Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan sat back in the green swivel chair and contemplated her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, across her favorite desk.
Her Abbū had a dream to be the Mustafa Kemal Atatürk of entire Islamic World.
But whereas Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was practical, her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was utopian more than practical.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan could not understand that the Musalmīn were never democratic practically except when Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam and Kħulfa-e-Rāshidīn were alive.
Maybe Abū Sufyān had embraced Islam ultimately sincerely after the victory of Mecca.
Yet, his ‘crown prince’, his Walī Åhad, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah bin Abū Sufyān, never forgot he was the crown prince of Mecca before Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam conquered Mecca.
He was never democratic, nor as sincere to Islam as Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd, Saifullah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahu.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was almost always in a state of high enthusiasm.
He had congratulated his daughter profusely, abundantly.
She had fulfilled his dream in Saudi Arabia.
Even her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had ignored that Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had revenged her for betraying her father.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan never listened to her Ammī.
Nafīsah Salmān always tried to explain to her daughter,
“Your Abbū is a bloody terrorist. He is a munāfiq, a Pseudo Musalmān. I punished him for his munāfiqat, his pseudo Īmān.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed sarcastically.
“And I punished you for your insincerity to my Abbū as his wife. I can please Durgesh more, sexually, than you can. I’ve successfully replaced you in his life.”
“Because you are thirty two years younger than Durgesh?” Nafīsah Salmān, her Ammī, had smiled cunningly.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan realized once again she owed her cunningness to her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, she detested so much.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, wasn’t cunning at all.
He was a utopian idealist Musalmān.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan was Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s utmost close sister.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was happy that Tawaħīd Bājī was too not less cunning than herself or their Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
What a great Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān female body her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not deny her own immense Musalmān beauty was due to her Ammī’s incredible eternal Musalmān beauty.
Nafīsah Salmān knew very well how to maintain her magical magnificent figure.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had congratulated her younger sister too.
She had happily recounted the details of her airplane trip down from Ved Nagar, accompanied by the Secret Service commando who had shown at Ålīgarh Muslim University a week ago.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had reported proudly that every passenger aboard was absorbed in a newspaper or weekly magazine filled with pictures of Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had recounted the excitement of her ride in the President House limousine too, of the photographers who had surrounded her outside the Al Ajm lobby, of her rescue.
Momentarily muted by her first visit to the Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Office, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had then wanted to know everything about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan happily led her Tawaħīd Bājī on a tour of the Presidential House, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Manzil, pointing out the historical curiosities about which Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had learned and dreamed of ever since she understood why Durgesh was so loved and so admired by even his enemies.
Even Durgesh’s enemies wanted to be what Durgesh was today.
Yet they only wanted to be Durgesh.
It was their fantasy only.
They only fantasized to be Durgesh.
They never were serious about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was serious about it.
She studied gravely, deeply, profoundly, what Durgesh always cared for and his opponents never did, even though they were always jealous of Durgesh.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan always watched Durgesh fucking her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
She wanted to know what her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, lacked and Durgesh doesn’t that her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, left her Abbū for Durgesh.
She found Durgesh loved animal wild sex similarly as her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, did.
Her Abbū hated animal wild sex.
It was the first reason her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, preferred Durgesh on her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan.
When having sex with each other, her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, and Durgesh, both were not even human.
They were entirely unashamed beasts, surrendered to their ever wild animal lust, without caring anything else whatsoever.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not believe her otherwise ever sophisticated Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, was so horniest the female beast.
Durgesh was so horniest male beast.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan decided to have Durgesh for herself too.
Yes, Durgesh was thirty two years elder to Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were also even far more elder than Ummil Mominīn, Ħazrat Åāyeshah Siddīqah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahā.
She was surprised by my firm tone, but always welcomed our conversations.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, we need to talk!”
For over ten year now it was just Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, her fifty five years old Hindu friend of her husband, Durgesh, and her nineteen-year old daughter Sādiyah Raħīm.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was near forty now, a homebody, and still in pleasing shape.
Her tresses were raven black, only her hair-dresser knew for sure… Her ample bosom hadn’t sagged even a little.
Even forty years couldn’t do that.
Her skin showed no signs of age.
She could still turn heads if she wanted to.
