What's up, people? My name is Marc Aurel, and I'm a Haitian-Canadian businessman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I work for the Canadian government, and these days, life simply couldn't get any better. Not easy for a brother to get a good job in this town, even with an MBA from an accredited and highly ranked Canadian university. I do what I can, though. Can't let the haters get to you. Got to believe in yourself, educate yourself and power on through. It's the only way to go.
Working hard towards a goal is an admirable thing to do, but one must always make time for the simple pleasures of this life. That's why I'm taking my sweet time seducing the latest Somali cleaning lady in my office building. Amal Bashir, the fifty-year-old newcomer from Mogadishu, Somalia, is something else. Tall, dark-skinned, curvaceous and lovely, with a thick heart-shaped ass that I couldn't help but notice even though Amal had a traditional Islamic skirt on.
I want some of that, I thought to myself as Amal Bashir walked by pushing a cleaning cart on my floor late one night. What is it about them Somali women and their mesmerizing butts? I swear, Somalia must be a booty factory or something! I really must visit that country someday. Um, nope. Since I don't want to get beheaded by some religious nutcase, I think I'll just stay here in Canada and enjoy the local Somali booties, oops, I meant local Somali beauties.
Now, when dealing with a Somali lady, especially one who wears the hijab and dresses conservatively, there are certain elements to consider. Women like that don't respond to your standard flirting, so you must be discrete, respectful and careful when dealing with one. Amal Bashir is a newcomer straight from Somalia, and Canada must seem like a strange, different place to her. As an immigrant myself, I can kind of relate to what she must be going through. That's how I'll reach her, I thought to myself.
That's why, the next time I saw Amal Bashir at work, I made sure to politely greet her, and let her see me with a copy of the Koran in my hand. Upon seeing me holding the holy book of her faith, Amal looked at me pensively. The lady asked me if I was Muslim. I hesitated, and then sincerely told her my well-rehearsed line. I find the Eurocentric lies of mainstream Christianity offensive and want to learn the truth, I told Amal, with some anger in my voice.
Amal smiled, and said Masha'Allah, and then told me that if I had any questions about Islam, I could ask her. I nodded, and voiced my anger at Eurocentric Christianity essentially forcing people to worship white male authority figures, and depowering people of color with their lies. Amal nodded and said that she totally agreed. The Son of Mary, a Holy Messenger of Allah was considered a person of color in Islamic teachings, Amal assured me.
For at least half an hour, Amal and I sat there, talking. We discussed the religion of Islam, the fate of people of color in North America, racism in the City of Ottawa and the challenges facing immigrants in the province of Ontario. The two of us seemed to have far more in common than I previously imagined. And now to close the deal, I thought.
I looked into Amal's lovely eyes, and asked for her number. So we can discuss Islam further, I was quick to say. I saw hesitation in Amal's eyes, and tried to look as innocent as possible. Yes, look into my eyes lady, I thought. I know women, and how to fool them when it suits my purpose. That's how I turned the previous Somali cleaning lady, Fatima Jawari, into my sex slave. I had fun with the lovely young Somali gal, and after turning her out, I got rid of her. What can I say? I like a challenge, but grow bored after victory. Lots of men feel the same way, I think.
Amal Bashir sighed, and then, whatever soul searching she was doing while looking in my eyes must have been fruitful, for she finally told me her number. I grinned, and punched it in my Blackberry. Wallahi I'll be in touch, I told Amal with a gentle nod. Amal smiled, and then excused herself, for she had to get back to work. I nodded understandingly, wished her well, and then went back to my office. Game, set and match, I thought, smiling victoriously.
Look, every man reading this knows, getting a gal's number doesn't automatically lead to anything, much less getting into her pants. Amal Bashir and I had to do a little song and dance before we got there. If we got there, I mean. That's the thing about the game of seduction, you just can't be sure how long it will take. Depends on the person, the place, and a variety of other factors. Too many to list here.
For the next couple of weeks, Amal Bashir and I would meet on a nightly basis, and little by little, the Somali MILF got more comfortable with me. Got to wear them conservative Muslim ladies down, that's the only way to go. We would meet in my office and talk, and sometimes I'd offer her some food which I'd order from the nearby Shawarma place. Eventually, Amal got comfortable enough with me to meet me outside the office, a small but decidedly significant victory in the long game I was playing with her.
