My Real Bhabhi

We had travelled here with the sole purpose of purchasing 'Ultimate Saddle Thrusting Sex Machine', the owner claiming it was as new, never used, and having vied it on-line, called him, and agreed a price of £85.00, less than halve.I told my husband I thought he sounded oldish, but he just laughed and said wishful thinking, so when I rang the doorbell and he opened it, both of us thought we had the wrong door.He was old, very old and as I fumbled for the right words to explain who we were, he just said, 'It's all right dear, I know who you are, come in', and we did.The house was dark and damp, it smelt old, cluttered and a tad on the dirty side.He was alone, widowed for some thirty years he said, and lived a life of frugality and sexual obsession.'You cant be frugal if you purchase a machine like that, then give it away', I challenged, completely unabashed to talk about something to do with me sexually pleasuring myself with.The way he looked at me I sensed the lust he felt, a woman. When I tell this to Somalis born and raised in Canada or America, they ask me what kind of weed I’ve been smoking, because I’d have to be on something to miss Somalia. You know what they say, there’s no place like home, no matter who you are or where you’re from. How could I miss my home any less than you would miss yours? Seriously, some questions, people should be ashamed of themselves to ask them. Even though we were both Somali, Omar and I came from different worlds. The guy barely spoke the Somali language, and after growing up in the U.S. he was way too Americanized for my liking. His knowledge of Somali culture was virtually nonexistent, and he didn’t seem to mind that one bit. Also, he did a lot of things that most Somalis would consider to be haram. He owned a dog, a mutt he called Spike, and he also smoked weed. Omar had an impressive porno collection boasting of a hundred or more DVDs, most of them black or interracial erotic movies. All this he told me early on in our.
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