16-03-2020, 08:32 PM
Mistaken identity, it can happen to the best of us. In my lifetime, I get mistaken for two things which I've got nothing against ( but happen not to be ) almost on a daily basis. People think I'm Hispanic, and they also routinely ask me if I'm a lesbian. Apparently I have a certain "look". Seriously, what does a lesbian look like? I'm five-foot-nine, stocky and somewhat muscular, with a toned, bronze-skinned body. I am into bodybuilding, lots of women are. My black hair is short and spiky, and that's just the way I like it. I just wish people would stop getting the wrong idea about me.
I'm fond of Latin culture, especially the music and cuisine, so I've got nothing against Hispanic people per se, and I also fully support gay rights, but I do get tired of folks asking me if I belong to either of those categories. My name is Karma Suleiman, and I'm a Lebanese Christian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. college, work and the gym, that's my life. Oh, and FYI? I'm one hundred percent heterosexual. I love dick. Never even given a second thought about hooking up with another woman. I'm all about the fellas. What can I say? I love the flavor of men. I like the way they smell and taste.
I was born in the City of Baskinta, Republic of Lebanon, on November 7, 1986. My parents, Phillip and Eugenia Suleiman moved from Lebanon to Ontario, Canada, in the summer of 1989. I guess you could say I've lived almost my whole life in Canada. I graduated from the University of Ottawa in June 2008 with a bachelor's degree in English Literature, and after realizing that there's no way to make any decent money off that, I applied for the Sprott MBA program at Carleton University and luckily I got accepted. I've been there, off and on, since 2010. Grad college isn't cheap and since I work as a manager at Loblaw's on the evenings, it's going to take me a while.
When I'm not at work dealing with the tedious business of running a grocery store at night or studying in the library at Carleton, I work out. For the most part I use the gym at college, but sometimes I go to one of the many Good Life Fitness Clubs downtown. I like a serious workout. I'm a well-toned, muscular and fit one hundred and fifty pounds and that's the way I like it. As a female bodybuilder I've got an image to maintain, if only to myself. Anyhow, while at the gym the other day I ran into a seriously sexy guy, my old pal Gordon Wilkinson. I met Gordon at the University of Ottawa in the mid-2000s. He's six-foot-one, broad-shouldered and well-built. Like me, he's a gym bunny. Hello stranger, he said to me, and I smiled at the handsome, caramel-colored and curly-haired man in the biker shorts and red top. Long time no see Mister Gordon, I said, and gave him a simple hug.
Like I said, Gordon and I are old friends. Gordon and I met at the University of Ottawa in the library while reaching for the last copy of Intro To Western Literature. He was a second-year student in criminal justice at the time, and the lit class was an elective he desperately needed. For me, it was my major. In spite of our vast differences, we became friends and kept in touch. Like me, Gordon is an immigrant. His father Gerald Wilkinson is white, originally from England, and his mother, Janelle Monroe, is black, originally from the island of Jamaica. He's the same age I am, but moved to Ontario from Berkshire, England, with his parents just before he started high college. He's still got the faintest trace of a British accent, one I found so damn sexy.
You look good, Gordon told me, as he lifted a huge dumbbell like it weighed nothing. I smiled at him as I sped on the stair master. Right back at you, I countered, trying in vain not to look at Gordon's perfectly shaped, muscular ass as he bent down to tie his shoe laces. I love a guy with a tight body and a nice ass. No fat guys for me, and no skinny wimps either. I like a man who takes care of himself. Hey, I'm a fit woman and I expect no less from the men I deal with. Watching Gordon as he worked out, I found myself daydreaming, thinking about the old days. Back when I was, well, younger than I am now, and still felt like everything was possible...
At the time Gordon and I met, we were both with other people. I was seeing this guy named Stefan Abdullah, from Manaus, Brazil. He was half Lebanese and half Brazilian Portuguese, and the stud simply set my world on fire. For the most part while growing up in Ottawa, Ontario, I mainly dated white guys or Hispanic guys since most of the young Arab men in the region were '.s and I had zero intention of abandoning my Orthodox Christian faith for the rigid rules of .,. Gordon was with a Jamaican chick named Melanie something or other at the time. Don't remember much about her except that she was nearly six feet tall, dark-skinned and, like so many women from the Caribbean, she had a huge ass...no, I wasn't jealous. Or so I told myself. Besides, I had Stefan Abdullah, a nice guy from my own culture, and he was a devout Catholic. I'd heard horror stories about dating '. guys from Arab Christian women who emigrated to Canada from places like Syria, Egypt and Lebanon. At first, the '. guy will be charming, generous and the most considerate person in the world. Once he has the woman in his power, he'll reveal his true face and then try to convert her to .,, through charm if possible and by force if necessary.
