A Bisexual Somalian Stud


My culture is conservative, but that doesn’t mean I have to be. Religion and culture are important, of course, but so is the individual. The name is Warsama “Sam” Osman, and I’m a tall, skinny and perpetually bald-headed young Black man of Somali descent living in metropolitan Calgary, province of Alberta. Why am I perpetually bald? It’s a rare condition I’ve got. I’m basically hairless all over. Anyhow, I got a story to share with y’all. When you’re from an immigrant background and you happen to be a visible minority, people in Canada tend to judge you before they even get to know you. Look, I’m not going to start with the whole poor-me-I’m-Black routine, but folks living in the Great White North have got to stop fronting with their “multiculturalism” bullshit. If you’re different from them, they don’t trust you, end of story. I’m a Somali male in redneck Alberta, so I know what I’m talking about.

Whenever I tell people that I was born in Somaliland, they assume all kinds of things about me. I love shocking them with the awful truth. No, I’m not conservative. Hell, I am totally bisexual, though it’s not something I go around telling people. Haters can make life hell with you if they find out your business. I’m not a believer in archaic traditions like female circumcision, and I wish Muslims would do away with that sexist and barbaric practice. I support progressive causes like legalizing marijuana, gay marriage and immigration reform. Hold on, let me clarify what I mean by immigration reform. Canada needs more immigrants and those retarded bastards on Parliament Hill need to stop making life hard for those of us they call visible minorities. Am I religious? I was born in a Muslim family but I’ve long stopped practicing my people’s religion. I find it way too restrictive, and I don’t share the fascination ninety nine percent of all Somalis have for all things Arabic. I choose instead to love myself, and my people of course.

The Arabs hate us sub-Saharan Africans more than White people do, but you can’t tell that to my fellow Somalis. They refuse to see the truth for what it is. Case in point? A lot of Arab guys date and even marry our beautiful Somali girls. How many Arab females do you see with Somali males? Not many, and that’s mainly due to Arab male jealousy and racism, that’s what’s up. That’s quite a double standard, isn’t it? Why would I be friends with some bozos who think they can have their way with my sisters but balk at the thought of their daughters dating a guy like me? I bet you’re wondering where all this animosity comes from, huh? I had a bad experience with the Arabs after dating this fine-looking Lebanese chick named Amaal Abdul-Ghaffur. Arab girls in general are a fine-looking bunch but this one was something else.

We met while I was in my second year at Lakeland College. You should have seen her, man. Five-foot-eight, curvy and sexy, with light bronze skin, long Black hair and light brown eyes. Did I mention she also had a killer booty? Hell yeah, man. The first time I laid eyes on her I thought she was Hispanic or Italian or something along those lines but she was Arab. Amaal was born in Mount-Liban, Lebanon, and moved to the province of Alberta, Canada, with her family ten years ago. This sweet young thing was an art student at Lakeland College and as luck would have it, she liked the brothers. How about that? Amaal and I began dating, and for the first time in ages, I was happy.

I haven’t had a lot of happy moments in this life, ladies and gentlemen. Things have a way of unexpectedly going south when you’re, well, me, and there’s not much you can do about it. That’s why I was so upset when I ended up losing her. We were walking out of a restaurant in downtown Calgary one Friday night when these three Arab guys attacked us. They called me “abeed” which means slave in Arabic, and started roughing me up. I tried to fight them off but what could I do against three guys? I’m six-foot-one but only weigh about a hundred and sixty pounds. Yeah, they fucked me up, man. Beat me until I lost all consciousness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. Amaal never even bothered to visit me, and I never heard from her again. I guess she wasn’t the one, huh?

I’ve never been what most people would consider lucky by any stretch of the imagination, ladies and gentlemen. My father, Ahmed Osman, is a wastrel and a bit of a drunk. He used to work for Canada Post delivering the mail but he got canned a while back. Now he spends his days at home, drinking, watching television and occasionally smacking my mom around. My mother, Haweeyo Ibrahim-Osman, is the glue that holds our family together. After we moved to Alberta from Somaliland, she went back to school and became a nurse after graduating from the University of Calgary. Nowadays she works at the Foothills Medical Center in Calgary. I am and always will be proud of my mom. She’s a strong Black woman in every way.

