Yemeni Women Into Black Men

Qualities one looks for in a husband, now that's easy to define, Maryam Marid thought to herself, smiling. Looking at her lover, Paul Saint-Germain, she ran her hand through his short, kinky hair. All I need is you babe, Maryam said contentedly. Taking her small, delicate hand in his, Paul brought it to his lips. You are my world Miss Yemen, he grinned, appreciatively glancing at her small, lovely form. The two of them lay on the couch inside Maryam's apartment on Bronson Avenue, five minutes from metropolitan Ottawa's very own Carleton University campus. It was a Saturday night and the two of them were relaxing at home, watching a rerun of Star-Gate Atlantis on the Space channel.

Maryam Marid leaned her head on Paul broad shoulder, and he gently wrapped his huge arm around her. The dark-skinned stud hugged her tightly, just the way she liked it. I love it when you squeeze me big bear, Maryam teased, pinching his bicep. You feel so good in my arms, Paul replied, which caused Maryam to blush. Hard to believe that when they met a year ago neither of them could have imagined themselves as they were now, not only dating but practically living together. To say that they came from different worlds would have been the understatement of the century. Maryam Marid moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from her hometown of Al Bayda, central Yemen, three years ago. Her mind wandered across time, flicking back to the events that brought her to this place, and this man...

Her parents, Mahmoud and Soraya Marid were sent to Canada's Capital region by the Yemeni Government. We're part of the diplomatic mission and must represent our beautiful Yemen to the best of our ability, Maryam's father Mahmoud Marid cautioned her as they prepared to board the Air Canada plane in London, England, having flown there from Sana'a, the Capital of Yemen, the night before. The Marid family didn't get to see much of London but Maryam marveled at the tall buildings she saw in Europe's oldest town. Simply magnificent, she whispered while gawking through the window.

I can't wait to see Canada, Maryam said excitedly, leaning back against her seat in the first class section of the Air Canada plane leaving London, England. Patience young grasshopper, her mother Soraya laughed. Mother and daughter exchanged a look. For ages Maryam had been praying that her father would get the assignment to Canada, for the young woman desperately wanted to avoid the unenviable fate of having to marry Ali Osman, a lecherous old man her uncle Kader considered a trusted friend and advisor. Appearances are everything in Canada and being seen with your wife and daughter will help your image a long way in the eyes of the westerners, Mahmoud's boss, the sheikh Ahmed Jabir, warned. Thus the patriarch of the Marid family declined an old family friend's request for his daughter's hand in marriage. Mahmoud Marid would need his daughter Maryam and his wife Soraya by his side for his stay in Ontario, Canada.

Maryam Marid wasn't sure what she expected at first but the City of Ottawa, Ontario, blew her away. The sprawling metropolis was bigger than most places she'd ever seen or imagined. And only one million souls called it home. Growing up in rural Yemen, she was awed by big cities. Even Sana'a, the Yemeni capital which she visited for the first time when departing the country, dwarfed the tiny desert town where she grew up. At the Ottawa International Airport she was surprised to see women wearing hijab among the throngs of western women in provocative clothing.

For some reason, Maryam was surprised to see members of the Ummah among the Canadians. Of course, she should have known better, for Islam was everywhere these days, in every country and region across the globe, including almighty North America. Walking through the streets of Ottawa with her parents a few days later, she was surprised to run into Somalis, Lebanese, Turks, Nigerians and Omanis. People from her part of the world, Arabs and Africans and so many others. Maryam expected the Canadian capital to be lily-white and uptight. It seemed that she was wrong on one assumption.

The Yemeni Government provided decent accommodations for her family, partly because they had some help from the Canadian Government. Of all the Arab nations out there, Yemen was the poorest. Situated between the Somali-dominated Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, it wasn't an oil-rich nation by any means. Imagine Maryam's surprise when she found out where she and her parents would live. A four-bedroom townhouse in the Jockvale area of Barrhaven, an affluent suburb of Ottawa. Oh, and they had two cars and two professional drivers at their disposal, compliments of the Canadian Government's Office of Foreign Aid, which helped foreign diplomats in the Capital. Wow was all Maryam could say when she saw her room. It was bigger than her old house in Yemen. I think I'm going to like it here, she thought, feeling optimistic about her move to Ontario for the first time in ages.

