1: Of my Musalmān friends
Aħmad Ħabīb laughed at Aħmad Nadīm.
“Do you still believe Durgesh doesn’t fuck your wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl?”
Aħmad Nadīm smiled.
“It was my fault, Aħmad Ħabīb.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nadīm Mansion is rather a large house. More than ten thousand tremendously attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān houseladies live there.”
Aħmad Ħabīb didn’t say anything.
He watched Aħmad Nadīm trying to understand his predicament.
Durgesh had hit Aħmad Nadīm almost everywhere.
Even then, Aħmad Nadīm was not against Durgesh.
He was still praising him.
“Do you remember why I took Durgesh to my Nadīm Mansion?”
Aħmad Ħabīb remembered.*
Muħammad Åbdullah could not believe what Aħmad Nadīm had suggested.
“Are you crazy?”
“Didn’t you yourself requested Durgesh to fuck your extremely beautiful sixteen real sisters? Were you too crazy then?”
Muħammad Åbdullah looked at Aħmad Nadīm gravely.
“That was an entirely different matter, Aħmad Nadīm. All my sixteen sisters were too beautiful to digest their exceedingly extraordinary Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān beauty. They were so proud of it that they wanted to exhibit it to everyone.”
“I know.” Aħmad Nadīm said sympathetically.
“All of them were proud nudists feminists. I knew no Musalmān was as crazy as to marry any of them. My sisters were themselves against marriage institution ab initio. What the hell else could I do? If I hadn’t requested Durgesh to have Live in relationship with them, they might have become sluts despite their so much divine extraordinary Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān beauty.”
“You are right.” Aħmad Nadīm nodded understandingly, “I too have a similar problem. Not exactly identical with yours, but nevertheless identical somewhat at least.”*
I looked down when Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, said,
“Get some cash from my purse.” She wasn’t looking up any more, but when I looked down, I saw that her robe had ridden up a little and I saw part of her inner thigh where her legs were curled up under her sideways.
“It’s no problem, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife. I’ll get it.” For some reason I looked over at Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm and she had this impish grin on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face before turning back to the television.
“No, let me get it. You don’t need to buy dinner.”
I relented and ordered over the phone before heading out to pick up dinner.
“Want some company?” Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm asked, sitting up on the couch.
“I don’t know. I hate to leave Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, here alone right now.”
“I’ll be fine, Durgesh. Go ahead,” Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, insisted.
“Great!” said Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm, popping up off the couch before walking to the front door to slip on her flip-flops.
I followed her out the front, locking the door behind me.
It made me feel better since Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, was alone.
We had replaced all the locks after she kicked Aħmad Nadīm out so he couldn’t come in on his own without breaking down the door or kicking in a window.
And we added a monitored alarm system.
We got into my limousine and we weren’t even out of the cul-de-sac when Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm said,
“Aħmad Nadīm’s a real shitball, huh?”
“I can’t believe he would treat Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, that way. He never knew what he had.”
“No, I guess not. But some guys are assholes.”
“But we know what he had, don’t we?” She stopped looking out the window and looked at me instead.
“Gimme a break. You guess. Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife’s the total package! She’s generous and loving, she’s in great shape. And she’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. She’s Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife.” This drew a snicker. “What? Why are you laughing?”
“It’s okay to say your friend’s wife’s pretty. I think she’s pretty.”
“Yeah, I guess she’s pretty.” Another snicker.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“What? Yeah…I guess. Yeah, you’re pretty.”
“Who’s prettier? Me or Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife?”
“Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm, come on.”
“What?” she laughed. “Just answer the question, Durgesh.”
“Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm, seriously. Stop.” I was getting somewhat irate now.
“Okay, just answer that one question and I’ll stop. Me or Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife?”
I sighed and drove quietly for a minute.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm didn’t say a word. She could tell I wasn’t ignoring her, but was thinking.
“Well…I can’t say one of you is prettier than the other. You’re both pretty in different ways. I mean…that didn’t come out right…you’re both beautiful. But you look so different that I can’t just say one of you is prettier. There’s stuff about both of you that I like, but I can’t just say that either of you is prettier than the other one.” I looked over at her for just a second to see how she responded.
“Good answer. I can live with that.” Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm nodded and just looked out the window for the next couple of minutes while we approached the shopping center.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm chose to wait in the car while I went in and picked up the sandwiches and two big styrofoam boxes of fries.
