A Bandanna is not a Burqa


Airman First Class Jackson leaned back in his chair, watching the second hand on the clock mark its slow concentric pace on the wall, and waited for Pashtu language class to end.

It was nothing personal against Pashtu, culturally they had potential to be very interesting people, especially when it came to women in society and the taboo surrounding them. But as far as their language, in comparison to English, it was either crudely underdeveloped or complicatedly brilliant. From the outside looking in it was hard to tell, but it sure as Hell felt closer to being underdeveloped. Or so Jackson felt. There were times where the teachers themselves couldn’t explain the grammar. Then there was the lack of “wowels”, the religulous idioms, and once again the inconsistency in grammar.

The unabashedly dashing Jackson was deep in thought, but his string of life-altering revelations was interrupted when Abibah, one of his teachers, poked her head into the classroom.

“Jackson,” Abibah called, glancing down for a moment at her clipboard. “Barialei? Could I see you outside for a moment?”

“Yeah, no problem. Uhhh, balay ho.” Jackson could keep his cool around the object of his most amorous fancies, but that was only physically. And that was only sometimes. Mentally, he couldn’t help but see her bent backwards over her desk when he was in her office or forwards when she dropped her pencil and bent over to pick it up.

But who could blame him?

You had to be gay not to be attracted to the affianced Abibah, and even then it was a feat to be recognized. She was five foot six inches tall and maybe a good 130 pounds, with a body somewhere between an hourglass and a drumstick. There were times when the subtle ego behind her eyes would rear its groin-affecting and seductive head, Jackson noticed, but whether she was even cognizant of it was indiscernible. Often times, in walking the few steps from the computer in the class’s corner in order to center herself on his desk, she would break her normal stride, and strut, one foot in front of the other, much like a model parading down a runway. Perhaps, Jackson thought, at one point she had even considered being a model. Of course that would be against her culture, and quite possibly her religion.

But Jackson had had his eyes and mind opened long enough to realize that no woman- no person- could hold onto their innocence indefinitely. All it would take was the right time, the right situation, and the perfect stimulus, and any stay-within-in-the-lines, righteous, Saturday and Sunday school girl could be broken.

Eve will always eat the fruit, and Adam will follow.

He stood, pushed in his chair, and trailed behind her. He grabbed his blue, Easy Touch Pilottm writing pen off of his green, composition notebook and put it in his sleeve.

Outside, near the stairs leading to the other language classes above, there was a white, brick box filled with grass and soil that had dried to sand. Abibah sat on the wall facing the door through which Jackson then came.

If it was obvious he was apprehensive he was trying to hide it, and he strode confidently out to her with his eyebrow raised and chest out. She smiled that fantastic, seducing smile of hers to welcome him, and he returned his own. He was sure to hold back the full potential of his ladykiller grin, but he was sure to convey enough murdersex with a dose of coy to make her mildly curious.

“Please, Barialei, have a seat here,” she told him, patting the area of white brick only a foot and a half away from her, at least a quarter of the distance closer than was acceptable in one on one situations with a man and a woman.

Jackson sat, feeling warmed by the close proximity, not even noticing the cold seat. He couldn’t help but be aroused by her infrequent ignoring of customs; shattering taboo was his forte. “I’m not in trouble, am I?” he asked, avoiding speaking in Pashtu as always.

“No, Barialei, you are not in trouble.” She smiled, her eyes glancing downward quickly as his chest rose n fell. He was wearing his blues, and just a little of his chest hair peeked out through his V-neck T-shirt. “But I am disappointed. I do not think you are studying-” she paused to see if he would debate this; he didn’t, “-and I know you could do it. What do you do to study?”

Jackson pretended to think for a moment. He wasn’t trying to recall when he had last studied, that was months ago; he was trying to think of how to honestly say he didn’t without lying to her pretty face. “I… study. But only when I do the homework.” He saw her look of disappointment. “I watch some of the videos and relisten to old audios-” so he lied a little, “-but it doesn’t really help.”

She turned one corner of her lips downward to show dissatisfaction, and looked him in his eyes with the determination of a teacher who was passionate about her job. “Do you study with the other students then?”