Amina Sultan, a pretty young woman with short, spiky black hair, bronze skin and emerald eyes came to the Marid residence the next day and offered to help Maryam get into University. Seeing a young Muslim woman in a T-shirt and jeans ( and no hijab ) surprised Maryam but she took it in stride. Canada was a strange country after all and the local Muslims would surely prove just as strange ( to her foreign eyes ) as she assumed she would seem to them. You're nineteen years old it's high time you got started, the young woman smiled.

Thrilled at the prospect of continuing her education, Maryam felt like jumping for joy. After she finished secondary school back home she wanted to go to University but her parents ( mainly her father ) felt it was time for her to get married. For over a year Maryam tried her best to delay and discourage any attempt at matchmaking. And then, Allah be praised, her father got the assignment to Canada! Sitting in the living room with her parents and Amina, Maryam waited for her parents to drop the death knell on her higher education aspirations.

Surprisingly, Maryam's parents had no objections, they'd spend most of their time at the Yemeni Embassy anyway or traveling across North America to meet dignitaries and foreign functionaries. Yemen was indeed coming up in the world, ever since the new government decided to cooperate with the U.S. Government in the fight against Al Qaeda. The Yemeni government also opened up trade relations with the U.S. and Canada, along with Great Britain. Probably the only reason why the wealthy foreigners decided to be so nice to a Yemeni government functionary and his family.

With Amina's help, Maryam Marid began her higher education journey. First she had to have her secondary school transcripts translated into English then faxed from Al Bayda, Yemen, to the Ontario Universities Application Center. Once that got under way, she registered with the O.U.A.C. website, then selected a school. Since she didn't speak a lick of French, the University of Ottawa was out of the question. Maryam opted for Carleton University, since it was English-only and she'd been taking English classes for the past six years back home. The day Maryam received her acceptance letter from the Carleton University admissions department, she felt elated. Her mother took her to celebrate at Shawarma Kingdom, a nice Lebanese restaurant in downtown Ottawa. Afterwards, mother and daughter went to visit the campus for the first time.

Standing five-foot-four and a whopping one hundred and seventeen pounds, with her light bronze skin, long black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes, Maryam Marid was one of the most innocuous-looking people ever born. Clad in her long-sleeved green T-shirt, long black skirt and emerald hijab, with a Gucci handbag tucked under her left arm, Maryam Marid and her mother Soraya made their way to Carleton University by public transit. The school was huge, and there were tons of people walking in every direction. The first person they asked for directions to the admin building, a short white guy with red hair, shrugged and walked away after giving them a dirty look. Infidel pig, Soraya Marid muttered under her breath. Come mother, Maryam said, linking her arm with her mom's. The two women made their way to a large brownstone building near the OC Transpo bus stop.

A tall, broad-shouldered and strongly built young black man with dark brown skin and wavy hair strode toward them. This one looks Somali, Maryam whispered to her mother in Arabic. The Somali people had been Yemen's neighbors and allies since time immemorial. In sharp contrast to other Arab countries histories of conflict with the Africans, such as Egypt's ongoing conflict with Sudan, the Yemenis and the Somalis had always been friends and allies. Indeed, a sizeable number of Yemeni men married Somali women.

Hello brother, Soraya greeted the Somali-looking young man in the guttural Somali tongue. The guy shot her a puzzled look. Hello ma'am, he said hesitantly. Maryam looked at the dark-skinned young man, who fixed his wide-eyed gaze on her. For some reason her heart skipped a beat. Are you not Somali? Maryam asked. The young man smiled. I'm not Somali but I get that a lot, he grinned. You look like our Somali neighbor's son Aden, Soraya smiled. The young man grinned, then introduced himself as Paul. You must be looking for the University center, he said.

Yes we are, Maryam replied, filled with hope. The young man looked from mother to daughter, then nodded. I am going this way so I shall take you ladies there, Paul said. Along the way, he got both their names, and didn't appear surprised that neither woman would shake his hand. I know a thing or two about Muslim culture ladies, Paul smiled. Soraya beamed at him. Where are you from, brother? the Marid family matriarch asked. I am from Haiti, Paul said proudly. It's a shame what happened to your country during the quake, my people prayed for you, Maryam said hopefully. Thank you kindly, Paul said, his expression unreadable.