If it weren’t for my mom, I honestly think the Osman family gaziantep escort would be lost. My older brother Abdikarim dropped out of high school his senior year but mom basically threatened to kick his ass out of our house unless he got his GED. Well, he finally did, and now, he’s a corporal in the Canadian Armed Forces. He’s stationed in Afghanistan right now, one of the last Canadian soldiers still helping the American forces with peacekeeping until the Arabs learn to protect their own countrymen from the fucking Taliban. I speak to my brother via Skype at least once a week, just to make sure he’s alright, and I always tell him that I’m proud of him. A lot of Somalis get mad at me for supporting my brother serving the government of Canada as a soldier in Afghanistan, because they think us Somalis, being mostly Muslim and all, shouldn’t help NATO fight against Afghan insurgents. I got no love for the Arabs so I always wish my brother happy hunting at the end of our conversations on Skype.

Yeah, like I said, I don’t come from the most stable family environment but my mom does her best with us boys. I wish she would divorce my dad and kick his sorry ass out of our house but she refuses. Mom is really traditional and believes divorce to be haram or dirty. Back home, when women marry, it’s for life. I tell my mom that Canada isn’t Somaliland. Women’s rights are defended and upheld in Canada, as a matter of law. My mom doesn’t like my pro-Western mindset or my agnostic lifestyle. She still bugs me about going to mosque even though I made it abundantly clear to her that I wasn’t Muslim. I don’t follow organized religion. I’m a proud agnostic. Nothing wrong with having a secular lifestyle in this day and age. Millions of people around the world are embracing secularism. Religion gone amok can be a terrible thing. Just look at what it’s done to places like northern Nigeria and Somalia, along with all of them Arab Gulf countries.

After graduating from Lakeland College with my bachelor’s degree in commerce, I decided to get my MBA at the University of Calgary. I got tired of living at home so I got myself a two-bedroom apartment in the east end. I worked as a security guard on weekends to make some extra cash. Life was alright, I guess, until I met…him. Luther Jean-Claude. The big and tall young Haitian man who answered the ad I posted online about seeking a roommate. Paying eight hundred a month for the apartment was killing my finances, and I couldn’t hack it alone. I decided to take a chance on a roommate. This big Black guy showed up, wearing a red T-shirt, blue jeans and an oversized crucifix. Hello brother, he said. I tried not to roll my eyes. I could smell Haitian all over him. I shook his hand, introduced myself and asked him to come inside.

And that’s how I met Luther Jean-Claude. He was new to Calgary, and found provincial Alberta a strange place. He was born in Montreal, Quebec, to immigrant parents from the island of Haiti. Oh, and he was also a bible-carrying Christian, from the Catholic faith. When he asked me about my religion, I told him that I was an agnostic. He shook his head and told me in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely certain of God’s existence. From that moment on, he seemed determined to help me mend my unbelieving ways. I felt like telling him to go fuck himself but I didn’t. Luther had the cash and was ready to move in right away. That’s the only reason we became roommates.

During our first month together, the Haitian got on my blasted nerves. He had a chubby White chick named Veronica Inglewood whom he often spent the weekend with. What’s with Black guys and fat White chicks? I’ve only dated Somali girls and one Arab woman. Big White ladies aren’t my cup of tea. Still, to each his own, right? I tried not to judge. One night I came home to find the plump, red-haired White chick on all fours, face down and ass up as Luther spanked her and slammed his dick into her from behind. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll never get that image out of my head. Luther and Veronica were so into each other that they never even noticed I was there. Carefully I walked to my room, and closed the door. I spent the next hour in bed, drinking Alexander Keith’s beer while trying not to listen to my roommate and his favorite fatty having sex.

The next morning, I had a little talk with Luther. It’s my fucking place and I don’t allow certain things to go on. No, I’m not trying to cock block. However, I do have the right to feel comfortable. Luther was actually cool with it, and we agreed on a system. Whenever he had Veronica or some other bitch over for sex, he’d text me and I’d know the jig was up. That worked for me and that way, everyone was happy. For a bible-thumping and crucifix-wearing Christian with holier than thou tendencies, Luther sure liked pussy. He was also fucking a big Black woman named Ruth on the side. How many women does a Haitian womanizer need? Seriously!