I had not seen my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, in anything form-flattering since the old man, my friend, Muħammad Raħīm, was around.
At home she always wore a bra under her frumpy, baggy sweats.
Mostly green, or on a daring day, for her, I sometimes caught a glimpse of a black strap and once even, a red bra.
Though I thought that might have been Sādiyah Raħīm’s on a laundry day.
An occasional glimpse of the beautiful Musalmān cleavage showed the wear of four decades on a full exquisite female Musalmān figure.
Her chest never revealed even some wrinkles and the natural effects of gravity on a well-endowed Musalmān woman.
Her legs were nicely muscled, as she had never been taught to drive, so biking and walking had served her well.
And either by design or comfort, she often wore very skimpy, tight shorts in her garden or for her daily runs or rides.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn sometimes got wolf-calls and whistles from bold Hindus and she could truly catch my eye when she leaned over the handle bars and peddled swiftly.
The pumping motion often made me wish that her swaying Musalmān breasts would one day spill over the top of her almost transparent bra.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had been a middle-management secretary back in the day.
Schlepping, filing and pleasing a typical ladder-climbing idiot of a boss.
She worked overtime and through lunch, and ordered her own flowers for “appreciation day.”
After closing a big deal, the boss would escort her to a hotel lounge for a single appletini and offer a snide jab that her career would advance quicker if she spent more time under my desk than in front of it.
The crude sexual remarks elicited only a smirk.
She sometimes daydreamed that if my remarks were sincere or even clever, she would drag me into the elevator and up to one of the luxury suites on the upper floors.
She once joked that they could settle a sexual harassment suit out of court.
Her boss merely smiled, drained his glass and scanned the room for younger talent.
For the past ten years, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had become a stay at home Ammī for her children.
She cooked, cleaned and cared for kids while nearly abandoning her own identity.
I was, beside the Mayor of Ved Nagar, a web designer and programmer.
I spent countless hours online and on porn sites to know how to make and use them positively.
I dreamed-up various positive scenarios on my laptop, with every fantasy woman from Xena to the Flying Nun.
After trolling internet spank-sites into the early morning, I would “run one off” and then hunker down for another day.
I had never been a jock.
Though my upscale, early life had afforded me rich-man privileges. I surfed the Pacific off the shore of their Malibu beach house.
I took riding lessons and belonged to a posh club.
This however was long ago.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s wealthy husband had left them with nothing but bills.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn won custody of a beachfront home they could not afford and platinum cards that served only as anchors.
In came the dot.com.
Boom and soon, my dexterity with a mouse came as a saving grace.
I was soon able to pay down the family debt and transfer Sādiyah Raħīm from a community college to a “big-name” Pac-10 school.
Their life was suddenly golden and the family adored me.
I was classically handsome in this “Hollywood” town.
With dark hair and warm black eyes I always got an offer or a look, every now and then.
When I sat my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, down for our “talk”, I had already steeled my nerves with a little juice and had worked my diabolical scheme online for weeks.
In my mind, all my money went into this home and to Sādiyah Raħīm and Åāliyah Kamāluddīn.
I believed I could easily be on my own, living the high-life.
Instead, every day was a round-up of shopping-lists, utility bills, school work and more.
The beach-bunnies and bachelor-pad were nowhere to be found and it was time someone paid.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I began, “it’s time for some changes. You and Sādiyah Raħīm have to start doing more around here.”
“Well of course Durgesh, you are the breadwinner and we would do anything to help out. What can I do for you, dear? Anything we can do to help, you just ask.” This was the only way Åāliyah Kamāluddīn knew how to answer.
She sat pleasantly on the couch, in shorts and a thin blouse.
Dark, full black locks framed her face and lay gently on her shoulders.
Her family was European Årabian and they all inherited the shiny, black hair and olive complexion.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn seldom wore makeup at home, and that only lipstick and liner to high-light her big, doey eyes.
She was content to remain invisible and anonymous.
Her hands were folded delicately in her lap, her long fingers intertwined.
Light-green shorts riding up her thighs and stretching tightly across her wide hips.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s tanned legs showed her toned calves and thick quads.
And her bare legs were crossed at the ankles with one canvas sandal precariously balanced on the toes of her right foot.