When I got in the car I handed the bag to Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm who set it on her lap.
She didn’t say anything until I turned out onto the main road.
“You know I think you look good, too,” she muttered.
“What was that?” I asked, not sure what I heard.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm cleared her throat.
“I said you look good, too. My friends always said you were hot. I don’t disagree.” I looked at her, but she was still looking out her side window.
I just laughed a little to myself and shook my head.
“Are your friends crazy? I’m sixty four already. Too big for them. Isn’t it? Well…thanks…anyway.”
“What? You are. Even if you are really sixty four, we doubt very much however that.You’re well-built, have nice eyes, funny, and you’re super sweet. Like the way you have always taken care of Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, and me. It’s nice. All that stuff is very sexy. That’s the kind of stuff women want in a man. Face it, Durgesh,” she laughed, “you’re all that and a bag of Funyuns.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes.
“This isn’t awkward at all, coming from my friend’s daughter.”
She just looked away again, and said,
“Well it’s still true. And it isn’t any issue at all that you are sixty four and my friends and myself are teenagers. It doesn’t make any difference at all. We love experienced male, instead of a male child that’s as inexperienced as we ourselves are. Never forget we are ardent Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān. Ħazrat Åāyeshah Siddīqah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā deliberately married Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålahi wa sallam, six times to her in age. We have our Īmān on it that it was an ideal marriage. Every Musalmān has the same faith, if s/he is really a Musalmān.”
Nothing was said for a few miles before Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm said,
“Allah, God, this bag is hot on my legs. Feel this.” Before I could respond, she grabbed my free hand which was resting on the arm rest, lifted the bag, and put my hand on her upper thigh, right up against her shorts. “See? Feel how hot I am?”
“Yeah…uh…” I tried to move my hand, but Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm pressed her hand into mine and kept it there.
I was getting a little turned on, especially after my recent shower-vision, but I still had to maintain some control.
I had to fight to keep from squeezing her extremely beautiful smooth perfectly round hot Musalmān thigh.
I hoped that when I got out I wouldn’t have an erection, or at the very least, that Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm wouldn’t notice that I had one.
Well, I myself smiled on my hope against hope.
No Musalmān Beauty, no extremely beautiful Musalmān houselady, ever unnoticed my Hindu erection for her.
Neither even acted so.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm finally let me move my hand when we entered our neighborhood, and when we got out of the car, I had a definite tent pole.
My shorts attested to the fact.
And, Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm had teasingly, deliberately, offered to carry the food and got out of the car before I could object.
I had no help there too.
“Come on, slowpoke. Ammī is waiting.” She enjoyed my extremely obvious Hindu erection for her, teasing me immensely.
I rounded the car.
Her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes immediately shot to my Hindu crotch and she impishly smiled as she turned to walk toward the house.
Do her extremely beautiful Musalmān buttocks always move that much?
Dammit, Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm!
I caught up and unlocked the front door, but while I turned to lock it from the inside, I heard Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm blurt out,
“Ammī, Durgesh thinks we’re hot!”
“What?!” I heard the recliner springs pop as it swiveled around. “Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm, what are you talking about?” she laughed.
I walked into the living room right about then and Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm gave me that killer smile that she had always given me when she’s teasing me.
“Weeeelllll, we were talking in the car about how much Aħmad Nadīm didn’t know what he had in you, and Durgesh said you were hot…”
“Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm,” I tried to interrupt.
“…so I asked him who was hotter, you or me…
“Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm!” Louder this time.
“…and he couldn’t decide. Right, Durgesh?” She and Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, both just looked at me and my face was suddenly hot.
“Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife…” I stammered, “…see…that’s not correct …Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm herself called Aħmad Nadīm a shitball and said he didn’t know what he had. I only agreed. Then SHE said you were pretty and asked if I agreed. I said I did, and she started asking who was prettier, her or you, and I said neither. You’re both pretty, but I couldn’t compare because you’re so different. There. That’s what happened.”
Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, smiled and looked back and forth between Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm and me.
Then they both started laughing.
I was smiled too, but Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, got up, came around the counter as she laughed and kissed me on the cheek, saying,
She patted my hand.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm walked up.
Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, gave her a kiss on the cheek and said,
“And so are you, even though you’re a stinker! Don’t do that to Durgesh.”
