman had ambition to spare, she wanted to become a police officer. The first time I laid eyes on this five-foot-nine, curvy and sexy, caramel-skinned Somali sister, it was love at first sight. I thought I had seen an angel. That's why I pursued her doggedly. Finally, Rheeya Nasser relented and we began dating. Eventually, she introduced me to her parents, Yousef and Fatima Nasser. They liked me, and I swore to them that I loved their daughter more than I loved myself. Rheeya's father gave me his blessing, and thus, Rheeya and I were married. A wonderful life awaited us as we embarked on a journey as husband and wife.

Our wedding night proved to be...unforgettable. You see, long before Rheeya and I got down, I explained certain...sexual kinks of mine, to her. I wanted her to know that I had certain unique sexual desires and I was far more open-minded, in and out of the bedroom, than the average male from our community. Rheeya was most understanding of that, because she wasn't exactly like the average female in our rather conservative community either. My wife and I were truly a match made in paradise. She understood that there was a time to pray and a time to play, and that sexual experimentation was a part of life. She told me frankly beforehand that she wasn't a virgin and I accepted that. A lot of our Somali brothers sleep around, which is expected of them as men, but they get mad when they hear that some of our sisters have done some experimentation of their very own. Me? I'm not like the others. No double standards with me. If guys can play, girls should be able to play too. Maybe I've been too westernized. Rheeye promised me one hell of a wedding night, and she didn't disappoint.

Lying on my back, my legs in the air, I sigh in pleasure as my sexy Somali wife slides her dildo into my ass. I stroke my cock as Rheeya Nasser continues fucking me with her strap-on. I love getting fucked in the ass by my sexy Somali dominatrix. Not because I am weak, but because I accept myself. Yes, some Muslim guys enjoy the pleasures and torments of female domination too, in fact, a lot of us absolutely can't get enough of it. My wife Rheeya has embraced that side of me, and we've become much happier because of it, in and out of the bedroom. I looked at Rheeya, how sexy she looked while gloriously naked, save for her strap-on dildo. My gorgeous wife asked me if I was ready for more. I licked my lips and told her to bring me hell. Grinning with a combination of sexiness and malice, Rheeya did just that.

I stroked myself as Rheeya pushed the dildo deeper inside of me, and groaned as I felt her toy stretch my ass. I can't believe how good it felt. Rheeya gently touched my face and asked me how I felt. I told her that I felt great, and urged her to dominate me some more. Laughing, Rheeya did just that. She took out her belt, and proceeded to whip me with it. She whipped my face, my back, my neck, hell, she hit me everywhere. I screamed, I howled and I absolutely loved it. The whole time she did this, she tore into me with her strap-on dildo. I threw my head back and screamed as my sexy Somali wife showed me exactly how dominant she could be. We continued until I felt I couldn't take any more, and we stopped.

Rheeya kissed me passionately, then told me that her sweet Bantu pussy needed some loving from Garre dick. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Somali politics, she's from the Bantu clan and I'm from the Garre clan, though Somali-Canadians like ourselves love our people regardless of clan affiliation because we're modern in our thinking and way past that shit. I gently kissed Rheeya's face while gently massaging her breasts. Rheeya urged me to make love to her and I did just that. Gently I laid my wife down on our bed, and kissed a path from her breasts to her belly. Rheeya spread her shapely thighs, and smiled as I began licking her pussy. My gorgeous wife ran her hands through my curly hair as I pleasured her womanhood with my fingers and tongue.

Rheeya moaned softly as I licked her sweet spot, sending little waves of pleasure deep inside her. After a while, she told me that she had enough of the preliminaries and was ready for the main event. I smiled at her, and told her I was ready too. I took a condom and rolled it onto my member, then gently rubbed the head of my dick against Rheeya's vaginal opening. With a swift thrust, I entered her. Just like that, my wife and I were one. Rheeya cried out briefly, then I stopped, asking her if she was okay. She nodded, and urged me to continue. With deep, powerful strokes, I explored her vaginal opening, filling her up with my member. Rheeya wrapped her arms around me as I made passionate love to her, ramming my member deep inside of her and loving the way her soft but wonderfully robust female flesh yielded to me. We made love like this for hours, until exhaustion claimed us.

Much later, my wife Rheeya and I lay in bed, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. How I like the sound of that. My wife. It's a beautiful word. I took her slender, fine hand in mine and kissed it. Rheeya grinned and told me I was such a romantic. I nodded, and told her that to me, she was a dream come true. A beautiful, smart and educated sister who still loved the brothers. A lot of Somali sisters born in Canada avoid Somali immigrant brothers like the plague, feeling that we're controlling, out of step with the times, and that we treat women badly because we're not used to western social norms, like female independence. Well, I'm living proof that immigrant brothers can be decent, educated men who respect their women's aspirations and treat them well. My lady Rheeya wants to be a police officer and I support her dream one hundred percent. A truly strong Black man isn't intimidated or threatened by Black female ambition, especially when it's a woman he cares about. He supports her, because strong men need strong women. Even the lion in the savannah back in Mother Africa knows he can't do it alone. He needs his lioness. Thank God I found mine. Peace.