I had Stefan and Gordon had Melanie, and we were both happy with our significant others, I think. Still, there was this...thing between us. Whenever Stefan and I had any relationship trouble, Gordon's the one I ran to. I don't know why but I felt safe with him, like I could confide in him. I've always been more comfortable making friends with guys than with girls. Less drama and bullshit, you know? Gordon seemed equally comfortable with me, in fact, we sometimes met to hang out without our respective 'others'. One night, while watching the movie Cloverfield inside the Silver City movie theater in Ottawa's east end, something unusual but altogether fun happened between Stefan and I. We kind of, um, kissed.
I still remember the feel of Gordon's lips against mine, and his agile tongue darting into my mouth. I remember his arms around me, and my heart thundering in my chest as he touched me so firmly yet gently. I remember that I didn't want the kiss to end. Afterwards, Gordon and I sat quietly in the theater, looking into each other's eyes like lovebirds. Yeah, there was definitely something between us but by the time we left the theater, we agreed that it couldn't happen again. For the sake of our relationships with Stefan and Melanie, and our friendship. Interesting rationale, isn't it? Anyways, that was in 2008. Here we are now, in 2013, back to square one.
Let's grab a drink afterwards, I told Gordon and he hastily agreed. For old time's sakes, he said with that fearless smile I knew so well. After our workout, Gordon and I went to this little Shawarma place near the Rideau Center and had veggie sandwiches with Pepsi. I'm not one to eat so quickly after a workout but I wanted to talk to Gordon. For over an hour we sat in that little restaurant, catching up. Gordon told me how, after getting his bachelor's degree in criminal justice from University of Ottawa he went to Toronto and earned his Law degree at the prestigious Osgood Hall Law college of York University. Damn you've been busy, I said wistfully. Gordon looked at me, smiled and nodded. It's a living my dear, he shrugged.
I looked at Gordon and smiled, and for the umpteenth time I wished I'd met him before Stefan. If only I'd known that the handsome Mr. Abdullah would turn out to be a piece of shit. He cheated on me with Kristen Tremblay, a plump French Canadian chick from my literature class. I caught him red-handed. What a colossal waste of time. Looking at Gordon, I noted that his ring fingers were empty. Smiling coyly I asked him about his sex life. I'm an overworked clerk at the Ontario Provincial Court so I have no sex life, Gordon said, matter-of-factly. I smiled at that. We're going to have to change that, I smiled, gently touching his arm.
Gordon and I left the Shawarma restaurant after two hours of talking and catching up. I felt a bit guilty about eating so soon after a workout, but let's just say that the opportunity to burn some calories came up sooner than expected. Gordon invited me to his house, since he lived in a nice two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a three-story townhouse in the Byward Market area. Pricy comes to mind when I think of that place. Well, I can only speak of the little bit I saw. I didn't get much further than the living room, you see...
As soon as we got in, Gordon and I kissed passionately, and then began undressing. Off came my coat, and my tank top, followed by my yoga pants. I'm not big on wearing panties, especially when I'm going to the gym. Gordon liked that. Nice, he said, as he laid me, naked, on the couch. If you can't lick it good I won't let you stick it, I warned him. Gordon grinned and spread my thighs wide open. He slid a finger into my cunt, then two. And just like that, he began licking my pussy without hesitation. A lot of guys are hesitant when it comes to eating pussy. Not Gordon, he attacked it like a hungry man facing a three-course meal...
I lay there, my eyes half-closed, alternately touching my tits and rubbing Gordon's head encouragingly as he worked his magic on me, sticking his tongue deep in my pussy. His fingers found my sweet spot, and teased me in all the right places. Gordon looked into my eyes, then kissed me full and deep. Kissing a path from my lips to my chest, he fastened his sweet lips on my tits, teasing the nipples with his tongue. You're so bad, I giggled. Gordon grinned, then told me I hadn't felt anything yet. That evening, he made sweet love to me. Raising my strong, toned legs in the air and supporting them on his shoulders, Gordon slid his dick inside of me.