She smacked Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm on the rear end playfully and walked to the refrigerator.
When Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, turned to go to the fridge, Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm got in front of me to get glasses out of the cabinet and pressed her tremendously striking smooth perfectly round hot Musalmān ass against my Hindu crotch as she reached.
I was still semi-hard, but that wasn’t enough for her apparently because she wiggled her extremely beautiful Musalmān buttocks back and forth, rubbing her butt against me, just for a second.
But it was there.
I backed up teasing her impishly.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled before looking down at my Hindu crotch for a second.
She looked back into my eyes for a Moment still smiling, before retrieving the glasses and taking them over to fill with ice.
Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, poured the soda while I unwrapped the cheese steaks and divided the fries on each of the three paper plates.
“OH! Here’s something else we talked about, Ammī!”
I looked up, cautious, the video of our trip replaying in my mind.
I could determine what she was going to talk about.
“Don’t say anything that’s going to embarrass him, baby,” Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, said.
“I don’t know why he would be embarrassed. All I said was that a lot of my friends thought he was cute and that I thought that any tremendously striking hot Musalmān girl would be lucky to have Durgesh.”
“Mmm, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, looked at me. “Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm’s right, Durgesh. You invariably make a young Musalmān lady very happy.” Her voice seemed a little sad.
“Or maybe even an older Musalmān Beauty,” Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm winked.
She quickly looked at me before shifting her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes to Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, and back, and wriggled her eyebrows before bursting out laughing as my eyes got wide.
Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, just laughed along, missing it, and said,
“Or an older Musalmān Beauty, if that’s what you want.” She looked up at me from pouring drinks. “Is that what you’re into? Older Musalmān Beauties?”
“I… I don’t know! Eīshān, God! Why are you both…just…damn you!” I marched out of the kitchen and went up to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I paced back and forth wondering how the hell I was supposed to get out of this.
What did Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm want from me?
Why was she teasing me?
What did Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, know?
How did all this start?
My thoughts were swimming aimlessly and I felt completely out of control.
I was somewhat exhausted from the day.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on my door.
“What?” I snapped.
The door opened a little bit, slowly and Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm peeked through the crack, gradually sliding her head through as she opened the door further.
“Durgesh?” she asked timidly. “Can I come in?”
Her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes were full of sadness, not like the Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm I saw just a few minutes ago.
“What, Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm?” I asked.
She opened the door and kept one hand on the knob, her other hand tracing the hem of her shorts idly.
“I’m sorry I made you mad. I didn’t mean to. I was just playing.”
Turning to look at her, between paces, I asked,
“Why the hell did you go and tell Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, about our talk in the car? As a matter of fact, what was all that talk in the car anyway? What were you thinking?”
“Listen, Durgesh, I know I shouldn’t have pushed you like that and I was out of line. I promise we can talk about it later tonight, but right now, Ammī’s waiting for us. She sent me up here to apologize. Please forgive me.” She had her puppy dog eyes on.
I sighed and nodded.
“You know I can’t stay mad at you.”
Her puppy pout always made me smile and she knew it.
She smiled back and ran to hug me, saying,
“Thank you, Durgesh.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed me, and my arms automatically wrapped around her shoulders.
Her hair had that chronic smell of some kind of fruity shampoo and chlorine.
I loved it.
I kissed her on the head, which wasn’t uncommon, and served to let her know I was sincere in my acceptance.
She backed up and quickly planted a quick kiss on my lips before turning and quickly leaving my room.
“But we’re still talking later, right?” I called after her.
She was in the hall, but her head whipped back into the door with a big smile and she said, “Promise” before waving and disappearing around the Corner again.
I rolled my eyes and followed her downstairs, feeling a little better, but still uneasy.
When I grabbed my plate and glass to sit on the couch, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, asked if I was all right.
I smiled at her and said,
“Just a tough day. I’ll be okay.”
She had a sorrowful look on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
“I’m sorry, Durgesh.”
“It’s okay, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife. Not your fault.” I cleared my throat and looked away.
Her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes had started tearing up.
“What are we watching?” I asked more cheerfully, trying to change the mood.
They had decided on not only a comedy, but one of my favorites.
I knew they were doing it for me and was grateful.
The cheese steaks were delicious as always and the movie put us all in a lighter mood.
