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Three guys become men with the help of Anne.

The average Saudi citizen doesn't hate the west. We're too busy living our lives.

Anyhow, the summer of my twentieth birthday, I despaired because my father wanted me to marry an old friend of his, a sixty-year-old Islamic preacher named Mohammed Zahran. A legendary sheikh among Sunni Muslim worshippers in the City of Najran. Lucky for me, he died before anything could be finalized. I know I shouldn't wish death upon anyone but I'm glad the old buzzard croaked. Sorry but that's just the truth!

The idea of playing wife to a dirty old man didn't appeal to me. Especially since Mohammed Zahran had three other wives. I would have been wife number four. Thanks but no thanks. After Mohammed's death, my father left me alone for a while. I knew that it was only a matter of time until he started with the marriage talks again. Lucky for me, something unbelievable happened.

My lifelong friend Mahmoud finally returned to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The short, chubby brown lad I remembered had grown into a six-foot-one, lean and athletic, caramel-colored and curly-haired Afro-Arabian vision of masculine beauty. I'm only five-foot-six, round and bronze-skinned, with black hair and dark eyes. I looked plain next to him. In spite of my attempts at dieting I'm plump, and my thighs, hips and buttocks are huge. Small wonder my prospective husband died. The thought of bedding me might have shut down his heart!

Mahmoud returned to Najran, and as you can imagine, we were happily reunited. His time in Ontario, Canada, had changed him. He seemed more confident now. Also, he seemed to have an intense dislike of many elements of Saudi culture. He shared this with me as we sat in my room, where I snuck him in just like old times.

When I sat him down and asked him about his strange new ways, Mahmoud told me that Saudi society was wrong on many issues and needed to change. I shushed him and warned him that speaking such words might endanger his life, given how paranoid the Saudi government was these days. Mahmoud laughed and told me that he didn't give a damn. Glaring at me, Mahmoud told me that Saudi Arabia was pure hell and he couldn't wait to leave it.

When Mahmoud said these things, I stared at him, shocked. I looked at him and said the only thing I could think of. Take me with you, I pleaded. Smiling, Mahmoud nodded, then he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

Holding me tightly, Mahmoud cupped my face in his hands and told me he loved me. I hugged him fiercely, tears of joy running down my face. Then I told him I loved him too. That night, away from prying eyes, Mahmoud and I lay in each other's arms and plotted our future together.

The next day, Mahmoud spoke to my father, man to man, and asked for my hand in marriage. My father was only too happy to accept. Typically, Arab men don't like seeing Arab women with non-Arab men but my father really wanted to marry me off and no one other than Mahmoud would take me on. I think he just wanted to get rid of me. A dowry got paid, a ceremony was held, documents were signed, and I became Mahmoud's wife.

On our wedding night, Mahmoud laid me naked on our bed, and made sweet love to me. I felt self-conscious at first, naked with a man for the first time, but Mahmoud assured me he found me beautiful.

With his mouth and tongue Mahmoud pleasured my breasts, and my pussy. Spreading my thighs, he lapped away at my cunt with his agile tongue and fingered me. I cried out in pleasure as he did things to me I hadn't even known were possible. Mahmoud made love to me like a skilled artist, and I was like putty in his hands.

Over the next few months, Mahmoud and I discovered much about each other. My husband is a man with demanding sexual appetites. Take anal sex for example. It's forbidden by the Koran and considered a dirty act reserved for homosexuals and women who sell themselves to men for money.

Yet, with some encouragement from my husband, I tried it.

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