These Åāliyah Kamāluddīn-Durgesh talks always lifted her spirits.
She sat her teacup on the inlaid coffee table and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
She looked directly into my eyes.
It was good to see me taking charge of a situation and she was pleased to see me assert myself more.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had taken on the role of the facilitator and always tried to ease family friction.
No sense beating around the bush.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, frankly I’m horny. I’m not getting enough sex in this home, and I want to make some changes, here.”
She was surprised at that, naturally.
And coming from her husband’s ever best friend, even if I was the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She wasn’t sure what I was trying to say.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I tried again, “I’m going to change the dynamics here.”
She was thoroughly confused, shifting her position, and taking on a look of concern.
She tried her best to discern my intent.
“Do you mean you need more privacy, or that you want to have more beautiful Musalmān girlfriends over? Would you like us to stay out of the way on certain nights? You want to have sex. That’s fine, you’re a Hindu, I understand.”
This just tended to infuriate me.
And now anger was increasing moreover.
“Yes, sex, that’s it. In this house. And whenever I want it. And it starts tonight!”
My face reddening as I rose and paced the room ominously.
My ego grew with each repressed desire.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was flustered and not quite comprehending.
“Durgesh, it’s late, Sādiyah Raħīm’s staying with a friend and I can make myself scarce. Let me gather a few things and I’ll ride over to my friend, Lailā’s.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn rose to leave and as she tried to pass, I grabbed her wrist and said,
“You don’t get it, do you? I want sex. I want it, now. And I want it from you.” I blurted it out and liked the way it sounded.
Then I roughly pulled her back onto the couch.
She was just catching up with my last words, ..
“I want it from you.”
Her beautiful dark, brown eyes grew wide. “Durgesh, are you crazy? I’m your friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, your Bhābhījān!”
Beads of sweat appeared at her temples and her heart-rate soared.
I sat on top of her to plant her in her place.
Her head started thrashing wildly, her ebon locks clinging to her face and loose strands flying in all directions.
Her strong gams kicked at me as her sandals flew across the living room.
Her grunts of exertion were working like a tonic on my conception of things and she felt my Hindu manhood begin to swell.
The thrill of the hunt was always better than the trophy!
I pushed her sweaty, disheveled excellent Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān body into the cushions and figured my next move.
It was now or never and I had already gone too far to stop.
Her protests increased verbally and physically as her resistance started.
Allah, Allah, Nooooooooooooooo!
Yes, she had lost her mind while flirting with Durgesh.
But not sex!
She teased Durgesh, seduced Durgesh, but it was only a tease.
She wasn’t prepared even to have sex with the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She shrieked in my face and tried to heave me off her.
I was sitting on her belly, my left hand clasping both her wrists and my right hand violently yanking her shorts down her legs.
“You grab my Uncut Hindu Penis every now and then, don’t you? You play with it and suck it every night when you think it’s safe and I’m sound asleep. You even undress me yourself then, undress yourself too, straddle me and fuck me almost entire night. Don’t you?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was dumbfounded.
“You, you were never asleep? You, you were always wide-awake?”
“What do you think? Aren’t you one of the utmost beautiful Musalmān wives my Musalmān friends have and always crazy for me? You are already enjoying the ultimate pleasure with me, while I always suppress my feelings for you.”
“I, I’m sorry. I was fed up, frustrated actually.”
“What the hell do you mean, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn?”
“I needed such videos to show to my husband.”
I was startled.
“He always refuses me to straddle him. He doesn’t have sex with me properly. I boasted to him that even you let me straddle yourself. He didn’t believe and laughed at me.”
“Your ever righteous Musalmān friend challenged me to make our videos and show them to him, if you really allow me to straddle you.”
“And you did it? Are you crazy?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn blazed at me suddenly,
“Shut up, you damn fool. Every Musalmān houselady that’s beautiful, is crazy for youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Not me aloneeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”*
I watched her incredulously.
“So, you prepared our videos yourself and gave him?”
“It wasn’t necessary.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn said disinterested, “I only had to agree. He himself made entire arrangements.”