I knew they enjoyed it because they laughed more as great lines were approaching and even quoted along with the movie, something my friend,Aħmad Nadīm, used to abhor.
“Shut the fuck up,” he would slur, his beer or bourbon swinging in his hand.
As if he could follow or remember the movie anyway.
We had enjoyed our movies a lot more this year with him gone.
When the movie was over, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, was clearly exhausted.
She had a habit of falling asleep during movies, but not tonight.
“I’m turning in,” she said. “You guys lock up for me?” she asked as she got out of her chair.
“Sure, Ammī,” Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm said.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm and I stood up so Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, wouldn’t have to bend down, and Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, kissed us each on the cheek and told us she loved us.
We returned it of course.
She shuffled upstairs as Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm gathered the glasses to wash in the sink.
She turned on the water and I leaned up against the counter while she waited for the water to heat up.
“Well,” I said, “what’s up?”
She knew what I meant.
“Right here. Right now. Spill it.”
She sighed as she squirted soap onto the sponge and picked up the first glass.
“How do I start?” A pause. “Okay. I don’t want you to be mad or embarrassed because I’m not.”
She began washing the glasses, never looking at me as she told the story.
“Today when I saw you with Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, taking care of her, my heart broke. But when you told me what you did to Aħmad Nadīm, I fell over the edge.”
“Let me finish,” she cut me off. “This is hard enough as it is. I’ve always looked up to you, Durgesh.”
I thought that first glass should have been clean by now, but she continued to scrub. “My friends would tease me about how cute you were, but I would just laugh and roll my eyes as they went on about you. But the truth was that I knew they were right. They talked about how cute you were, and how sweet, but I knew the real Durgesh. They were only scratching the surface of who you were. Are.
“You have always been my cheerleader. My support. Whenever I would look up in the stands at my games and meets, it was always you and Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife. Never Aħmad Nadīm. Every goal I scored or every time my name was called, you two were always on your feet, cheering and lots of times calling my name. I remember some of the posters you made for my games. I think one of the things that stood out the most, though, was when Tribhuvan broke up with me right before homecoming. Even though you had graduated, you came home and took me to the dance because it was my senior year and I wanted to go so bad.” She was tearing up a little bit.
I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm, I didn’t…”
“No, it’s okay, Durgesh.” She finally moved to a second glass. “Besides…I’ve seen the way you look at me.” She looked up at me “In my bikini. In my homecoming dress. And tonight when I was lying on the couch. I know how you feel about me, Durgesh.”
My face got grave again.
I didn’t say or respond.
I didn’t say she was wrong, but I kept my feelings a secret.
I kept to myself how truly beautiful I thought my friend’s daughter was.
She has always been very perceptive.
She didn’t look upset.
I took a small step which put me right on top of her.
She turned toward me.
I placed my hand on the side of her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
She bit her lip.
I leaned down and gently touched my lips to hers.
Only for a Moment.
Her lips were soft, so soft.
She didn’t back away or push me back at all.
It seemed as if she relaxed into it, instead.
I pulled back a little to look into her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes.
She smiled just a little and she turned to place the sponge and glass in the sink.
Wiping the suds on her hands on the front of her shirt, she leaned in and placed her arms around my neck.
I kissed her again.
My mouth opened slightly, mirroring her own, and I gently slid the tip of my tongue along her upper lip.
She shuddered and moaned before her own tongue touched mine.
Our kiss escalated to apprehensively exploring each other with our writhing pink muscles.
She was a great kisser.
My arms caressed her back and waist and I couldn’t help but grow in my shorts.
My friend’s daughter moaned into my mouth and pressed herself harder against me.
One arm quickly moved off my neck and I almost immediately felt her hand on my Hindu crotch, searching me out.
I broke off the kiss and backed away. “No…we shouldn’t.”
She never took her hand off and she followed me forward.
“Yes. We must.” She reached up to kiss me again and I let her, but came to my senses again quickly.
“Not here.” I looked around.
“Ammī?” She understood and smiled.
“Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, your Ammī, sure.” I repeated.
“Get the lights. I’ll finish these glasses.” She scrubbed the last two glasses in record time, rinsing them and placing them in the drainer just as I finished turning off the last lamp.
She was waiting for me at the hall to the foyer and she practically dragged me toward the front door.
I checked the lock and set the alarm before we hurried toward the stairs, hand in hand.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm had a giddiness to her step and a huge smile on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
I was behind her.
