"Rahim, what kind of man, Muslim no less, wants his female to fuck him with a strap-on dildo?" Hawa Abdirashid, my beloved fiancée, asked sternly, hands on her hips. I lay on our bed, in our cushy townhouse in the west end of Denver, and looked at the six-foot-tall, curvy, simply gorgeous young Somali-American Muslim woman with whom I'd shared two tumultuous yet passionate years, and sighed deeply. Indeed, I've asked myself the very same question. What kind of man do my unusual desires and twisted fetishes make me?
"A very kinky one, my dear," I replied, and Hawa's golden brown eyes narrowed, and I knew I'd better explain myself while I still could. My name is Rahim Kader, and I'm a thirty-year-old financial analyst living in the City of Denver, Colorado. I was born in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, to a Somali Muslim immigrant father and a white American mother. Wasn't easy growing up mixed-race and Muslim in New England, I tell you, but I got through it.
I struck a balance between my Islamic faith and who I am as a person in my private life. Fortunately for me, I found a woman who understood...mostly. I met Hawa Abdirashid while attending an Islamic community event in Denver, and we really hit it off. When I first laid eyes on the tall, curvy, Hijab-wearing sister clad in the Bob Marley T-shirt and tight blue jeans, I knew I had to have her. When Hawa's eyes met mine, I knew that underneath it all, she was like me. A freak in disguise. Birds of a feather and all that, eh?
If there's one thing I don't like, it's identity politics. My father Sheikh Kader is black and my mother Connie Walden-Kader is white. I am a person of color and I am a Muslim. Don't ask me if I prefer to be called black, mixed, mulatto or biracial. Don't ask me if I identify more with my black side or my white side. Also, don't point out mixed-race celebrities like Vin Diesel or The Rock and ask me what I think of them. And last but not least? Don't ask me what I think of random incidents in the news that involve Muslims. Thanks.
The reason for that? I don't know them. Why would anyone ask anyone what they think of the actions of a perfect stranger? Whatever. I'm only a man and I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you. I swear, liberal Massachusetts is a lot more race-obsessed than most people realize. Got myself an MBA from Suffolk University, then moved to the western United States. At least in redneck country, people don't bullshit you and you know where you stand.
I've often been told that I seem the picture of respectability. It's not easy even for a highly educated and ambitious Muslim brother in the Midwest, but I've made my mark on Denver. I work for Dalton Enterprises, a financial services company that deals with everyone from bankers to real estate moguls. I'm six-foot-two, lean and athletic, and I work out a lot. I stay sharp and I look good in a suit. I can charm your pants off. Small wonder I make six figures in a very cutthroat business environment. The question is, can I persuade my rather conservative girlfriend Hawa to try new things?
"Well, come on, mofo, I don't have all day, so fess up," Hawa said, and I smiled, and then, calmly and carefully, and I must have done a good job of it, I think. That night, Hawa and I not only opened up to each other like never before, but we also had passionate sex the likes of which most guys can only dream of. Seriously, I thought I had sexual secrets, turns out, Hawa had quite a few of her own.
"Um, well, Hawa, my dearest lady love, sometimes, I want to be dominated, by you," I said, and I took a deep breath and looked into my lady's eyes. What's going on behind those golden brown orbs, I wonder. Hawa licked those full, succulent lips of hers and looked at me, a wicked smile spreading across her exquisite features. Guess the lady likes what she's hearing. Good to know.