“And do you know what he is doing with those videos of us? He is using them to make our adult movies. You are now a wonderful, one of the utmost successful porn stars, with me.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn wasn’t startled.
She wasn’t dumbfounded.
Instead, she smiled cunningly.
“And my husband himself is doing it?”
“That’s what I wanted.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn smiled triumphantly.
“I told him he is a pimp, not any sophisticated person. And now he himself has proved it.”
“Are you crazy? He is selling our porn videos.”
“He isn’t alone,”
“What do you mean?”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has made Pseudo Musalmīn either to surrender to their cuckolding to their beautiful Musalmān womankind and you, or leave Modern Democratic Årabia and live the vagabond life of a refugee.”
“That’s the exact punishment the terrorists, criminal and criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn deserve. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has decided even not let them unite anywhere. Their unity has always proved harmful to humanity.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, but…”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn mused.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is always right.”
“Not always.” I said disapprovingly, “No one is always right except Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, Allah, God. Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, you are a Musalmān lady. You can’t appreciate anyone beyond a limit. Alhamdulillah. Y’ ék ittamu sŧuhi. Mā chidanyasvishansat sakhāyo mā rishañyat.”*
Damn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan!
She has spread so many white lies about my unique legendary sexual prowess that almost entire Musalmān houseladies believed if they hadn’t have sex with me ever, they haven’t enjoyed even their life optimum as a woman.
My Uncut Hindu Penis wasn’t the biggest one, neither the monster as Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her ever cunning, ever shrewdest, ever smart, ever preplanned untrue Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread the white lie everywhere.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,” I gritted my teeth, “Stop spreading white lies about my ever incredible unique legendary sexual prowess.”
“Am I harming you, Anant Muslimātchod Hindu Piyā?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan cooed straddling me aggressively as usual.
“Not me, and don’t try to bribe me by straddling me aggressively every when I want to talk with you on some grave matter.”
“It’s bribery?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan looked into my eyes seductively, “It isn’t my ever exclusive wifely love for my ever sexiest Hindu husband?”
“Why do you and your ever obedient Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread white lies about my Uncut Hindu Penis? You and your entire Young Musalmān lady Brigade know with your own constant experiences that I don’t have the biggest penis…”
“Who the hell is interested in the damn biggest penis? They want only to experience the thrill of having sex with the utmost sexiest Hindu.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,”
“A large number of them want to have only the ultimate intimacy with you, to feel the pride of it their entire life. They damn care about the truthfulness of the fantastic stories we spread of your ever miraculous sexual prowess. They live in dreams. They want to keep living in dreams. They never want to come out of it. That’s the tragedy of not only us womankind, but of us entire humankind as well.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, Durgesh.” Imāmzādi Ħumayrah Qāzī smiled gravely at me.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
A Deep Conflict
Conflict of ideals
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ was seated behind her desk, waiting for the last of her group meetings to begin shortly.
Looking out of the window, she could see that this day was overcast, somewhat bleak, unwelcoming, and she wished the sun were shining.
She felt sunny inside.
The grueling, demanding, training period was, ultimately, a complete success.
She had a team of bright, warm Sex Therapists and she was eager to get them on the road.
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ insisted on them being warm.
“You think there would be protest from Communal Muslims?”
“You know them more than me.”
“Yes,” Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ agreed, and that’s why I’ve chosen only Hindu male Sex Therapists and Muslimahs female Sex Therapists. What do you think? Muslim males are Sex Therapists too, successful or unsuccessful?”
“I know they are not good at sex, but—“
“But what Durgesh? It’s not your bloody politics I’m practicing here. It’s psychiatry and sex therapy. If Muslim males were as understanding as you imply they are, there wouldn’t have been any necessity of our global clinics at all.”
Dr. Nādirah Saddām smiled,
“Now, the question is why Muslimahs female Sex Therapists only? Can I answer it?”
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ was also smiling at me.
She looked proudly at Dr. Nādirah Saddām.
Dr. Nādirah Saddām had finally arrived from Makkah Mukarramah a week ago.
She had graduated herself from Stanford University and had wound up her affairs there.
Fareedah had not seen much of Dr. Nādirah Saddām during the week.
It was when Fareedah had introduced her to her therapist trainees.