Was this really happening?
I chased her up the stairs and she headed to my room.
“Wait,” I said. “Let’s use your room.”
“My bed creaks.”
“My room is right next to Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife’s. She might hear us.”
She seemed to think about it for half a second. “You’re right. My room.” She pushed me back a couple steps, and turned into her room.
I closed the door.
She had never really progressed in her decorations.
Over the years she had moved from Disney princesses on her bedspread and posters, to kittens, to boy bands, and now she was at peace signs and Olympic athletes, particularly swimmers and soccer players.
But her bedding was generic, the walls were the same bright green they had been for years, and she still had a shelf of her most beloved stuffed animals and Disney autograph books from her childhood trip.
She got so many pictures and autographs from the characters that she had to get a second book after the third day and that one was almost full as well.
“How are we gonna do this?” I asked.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm was bouncing on her toes, obviously nervous and excited.
I had seen her do this countless times growing up.
Just before she stepped onto the starting block.
While waiting for her name to run onto the soccer field. Waiting for her prom date. And waiting for Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, to open her acceptance, or rejection, letter from college.
She looked around and said,
“OH! Wait! She grabbed the Corner of her bedspread and yanked it onto the floor, then tossed all four pillows onto it.
“Spread this out,” she said as she passed me to get to her closet.
I did as she requested, and while I was still working, her purple velour blanket landed in the middle of it, still folded, albeit loosely after the landing.
I looked up at her with a smile.
I spread the blanket out over the bedspread and before I got the Corner straight, she was on the blanket, kneeling close to me.
I barely caught myself when she jumped on me, but we were quickly locked in a heated embrace, tongues wrestling freely now, no pretense or trepidation.
We both knew how we felt and both knew what we wanted.
Now was not the time to be shy.
She again returned her hand to my Hindu crotch and quickly found my erection, which was painfully hanging down to the left, though struggling to find its way upward against my shorts and boxers.
Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm was grabbing at it and it felt like she was trying to bend it up.
“Ow!” I whispered.
She stopped and leaned back a little.
“What’d I do?”
“It’s just…it doesn’t bend that way.” She watched as I reached down and rotated it up to the 12 o’clock from the 5 as if I was turning back the hands of a clock. “There,” I smiled, “that’s better.”
She smiled and kissed me again, this time her hand readily finding my Uncut Hindu Lund she was looking for, resting comfortably against my Hindu stomach.
She stroked it gently and freely, exploring and hopefully becoming more comfortable.
I have to admit she was doing a good job and I began to breathe heavily.
Yet I never let out the occasional involuntary moan others let out.
It showed weakness.
It was a blunder for a man to let a woman/women know about his shortcomings even if he has any.
Of course, a man is too a human being.
Both men and women have their own shortcomings.
But neither of them ever wants to accept it as a fact.
Most of the women, in my life, hated and even cheated their husbands for their human shortcomings.
They wanted their man an ideal one, even if they themselves were not.
They had numerous excuses for why they themselves were not as ideal the women as their husbands wanted them to be.
Nevertheless, they never excused their husbands for any similar shortcomings they had.
They enjoyed sex with me more, because they did never find any shortcomings in me, their foolish husbands either couldn’t get rid of, or couldn’t hide successfully from them.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
Aħmad Ħabīb looked at me gravely.
“We can share her and you can gain some more experience with our Musalmān houseladies. She can be blindfolded so it is not too awkward.”
Aħmad Ħabīb was talking to me about the possibility of sharing Aħmad Ħabīb’s wife, Rizwānah Nadīm, with me in bed.
I was watching him carefully.
What the hell was he after, after all?
He himself was proposing that he could let me fuck his exceedingly beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
Aħmad Ħabīb knew once I had gotten any pussy, she becomes mine alone exclusively, gradually.
At even 48 years old, Rizwānah Nadīm, took care of her body had not even a slight sag on her assets.
she still looked better than even some women half her age.
Those c-cup breasts, flat stomach, ripe Musalmān ass, auburn hair, and dark green eyes had often fueled even my sexual lust.
“How will you tell her, Aħmad Ħabīb? This is a crazy idea and I think getting into an Ashvinātam relationship would not be the best thing for you.” I wanted to make sure that Aħmad Ħabīb was for real and not making a regrettable decision.