Yeah, it hatay escort looked like everyone was having fun but me. One day, I went home to visit my mother, and she told me that dad had moved out. He left Alberta altogether, heading to visit his brother, my uncle Laban, in Minnesota. Good riddance if you ask me. While I was visiting my mom for a couple of days, one of my old friends from high school came by. Salim Wahid, a burly brother I’d been friends with for a long time. Salim graduated with honors from our high school and won a scholarship to the University of Texas in Austin. My buddy got the chance to study in America, the lucky bastard. When I saw him, I went to him and gave him a hug. He looked even better than I remembered. Salim and I have always been close, people would smirk or gossip if they knew exactly how close. You see, we weren’t just good friends and former football teammates. We were also fuck buddies, back in the day.

Mom was most pleased to see Salim, and she offered him a bite to eat. She had to run to get to work, and I gave her a hug and kiss before she left. As soon as her old Ford was out of the driveway, Salim and I really greeted each other. How we ended up on the floor, wrestling each other with my tongue down his throat, I’ll never know. Yeah, it was just like old times. Laughing, Salim and I undressed then did our thing. Grabbing some condoms from the box I kept in my old room, I showed them to Salim. He smiled, and sighed with relief. Neither of us wanted to become a statistic, as in Black, male and afflicted with an STD, so we never fucked without a condom.

Salim and I got our freak on, so to speak. Truth be told, it had been eight months since I had sex with a guy, and ten months since I had sex with anyone, period. I kissed him full and deep, then we playfully wrestled. I went straight for his dick, taking him into my mouth. Salim groaned as I sucked him off, and I tasted him as he hardened in my mouth. I sucked his dick and balls until he was nice and hard, then deep-throated him. Salim shouted in pleasure as I literally massaged his dick with my mouth, and when he erupted, I drank all of his masculine spunk. Afterwards, I put on a condom and asked him to get on all fours. Even after all this time, Salim still knew the drill. He spread his ass for me, and I lubricated him before sliding my cock into his backdoor.

Man, this was all so familiar. Bending Salim over and fucking him. One time, we fucked in the deserted locker room after our school’s big football game against rivals from the other end of the province. Risky, but that’s how we got down. I held Salim’s hips as I pumped my cock into his ass. He screamed and stroked his dick, urging me to fuck him harder. Fuck, like I needed to be told. I tapped that ass, spanking his sexy bottom because it was so damn tempting. We fucked and sucked for a long-ass time, until we lay exhausted on the living room carpet, spent. The family dog, Israel, came walking by. He’s an old Jack Russell terrier we’ve had for five years. Israel the dog shot Salim and I a disapproving look, then walked away, wagging his tail. We just laughed. Salim grinned and apologized for outing me as queer to my obnoxious dog with the Jewish name. I laughed and playfully smacked his ass. Oh, well.

Salim helped me clean up the living room, for we had made a mess in our hurry to consummate our passion. After vacuuming and disinfecting the place, we sat down and watched the movie First Sunday on BET. That’s when Salim and I did some catching up. He had a lot of big news. After living in Minneapolis, Minnesota, for years, he’d fallen in love both with the metropolis and a certain local gal. A pretty gal named Aidah. He showed me her picture. The gal in question was cute, with Black hair, brown skin and green eyes. She’s half Somali and half White, Salim told me with pride in his voice. My buddy looked at me and told me that Aidah was the woman he wanted to marry. She was his former tutor at the University of Minnesota and they’d fallen in love. When he said that, my heart winced a bit but I smiled and wished him the best. We went back to watching the movie.

A couple hours later, Salim left. I felt so sad, yet for the life of me I couldn’t tell you why. Salim and I are Somali guys, hailing from the Islamic culture. If either of us came out as bisexual to our friends or family members, we’d be dead within a week. Our world doesn’t tolerate those who are different. I don’t know what I was expecting. Salim and I could never be together. This isn’t a frigging movie, it’s real life, our lives. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss as I said goodbye to my best friend and fuck buddy. Within a week, he’d return to Minnesota and the next time I heard from him, he’d be happily married to Aidah, the pretty Somali gal from Minneapolis.