No, he thought. “Lopez- Ataal- is my roommate… maybe sometimes I could study with him, because isveçbahis he gets it. He could help me. And I have Torialei, and Meiwaan on my floor. They could help. I can study with them.”

She knitted her brows with a mother’s look of worry. “Do you do that?”

Flatly he replied, “No.”

She looked off to the side and pursed her lips. Disappointing her felt like biting a girl on her clit. He felt like shit. Her demeanor didn’t falter though, rather she seemed to be lit with a fire he couldn’t place, and she sat up tall and adjusted her shawl. The sun eclipsed behind her head, giving her burnt sienna coif a radiant burgundy glow that contrasted well with her blue Jean jacket. She lifted it enough so that when she hunched her back a little, the sun shot through just above her head and created the illusion of a halo. He caught barely a glimpse of the hair near her ears and her neckline before she quickly wrapped her head up, and fixed her eyes on his. Maybe they already had been, watching him watch her.

“So you should start listening to more audios and study with Ataal and the others. Barialei, I know you can do it, and you know that too. You are smart and I believe in you. If you tried you could be just as good as Torialei.”

She smiled, and Jackson could’ve ejaculated. If there was one thing that caused the snake-like appendage coiled in his ABU trousers to stir, it was having his ego stroked. He said he would do just that, meaning every word for the time being, and he himself was lit with a burning vigor that told him to grasp victory, and study and work hard and pass so that he would not fall short of her high expectations for him.

He stood and they walked back into the building, holding the door open for her as he had been raised to do. He started towards the classroom, when Abibah turned to him. “I can see in you, Barialei, that you can do it and I mean that. Do you like Pashtu?”

He had been watching her walk away, and his eyes snapped up to meet her gaze from beneath the silk shield, a testament to her interdiction. Jackson shrugged and answered honestly. “I like some things.”

Her eyes averted his as a thought passed her mind, and then with a look not even Rick Jackson the writer could read she answered, “See me after Study Hall today. And we will talk about a plan.”

Jackson rode the bus home unable to distinguish her facial expression. See her after Study Hall, he thought. He was both suspicious and unexpecting. Most people wouldn’t be seriously thinking what he was thinking, but then again, he was Jackson and nobody else was. That happened way more than often. Imagine being able to fit a square in a round hole, but knowing it doesn’t belong; it was his version of the Shakespearean conundrum “To be or not to be.” Except here, it was to do or not to do.

Oh, the places his mind would go.

He was dressed and ready for Study Hall around 1800 hours. He didn’t know who intended what, and he knew how he tended to overanalyze things. Nonetheless, he had on dark blue jeans and a fitting, blood red, long-sleeved shirt that accented his slim figure and narrow torso. He had Axed, Irish Sprung, and Cool Watered accordingly, trimmed where needed, and had even gone so far as to cut the nails on his three center fingers and do Kegels on the way there. Ready is, as ready does.

Jackson quickly grew bored and restless in Study Hall, and so could think of nothing but the events that could possibly follow after. He resorted to homework, answering the occasional question, but only when asked directly. He sighed. “Kowalei shum chay teshnaab tuh walarshum?” he asked, wanting to go to the bathroom. The teacher answered something back that started with “Balay ho”, so he wubakei-ed himself and exited to the bathroom.

He peed, his cock average-sized and docile for the time being. “I wish I could be as calm as you,” he said to it, coaxing it gently. Someone walked in then, so he hurriedly zipped up, washed his hands, and left the bathroom.

He nearly crashed into Abibah as she exited the bathroom herself.

“Salaam,” he said.

“Salaam,” she replied.

There was awkward silence, then Habiba spoke. “I’m glad you made it to Study Hall, Barialei. You are trying already. You don’t need a meeting with me to study. I will see you in class tomorrow, so please be prepared for me to call on you more. Shuh?”

“Okay,” he repeated. She broke the date off, he thought. He couldn’t even look at her through the gratuitous amount of egg he had on his face. He moseyed past her and back into class.

When it ended at 2030, Jackson was concentrating hard on his homework, determined to finish the transcription and translation of the audio he was listening to. It only took five minutes before the students, the teacher included, had left the building. Everyone was in a hurry to get home. Jackson used getting home as motivation to hurry up and finish.

