Mia Khalifa Shows Off Big Tits in Shower and Gets Fucked Hard! (mk13783)

Hey, there. The name is Charleston Winston. A tall young Black man living in the City of Hartford, Connecticut. I am a student at Hartford University, and I am happily married to Fathiyah Al-Fatah Winston, a beautiful young Arab woman whom I met at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. My lady converted to Christianity from Islam in order to marry me. Her family is still mad as hell and they want us dead. Her father is currently incarcerated at Kingston Penitentiary in the City of Kingston, Province of Ontario. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police busted him for an attempted honor killing. He wanted to run Fathiyah Al-Fatah and me down with his overpriced car after finding out we were together. What a crazy lunatic! Anyhow, we’re happily married and life couldn’t be better.

I thank God for His blessings. Fathiyah and I got married inside a Catholic church in downtown Hartford, Connecticut. I applied for her to become a permanent resident of the United States of America. My gorgeous Saudi Arabian wife who left the religion of Islam and her own family to be with me. I honestly respect all religions, but it seems to me that Islam has ten thousand rules that Muslim women have to follow and only one rule for Muslim men. Basically, a Muslim woman has to do everything a Muslim man tells her except leaving Islam. What a load of crock. I can’t believe there are intelligent women falling for this. Muslim men claim to be enlightened but they’re very racist. I’m pretty sure Fathiyah’s father was more incensed by the fact that a Black man was dating his Arab daughter than by the fact that I am not Muslim.

Let me clarify things a bit for you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve got Somali Muslim friends back in Ottawa. My Somali friend Abdirahman told me that the last time he tried dating a Tunisian Muslim lady, her father also got really mad and they eventually split up. Now, since both Abdirahman and his lady friend are Muslims, what’s the problem? Racism. Yep, has to be racism I tell you. Non-Black men are always mad when they see their non-Black daughters with Black guys. In that regard, a deeply religious Muslim father from Saudi Arabia is just as bigoted as a redneck White guy from Texas who squirms at the thought of his blonde-haired daughter dating a Black male. Racism will never go away. White guys from Christian, Jewish and atheist backgrounds fear Black men and so do Muslim guys from the Arab world. They hide their racism behind religion and culture, but I saw right through it and by the Grace of God so did Fathiyah. All men who aren’t Black seem genetically designed to hate and fear the Black man. We’re so much more masculine than they are, and they know it. The thing is women worldwide know it too. That’s why they hate us. They’re afraid. Anyhow, I’m done ranting. Let’s speak of happier topics, eh?

My friends, I know I might sound like a sucker for saying this but I love my Fathiyah more than life itself. My tall, bronze-skinned and Black-haired Arabian goddess means more to me than I can ever say. I am nothing without the woman I love. I’m not just saying this because I am a recently married man. A lot of married guys around the world seem to hate their wives. And a lot of wives around the world hate their husbands. I pray to God Almighty that my Fathiyah and I don’t end up like that. Seriously. I can’t think of anything worse. For real. Right now, my lady is at school. And I’m at home, cooking dinner. I’m a big and tall Black man built like a football player wearing a damn apron and cooking dinner for his woman. And yes, I am one hundred percent man. If you call me a sissy or whipped, I can kick your ass. You feel me? Cool.

Anyhow, I’m whipping up a surprise for my Fathiyah. I am preparing a New England Clam Chowder. It’s a tasty little dish. A bark distracts me and I almost burn myself. Damn. It’s Adbul, the big Doberman whom my Fathiyah was walking around with when we first met. I’ve grown to love the damn mutt. It’s weird, eh? Oh, man. I’m still saying eh, even months after moving back to my home State of Connecticut from the Province of Ontario, Canada. Anyhow, Abdul the Doberman and I have forged a grudging friendship for the sake of our mutual love for Fathiyah. The bastard does nothing but sit on his ass all day, licking his balls. Alright, fine. I sometimes envy him. Not because he’s got the amazing ability to lick his own balls ( which is pretty cool ) but because he was my Fathiyah’s first love. Long before she defied her people’s customs and her own family by loving me, she loved this dog enough to defy the taboos of Islam by taking him from a kennel and bringing him home. Yeah, long before she met little old me, that ball of fur was dear to her heart. How about that?

Man, I never thought making New England Clam Chowder could be so damn difficult. Fathiyah Al-Fatah knows next to nothing about sea food. I’m trying to introduce her to it the right way. My mom taught me how to make this tasty little dish but I haven’t made it in so long. Let’s see if I remember the damn recipe. I’ve got five slices of bacon. Two cups of chopped onion. Two cups of water. Two teaspoons of salt. Two tablespoons of butter. Three ten-ounce cans of minced clams. Oh, and let’s not forget the Black pepper neatly ground to taste. Yeah, I don’t think I forgot anything. I take a little bit with the spoon just to taste it. It tastes okay but could be better. Nothing but the best for my lady, you know? Yep, I’m going to redo it. I feed Abdul his third clam chowder for the day. All of my mother unsuccessful culinary attempts ended up in the Doberman’s belly. Do over. Ugh.

I smile to myself. This is definitely a labor of love. I finally get the New England Clam Chowder right. And not a moment too soon. I get a text message from my Fathiyah on my Blackberry. She’s coming home in twenty minutes. Oh, shoot. I rush into the bathroom, shower and then get ready. I hear Fathiyah inserting her key into the lock…and I greet her in a bright red T-shirt and blue jeans. Fathiyah looks me up and down, then smiles. I kiss her tenderly on the lips. We kiss passionately, and she grabs my ass. We go inside, and she stops. Fathiyah sniffs the air, and asks me what she’s smelling. I smile and lead her to the kitchen. I’ve got everything set up. Time for my beloved wife to experience some traditional New England cooking. Fathiyah gasps when she sees everything I’ve got set up. New England Johnny Cakes. Orange juice. Soft boiled eggs. Buttered bread. Sounds delicious, huh? Fathiyah practically gushed with happiness when she saw what I prepared for both of us. Seeing that look of happiness on her beautiful face was definitely worth all the culinary hell I went through for the past few hours. I pull a chair for her, and then we sit down to eat. Just another day in the life of a happily married young couple. I love my Fathiyah, and I thank God for His blessings.

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