With Paul as their guide, the Marid women went to the University center. The international student office is your best bet, Paul said. He led them past the crowded entrance, the bookstore, the bar, the Tim Horton's stand and the little convenience store, straight down the hall to the international office. Here you go, Paul said, pushing the door open. Thank you brother, Soraya said with a smile. Paul nodded at her, then shot Maryam a look. I'll see you around campus sometime I'm sure, he said. Um yes, Maryam said, a bit startled by the intensity she saw in Paul dark eyes. With a polite nod, he wished her a good day, then left. For a long moment Maryam stood there, watching him go. Come inside, Maryam's mother chastised her, taking her by the arm. Yes mom, Maryam nodded.

You were certainly an odd duck when we met, Paul said, gently rubbing Maryam's shoulder. I get tongue-tied when I see gorgeous black men, Maryam countered, flashing him a fearless smile. Rolling his eyes, Paul pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her lips. Maryam threw her arms around Paul and kissed him full and deep. Snuggling against Paul chest, Maryam went back to watching the tube. Onscreen, Stargate Atlantis series star Ronon Dex fought a 'friendly' sparring match against guest star Teal'C, played by Hollywood star Christopher Judge. Gets me hot when sexy men fight, Maryam smiled, licking her lips.

Without warning, Paul squeezed her hard. You like the rough stuff, eh? he laughed, licking her ear. Maryam laughed and playfully tried to get away. She ended up on all fours, with Paul right behind her. When you point that cute Yemeni ass at me like that it gives me ideas, Paul laughed. Turning around, Maryam fixed him with a sensual stare. What kind of ideas, naughty boy? she teased, patting her nicely rounded butt for emphasis. I need to get me some of that, Paul smiled, uttering the first thought he had when he first met Maryam in front of the engineering building.

From the first time he laid eyes on Maryam, Paul knew he had to have her. Never mind that he was a Christian, and a poor student sent to study abroad by the Haitian government at that. Never mind that Maryam was Muslim, and the daughter of a well-to-do Yemeni political family. Yeah, they came from different worlds and the odds of them ending up together were slim to none. Especially since he knew how intolerant Arab culture was toward dissidents. He'd seen Arab guys around campus with black, white, Asian and Hispanic girlfriends.

Paul had yet to see another black man with an Arab woman. Yet he wouldn't allow himself to be discouraged. Love is worth fighting for, he told himself. Paul pursued Maryam relentlessly, like his life depended on it. Every time he'd see her at the university library or in the engineering building he'd approach her. In the end, Paul wore her down. Maryam agreed to go see a movie with him, and a movie turned into regular outings, which led to a relationship which surprised and thrilled them both.

Maryam looked at Paul, and smiled. With a mere glance he had the power to set her heart afire. It was astonishing how much she'd grown to love this young man. On the surface, they couldn't be more different. He was a six-foot-four, big and muscular, dark-skinned man from the island of Haiti, somewhere in the Caribbean. He was a Christian, and the rules of Islam forbade good Muslim girls from having relations with men from other faiths. And Maryam was a good Muslim sister, she wore the hijab, prayed five times a day, went to Masjid every Friday, did Dawah when she could and upheld the Pillars of Islam with every breath in her body. So how come the only man she'd ever loved was Paul, a crucifix-wearing, Bible-thumping catholic from the Caribbean?

At first they clashed over their religious differences, yet it was part of what brought them together. Jesus Christ is a prophet of God but he never told anyone to worship him, Maryam told Paul one night during one of those early outings. The Son of God was too humble to toot his own horn among mortals and that's proof of his divine origin, Paul countered. You Christians are hopelessly deluded, Maryam told him with an exasperated smile. What's it going to take for you to accept the truths of the Koran? she asked, glaring at Paul. If I got me a gorgeous Arab wifey that would be proof positive that Islam is the way, Paul grinned. Shaking her head, Maryam smiled. You'd give up on your Christian religion for a Muslim woman's booty? she laughed.

I love my faith but booty isn't a distant second, Paul said, licking his lips. Gently he touched her hand. You're a mess, Maryam said, pretending not to tremble at his warm, intense touch. Paul looked at her with those intense, dark eyes of his. You're lovely Miss Maryam, he said, all seriousness. Suddenly his face was inches from hers. We shouldn't, Maryam said, hesitation in her voice. Yet her hand squeezed Paul's tightly, and her face drew closer to his. Their eyes locked, then drooped as they kissed. From that first kiss, Maryam knew with every fiber of her being that this young man was the one for her. Yeah, she fell in love with Paul right then and there...