I licked my lips as I felt Gordon inside me. Go slow, I told him. You got it mama, Gordon smiled, his accent a mixture of Jamaican funk and bratty Englishman. He really gave it to me, thrusting his dick hard and deep inside of me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, wanting him deep within me. I hadn't known a man's touch in ages, for I'd been too busy with college and work. Also, being a woman bodybuilder at a gym full of men, I don't get asked out too often. Most guys who see me, on the street or at the gym either feel intimidated by my physique or assume I'm a bull dyke or something. Not Gordon. Burying his face between my tits and grunting sexily, he slammed his cock inside of me.
I welcomed Gordon inside of me, crying out with pleasure as he fucked me with all the passion he could muster. Definitely an evening to remember. After going at it for what seemed like hours, but only turned out to be sixty seven minutes, Gordon and I lay side by side on the bed. That was fun, I said, running my fingers along his smooth chest. We should have done this a long time ago, Gordon said, taking my hand in his and kissing it all soft and tender, like a real smooth operator. True that my dude, I said, trying my best to sound like an urban American chick instead of the sheltered Lebanese Canadian Christian woman that I am. Gordon laughed at that, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything.
Afterwards, Gordon did give a real tour of his place, which was really nice. I took it all in, and noted that it indeed reflected him. Stylish and classy. State of the art furniture, classy Afro-centric paintings on the walls, framed picture of his parents in the living room, a library containing anything from the works of Henry Louis Gates to James Baldwin, E. Lynn Harris and Jerome Dickey along with the collected works of Nietzsche, Shakespeare and strangely enough, Karl Marx and Joseph Stalin. I'll have to ask him about those ones. Nice spot you got there, I told Gordon. Gently he brushed a stray hair from my face. Hmmm, my hair is getting long again. Guess I'll cut it and re-spike it when I get home. Maybe add some highlights. You can come by whenever you like, Gordon said. I smiled and nodded.
The evening concluded with Gordon putting me in a cab, which drove me from his fancy neighborhood in the Byward Market near downtown Ottawa to my humble one-bedroom spot in Vanier. My building overlooks the large grocery store where I work. I lay in my bed that night feeling pleased ( Gordon left my body pleasurably sore and that's always a good feeling ) but more than a bit confused. I don't do that sort of thing too often, you understand? I don't jump into bed with random guys, especially the ones I meet at the gym. Oh, well. What can I say? Gordon's a special case and I've had a thing for him for ages. Let's just call tonight my way of welcoming him back to Ottawa. Right before I fell asleep I got a text from Gordon asking me to do movies and dinner with him at some point this coming week. Sure thing Mister G, that's the reply I texted back to him. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. It might just be the sex talking but I feel better than I have in ages. I'm actually looking forward to college tomorrow.
The End
I'm fond of Latin culture, especially the music and cuisine, so I've got nothing against Hispanic people per se, and I also fully support gay rights, but I do get tired of folks asking me if I belong to either of those categories. My name is Karma Suleiman, and I'm a Lebanese Christian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. college, work and the gym, that's my life. Oh, and FYI? I'm one hundred percent heterosexual. I love dick. Never even given a second thought about hooking up with another woman. I'm all about the fellas. What can I say? I love the flavor of men. I like the way they smell and taste.
I was born in the City of Baskinta, Republic of Lebanon, on November 7, 1986. My parents, Phillip and Eugenia Suleiman moved from Lebanon to Ontario, Canada, in the summer of 1989. I guess you could say I've lived almost my whole life in Canada. I graduated from the University of Ottawa in June 2008 with a bachelor's degree in English Literature, and after realizing that there's no way to make any decent money off that, I applied for the Sprott MBA program at Carleton University and luckily I got accepted. I've been there, off and on, since 2010. Grad college isn't cheap and since I work as a manager at Loblaw's on the evenings, it's going to take me a while.
When I'm not at work dealing with the tedious business of running a grocery store at night or studying in the library at Carleton, I work out. For the most part I use the gym at college, but sometimes I go to one of the many Good Life Fitness Clubs downtown. I like a serious workout. I'm a well-toned, muscular and fit one hundred and fifty pounds and that's the way I like it. As a female bodybuilder I've got an image to maintain, if only to myself. Anyhow, while at the gym the other day I ran into a seriously sexy guy, my old pal Gordon Wilkinson. I met Gordon at the University of Ottawa in the mid-2000s. He's six-foot-one, broad-shouldered and well-built. Like me, he's a gym bunny. Hello stranger, he said to me, and I smiled at the handsome, caramel-colored and curly-haired man in the biker shorts and red top. Long time no see Mister Gordon, I said, and gave him a simple hug.