I sure would enjoy a piece of her lovely Musalmān body, but not at the expense of our relationship.
The idea had come off as a good one, but now it seemed empty.
“What if I told you that she already knows about this proposal and that we want to fulfill our threesome fantasy?” Aħmad Ħabīb looked at me gravely.
I was stunned by his comment which meant that Rizwānah Nadīm, already had agreed to the whole deal.
It all made sense now, Rizwānah Nadīm, had agreed and Aħmad Ħabīb was here trying to get me on board.
“How did this come to be and how will it play out?” Rizwānah Nadīm always dressed and behaved properly.
It made this even crazier.
Why would she be willing to commit Ashvinātam?
Her traditional Musalmān society would go entirely against her.
“Well, we don’t like to see you moping around for her any more. We know you are hyper sexual. You need more sex with more Musalmān Beauties and Musalmān houseladies of us, your Musalmān friends, than even a normal Hindu does. Moreover, this could really open up our sexuality. We have talked about threesome in the past and now that you are available, you seem to be the perfect fit. It will be private and fun for all of us.”
Aħmad Ħabīb had walked into my room a few minutes ago into what seemed to be a simple check up, but this would change everything between us.
Having my commitment into the whole thing, Aħmad Ħabīb patted me on the knee and made his way out of my room.
I wondered whether he could not satisfy his wife now any more, as much as she needed.
That’s why he needed my sexual services now to keep his wonderful wife still to himself.
Had she asked for divorce from him?
Most of my Musalmān friends shared their exquisite extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives with me, only to keep them with themselves even while they couldn’t satisfy them sexually any longer.
Their children needed their real Ammī.*
I was excited about the possibilities and thrilled just like any 64 year old Hindu getting a Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy for the first time.
Suddenly my excitement turned into anxiety as I didn’t know when it would all go down.
What if Rizwānah Nadīm, changed her mind now that things became more real?
How would we have sex and what did I need to be prepared for Rizwānah Nadīm?
Even at her forty eight, Rizwānah Nadīm never looked more than forty.
I called her Bhābhījān.
She never tried to cross the line my address to her established between us.
In this age of even aggressive and bold incest, while none of my stepsisters, none of my stepdaughters and even so many of my step Ammīs unashamedly refused to maintain any platonic relationship with me, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān was a great honourable woman for me.
I really respected her very much, even while I felt immediate erection even if she was present around me anywhere.
It was more commendable when her Nanads and sisters were entirely unashamed nudists, feminists and most of them even raped me.
But, even Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān was perhaps tired of her platonic relationship with me, now.
I had mixed reaction.
My lust said I should fuck Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān immediately.
Yet, my morals said I should stop her from falling.
First thing that came to mind was a trim of my pubic hair and taking a shower to be ready at any moment.
Trimming down there made my Uncut Hindu Cock look even bigger.
I thought Rizwānah Nadīm would appreciate it if she sucked me off.
I had recently measured my Uncut Hindu Cock at 9 inches and I doubted Aħmad Ħabīb had it bigger.
I wondered if we would double penetrate her as I looked at the clock anxiously.
I couldn’t imagine Aħmad Ħabīb leaving his wife entirely for me.*
It was 6:24 pm now.
Rizwānah Nadīm would be home from work any minute.
My thoughts were broken by a knock on the door.
“Be down at the living room at seven.”
My heart raised as Aħmad Ħabīb’s words resounded in my head.
I stood up and began pacing back and forth as I was only minutes away from something special.
What exactly would happen I didn’t know, but that everything would be set in motion this Friday night made me ecstatic.
Rizwānah Nadīm had arrived home.
I heard both of them walk into their room.
It only increased the excitement for me.
My mouth was dry and my Uncut Hindu Cock was stiff as I kept looking back at the clock.
In two minutes I would make my way downstairs and embrace the Moment.
Whatever happened would be fine except a change of heart from my friend and his ever righteous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
It was a minute past seven when I gathered myself to make my way into the living room.
Aħmad Ħabīb was in the kitchen grabbing a drink as I sat down on the couch.
“Hey are you ready? Your Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān will be down here any second.”
We both had sleepwear shirts on, but Aħmad Ħabīb was only wearing his boxers.
It was comforting to hear Aħmad Ħabīb’s calm voice and see him take a seat next to me.
