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My name is Ayaan Farooq-Morrison and I’m a Somali woman living in the City of Houston, Texas, with my biracial husband Theodore Morrison. He’s the one who introduced me to the joys of forbidden sex, along with many things which Somali culture and the Islamic faith consider haram. I am married to a man who follows a religion other than Islam. My husband is Christian. Early in our relationship, he told me I could keep my religion but I had to respect his. This goes against everything that a Muslim woman is supposed to do. I don’t care anymore because I love him. We met at a very difficult time in my life, and he was there for me. I don’t mind going to church with Theo on Sundays. I owe him everything.

Before you can understand my story, you must learn a little about me. You see, I came to the United States of America as an illegal immigrant from my hometown of Mogadishu, the Capital of Somalia, in 1999. I was eighteen years old, and the Somali-American family that granted me safe passage to the U.S. held me in virtual slavery in Minnesota for more than a decade. Finally, fed up with being a domestic servant for Ahmed Yassin and his wife Fatouma, I ran away. Millions of women live as slaves in the modern world, and not just in places like Africa, the Arab world or southeast Asia.

These women are for the most part non-white immigrants living in places like America, Canada and the United Kingdom. Quite often, the people exploiting them are members of the same ethnic group. These women lack legal papers, and can’t go to the authorities when things get really bad. That’s what their captors are counting on. They force these women to be their sex slaves, domestic servants and whatnot, exploiting them all the way. I know this because I experienced it firsthand. Running away from Yassin and his wife Fatouma in the summer of 2009 was the best thing I ever did.

I knew that with no money and no legal papers, I wouldn’t last long in America. I made my way to Texas, hoping that I could maybe make my way in this place. After all, Texas is full of immigrants from places like Mexico and other Latin American nations. I speak fluent English and have long since lost my Somali accent. I no longer wore the hijab. I figured I could pass for an African-American while in Texas. I would work odd jobs, find a place to stay, and find some kind of life. What choice did I have? I refused to simply lay down and die. Thus, one day, I walked into a Home Depot store in Houston, and asked for a job. I had no ID, no legal papers of any kind.

The tall, good-looking young man in the manager’s office looked me up and down, and told me he would do anything to help me. His name was Theodore Morrison, born in Houston Texas, to a Jamaican immigrant father and Mexican immigrant mother. His parents, Antony Morrison and Juanita Valdez-Morrison had gone through hell with the U.S. immigration system before becoming citizens of America. Theodore Morrison grew up hearing about how America mistreated illegal immigrants, especially those from Third World countries. As I sat in his office and explained my situation, this brave young man took pity on me. You came to the right place, he said with a smile.

I looked at Theodore Morrison, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope. I had been exploited, abused, raped and mistreated for more than a decade. I wasn’t good at trusting people anymore. As I made my way from Minnesota to Texas, I had to do certain bahis şirketleri things to ensure my safe passage. I would reward the men who picked me up as I hitchhiked across the U.S. by having sex with them. We used protection for the most part. Look, I am not proud of it but I was desperate. I did what I had to do, alright?

Theodore went out of his way to help me. He forged a Social Security Number and inserted it into the company computer in order to hire me, and he also referred me to a women’s shelter, and the local social services department, where I got some basic help. Through these people I met an immigration attorney, and thus began my long, slow process of documentation and legalization in the United States, a country in which I’d lived for more than a decade.

I was issued a picture ID with my name and address on it, my first official Texas ID Card. At last I felt like a person instead of a nonentity. With my immigration case pending before the U.S. government I was given a temporary social security number, the type that international workers get. Theodore replaced my false S.S.N. with the real one in the company computer as soon as he could. He also helped me get low-rent housing. I worked hard at the Home Depot, doing the type of physically demanding work that lazy American men and women are loathe to do. I put in longer hours than anybody else. Yes, it’s a minimum wage job but damn it, it’s my first job! I worked with pride because at last, I felt like a real human being. I wasn’t an invisible shadow anymore. I had identification, a job, a place to stay, and, after all this time, a life.

As you can imagine, I felt happy. Sure, I had the immigration case hanging over my head and all that, but I couldn’t care less. I felt happier and more alive than I had in ages. I wanted to thank Theodore Morrison, the man I believed to be an angel sent by Allah to save me. My friend, my protector and my benefactor. He gave so much and never asked for anything in return. I had been taken advantage of many times in my life. I knew a wicked man when I saw one, and Theodore Morrison didn’t have a wicked bone in his body.

My heart went out to this wonderful young man who helped me, and introduced me to his family. All he ever asked in return was my friendship. I gave him that and more. You see, in my three decades-plus upon this earth, I had never been loved. To my parents in Mogadishu, Somalia, I was an unwanted daughter, a burden. That’s why Yassin and Fatouma took me from them to become their slave in America. Nobody ever had any use for me. I found myself drawn to Theo, a wonderful human being who respected me as a person and had shown me nothing but kindness.

I noticed that even though Theo was tall and handsome, he kept to himself and had no girlfriend. He was always polite and friendly to the ladies at work when they accosted him, but that was it. He never dated anyone. He had no close male friends either. Some people at work wondered whether Theo was gay. I dismissed that possibility. Surely, a man as strong and masculine as Theo couldn’t be one of those who slept with their own sex?

One night, as we hung out at a nearby Appleby’s restaurant after work, I quizzed Theo about his love life. At first Theo was amused, then uncomfortable. Finally, he fessed up. Theo once loved a young woman named Mildred Rosenthal, a red-haired and green-eyed Jewish gal he met at Texas Tech University, where he studied business. bahis firmaları Theo and Mildred had their romance, but once her family found out, she ditched him. Theo pleaded with her to take him back, and even promised he’d convert to Judaism to be with her. I raised an eyebrow at that. Sadly, Mildred listened to her racist parents and dumped Theo for good. And evidently, Theo hadn’t been the same since.

I looked at Theo, and the sad look upon his face wrenched my heart. I gently touched his hand. Mildred was a fool for leaving you, I said firmly. Theo smiled sadly and shrugged. I shook my head. This Mildred chick must have been something to wreck a man as strong and as intelligent as Theo. Seriously, the guy is tall, good-looking, educated and hard-working. He shouldn’t be moping over this broad. Fortunately, Allah placed me on his path. In an uncharacteristically bold move, I took Theo’s face in my hands. Then I kissed him. Yup, the shy and supposedly repressed Muslim chick from Somalia kissed the wild and fearless Texan man. How about that?

Theo seemed surprised at first but judging by the way he put his arms around me and kissed me back, he was definitely feeling me. Thus we shared our first kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. My first time kissing someone, actually. I’ve had sex with dozens of men, usually for a place to stay, or food, or a ride to and fro, but I’ve never kissed anyone before Theo. As my heart thundered in my chest while I gazed into his soulful eyes, I knew that I had found the one for me. The man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. Theo Morrison is to be my husband.

Now, the thought of loving a biracial Christian man from Texas should have irked me, a Muslim woman from Somalia. Yet it didn’t. For I loved Theo deeply, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life making him happy. I was hesitant to jump into a relationship and so was he. You see, I’d been with lots of guys and worried I might have an STD. If I did, then I didn’t want to infect Theo. That’s why, even though I wanted to make love to that man with every fiber of my being, I resisted the urge because I didn’t want to hurt him. I went to the local clinic and got tested for STDs. A week later the results came back negative on all counts. Masha’Allah, it was the second happiest day of my life!