Nādirah was busy finding and settling into a bungalow in Vijay Nagar.
When Nādirah had come in this morning to assist her with her send-off ceremony, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ had been so delighted to see her, so reassured by Nādirah’s confident professional presence, that Fareedah had invited Nādirah to the restaurant next door, the coffee and sandwich shop where they might lunch together.
Unlike other fields of therapies, Sex Therapy needed most attractive Sex Therapists males and females both.
If they were not attractive, the patients were not interested in having sex with them.
Thus, failing the process completely.
Fareedah was lucky enough to have all of them very very attractive, be males or females.
As they seated themselves in a cabin, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ noticed once more how graceful and beautiful Dr. Nādirah Saddām was.
She was attired in a green silk blouse, nipped at her waist by a black leather belt, a pleated silk skirt that clung to her extremely beautiful thighs when she walked.
Watching Dr. Nādirah Saddām, as she studied the menu, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ enjoyed her pretty face.
Nādirah had dark glossy hair trimmed in a gamine bob, encasing a countenance, a face, an expression that resembled the features of a Saåūdī Årab porcelain doll—behind her big lavender, sunglasses were widespread green almond eyes.
The rest of her person, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ recollected, was equally arresting.
She had seen both Durgesh and Dr. Nādirah Saddām nude several times.
Not simultaneously, of course!
But she was dreaming to make both of us understand her point.
She wanted her every Female Sex Therapist must have an intimate relationship with me.
It was necessary to keep them happy.
After working with sexually handicapped males, it was very much needed that they must have full satisfaction in sex, so that to be prepared fully for their next session with their patients.
An unsatisfied Female Sex Therapist could not cure an emotionally almost impotent male patient.
It was not easy to make them believe that they are NOT impotent forever.
The main reason behind their impotence was that they had accepted it erroneously, and fatally therefore.
Their subconscious mind had accepted it, and acted accordingly whenever they tried to have sex with any woman whosoever, even with their own wife.
Ninety percent Musalmān patients were suffering from this unfortunate psychosis.
They needed sympathetic treatments from their wives.
Unfortunately, they could not get it, because they were never sympathetic to their wives themselves.
It needed understanding to cure the situation.
Only Durgesh had it.
Durgesh was irreplaceable.
She knew it as soon as she heard of me.
Aħmad Muħammad Ålī did not approach her for my treatment.
She managed it too through her husband, Dr. Jalāluddīn Ibrāhīm Sheikħ.
Printed indelibly, permanently, on her memory were her smooth sloping alabaster shoulders, her protruding firm full MakkanSaåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts with their beautiful nipples, her small supple waist, big buttocks, and ample thighs.
Her legs were shapely too.
The important things about Dr. Nādirah Saddām was, however, not physical, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ reminded herself.
She had proved to be intelligent, adaptable, forthright, articulate, and possessed of a sweet and giving personality.
The fact remained that Dr. Nādirah Saddām enabled her to have total success with her most disturbed and seemingly hopeless male patients, as Durgesh did with female patients.
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ smiled.
Her most precious possession, and thousands of other Muslim Beauties’ too, no doubt.
Obsessed to fuck Muslim Beauties almost 24×7.
But she knew very well that they were absolutely wrong.
Durgesh never resorted to so low means.
It was exactly reverse.
At lunch, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ had gone with Dr. Nādirah Saddām in ordering a salad and a hamburger.
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ had glowed at the realization that Durgesh and this experienced twenty-seven-year-old extremely beautiful young Makkan Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman, Dr. Nādirah Saddām, were the leaders of her team of Sex Therapists.
But that had been earlier.
She greeted each of them, as they came in, and informally took their places on the sofa before her and in the pull up chairs.
She shuffled her notes, deciding she would speak very briefly and then bring Dr. Nādirah Saddām in from Āyeshah Siddīqah’s office, introduce her, and let her give them one last word of reassurance.
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ did not stand up.
She eased back into her leather swivel chair and surveyed her group,
“Welcome,” she addressed them, “you all had yesterday off. I hope you’ve recovered from your training period. Actually, I missed you. We’ve been so close in the last six weeks that I feel we’ve become a family. I’m not here to address you once more. You got enough of that the day before the training began and during every workday of the six weeks, we trained. I feel that you know your jobs now. I believe each of you is dedicated to it and will do well. Just keep one thing in mind. With each of you, I’ve tried to build a bridge, a human bridge to help troubled people cross over from a place where they are—a bad place—to a better place where they want to be, a place that will make them whole again and alive, not only sexually but in their careers and in their personal lives.
“Persons, in general, do not know the inevitable fact that our sex life affects our careers and our personal lives, even our personality too, whether we believe it or not. I’m sorry to say that most religions in practice, adamantly, refuse to accept this eternal truth. Only Hinduism is among them that has acknowledged it and has preached its followers accordingly. That’s why we see all the male Sex Therapists here Hindus only.
“Remember this, the Muslim males need our services most, but unfortunately, they are being directed by their foolish Mullahs and Maulavīs who oppose every scientific tajadeed we need very much. They don’t care that Hindus have marched ahead, leaving us more and more far behind due to their unscientific adamancy in the matter. We Muslimahs have been compelled thus to have sex with Hindu males to fulfill our natural physical needs. The Hindu Men and Musalmān Women, who are coming to you, want to learn something that you know and they don’t. They want to know how to be loving human beings. They are coming to you with their disorders, due to their erroneous upbringing, teachings and surroundings, and their consequent quiet desperation.
“They are in effect pleading with you, trying to say to you, ‘Here I am, and I don’t know what to do about my disabling problem. Please help me.’ To them, you are their last resort.
“Anyway, tomorrow we begin. I’ve drawn up a schedule for meeting with you and your patients, tomorrow morning and afternoon. The day after that, you will each be largely on your own, except for your continuing reports to me. Before you leave, I’ll meet privately with each of you to discuss your first assignments.
“Enough from me. I’m now going to bring in Durgesh and Dr. Nādirah Saddām. They are the male and female Sex Therapists I used till now, before I trained you. You each met them the last week of training, when they came by to say hello. But you had no chance to talk to them then. I thought it might be useful if Durgesh and Dr. Nādirah Saddām spoke to you about their own experiences and gave you a chance to ask any more questions that come to mind. Now let me get Durgesh and Dr. Nādirah Saddām.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You just go in there, darling,” Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ kissed me full on my lips, squeezing my Uncut Hindu Penis significantly too, “and do whatever comes naturally. The Hindu Male Sex Therapists worship the ground you walk on, and the Female Musalmān Sex Therapists are dreaming to sleep with the great Durgesh, Hindu Al Buåūlatul Muslimāt, Hindu husband of Musalmān Beauties, Musalmān ħasīnāon kā Hindu Kħasam. So, what’s there to worry for you?”
Dr. Nādirah Saddām laughed,
I respected Dr. Muħammad Åbdullah Waħāb very much.
I did not answer Dr. Nādirah Saddām in respect of him.
It’d be an insult to him, and I could not do it ever.
Of course, Dr. Muħammad Åbdullah Waħāb was my friend.
Nevertheless, I respected his wife, Dr. Åāýéshah Muħammad Waħāb, very much.
Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ controlled herself realizing my position,
“Sit down behind my desk,” she said smiling gravely, “or stand next to it, as you prefer. Chat with them casually about your work as the most successful Sex Therapist. They are waiting there, friendly but apprehensive. Whatever I’ve told them, is one thing. But to them, I’m somewhat removed from the main scene. Whatever comes from you, comes from someone who’s always in the field almost 24×7. It’ll make all of them feel more comfortable. Give them a few minutes from a voice of experience, and if they have any questions, simply answer them candidly, frankly. You are more expert in playing by ear.”
Once in Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ’s office with Dr. Nādirah Saddām, I decided to stand behind her desk and talk to them.
“Friends, both females and males, you all know the procedures. I can only tell you of my own experiences in working with Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ till now, everywhere, with my beautiful female patients who were dying to be loved, and were suffering from frustrations and from many consequent psychological and physical diseases.
“Friends, we, Dr. Fareedah Jalāl Sheikħ and I believe that every physical disease is actually psychological disease in the beginning.
“We feel not fit psychologically at first. If cured, and we start to feel ourselves fit afresh, the problem ends then and there. But, unfortunately, if not, it encompasses our brain and our psychosis gradually eventually.