Like I said, Gordon and I are old friends. Gordon and I met at the University of Ottawa in the library while reaching for the last copy of Intro To Western Literature. He was a second-year student in criminal justice at the time, and the lit class was an elective he desperately needed. For me, it was my major. In spite of our vast differences, we became friends and kept in touch. Like me, Gordon is an immigrant. His father Gerald Wilkinson is white, originally from England, and his mother, Janelle Monroe, is black, originally from the island of Jamaica. He's the same age I am, but moved to Ontario from Berkshire, England, with his parents just before he started high college. He's still got the faintest trace of a British accent, one I found so damn sexy.
You look good, Gordon told me, as he lifted a huge dumbbell like it weighed nothing. I smiled at him as I sped on the stair master. Right back at you, I countered, trying in vain not to look at Gordon's perfectly shaped, muscular ass as he bent down to tie his shoe laces. I love a guy with a tight body and a nice ass. No fat guys for me, and no skinny wimps either. I like a man who takes care of himself. Hey, I'm a fit woman and I expect no less from the men I deal with. Watching Gordon as he worked out, I found myself daydreaming, thinking about the old days. Back when I was, well, younger than I am now, and still felt like everything was possible...
At the time Gordon and I met, we were both with other people. I was seeing this guy named Stefan Abdullah, from Manaus, Brazil. He was half Lebanese and half Brazilian Portuguese, and the stud simply set my world on fire. For the most part while growing up in Ottawa, Ontario, I mainly dated white guys or Hispanic guys since most of the young Arab men in the region were '.s and I had zero intention of abandoning my Orthodox Christian faith for the rigid rules of .,. Gordon was with a Jamaican chick named Melanie something or other at the time. Don't remember much about her except that she was nearly six feet tall, dark-skinned and, like so many women from the Caribbean, she had a huge ass...no, I wasn't jealous. Or so I told myself. Besides, I had Stefan Abdullah, a nice guy from my own culture, and he was a devout Catholic. I'd heard horror stories about dating '. guys from Arab Christian women who emigrated to Canada from places like Syria, Egypt and Lebanon. At first, the '. guy will be charming, generous and the most considerate person in the world. Once he has the woman in his power, he'll reveal his true face and then try to convert her to .,, through charm if possible and by force if necessary.
I had Stefan and Gordon had Melanie, and we were both happy with our significant others, I think. Still, there was this...thing between us. Whenever Stefan and I had any relationship trouble, Gordon's the one I ran to. I don't know why but I felt safe with him, like I could confide in him. I've always been more comfortable making friends with guys than with girls. Less drama and bullshit, you know? Gordon seemed equally comfortable with me, in fact, we sometimes met to hang out without our respective 'others'. One night, while watching the movie Cloverfield inside the Silver City movie theater in Ottawa's east end, something unusual but altogether fun happened between Stefan and I. We kind of, um, kissed.
I still remember the feel of Gordon's lips against mine, and his agile tongue darting into my mouth. I remember his arms around me, and my heart thundering in my chest as he touched me so firmly yet gently. I remember that I didn't want the kiss to end. Afterwards, Gordon and I sat quietly in the theater, looking into each other's eyes like lovebirds. Yeah, there was definitely something between us but by the time we left the theater, we agreed that it couldn't happen again. For the sake of our relationships with Stefan and Melanie, and our friendship. Interesting rationale, isn't it? Anyways, that was in 2008. Here we are now, in 2013, back to square one.
Let's grab a drink afterwards, I told Gordon and he hastily agreed. For old time's sakes, he said with that fearless smile I knew so well. After our workout, Gordon and I went to this little Shawarma place near the Rideau Center and had veggie sandwiches with Pepsi. I'm not one to eat so quickly after a workout but I wanted to talk to Gordon. For over an hour we sat in that little restaurant, catching up. Gordon told me how, after getting his bachelor's degree in criminal justice from University of Ottawa he went to Toronto and earned his Law degree at the prestigious Osgood Hall Law college of York University. Damn you've been busy, I said wistfully. Gordon looked at me, smiled and nodded. It's a living my dear, he shrugged.
I looked at Gordon and smiled, and for the umpteenth time I wished I'd met him before Stefan. If only I'd known that the handsome Mr. Abdullah would turn out to be a piece of shit. He cheated on me with Kristen Tremblay, a plump French Canadian chick from my literature class. I caught him red-handed. What a colossal waste of time. Looking at Gordon, I noted that his ring fingers were empty. Smiling coyly I asked him about his sex life. I'm an overworked clerk at the Ontario Provincial Court so I have no sex life, Gordon said, matter-of-factly. I smiled at that. We're going to have to change that, I smiled, gently touching his arm.