As for me, I returned to my apartment, and focused on school and work. My Haitian roommate Luther seemed to have slowed down with hatay escort his antics, I didn’t know why but I was relieved. His girlfriend Veronica didn’t come around anymore. When I asked about her, he told me they broke up. Apparently she was with an Arab dude now. I sat down with Luther and told him that I felt his pain. He scoffed, telling me that he knew I didn’t like having Veronica around. I couldn’t argue with that, since his ex-girlfriend had many nasty habits like clogging up my toilet, eating my food and oh yeah, making noise while a brother was trying to sleep. Still, Luther wasn’t a bad dude and she made him happy, so I was a bit sad to see that he had the blues. Luther looked at me and nodded. We exchanged dap, then drank some wine. It was Friday night and as usual, I’d stay home watching TV. Luther insisted that we go to a bar together. The bar scene in Calgary isn’t really my scene. The rednecks aren’t too friendly to visible minorities, especially Black guys who date White women. Still, peer pressure is a motherfucker so I ended up going with Luther.

We checked out Wild Rose Café, this bar in southwest Calgary. As usual, the place was packed with our fair city’s denizens. Guys and gals in cowboy hats and boots. Welcome to Calgary, Alberta, the little Canadian town that tries so hard to be more like its distant cousin, the City of Austin, Texas. I thought that Luther and I would stand out like sore thumbs in a place like this, but the clientele was more diverse than I thought. I saw a blond redneck dude dancing with a plump Black chick, and another one with a Chinese broad. I also saw a couple of chicks who were either Hispanic or Arab, I’d have to take a closer look to be sure. Of course, everybody stared when Luther and I walked in, especially the local ladies.

Luther and I flashed the rednecks our best smiles, then went to the bar. Luther ordered our drinks while I checked out the scene. A tall, gangly White woman with reddish blonde hair and green eyes smiled at me. I smiled politely. She asked me where I was from. I never get tired of hearing that one, I tell you. Where you from? That’s what every minority in Canada gets asked at least once a day, usually by a White person. In a clipped tone, I told the lady I was Canadian. She didn’t seem to notice that she ticked me off, and introduced herself as Ellyn Cavanaugh. I smiled and introduced myself. Sam Osman. I guess Sam sounds less exotic than Warsama. Ellyn and I chatted for a bit. She was new to Alberta, hailing from the town of Watson Lake, somewhere in the Yukon.

I smiled at Ellyn Cavanaugh when she told me her origins. So, she was a Yukon blonde, eh? Just like the band. Ellyn smiled at that and told me people made the reference all the time. I took another look at her. The gal was definitely easy on the eyes. Five-foot-ten or close to it, trim and fit, looking very sexy in her bright red flannel shirt, blue jeans and boots. I bought her a drink and we chatted some more. I learned that she was a criminal justice student at the University of Calgary, entering her second year. Apparently she wanted to be a police officer just like her daddy, RCMP officer John Cavanaugh. Ellyn and I were having a nice chat, and surprisingly, we had a few things in common. The redneck gal from the Yukon enjoyed urban art, and she showed me her card, which I pocketed. That’s when I noticed that my buddy Luther, who can’t handle his liquor, was having an argument with someone. Oh, great. Just what we need. A brother getting riled up in a redneck bar. This is not going to end well.

I looked at Ellyn, flashed her an apologetic grin, and excused myself. I went over to Luther, who was having a loud talk with two burly White guys in cowboy hats. They both reminded me of Larry the Cable Guy, only uglier and less friendly. I told Luther to drop the matter and reminded him that we weren’t there to start a fuss. Luther told me to mind my fucking business, at which point a third White dude who looked like the bouncer type walked up to us. You gentlemen need to take a hike, those were his exact words to Luther and I. The two burly White dudes smirked. Now, it was my turn to feel a bit antsy. I mean, the bouncer didn’t even ask what was going on, and he just assumed that Luther and I were in the wrong. Does that seem fair to you? To add insult to injury, one of the White dudes Luther had been arguing with winked at me, and then, amazingly, he flipped me the bird.

The words redneck piece of trash were out of my mouth before I could stop them. That’s when all hell broke loose. All I wanted was an apology from the redneck who had flipped me the bird, but he couldn’t apologize, not with my fist in his face. His buddy tried to come to his aid, but Luther tackled him. The bouncer called for backup, and half the White dudes in the bar jumped in. Luther and I got our asses thoroughly kicked and handed to us, then we got tossed onto the street. How’s that for a great night? As we staggered into a cab, bloody and battered, I smiled. This was definitely better and more exciting than my standard Friday night, that’s for sure. I mean, I got roughed up a bit but hey, I kicked some racist White butt and at least I didn’t end up in jail. That’s something, right?