Somali Women Are All That
- 3 years ago
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Somali Men Are Great Swimmers free porn video
How does the short, skinny dude at the gym end up with the six-foot-tall, gorgeous and muscular chocolate Amazon that all the fellas want? Simple, it’s all about confidence, son. If you don’t have it, fake it. The name is Hakim Osman and I’m a young black man of Somali descent attending Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I was born in the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba, to a Somali immigrant father, Malik Osman, and a white Canadian mother, Genevieve Gilbert. I moved to Ontario for higher education basically because I was tired of being practically the only brown face in the town where I lived. I attended an all-white high school, trust me when I say it wasn’t easy for me.
As the youngest of three, I sometimes feel like I drew the short end of the stick in my family’s genetic lottery. What do I mean by that? My older brother Ariq is six-foot-three, muscular and jacked, and he currently plays football for the University of Calgary in Alberta. My sister Nadia is five-foot-eleven, curvy and gorgeous, caramel-skinned and raven-haired, with our mother’s hazel eyes. Somehow, in a family of tall, athletic people, I ended up being short and nerdy. I’m five-foot-eight, and weigh one hundred and forty six pounds soaking wet. Oh, and I’m legally required to wear thick nerdy glasses because I can’t see shit. Pardon my French.
At Saint Anthony Academy in the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba, my older brother Ariq was respected for his athletic prowess and my sister Nadia was admired for her talent in art and music. She ended up winning a full scholarship to Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts. Me? I like comic books and science fiction movies, and my grades were not exactly spectacular. I’m a B student. I’m not the super smart nerdy type you see in the movies. When I won a partial scholarship to Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, my parents were really surprised. Like I said, I’m not exactly the family’s golden calf. I’m the last one, the youngest, the runt of the littler. I am the one who shouldn’t be here because my parents decided that one son and one daughter was enough, but somehow I happened.
It wasn’t easy for us as an interracial family in Winnipeg, one of the most racist cities in all of Canada. As a white woman who married a black man, my mother endured her fair share of bigotry at work. I mean, mom has an MBA from the University of Manitoba and yet, quite often, it seemed to me that she was the last person hired and the first person fired at her various jobs. Nothing scares or upsets white guys more than white women who get with minority men. Winnipeg folks aren’t used to such couples. It’s not like Ottawa or Toronto where people smile to your face but stay racist stuff behind your back. In Winnipeg, the white people are very outspoken about their hatred for visible minorities and Aboriginals. The only students who got picked on worse than the black or Persian students at Saint Anthony Academy were the Aboriginals. This at a supposedly liberal Catholic institution. Once I turned eighteen, I left Winnipeg, vowing never to return except for holidays and family reunions.
In the City of Ottawa, I experienced a realm of diversity I had never before experienced. I saw so many people from places like the Arab world, Africa, the Caribbean, south Asian nations and Latin America. Carleton University’s hallways teemed with students of all shades. It was like being at the United Nations or something. I liked it already. Did I run into racism there? Of course. I still shudder with anger when I think of an old white dude I ran into at the swimming pool. Let’s just say we kind of clashed, thanks to stereotypes about black swimmers and the assumptions he made.
Apparently, the old white dude had never seen a black guy swimming before, and always had a snide remark to make. I told him to mind his own business but the bozo refused to get the damn hint. Finally, I got fed up and told the swimming pool supervisor, along with the guy in charge of facilities. As a student, I’ve got the right to use the pool like everybody else. I didn’t come here to get harassed by a racist old white guy who’s got issues. I made that clear to the management, and they in turn told the fool to get off my back. Lesson learned. I don’t care how racist you are, don’t fuck with the black nerd. We’ll mess you up because we’re smarter than the rest. Peace.