He heard the sound of the doorknob, and he turned to see the janitor poke his head in. “Hey, isveçbahis giriş bro. Can you do me a favor?”

It was seriously funny how people thought it put them on friendship terms with a black person when you called them bro. He removed his headphones. “Yeah, my brother. What’s up?”

The janitor flipped his waning crown of hair and flashed his teeth, evidently not hearing the sarcasm in Jackson’s voice. “The building’s pretty much empty. Do me a favor and make sure this door and the other door’s locked when you leave, alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll do your job. No problem.”

The man checked the door on his own and left without a word. Jackson’s head snapped back up when he heard the doorknob twist again. Evidently, the man had thought of a comeback and was returning.

But to Jackson’s surprise, it was Abibah who walked in. She didn’t notice him it seemed, passing him only a peripheral glance as she made her way to the computer. She bent over slightly to insert her Common Access Card into the keyboard and began typing her password in. Jackson stared for a moment, his mind wandering, then deciding to remove himself from another awkward situation, quickly packed his things and strode towards the door.

Having come around the seven desks in the small room, he now had a clear view of the teacher that so boiled his fascination. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he discovered that she was wearing sandals with slightly raised heels, and her orange and blue dress, by itself out of the ordinary for such an inhibited and chaste woman, rose just enough to flow gently around her calves. The calf muscles seemed well-cut from what he could see, and they sloped just right so that they were an obviously separate entity from her ankles. These were skinny and almost frail looking, widening to a flat plateau that angled to become her feet. The feet were a separate color from her legs, not dramatically, but only upon lengthy observation. He traced his eyes up her legs to her butt, outlined delicately by the silken material of the dress. He swallowed, and it was particularly loud in the vacant classroom.

It wasn’t until she turned around and faced him that he realized he had an erection. And it was her unmistakable gaze of longing that immediately brought it to his attention. They were quiet for one of those instant moments of time that seemed like eternity, Abibah adjusted her shawl again, and then Rick Jackson knew he had to break the silence.

“I’m really wishin I had that bandanna or shawl thing to hide myself right now. Sorry.” Jackson only moved one hand to hide his full erection, nowhere near enough to conceal it from her view. Her eyes stopped bouncing from his cock to his face, and finally she locked them on his eyes.

“Barialei, a bandanna is not a burqa. I can take this off.” And with that, she removed it behind her head and rested it on her shoulders. “If that is not enough, I can remove more,” she added, trying to ease his embarrassment.

“But Abibah,” he started, “Your husband…”

“He is my husband, not yet and he is in lust with me just as much as you. I know we love each other more than you will ever feel, but how could I know if I never…” she paused for a moment and searched for the words, “made love to someone else?”

Jackson wished time would freeze so he could stop and think. Years of equal research and experience meant nothing when he met any one of his numerous fantasies. There was the friend who squirts at UNCW, the Native American chick at the bar, and the young girl at the hotel to name a few, and now, the exotic, affianced teacher born and primarily bred in the Middle East. His hard-on burned with a blue heat that made it hard to focus on her face, and all he could see were the infinite number of times he had fought off a boner in class, and tried his damnedest to get rid of it so he could stand up before he got called on. His fight or flight system was in overdrive, and he had to choose whether to steady the rapid palpitations of his heart or enhance them; to surrender to his pleasure endorphins or hide them; whether he’d share his seed or spare it, and Abibah just stood there, her eyes still locked into his.

She was serious.

Her logic was very American in its self-righteousness; how could she know if what her and her fiancé had was love if she didn’t give a portion of what they shared to another?

Jackson’s hesitance was virgin-like in its nature, and he knew he had to fight, or he would forever obsess over his loss.

He sighed and said, “Abibah, sit here.” He slapped the desk beside them and she sat on top of it, her gaze unbroken and expectant. “If you’re turned off by my reservation, I apologize. Just… when you get something you’ve only daydreamed and masturbated about, after so long, the mind can’t understand actually having it.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, and his thumbs lightly brushed her neck. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her neckline. “And I also apologize, because its isveçbahis yeni giriş been a while, and…” She continued to look into his eyes, but now her gaze was switching from one to the other. She was thinking, possibly of a way-out. “Abibah, I’m just gonna get to the point.”