Gordon and I left the Shawarma restaurant after two hours of talking and catching up. I felt a bit guilty about eating so soon after a workout, but let's just say that the opportunity to burn some calories came up sooner than expected. Gordon invited me to his house, since he lived in a nice two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a three-story townhouse in the Byward Market area. Pricy comes to mind when I think of that place. Well, I can only speak of the little bit I saw. I didn't get much further than the living room, you see...
As soon as we got in, Gordon and I kissed passionately, and then began undressing. Off came my coat, and my tank top, followed by my yoga pants. I'm not big on wearing panties, especially when I'm going to the gym. Gordon liked that. Nice, he said, as he laid me, naked, on the couch. If you can't lick it good I won't let you stick it, I warned him. Gordon grinned and spread my thighs wide open. He slid a finger into my cunt, then two. And just like that, he began licking my pussy without hesitation. A lot of guys are hesitant when it comes to eating pussy. Not Gordon, he attacked it like a hungry man facing a three-course meal...
I lay there, my eyes half-closed, alternately touching my tits and rubbing Gordon's head encouragingly as he worked his magic on me, sticking his tongue deep in my pussy. His fingers found my sweet spot, and teased me in all the right places. Gordon looked into my eyes, then kissed me full and deep. Kissing a path from my lips to my chest, he fastened his sweet lips on my tits, teasing the nipples with his tongue. You're so bad, I giggled. Gordon grinned, then told me I hadn't felt anything yet. That evening, he made sweet love to me. Raising my strong, toned legs in the air and supporting them on his shoulders, Gordon slid his dick inside of me.
I licked my lips as I felt Gordon inside me. Go slow, I told him. You got it mama, Gordon smiled, his accent a mixture of Jamaican funk and bratty Englishman. He really gave it to me, thrusting his dick hard and deep inside of me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, wanting him deep within me. I hadn't known a man's touch in ages, for I'd been too busy with college and work. Also, being a woman bodybuilder at a gym full of men, I don't get asked out too often. Most guys who see me, on the street or at the gym either feel intimidated by my physique or assume I'm a bull dyke or something. Not Gordon. Burying his face between my tits and grunting sexily, he slammed his cock inside of me.
I welcomed Gordon inside of me, crying out with pleasure as he fucked me with all the passion he could muster. Definitely an evening to remember. After going at it for what seemed like hours, but only turned out to be sixty seven minutes, Gordon and I lay side by side on the bed. That was fun, I said, running my fingers along his smooth chest. We should have done this a long time ago, Gordon said, taking my hand in his and kissing it all soft and tender, like a real smooth operator. True that my dude, I said, trying my best to sound like an urban American chick instead of the sheltered Lebanese Canadian Christian woman that I am. Gordon laughed at that, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything.
Afterwards, Gordon did give a real tour of his place, which was really nice. I took it all in, and noted that it indeed reflected him. Stylish and classy. State of the art furniture, classy Afro-centric paintings on the walls, framed picture of his parents in the living room, a library containing anything from the works of Henry Louis Gates to James Baldwin, E. Lynn Harris and Jerome Dickey along with the collected works of Nietzsche, Shakespeare and strangely enough, Karl Marx and Joseph Stalin. I'll have to ask him about those ones. Nice spot you got there, I told Gordon. Gently he brushed a stray hair from my face. Hmmm, my hair is getting long again. Guess I'll cut it and re-spike it when I get home. Maybe add some highlights. You can come by whenever you like, Gordon said. I smiled and nodded.
The evening concluded with Gordon putting me in a cab, which drove me from his fancy neighborhood in the Byward Market near downtown Ottawa to my humble one-bedroom spot in Vanier. My building overlooks the large grocery store where I work. I lay in my bed that night feeling pleased ( Gordon left my body pleasurably sore and that's always a good feeling ) but more than a bit confused. I don't do that sort of thing too often, you understand? I don't jump into bed with random guys, especially the ones I meet at the gym. Oh, well. What can I say? Gordon's a special case and I've had a thing for him for ages. Let's just call tonight my way of welcoming him back to Ottawa. Right before I fell asleep I got a text from Gordon asking me to do movies and dinner with him at some point this coming week. Sure thing Mister G, that's the reply I texted back to him. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. It might just be the sex talking but I feel better than I have in ages. I'm actually looking forward to college tomorrow.
The End
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