He was willing to share his wife with me and begin an Ashvinātam relationship so I felt confident next to him.
It was obvious to me now that as most of my rest of the Musalmān friends, Aħmad Ħabīb too needed my sexual services to keep his ever efficient Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān, with him.
“Yeah sure. What are we going to do?” I tried to act as nonchalantly as possible.
My Uncut Hindu Cock was getting uncomfortable under my shorts.
I took them off, but let my boxers on.
I could feel my head touching the fabric which made my Uncut Hindu Cock twitch.
“Blowjobs tonight and then we will take it from there.” Aħmad Ħabīb relaxed back and finished his drink.
I grabbed my shaft and pressed it with my left hand as I knew that I would be getting my first blowjob from his wife, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān, tonight.
Well, what a graceful Musalmān lady.
Next thing I knew Rizwānah Nadīm was walking down the stairs wearing a matching set of yellow lingerie with white polka dots.
She quickly made her way to the table in front of us and grabbed a black blindfold.
“Alright boys sit back and let me do the work. Don’t worry Durgesh, everything will be fine.”
Aħmad Ħabīb pulled down his boxers and I followed suit.
Rizwānah Nadīm kneeled in front of Aħmad Ħabīb with a smile as I ogled her lovely Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān body.*
I stood over Aħmad Nadīm’s body, seething with rage.
Aħmad Nadīm was drunk and bloody.
He didn’t show up that way. Well, not bloody anyway.
I walked in at the wrong time. For him.
I had been out playing my sex game with my Musalmān lady friends.
We met every Sunday afternoon and played a pick-up game with whoever else showed up to the field behind the National Guard Armory.
After about two hours of full-contact Sex game, I was sweaty, gritty, scraped up, yet never exhausted even then.
A few of us stopped off to eat some pizza before I drove home.
My stomach knotted up when I saw Aħmad Nadīm’s truck in the driveway.
I parked at the curb and as soon as I rounded the bumper of my car I heard Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, yelling with a return from Aħmad Nadīm.
I burst forth in a run across the lawn when I heard a sharp scream from Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl.
I had heard that scream before, countless times whenever I stayed with them.
It was the immediate response to the hand across her face, usually knocking her to the ground.
I burst through the front door, never stopping to close it.
I kept running through the narrow hall, following the noise of repeated smacks peppered through constant begging and crying.
As I rounded the corner, breaking the rule of removing my shoes before walking on the carpet, I saw Aħmad Nadīm bent over, his hand wrapped around Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s bicep, her form cowering on the floor.
His hand was back over his head for another blow as he spit insults at her.
His “bitch” was cut off when my shoulder caught him under the arm, his feet leaving the ground before he landed on his side on the living room carpet.
Aħmad Nadīm didn’t have time to recognize my face before my left hand had a fistful of t-shirt and my right fist smashed into his bearded face repeatedly.
It wasn’t until Al Nādirah Al Jamāl screamed at me to stop that I came out of my rage and stood up, dropping Aħmad Nadīm onto the carpet.
I shoved him onto the carpet.
“Get the hell out! If I ever saw you in this house again, I’ll send you to jail! I swear I will!”
It was hard to see with the righteous rage in my eyes.
Aħmad Nadīm was blurry, but I could tell his bearded face was spattered with blood.
Aħmad Nadīm was barely moving, but he groaned.
Aħmad Nadīm was obviously dazed, which was a step further from death than I had wished, but there it was.
Naturally Aħmad Nadīm wasn’t in any position to leave on his own, so again the responsibility fell to me.
His responsibilities had always fallen to me.
I pulled him up by his arm, enough to get my other arm around his ribs.
As much as I wanted to drag him out by his feet instead, I carried him like a drunken friend, dragging him to the front door and off the porch, literally dropping him on the lawn.
Confident Aħmad Nadīm wasn’t going back into the house, I walked next door and knocked on Mrs. Zahīruddīn’s front door.
After a moment, she opened it.
Her face showed that she knew what I needed.
“I’ll get the camera,” she said.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn had lived next door to Aħmad Nadīm for as long as they’d lived there.
When we moved in, Mrs. Zahīruddīn and her husband didn’t have any children of their own.
She treated me like family, to get some sons from me.
I was reputed to give sons to Musalmān Beauties and beautiful Musalmān houseladies without even a single failure ever.