Jackson pushed her down on the desk, and gymnastically hopped on top of her, straddling her torso. He roughly cupped her breasts with both hands and dove to her throat, his lips curling into a devilish smile as he felt her swallow any last-minute resistance. His tongue flicked out and tasted the dent in her throat, and he felt her warm breath escape between her teeth as she smiled also.

That was all he needed.

He unbuttoned her Jean jacket and removed his shirt, his black wife beater underneath tightly adhered to his abdomen. He hopped onto the long desk, positioning himself between her legs. He rolled her dress up to her thighs as she hungrily opened his pants and pulled down his black Under Armor boxers, revealing his lengthy member and took it in both her hands. He intended not to intimidate her by keeping it at bay within his spandex boxers, but on the contrary, she was enthralled at the sight of it, pushing her wet, panty-less loins against him, and saying, “Yes! Please, put it in me, Barialei!”

Ha ha. She watches too much TV, he thought.

He could smell the natural scent of her vagina, mixed with the sugary and tangy fragrance of pomegranate. Shuffling his jeans n underpants off his ankles and onto the floor, he put one of her legs on his shoulder, and gave her what she wanted. He entered her and she gave, her lubricant dripping a little down his testes as he filled her. She reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him deeper and closer towards her. He placed his lips on hers, sucking her top lip while she drew his lower lip into her mouth, gently suckling at first, then as his thrusts began to grow fast and impetuous, he felt her teeth.

He was turned on by this and plunged deeper inside, filling her completely. She bit his lip, and screamed “Oh!” without letting him go, and he ripped her shirt open and placed his hand on her right breast, the other on her hip. He lifted her just enough so that he could thrust into her at an angle and aim for the sensorial walls of her vagina, then let go of her dark brown nipple and gently pinched her clit with his thumb and forefinger. She squealed at this. Deciding she was too sensitive, he rested his palm on it, massaging her into orgasm as he neared his.

“Barialei,” she called through teeth that wanted to clench, “Tell me you love me. Just say so inshallah I will not feel guilty.”

“I…” Jackson hesitated. He knew better than to tell a girl he didn’t love he loved them, especially during sex. He removed his hand from her clit, and brought her legs together. He rotated her on his cock and onto her side, making her tighter so that he would cum sooner. He slowed down the thrusts, so that he would have time before she came to muster the balls to say he loved her. “Abibah, I-“

“Wait.” Abibah pulled herself from him, and slid off the desk. “Lay down for me, Barialei.”

He lay on the desk and allowed her to climb on top of him, her nipples grazing his chest as she positioned herself. Her tender hole accepted the tip of his penis, and she slid down until her clit lay sandwiched between his abdomen and her weight. She began to lunge on him again and again, her large, soft breasts swinging across his view like honeydew pendulums. He was sliding on the combination condensation and sweat, as she bounced on him, and he began to thrust into her each time as she came down, meeting her halfway.

His teacher’s heart beat so hard her blood was hot, and she winced every time her swollen clit smacked into him. Her husband hadn’t filled her like her student was, and when she came down, she jabbed the roof of her vagina, so that when she came up again she was leaking coconut milk-colored fluid. She leaned over so she could thrust even harder, and smiled, knowing the visual appeal of having her back arched while her ass tagged his thighs.

Jackson was close, and felt ready to say it, but she lay on him and connected her lips with his.

She let him do the work, so she could concentrate on her mouth and tongue performance. She could taste his vanilla-mint Listerine, which added to her sensual pleasure when combined with the intoxicating aromas he was emitting. She reached behind his head and pulled up the corners of her shawl, and tied it around his mouth.

“Abibah, I- “

“Chup shuh, Barialei. You should not say what you don’t mean.”

Jackson didn’t like being told to shut up. He had been close to orgasm before she had said that and distracted him, and she was going to pay for it. He grabbed her hands after she tightened the shawl, squeezing the pressure points next to her thumbs so she was caught off guard when he withdrew from inside of her. He moved out from under her and spun her so she faced the white markerboard in front of the classroom, and spread her legs, her posture tight and slightly tremulous. His cock was poised between the cheeks of her butt, and he slowly ran the head up and down the crack of it, barely meeting her anus.

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