Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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A Bisexual Arab Man In America free porn video
September 11, 2011 is upon us. The day feared by countless Americans and Arabs worldwide. Will some religious nutcase from the Muslim world try something crazy and finally push the United States toward the complete obliteration of the Arab world? Will Arab-Americans be rounded up like Japanese-Americans were during World War Two after the Japanese Imperialists stormed Pearl Harbor? I’m glad the day went peacefully, for more reasons than you can imagine.
My name is Djamal Adul-Muqaddim and I was born in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. The first day of February 1987, I came into this world. And I am a proud American of Saudi Arabian descent.
I am both Black and Arab, American as apple pie, and I don’t feel that there is any conflict with how I choose to identify. My father Hussein Adul-Muqaddim was born and raised in Saudi Arabia, and he moved to the United States of America in 1986. He lived in the City of Boston, and earned a Master’s degree in Business Administration from Northeastern University before marrying Janine Blackstone, a proud African-American woman whose parents emigrated to the U.S. from the Caribbean.
I am proud of my African-American heritage and my Arabic culture which birthed my father. I wasn’t raised Muslim, mainly because my mother is a staunch Catholic. I’m not circumcised and I have no desire to ever be. I like my member the way it is, thank you very much. Yet I consider myself a Muslim and lately, I’ve been learning a lot about the religion which my father embraced all his life. There is so much being said about Islam these days. Islamists oppress women, and they hate western society. Well, I’m sure many people of different faiths hate western society. Islamists can’t all be blamed for it. Also, there are many well-adjusted and peaceful Islamists living in North America and Europe. Many of them are law-abiding men and women that you see every day.
I was a mere brat when the Twin Towers fell, and I remember the fear that gripped my father. He works in the business sector of Boston, and he was quite visible as a high-profile Arab-American. I mean, my pops is a Project Manager at Boston’s very own Cyber-Nexus Corporation. Arab guys who make close to half a million dollars a year get noticed, even in racially diverse and multicultural Boston. I remember my mother fearing for my father’s well-being.
My father is by no means the most religious man in the world. He married a Black woman who’s a staunch catholic, and sent his mixed-race son to Boston College High School. An all-male Catholic school located in the heart of Boston. My dad taught me about Islam, but I was never obligated to follow its teachings. My mother insisted that I be raised catholic and in our household, my mother’s word was law. So much for the stereotype that Arab men dominate their women and rule their households with an iron fist.
It just doesn’t work out that way in real life, ladies and gentlemen. The way I figure it, women the world over run their households. They run their men too, if I’m not mistaken. My mother is the kind of lady who likes running things. She’s a business teacher at Boston College High School, my alma mater. And you had better believe that she didn’t let me bring home anything less than an A otherwise there would be hell to pay.
I owe a lot to my mother. However, it’s time for be to be my own man. I consider myself the kind of Muslim you seldom hear about. The one who’s full of contradictions. I am half Black and half Arab. I went to Catholic school. And honestly, I didn’t give Islam much thought until September eleventh happened, and made Islam much more than a religion. Muslim men and Muslim women living in America, Canada, Europe, Australia and New Zealand were called upon to look at their religion and themselves. They had to take their faith back from the hands of a bunch of madmen who painted them as monsters in the eyes of western society.
Oh, and another thing. I am bisexual. I hope that’s okay. Many have told me that you can’t be bisexual and still consider yourself Muslim. And you actually can’t be uncircumcised and consider yourself a Muslim. I’m sorry but I don’t consider genital mutilation to be a good thing. If it ain’t okay to do it to chicks, it shouldn’t be okay to do it to guys. And don’t even give me that gender-biased, politically correct crap that it’s not exactly the same thing. You’re wrong. It is exactly the same thing.
These days, I am a Law student at Boston College in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I always wanted to attend Boston College. Many of our old teachers at Boston College High School are what’s called Double Eagles. They went to both B.C. High and Boston College. I intend to enrol at Boston College Law School after completing my stellar undergraduate education. Become a Triple Eagle. Now that’s my dream. I want to have my own Law firm someday. Hell yeah. I live in the Age of Obama, folks. I’m the kind of Black man who believes he can do anything. And I don’t get intimidated by racists, or naysayers. Sorry, bigots. The old days are over, and they’re not coming back no matter what the Tea Party express would have you believe.