They were a few years older than us, her husband a retired Air Force colonel who became a golf pro, and she spent her time volunteering with charities.
The first time she let on that she knew, we had lived there about two years.
Years later, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, told me the story.
after she had requested me go get Mrs. Zahīruddīn.
After Mrs. Zahīruddīn came and took some pictures, sending me out of the room while she did so, I asked Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, about it.
Taking a deep breath and patting her bed, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, sat down on the edge and I took a seat as she had invited.
“A few years ago, your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, and I had a fight. You and Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm were at a club and your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, was drunk. Again. Unsurprisingly, it got heated quickly and your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, started in on me. When he had his fill of beating me, he left. I cleaned up and went outside to trim the rose bushes. Gardening has always comforted me, you know.”
“As I worked on the roses, I didn’t hear her walk up, but she had approached the fence and caught me off-guard. ‘Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, are you all right?’ she asked. I thought I was, but I just started crying. Maybe it was too fresh or maybe it was just that she asked. She immediately pulled me to her and hugged me over the fence.” She laughed a little and said, “I remember the thorns digging into my hip and leg, but didn’t want to say anything. When I had settled down, she invited me to her house for tea. While we were there she told me that she had heard us several times, but didn’t want to make things worse for me by imposing. That day, however, she said she had had enough. She had been doing some research and called a friend of hers at social services who works with victims of abuse. She said the best thing to do is to be a safe place.
“So Mrs. Zahīruddīn offered to help me build a case if I ever decided to press charges or file for divorce. Or…to help the police if something…should happen to me.” She took a deep breath. “So she took me upstairs and took pictures of my injuries while they were fresh. She keeps them in a safe place so your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, can’t find them in our house and get rid of them. She’s been taking pictures ever since.”
I can’t count the times I’ve been to Mrs. Zahīruddīn’s house at Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s request.
Somehow she was always able to treat Aħmad Nadīm as if she didn’t know what he had been doing.
Up until the separation last year, that is.
Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, had finally had enough and kicked him out, threatening to call the police.
She still hasn’t called them and she hasn’t filed for divorce.
I think mostly she just wanted to feel safe, not be single.
A separation means hope, but a divorce doesn’t.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn followed me back over to the house.
As we rounded Aħmad Nadīm’s truck at the end of the driveway, she stopped and gasped, “Oh, my.”
“Yeah,” I cleared my throat. “I, uh…” I was suddenly embarrassed and looked down.
“I see,” she said with a smirk, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go take care of your friend’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl.”*
When we got inside, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, was still curled up against the wall where I left her, but now she was crying.
I felt like a stupid for not coming back in to check on her.
What a dick move.
I rushed over to her and knelt down beside her.
“Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife.”
She looked at me, her eyes red with tears, and her left cheekbone swollen.
She had blood streaking out of her left nostril and her lip was cut open.
“I’m sorry I left you. Are you okay?” She placed her hand on my hand and nodded, reassuring me that she was not upset with me.
She knew the necessary routine.
She looked past me to see Mrs. Zahīruddīn standing behind me.
“Oh, .Tāhirah Saåīd, I’m so sorry to call you again.” She began to cry again.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn was at her other side in a blink, talking as she crouched down, the camera hanging from her wrist by the strap as she reached around Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s shoulders.
“Believe me, dear, you’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
Again Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, nodded.
Carefully, we helped Al Nādirah Al Jamāl to her feet, me on one side, Mrs. Zahīruddīn on the other.
They didn’t even bother asking me to leave the room this time like they usually did.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn just began taking pictures from different angles, making sure not to miss any wounds.
“Durgesh,” she called.
I snapped out of my haze.
“Ma’am, Tāhirah Saåīd?”
“Why don’t you go get something to help me clean her up while I finish this?”
“Yeah, sure.” I turned and went upstairs to grab a washcloth, some cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, then halfway down the hall, I remembered I’d better get ointment just in case and returned to the bathroom before bounding down the stairs.
I u-turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn was snapping pictures of Al Nādirah Al Jamāl topless.
But that wasn’t what surprised me.
Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, had her back to me, so all I saw was her back, but she had large welts and bruises across her back and around her upper arms where Aħmad Nadīm was fond of grabbing her.
At my voice, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl jumped and hugged herself as if hiding her breasts which I couldn’t see anyway.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam