Jamila 4
Just my luck, one of the standees slides into the vacant chair. One of the Cosmo-reading girls from work. "Soo-oo," grins wickedly, "new squeeze huh? Shopping at WEM huh? Thought you got clothes the museum threw out. Been suspicious of you a long time. You's one of them space aliens or a refugee who fell into a time machine. So, gonna invite me home? Paddle me with all your other friends?"
Sonali turns, "got $20 says you can't take 48 strokes from her."
Tara uses the safe word after 24. Loses the bet, but doesn't seem to mind, joins the others in an orgy.
Sonali and I adjourn to her room, "so what is this thing about shaving your legs?"
"I grew up very old-fashioned."
"You grew up very old-fashioned," she mimics my accent, "so did I. Now you want sex tonight, you let me shave your legs first."
"That is blackmail."
"So, call a cop. Your choice, I don't have a razor in my hands in 2 minutes, you're outa here."
I sigh, "be gentle."
"That's the spirit."
We're in the bathroom shaving, as Tara comes in, "don't mind me, just using the facility. So Lily, you actually do shave your legs? News to me."
Drily I reply, "never bothered before. Now I get my slave to do it."
Tara grins, "nice legs, I mean for someone so small."
Sonali grimaces, "screw off. She's mine, go get one of the others."
"Relax, I respect your property rights. Now Arezou, I can tell she's interested in me."
Sonali grins, "she might prove a little more of a problem than you'd like."
"Good, like that sort. Want a challenge. Got enough boredom in life. Ask Lily bout that. We're at Ground Zero of boredom for the whole western world."
I can't help it, I'm crying. The shaving is temporarily suspended as Tara and Sonali comfort me.
"Sorry," Tara says, "just a joke, musta hit a nerve. Want me to help you 2 shop tomorrow?"
Sonali smiles, "love your input, she's hard to convince."
Five hundred dollars later, I realize I have 1 1/2 dozen different looks, combining tops and skirts. Tara and Sonali are wildly enthusiastic about my simple acceptance of the inevitable. I'm even color-draped, "cool winter" shade of skin.
Monday morning, Agnes appears, "seems you learned a lot about style from reading Chatelaine. Good for you. You know dear, you really might have been better off staying a Hutterite."
"No choice, they threw me out."
"What on earth for?"
"Too small for their world of farm labor and babies."
Tara comes round, "join us for coffee."
"You really think so?"
"Sure, I can ooh and ah the girls with stories of you blistering butt. They see you as a real person, they'll stop acting like you're a space alien."
It's a wildly hilarious time, I say not a word as Tara boasts of my skill commanding my stable of slaves.
My second time buying Le Monde, I'm starting to have doubts. The articles are oh so interesting, but obviously written for the officer class. For me, I suspect Tara, Sonali, Chatelaine, and Agnes are more reliable sources of information about this strange world of centuries ago. After all, I ain't here to make general, just survive the tour.
Tara disappears from my world first. Snags a black football player. CFL salaries being quite low (in contrast to US NFL), she will continue working. He's traded from Edmonton Eskimos to another team. She relocates to another Revenue office using spousal relocation rights.
Then the big heartbreaker. The four Afghans finish their degrees, this running out their Canadian student visas. They return home, all being Association of Afghan Women officers, to HQ in Peshawar, Pakistan.
I'm more alone than ever. Feels horrible. Day after day, I have an overwhelming desire to just end it. So this is how the original Lily felt. Any comtempt I might have felt for her is long since gone. She must have been a very strong person, to last 14 years of this.
Men are utterly afraid of me, with that jailbait look. Only offer, I get, a lady cop, after carefully checking my ID, tells me she wants a slave.
I agree, provided no S&M.
A couple weeks later, she tosses me. Boring, you know, no S&M.
As I cry in the stairwell of her building, I hear the elevator. See a knockout chick enter her apartment. Pig, she didn't toss me for no S&M, but for that walking wetdream.
Over tea I ponder, soon realize she did me a favor. What they say is true, grow up in a very repressed household, the slave role is wildly liberating, tossing inhibitions and enjoying.
So now I understand better what energy I provided to the Afghan girls. Next time, I'll be able to give my slave(s) more pleasure.
Sonali turns, "got $20 says you can't take 48 strokes from her."
Tara uses the safe word after 24. Loses the bet, but doesn't seem to mind, joins the others in an orgy.
Sonali and I adjourn to her room, "so what is this thing about shaving your legs?"
"I grew up very old-fashioned."
"You grew up very old-fashioned," she mimics my accent, "so did I. Now you want sex tonight, you let me shave your legs first."
"That is blackmail."
"So, call a cop. Your choice, I don't have a razor in my hands in 2 minutes, you're outa here."
I sigh, "be gentle."
"That's the spirit."
We're in the bathroom shaving, as Tara comes in, "don't mind me, just using the facility. So Lily, you actually do shave your legs? News to me."
Drily I reply, "never bothered before. Now I get my slave to do it."
Tara grins, "nice legs, I mean for someone so small."
Sonali grimaces, "screw off. She's mine, go get one of the others."
"Relax, I respect your property rights. Now Arezou, I can tell she's interested in me."
Sonali grins, "she might prove a little more of a problem than you'd like."
"Good, like that sort. Want a challenge. Got enough boredom in life. Ask Lily bout that. We're at Ground Zero of boredom for the whole western world."
I can't help it, I'm crying. The shaving is temporarily suspended as Tara and Sonali comfort me.
"Sorry," Tara says, "just a joke, musta hit a nerve. Want me to help you 2 shop tomorrow?"
Sonali smiles, "love your input, she's hard to convince."
Five hundred dollars later, I realize I have 1 1/2 dozen different looks, combining tops and skirts. Tara and Sonali are wildly enthusiastic about my simple acceptance of the inevitable. I'm even color-draped, "cool winter" shade of skin.
Monday morning, Agnes appears, "seems you learned a lot about style from reading Chatelaine. Good for you. You know dear, you really might have been better off staying a Hutterite."
"No choice, they threw me out."
"What on earth for?"
"Too small for their world of farm labor and babies."
Tara comes round, "join us for coffee."
"You really think so?"
"Sure, I can ooh and ah the girls with stories of you blistering butt. They see you as a real person, they'll stop acting like you're a space alien."
It's a wildly hilarious time, I say not a word as Tara boasts of my skill commanding my stable of slaves.
My second time buying Le Monde, I'm starting to have doubts. The articles are oh so interesting, but obviously written for the officer class. For me, I suspect Tara, Sonali, Chatelaine, and Agnes are more reliable sources of information about this strange world of centuries ago. After all, I ain't here to make general, just survive the tour.
Tara disappears from my world first. Snags a black football player. CFL salaries being quite low (in contrast to US NFL), she will continue working. He's traded from Edmonton Eskimos to another team. She relocates to another Revenue office using spousal relocation rights.
Then the big heartbreaker. The four Afghans finish their degrees, this running out their Canadian student visas. They return home, all being Association of Afghan Women officers, to HQ in Peshawar, Pakistan.
I'm more alone than ever. Feels horrible. Day after day, I have an overwhelming desire to just end it. So this is how the original Lily felt. Any comtempt I might have felt for her is long since gone. She must have been a very strong person, to last 14 years of this.
Men are utterly afraid of me, with that jailbait look. Only offer, I get, a lady cop, after carefully checking my ID, tells me she wants a slave.
I agree, provided no S&M.
A couple weeks later, she tosses me. Boring, you know, no S&M.
As I cry in the stairwell of her building, I hear the elevator. See a knockout chick enter her apartment. Pig, she didn't toss me for no S&M, but for that walking wetdream.
Over tea I ponder, soon realize she did me a favor. What they say is true, grow up in a very repressed household, the slave role is wildly liberating, tossing inhibitions and enjoying.
So now I understand better what energy I provided to the Afghan girls. Next time, I'll be able to give my slave(s) more pleasure.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 9:08 AM
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