So, I just live my life. I attend service at the Al-Jibir Mosque in South Brockton once a week. Sometimes I go twice a week. I see a lot of Black Muslims, European-American Muslim converts and Arab-Americans at my favourite Mosque. I see a lot of women there too, and I think it’s a good thing. Islam should be more inclusive toward women. It already has a reputation for patriarchy and oppression in the eyes of those who don’t understand it. It’s at that Mosque that I met a young woman who changed my life forever.
Patricia Jenkins, a young Irishwoman whose older sister Isabel converted to Islam after marrying an Iranian-American student named Siavash. The moment I saw Patricia, I found myself smitten. Six feet tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, with a curvy, solid build. And man did this chick have a booty. The kind of heart-shaped booty that used to be rare on white women. Patricia was a fellow Boston College student. I was acquainted with Siavash, and I asked him to introduce me to his sister-in-law. He warned me against approaching her.
According to my good friend Siavash, Patricia Jenkins was a staunch opponent of all things Islamic and voiced her disagreement over her older sister’s choice of mate at their very wedding. Patricia Jenkins was a member of the U.S. Army National Guard and no fan of Muslims, especially Muslim males. She considered us enemies of women’s rights around the world. Yet I wanted her, so I had my work cut out for me. One thing I do often is surprise people. I was quite frank with Patricia when we first met.
I introduced myself as Djamal Abdul-Muqaddim, member of both the Al-Jibir Mosque of South Brockton and the Bay Area Bisexual Network. Hell, I’m also a member of the Boston-based Coming Out As Bisexual Support Group. I’m the guy who played football at a catholic school and also took a guy from the swim team to the prom. Yeah, not your mother’s kind of Muslim guy, that’s for sure. Poor Patricia. She didn’t know what hit her. Poor gal never stood a chance.
If my fellow Muslims were confused about me and considered me a flake for picking and choosing the tenets of our faith which I followed, Patricia Jenkins was even more confused. I confused her further by telling her that I was supported a woman’s right to choose, and I approved of the European Union’s crackdown on the Niqab. The full grab which many women in Islamic societies wore. It’s akin to a bed sheet and the way I see it, it has no place in today’s society. No one should force any woman to wear that.
Oh, and I am a staunch supporter of gays and lesbians right to marriage equality, since I am a bisexual man myself. I am out to my parents and a few select friends. That’s about it. I’m gearing myself for a career in the Law and I don’t think exposing too much about my personal business will do me any good in
the long run. I intrigued Patricia Jenkins enough that she agreed to have a coffee with me, and that’s how it all began. We began hanging out. She had a lot of questions about me because she had never met anyone like me.
How many pro-feminist, GLBT-supporting, proudly mixed-race bisexual ( and uncircumcised ) Muslim men can you find anywhere these days? Probably not many. As far as I know, I’m the only one. I learned a lot of fascinating things about Patricia Jenkins too. She played football at her old high school, on the guys team. Man, I was thrilled to hear that. I am a football player myself, though I didn’t make it to the NCAA Football universe because of a slight injury sustained my senior year at B.C. High. Patricia shared my love of football and many of my progressive views. She once told me that she wished more Muslim men were as liberal as I am.
I found myself enthralled by this tall, strong and beautiful yet surprisingly vulnerable young woman. I understood many of her fears. She told me how really disappointed she felt when her sister, a gal who was once a high school wrestling legend, married a Muslim guy. To her, all Muslim guys were oppressors who wanted women to stay at home, their mouths shut, barefoot and pregnant. While I know many Muslim men with such backward views, I’m not one of them. Patricia asked me how I felt about my father’s ancestral homeland of Saudi Arabia’s ban on female drivers. I told Patricia that I learned how to drive from my Jamaican-American mother, since my Arab-American was too busy in his executive suite in Boston’s Financial District to bother with little old me at times.
I respect strong women, and I don’t believe in oppression. After all, I’m a young Black man living in America. The ultimate target for all bigots, racists, xenophobes and all sort of intolerant, narrow-minded people. Patricia smiled when I said that. Man, she’s got a really nice smile. Patricia and I were becoming fast friends. We hung out at Boston College, and chilled all over the City together. I’m not sure when exactly I fell in love with her, but it happened.
One day, we were having lunch together inside the Au Bon Pain located near Commonwealth Avenue when she planted a kiss on me. And I kissed her back. Passionately. I looked into her eyes and saw there a passion which mirrored my own. That’s when I knew. I loved this woman. And I told her, right then and there. Patricia told me that she loved me too, but she wasn’t sure if a relationship with me was a good idea. I was crushed. How could she say that? Patricia told me that she vowed to herself that she would never get involved with a Muslim guy like her sister, that she wouldn’t end up one of these repressed women wearing the veil and saying yes to everything their man said.
I grabbed her hands and reminded her that I wasn’t exactly the prototypical Muslim guy. I’m half Black and half Arab. I attend Catholic school. I am bisexual. And I’ve only considered myself a Muslim until eighteen months prior to the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. That’s when I experienced an awakening. And I promised Patricia that I wouldn’t ask her to convert. Mainly because I didn’t want her to. The American Muslim women I’ve tried getting involved with don’t want anything to do with me.
As a mixed-race bisexual American guy with liberal tendencies, I’m simply not the type of Muslim they’re used to. They just can’t see themselves with someone like me. Also, my being uncircumcised was a big deal for them. I honestly felt like a freak sometimes because I feel like I am the only one of my kind. Has there ever been someone quite like me? I seriously and sincerely doubt it.
I must have been speaking quite loudly without realizing it because everybody inside the Au Bon Pain restaurant was staring at me. My heart thundered in my chest as I poured out its contents to Patricia. She just sat there, a sad look upon her face. I sighed, and slowly got up. I told her that I would never bother her again, since loving someone like me is something she could never do. Then I walked out of the restaurant. I crossed the street, to take the Green Line train to Boston College. Patricia didn’t follow me.
When I got home that night, I did something I didn’t normally do. I chugged down three beers. I asked my buddy Jimmy O’Reilly downstairs and he hooked me up with a whole keg. I think I was so out of it I didn’t hear the loud knocks on my door. My roommate Henry went to get it, and he hollered that I had a visitor. I looked up from the couch. It was Patricia Jenkins. Before I could say anything, she pushed her way past Henry and walked up to me. I sat up on the couch, bottle in hand. What in hell did she want? Patricia stood there, hands on her hips. She told me we had to talk. I shrugged, and took another swig of my Miller Light Beer. Patricia took the bottle from me, and said that I shouldn’t be drinking. I scoffed. What did she care? Why did she care? Sitting across from me, she held her hands together in a small pleading gesture and told me that she was wrong.
I looked at her and smiled cruelly. Too little, too late, I thought. Patricia shook her head, and told me she was wrong about me. She cared for me and said she shouldn’t have let her own prejudices get in the way. I scoffed at that. I’m a mixed-race Black man. I’m a Muslim. I’m bisexual. I’m uncut. I’m used to having people, especially women, judge me before getting to know me. Patricia told me she wasn’t like other people. I told her to prove it.
Patricia nodded, and suddenly she was much, much closer. She took my hand and kissed it, then she asked me for another chance. I looked into her truly beautiful blue eyes. I swear I wanted to say no. I wanted to say hell no. She hurt me. She humiliated me. She mocked my faith, my way of my life, my very being. She hurt me at a very vulnerable moment. Yet I didn’t say anything of the kind. I took her beautiful face in my hands and kissed her. Hey, I’m a man…and all men are weak.
And that’s how it began again. Patricia Jenkins and I gave it another shot. What a pair we make. I am the openly bisexual son of an Arab-American businessman and a Jamaican-American schoolteacher. I am uncircumcised, and a proud Muslim. And I’m in love with a gorgeous Irish-American woman who’s a staunch catholic, an aspiring executive, and a member of the U.S. Army National Guard. My beloved lady cherishes me and has no desire to convert to Islam. Ever. And I don’t want her to. My parents, a Catholic and a Muslim, made it work. Somehow, Patricia Jenkins and I are going to make it work too.
You want to know the funny thing? At the end of the day, we’re a couple just like every other couple. We have our good days and bad days, our ups and downs. Sorry if you are shocked by this. I recently introduced Patricia Jenkins to my parents. The surprising thing is that she gets along better with my father than my mother. I’m shocked that my empowered woman of a mom doesn’t like my new girlfriend, considering how much they have in common. My father took me aside as I watched mom and Patricia exchange cold smiles and polite conversation in our living room. Pops reminded me that women are, well, women, with all that implies. They dislike one another for reasons that are unfathomable for us men. And that doesn’t change regardless of race, religion or any other factor you can think of.
I sighed, and sipped coffee with my father. Yep. Some things never change. Pops winked at me. Men the world over can achieve peace someday, if we get over our differences. Hopefully before we blow the planet up, of course. Will the ladies do the same thing if and when they get all the power? Hmm. Hey, the movie Mean Girls is coming on The CW. Watch it and tell me what you think of ladies chances at world peace.
Latisha
- 15.12.2021
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Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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Arab Masters and Mistresses
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