I went to Theo’s apartment and let myself in. He’d gone to Galveston for a business conference and wouldn’t be back till the evening. I prepared him a meal worthy of a king, and when he came home, he found me naked on his bed. Hello beautiful, Theo said, smiling. I grinned and went to him. Seriously, I practically raped him that night. I held him down and kissed him from his head to his toes. I sucked his long and thick, uncircumcised dick and licked his balls. I told him to smack my ass and made him suck on my breasts. I sat on his face and let him lick my pussy. Oh yeah, I was horny as can be and wanted to make up for lost time. Theo never knew what hit him, but he loved it!

Theo Morrison is strong, hard-bodied and virile, but he isn’t as aggressive as I would like in the bedroom. That’s okay because like the Somali seductress that I am, I taught my Texan lover a thing or two. I got on all fours, spread my ass cheeks wide open and told a stunned Theo to fuck me in the ass. When he hesitated, I tossed him a can of lubricant and told him to use it. Theo grinned, then lubricated my anus before pushing his dick inside of me. Theo pushed his kaçak bahis siteleri dick into my asshole, and began fucking me with slow, deep strokes. The feel of Theo’s dick in my booty hole drove me nuts. I fingered my pussy and rocked back and forth as he fucked my asshole. It didn’t take him long to cum, apparently the vise-like pressure of my ass on his dick got to him.

When Theo came, flooding my asshole with his cum, I cried out like a madwoman. Seriously, I thrashed about wildly on the bed like a mental patient. Theo caught me in his strong arms and held me until the orgasm finished rocking my nubile body. We lay in each other’s arms, just another happy couple in the American Heartland. I looked at Theo as he slept. Wallahi, he’s so beautiful. A wonderful blend of Jamaican and Mexican, beautiful yet decidedly masculine. They sure make them hot in the Midwest! I should have moved here a long time ago.

Theo and I began our relationship, and like all couples, we had our ups and downs. After living in the U.S. for more than a decade, I was thoroughly Americanized, yet, in many ways, I was still very much a Somali woman. I no longer wear the hijab, but I still considered myself a Muslim. When Theo asked me to come to church with him, I was reluctant. I respect the Christian faith, but knew little about it. Theo and his parents taught me, and I found myself wanting to learn more. I like going to church with the Morrison family. Churches and mosques are so different. At Theo’s church, the preacher, Reverend Mary Jones, is a woman and men and women sit side by side in pews. In mosques, men and women are kept separate. The men are up front and the women are in the back. That’s the way you’re supposed to pray, according to what I was taught.

I found myself questioning many tenets of my Muslim faith for the first time ever. At Theo’s church I felt so free, happy and welcome. Mosques make people feel welcome too, but primarily when you’re new to the faith. Afterwards, you’re on your own. Theo’s church was friendly and welcoming, a family atmosphere where men and women were considered equal. I enjoy going to church. I go there more often than Theo now. Still, I have yet to renounce Islam. Fortunately, Theo never asked me too. In time, I came to embrace the Christian faith. In 2012, three years after we met, Theo asked me to marry him.

With tears in my eyes, I leapt into Theo’s arms and kissed him. I accepted his proposal, and we were married at the same chapel where we went every Sunday. The wise and wonderful Reverend Mary Jones officiated at our wedding. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. A few months later, I got pregnant…with twins. Around that time, the U.S. government finally stopped dragging its feet and granted me political asylum. I was one step closer to citizenship. Theo filed paperwork for me to become a U.S. resident as soon as possible. I couldn’t stop thanking the Most High for His blessings.

I have much to thank the Creator for. First, I escaped from the clutches of evil, found love, work and a purpose, and now I was bringing new life into the world. Two sons were born to us, Omar and Kader. Theo’s folks were delighted to become grandparents. As for me, I am finally where I was meant to be. I’m a devoted wife and mother living in Texas, with my husband and our growing family. I’m a Somali-American ex-Muslim woman who converted to Christianity in 2013, and I am now studying theology at a local college because I want to become an ordained minister. My husband Theo supports me in this one hundred percent. I am passionate about the Christian faith now, and it’s high time someone brought the Gospel to the Somali people. Wish me luck!

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