Chapter 1: Confusion

Note: This takes place three weeks after the Best Buy Incident, following Fatima. Thursday, June 20th, 2013 – Fatima Tawfeek

I sat in my car, staring at the Eagles Club in downtown Puyallup.

Why was I here? I didn't plan on coming to the support group. What if she showed up tonight? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I could not stop thinking about her since the incident in the Best Buy three weeks ago. When I closed my eyes to go to sleep, her cherub face surrounded by brown curls appeared before me.

Lucy.

We spent that entire morning. Together. Engaging in perversity. In sihaq. I had prayed and prayed for Allah the Merciful to forgive me. Not for engaging in a carnal act with a woman, that was out of my control, but for lusting to experience it again.

And not just for Lucy, I found my gaze lingering on all the women I saw.

These Christian women in America wore far too revealing clothes. Their lack of modesty inflamed my passions and I could not help but let my eyes feast on their exposed flesh. At night, when I succumbed to the weakness of my sex and pleasured myself, it was no longer a man I imagined. Even when I would go to Mosque for Friday Prayers, I found my gaze lingering on the rear of the woman praying in front of me. Right there in the holy Mosque I found my thoughts drifting to impure acts.

In my fantasies, I would reach out and pull up the hem of her jilbab, the long, modest robe of a good Muslim woman. I would keep pulling up while she kept praying, exposing dusky, beautiful legs until her plain, white panties were revealed, the dark shadow of her bush just visible through the panties' gusset. I would slowly pull the panties down, exposing a plump ass and her pussy covered by her thick mat of hair.

The smell of her arousal would fill my nose, tart and spicy—like Lucy's. Then I would bury my face into her sweet pussy, her silky hairs tickling my cheeks as I feasted on her. The other women praying would ignore the woman's sweet moans. And while I ate her out, my hands would hike up my own jilbab and shove my hands into my panties and pleasure myself.

I shuddered in my car seat as a sweet orgasm rippled through me. And then I flushed in shame. I was so caught in my fantasy, I started masturbating in public. I wiped my damp fingers on the passenger seat and adjusted the colorful shaylah that covered my head and hair, leaving only my round face exposed.

Like a good Muslim girl.

My phone chimed, and I fished it out and saw with horror it was another text from Lucy. Before the Gas wore off I gave Lucy my phone number. The girl had been badgering me ever since with declarations of love and passion. "R you coming 2nite?" the message read.

I was so confused. I burned to see Lucy. But it was wrong. And there was no-one I could talk to about it. My mother and sisters would shun me. The Imam at my Mosque would just tell my father and he would beat me. He was already disappointed that I hadn't found a husband yet at nineteen.

Is that why I came here tonight?

Everyone here were victims of the Incident like I was. They must be struggling with the same issues I am. We all did things that day we would never have dreamed of doing. Because of Mark Glassner.

I felt dirty just thinking about the man. I could still taste his salty seed as I licked it off Lucy's face. And not just his sperm. Other men shot their loads on us while we pleasured each other. Their greasy, disgusting seed.

You liked it during the Incident, a voice whispered. Just like you loved tasting Lucy's pussy.

I slid out of my car. I needed to talk to someone, to get this off my chest before I went crazy. I walked across the street. A blonde girl in an absolutely obscene outfit that consisted of a tight halter top that left her flat, cute stomach bare and showed off her perky tits. Her pants were a very tight pair of blue-jeans that just hugged her shapely ass. I recognized her from the Incident. She was the girl getting fucked over and over at the Geek Squad desk. A pimply-faced guy next to her handed me a business card that read:

Divine Escorts – The prettiest girls to keep you satisfied.
Kevin Mattock (253) 555-6812
Director of Customer Service, Owner
Jessie Smith (253) 555-7343
Premier Escort, Owner

"So you're actually a whore now, Jessie?" a woman said behind me.

"I am a high class escort," Jessie said, smiling. "It's good to see you Stacy."

I turned to see a brunette and a Spanish girl holding hands. Both wore blue Best Buy polos and khaki pants. "How is it going?" the Spanish girl asked. "Being an 'escort'?"

"Great," Jessie smiled. "We already have two other girls working for us. Are you two interested? You could make some great money."

Stacy, the brunette, pulled the Hispanic girl to her. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to share my Rosalita. I do not understand how Kevin is comfortable with you being with other people."

Kevin, the pimply-faced guy, laughed. "I guess it helped watching her getting gangbanged during the Incident."

"Sex and love aren't the same," Jessie smiled, giving Kevin a fond look.

I took a deep breath, staring at the two girls. "Are you two... ?"

"Lesbians?" Rosalita asked and I nodded. "We are." She gave Stacy a shy smile. "I always had a crush on her, but Stacy never seemed to notice."

"Subtly goes right over my head, Rosa," Stacy complained.

Rosa laughed and looked fondly at Stacy. "Well, then the Incident happened and we made love at the registers."

"But, that was just the gas, right?" I asked. "I mean, Stacy, you weren't gay before."

Stacy shrugged. "What does that matter. I found someone who loves me. Does it matter that she's the same sex as me?"

I didn't have an answer to that and I turned and hurried inside. Her words echoed in my mind. This wasn't helping my confusion, just making it worse. Those four were clearly warped by what happened to them in the Incident. Just like me.

But they seemed happy. I ignored that traitorous voice trying to lead me to sihaq.

I found a seat on a metal, folding chair laid out in the meeting hall. My mind whirled as I struggled with Stacy's words. The Qur'an was quite clear that homosexual behavior was wrong. I could not be a good Muslim and be gay.

Right?

Why couldn't life be easy?

"You came."

I jumped, glancing up to see Lucy standing over me, a smile that was half-hopeful and half-fearful. She was so beautiful with those blue eyes set in her round, cherub's face. I wanted to say hi, to smile back. I wanted to give in to my sin.

I looked down at my hands and ignored her.

"Please talk to me," she pleaded. "I can't stop thinking about you, Fatima. Please!"

A tear ran hot down my cheek and drop onto my folded hands. Why was I crying? Because I wanted to respond to her. To look at her. To kiss those red lips. I steeled my heart. No! I'm stronger than this sin. I will be a good and proper Muslim. Allah would not send this temptation to me if I was not strong enough to resist it.

"Just look at me!" Lucy demanded. "I know you felt that connection between us. That's why you chose me! Out of all the people in that crowd. You chose me. Deep down it's what you've always wanted, Fatima."

I flushed even more. I wasn't thinking straight. It was the gas. But why did I choose a woman? Why did I choose Lucy? There were plenty of men in the crowd. The other women Mark commanded to find a partner had chosen men. So why didn't I? Memories of bathing with my older sister floated up in my mind. I had been so fascinated by her breasts. I was twelve and she was fifteen. They were so round and beautiful. In gym class, why did I always stop to admire the other girls. I told myself I was just comparing our developments. But was there something else? Something more?

More tears fell on my clenched fists.

Other people were walking in, a general murmur filled the room. I could feel Lucy's shadow on me; I fought and fought the urge to look up at her. I just kept squeezing my fists, fighting my sin and confusion.

Lucy walked off and I relaxed. "Here you go," a woman said, handing me a napkin. I looked over at her to see a stunning platinum-blonde with a beautiful, fierce face and those tits. My eyes fell on them, straining against her small, black dress. I snatched the napkin, dabbing my eyes, and looking away from the temptation of the woman's cleavage.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"We all were changed that day," the woman said, patting my arm. She leaned in. "I fucked my first cock and I loved it. I always thought I was a lesbian, but now I'm not sure. I mean, I still love my wife, but I burn inside to feel a cock in me."