“Our bodies are made to cure themselves basically, but the mechanism fails when our brain suffers from this psychosis.
“Hence, the synchronization of our brain and body is broken.
“That’s why our body feels illness.”
“Only because synchronization of our brain and body is broken?” a beautiful female Sex Therapists, Dr. Rābiyah Gamāl, from Egypt, asked incredulously.
She was smiling, however.
I smiled too, in response.
“That’s the fundamental initial mistake, an experienced Sex Therapist must never do.”
“Oh,” Dr. Rābiyah Gamāl, from Egypt, smiled again, “You mean I lack experience?”
“Of course you do. That’s why I’ve been requested to guide you.”
All the rest twelve female Sex Therapists laughed.
“Doctors,” I kept smiling, “Should I take it as an offer?”
“Well,” Dr. Musarrat Al Jamāl, from QATAR, smiled at me bravely, “that’s what we are promised to.”
The rest of the twelve, Female Sex Therapists were smiling at me significantly.
“I accept the great honor, Doctors, but naturally, for obvious reasons, I can’t be obliged here.”
“Why not?” Dr. Tauħīd Fātimah, from Oman, asked me aggressively.
I raised my hand,
“Doctors, Doctors, please, you haven’t optioned for your great profession just to honor me with your lady love—”
“How do you know?” Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, asked me indignantly.
“Why not? Why the hell can’t I?” Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, was furious, “Isn’t it an honor for me?”
“Doctor, we are deviating from the main subject.” I fidgeted vulnerably.
“She is right, but not here, please!”
“You mean I’ve to come to your bedroom?”
“I’d be honored.”
“You are married, I believe.”
“Sure. My wife won’t mind.”
Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, smiled cynically,
“Thank Allah; I’m not your wife.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s why you are not my wife, Doctor, please, be seated.” I smiled patronizingly.
Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, did not obey.
“I hate your wife.” She said caustically.
“I understand, Doctor. Please, be seated. Thousands of you Musalmān Beauties hate my wife. You are not alone.”
“She’s a hell of a wife.”
“She can’t keep her husband to herself.”
“Actually, what do you want, Doctor?”
“I can’t forgive you ever.” Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, was still burning with emotions, “You rejected me for her. And she doesn’t deserve you.”
“I want to know what I lack. Why did you reject me?”
“Calm down, Doctor!”
“Call me ‘Maimūnah’.”
“Okay, Maimūnah, please calm down now. Forget it, please.”
“Never.” Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, gritted through her teeth. She was clinching and unclenching her fists in abdominal fury, “I— I’m selected even for Nobel Prize, but I can’t recover from the utter humiliation that you rejected me.”
“Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, please, let me explain, darling. I never rejected you.”
“I— I can’t believe you, and you called me ‘darling’?” Dr. Maimūnah Akbar, from Comoros, looked at me incredulously.
“Of course and why shouldn’t I? You’re a darling.”
“Not your darling. Am I?”
“Of course, my darling you are.”
“You mean it?”
“Doubtlessly, I mean it.”
“Then why the hell are you standing there? Why don’t you come to me, hug me and kiss me on my lips and everywhere?”
“I’m honored, darling.”
I marched to her in long confident strides, took her into my arms, hugged her, and kissed her full on her quivering, inviting, Comoros, Årab Musalmān lips.
She kissed me back hungrily.
More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh
1. Bahoo Bégum
23. A secret Smile
30. Sālī, Ammījān!
44. Hell, I revolt
64. I live with him
73. Under Open Sky
79. The Extent
98. Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah: Social Service: 6
More creative adult sex in Hindi/Urdu from Durgesh:
13. Eidul Fitr-1
18. Main térī dīvānī
21. Majājī Kħudā: 1
22. Majājī Kħudā: 2
23. Majājī Kħudā:3
24. Majājī Kħudā:4
25. Majājī Kħudā: 5
26. Majājī Kħudā: 6
Science Fictions from DSM Satyarthi:
8. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 5
9. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 6
10. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 7
11. R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 8
12.R’gved: Mandal 1| Sookt 19| Mantr 9
35. Saamved: Mantr 1