When he lived in our ancestral homeland of Somalia, long before he emigrated to Canada, my father made his living as a fisherman. He’s one hell of a swimmer, like a lot of Somali men from coastal cities, and he taught me how to swim. I guess racist old white guys in Ottawa would be surprised to hear that. Anyhow, I’m used to being the exception wherever I go. Back in high school, I excelled at chess, fixing computers and racquetball. I couldn’t play football or basketball to save my life. What can I say? I am only me. Anyhow, back to the story, alright? There I was, in the gym with all the buff guys and sexy ladies, when a vision of beauty caught my eye. You should have seen her, man. Six feet tall, muscular and curvy, with dark brown skin, neatly braided black hair and sharp, distinctly African features. Maybe it’s because, like a lot of mixed guys, I’m drawn to my polar opposites, but I’ve always found tall, dark-skinned black women fascinating. We’ve got a lot of white chicks in Winnipeg, along with Aboriginal women and a few Asian women. I don’t think I ever ran into a black woman on the streets of Winnipeg, and I’ve lived there my whole life.
Like many of the guys ( and a few of the girls ) at the gym, my eyes were riveted on the towering, gorgeous black Amazon. The red tank top and tight black shorts she had on seemed molded to her curvy body. I sat on the upright exercise bike, and watched her as she ran on the stair master. The sight of this tall, fine-looking black woman’s thick behind swooshing from side to side as she ran on the exercise machine turned me on. Seriously, I’m lucky I was wearing sweatpants because I had a raging boner. Once it went away, I decided that for once, I would take the initiative and approach the lady. I mean, what’s the worst thing that can happen? If she looks me up and down and smirks maliciously like a lot of the girls back in Winnipeg, I’ll just say to her that it’s her loss and walk away. Trust me, I’ve got rejection handling down pat. Got a lifetime of experience. It’s acceptance I’m having a bit of trouble with.
The opportunity soon presented itself. While getting off the exercise machine, the lady forgot her towel, and like the gentleman that I am, I approached her and handed it to her. Ma’am you forgot this, I said gravely. Looking me up and down, the young black woman smiled and thanked me. I nodded graciously, and smiled when she asked me if I was new to the gym. New year’s fitness resolution, I told her, dead pan. Smiling, she introduced herself as Angela Wellington. I’m from Jamaica, she said. I’m from Winnipeg, I heard myself reply. We shook hands, and that’s how I met her. Since I was obviously a newcomer to the gym and she’s so in shape, Angela volunteered to help me with various workouts. Hmmm. I paused to consider her offer, appearing to give it some genuine thought. Got to appear cool and confident instead of eager or nervous even when you’re thrilled to merely be in her presence. Women can smell fear. Getting spotted by a curvy, sexy sister in tight black shorts. What do you think I said to that? A resounding yes!
Angela Wellington put me through the workout of my life, and even though it was grueling, I endured it happily. At the end of it, she smiled at me and told me that she was honestly impressed. I grinned and told her that I was stronger than I looked. Nodding, Angela told me I was full of surprises. I was about to reply when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Absentmindedly I pulled it out, and saw that it was my sister tex
ting. Guess what happened? As I pulled out my phone, Angela grinned and started telling me her number.
This turn of events surprised me, to say the least. I guess Angela assumed that when I took out my phone I was about to ask her. Psych! Lucky, eh? Nevertheless, I acted cool and told her I’d be in touch. Grinning, Angela winked at me and walked out of the fitness center and into the women’s locker room. My eyes followed her the whole way. As soon as she was out of sight, I jumped up and down in a moment of nerdy joy. the hottest chick in a gym full of musclebound types, and I got her number. Me, the prince of nerds. Am I cool or what?
I ended up calling Angela Wellington that night, and the next day I met her in the university center for coffee. I learned a bit more about her. Angela was born and raised in Bethel Town, Jamaica, and had been living in Ottawa, Ontario, for the past three years. Angela is taking up criminology at Carleton, and hopes to become a police officer someday. You can do it my sister, I said, raising my fist for her to bump.
Grinning, Angela bumped her fist against mine and nodded. Sitting across from me, looking so lovely, I realized something about Angela. The first is that she’s an incredibly beautiful lady, and the second is that I wanted her badly. Taking a deep breath, I made my move. I invited her to the opening of a brand new ultra-large comic book store on Bank Street. Angela looked at me and smiled, then nodded. I’m a big fan of The Walking Dead comics, she added. I grinned, and assured her that the new store would definitely have them. That’s how it began between us, ladies and gentlemen. Our first official date. We’re very different people but I like her and she seems to be into me. Wish me luck, eh?
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