Their newfound romance thrilled them in ways neither could have anticipated, but it also complicated their lives. Maryam's parents were busy with their diplomatic work in downtown Ottawa and other regions of Canada, often flying to Alberta, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Still, she had to be careful when she and Paul were out together. Although scores of Middle-Eastern folks made their home in Ottawa, the daughter of a Yemeni diplomat was a high-profile and recognizable person, to say the least. That's why Maryam decided to keep their romance secret...while off campus anyways.

A lifelong introvert, Maryam met tons of people through Paul, one of the most outgoing people on the planet. Paul was friends with almost every minority student in the engineering program, and the white kids thought he was alright too. A big and tall young black man who looked like he should be an NBA or NFL star but could do high-speed math effortlessly. I am a geek through and true, Paul shrugged when Maryam queried him on the subject. You are the cutest geek I know, Maryam told him, gently nuzzling on his ear as they waited for the bus inside the Minto Center one cold winter night.

Let's go home for some hot cocoa, Paul said impulsively. No can do, Maryam replied. Paul sighed but said nothing. Suddenly he jolted, for Maryam gave his behind a firm slap. Let's go to my place instead, she grinned. You insane or what? Paul said. From the get-go Maryam told him in no uncertain terms that going to her family house was out of the question. My parents aren't fond of Christians and they don't approve of interracial relations, Maryam told him flatly. Great, Paul said, quietly simmering. He looked at Maryam. Had he heard her right? She wanted him to come to her place? Maryam smiled at him. I've got my own place now, she said with a shrug.

They boarded the number seven bus, and got to Bronson Avenue within minutes. They rode the elevator to the eight floor, then went to apartment 817. Welcome to mi casa, Maryam said with mock theatricality as she buzzed them into her building. Nice view, Paul said. The Bronson/Sunnyside apartment was nice enough, a two-bedroom affair with a small living room, a washroom and a kitchen. The main appeal being that it was within easy access to campus. I'm ready for some hot cocoa, Paul said. Maryam went to the kitchen, made a show of opening the fridge then returned to the living room, where Paul awaited, sitting on the couch.

We're all out of cocoa but I've got some Yemeni chocolate, Maryam said, smiling. With a strut she hoped was seductive, she walked up to a stunned-looking Paul. Taking his big hands in hers, she placed them on her butt. Very nice, Paul said, giving her booty a gentle squeeze. You haven't seen anything yet, Maryam said, then she kissed him. That night, they made love for the first time. Maryam's first time, and in many ways, Paul's as well. His first time making love with someone he loved, that is. Gently he laid Maryam on the couch, and explored her slender, curvy body. He kissed her all over, from her lips to her neck, from those small, perky breasts of hers to her belly button. Finally he made his way to her legs. Let me pleasure you, Paul said, seeing hesitation in Maryam's eyes. Be careful, she said quietly.

Maryam lay on the couch, trying to relax as Paul explored her body. When his mouth found her breasts, and he began sucking on her nipples she shuddered with pleasure. He made his way to her pelvic area, and began pleasuring her...down there. The young Yemeni woman cried out as her lover's agile tongue darted inside her womanhood, followed by his agile fingers. You taste wonderful, Paul said, a pleased look on his dark, handsome face as he licked her pussy. Keep going, Maryam pleaded. A world of sensations she'd never before experienced assaulted her senses in the most pleasant way possible. She had no idea where Paul learned his technique but she was beyond thankful for what he was doing to her. Moments later she shrieked in pleasure as he brought her the first orgasm of her life. Wallahi you are amazing, Maryam shouted. Paul smiled. You haven't felt anything yet babe, he promised.

Grabbing a condom from his wallet, Paul put it on, then looked at Maryam. Ready for me? he asked. Yes my love, Maryam said nervously. As he moved toward her, his big, masculine body casting its shadow over her slender, feminine form, she put her hand on his arm. Be gentle with me it's my first time, Maryam said, locking eyes with Paul. He saw the desire, fear and anticipation in her eyes, and it mirrored what he felt inside. Never before had he been with a woman like Maryam, that's for sure. You are my sweet angel, he said, as he spread her legs and eased himself inside of her. Maryam cried out sharply as Paul's dick slid into her pussy. She felt a slight pain, and a bit of discomfort, but pleasure soon followed.