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“Come on, Wahida, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed, it’s perfectly natural, in fact, I like your farts,” Jonathan Stephens said, nodding nonchalantly while he looked Wahida Agbeli up and down. The young Ghanaian Muslim woman sighed, pretending not to hear what her classmate just said. The two of them were sitting on the fourth floor of the Carleton University library, working on a twenty-page paper titled Capital Punishment, Opposite Viewpoints, for their Criminal law class.
“Ahem, Jonathan, for the last time, I had a bad burrito, now, let’s move on,” Wahida said, after a brief hesitation. She held the Criminal Law book inches from his face, wishing Jonathan would focus on their assignment. Their professor, a Somali-Canadian Muslim dude named Mr. Yusuf Abdirahman, was one tough grader, with a reputation for being uptight on top of it. Wahida was actually worried about her grade for this course.
Jonathan Stephens, is by his own definition a complex fellow. Born in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, to a Jamaican immigrant father, Jacob Stephens, and an Irish-American mother, Eleanor O’Connell, he grew up in the inner-city, where his quick wit and wry sense of humor helped the gifted young man deal with a lot of tough situations. After winning a scholarship to Northeastern University, Jonathan found himself bored.
For his second year at university, Jonathan Stephens decided to study abroad, and that’s how he ended up at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. The Canadian capital was alright, if a tad bit boring when compared to lively, diverse Boston. Nevertheless, Jonathan decided to make the most of it. While in law class, he met the lovely, uptight Wahida, and decided to help the too-serious gal have a little fun.
Five-foot-eleven, curvy, with mahogany-hued skin and lively golden brown eyes, Wahida Agbeli is a Muslim-flavored young West African Amazon with the brains of a four-star general. She is also what’s considered a worrier, the kind of person who is seldom at peace, but this time, the classic overachiever had good reason to worry. She only scored a seventy eight out of a hundred on the midterm.
Nothing any law school wants to look at, Wahida thought morosely. Top notch law schools like McGill University, Queen’s University and the University of Toronto required higher marks from their applicants. In one of her last classes at Carleton University, Wahida was actually struggling. The professor thought nothing better than to pair Wahida with Jonathan, the class clown, for a take-home assignment worth forty percent of their total grade. Yippy!
Wahida Agbeli, the proud daughter of Ghanaian Muslim immigrants, came to Carleton University to study Criminology as preparation for a career in law. Her father, Mohammed Agbeli studied Law at Queen’s University and currently operates out of a small law firm in the Baseline area of Nepean, Ontario. It was Wahida’s dream to one day join her father’s firm. Of course, that’s if Wahida could get into a good law school, which meant canlı bahis working with a fool like Jonathan.
“I don’t know what you women fuss about, seriously, when I’m with my frat brothers, we share everything, pass the beer, pass the bong, and blast away the farts,” Jonathan said, laughing. Wahida looked at Jonathan, whom she once thought was cute, until he opened his mouth. That’s one mistake I’ll never make again, Wahida thought, rolling her eyes.
“Jonathan, would you please shut up and focus on the assignment, it’s due in three days and we only have five pages done,” Wahida retorted, somewhat loudly and Jonathan fell silent…for a minute. Jonathan looked at her, and for once, that egotistical half-smirk of his was gone, replaced by a rather shocked expression. Guess I managed to shut him up for a few seconds, Wahida thought.
“Alright, Wahida, sheesh, I’ll do it, don’t spank me, alright?” Jonathan said, raising his hands in the air, and his smirk returned. Wahida groaned, shook her head and fixed her gaze on the computer screen in front of her. She looked at cases of capital punishment in Canada, and just as she expected, there was a racial disparity between the offenders. Minority offenders who were either black or Aboriginal were sentenced to capital punishment at a much greater rate than white males, back when capital punishment was still legal in Canada.
“Alright, I found something, there are major racial disparities between minority offenders and white male offenders when it comes to sentencing, both in capital cases and regular ones,” Wahida said, and Jonathan looked at the screen, and then nodded. She shot him a look, expecting some kind of reaction, but Jonathan said nothing and instead pulled a USB drive out of his pocket.
“Hold on, Wahida, I’ve got something, we could mention Ronald Allen Smith, a Canadian man currently on death row in the United States,” Jonathan said, and Wahida watched as he opened up his files on the USB, and a picture of a white man with long hair appeared. The picture was followed by a blurb which Wahida dutifully read, and then nodded. Not bad at all, Wahida thought, and she shot Jonathan a curious look.
“We could use this article to show that capital punishment is wrong in civilized countries, Canada banned it and America should follow suit,” Wahida said, and Jonathan nodded sagely. Having said his piece, he looked her up and down, and this time, when he smiled, it was genuine. Not the usual self-satisfied smirk, but something else altogether.
“Wahida, you finally approved of something I’ve done, wow,” Jonathan said, and the young woman actually threw her head back and laughed. Jonathan Stephens gets on my nerves but the brother can be almost charming at times, Wahida thought, and she looked him up and down, and grinned. Jonathan fell silent, apparently taking her laughter the wrong way.
“Jonathan, you’re something else, come on, let’s finish this paper, Oliver’s Pub is closing and I want to get myself a drink before last call,” bahis siteleri Wahida said, referring to her favorite on-campus bar. Jonathan nodded and smiled, marveling at Wahida, this tall, curvy, conservatively attired young West African Muslim who liked her liquor and didn’t exactly hide it.
“In that case, allow me to come with, Wahida, because I’m thirsty, for beer, I mean,” Jonathan replied, and Wahida nodded. They breezed through the paper, got eighty percent of it done and agreed to meet the next day to finish it. Just like that, they gathered their belongings and headed out of the Mac Odrum library. They strode through the tunnels, making their way to the University Center building, which housed the cafeteria, Tim Horton’s, Henry’s Store, a few student-run offices, a couple of shops, and of course, the on-campus bar, Oliver’s Pub.
“Hello there, Alexander Keith’s beer for me, and the same for this bozo,” Wahida said enthusiastically to the bartender, a red-haired young white guy. The ginger looked at Wahida, then at Jonathan, who smiled and shook his head. The two of them sat side by side on stools, and when Jonathan took out his BMO debit card to pay, Wahida beat him to it and used her RBC gold card to pay for their drinks.
“Wahida, I wish you hadn’t done that, I’m old school, I like to take care of business,” Jonathan protested, and Wahida grinned, savoring his discomfort. When the bartender came back with their drinks, she raised her glass and clinked it against Jonathan’s. The young man looked at the Hijab-wearing young Ghanaian Muslim woman as she downed most of her beer mug in one gulp. Wow, Jonathan thought, impressed.
“Well, Jonathan, next round is yours,” Wahida said, and Jonathan smiled. He took care of the next round, and the one after that. Wahida suggested they leave the bar and head to the booths at the back, facing the new building which was currently under construction. Jonathan agreed and followed her. He couldn’t help but notice how hot Wahida looked in her long-sleeved red turtleneck shirt, traditional black dress and black winter boots. Miss Ghana’s got a booty, Jonathan thought with a smile.
“So, what now?” Jonathan asked, and he sat opposite Wahida, and the young woman grinned, and nudged him with her foot. Jonathan froze, and looked into Wahida’s eyes, which narrowed and looked at him appraisingly. The young woman licked her full lips and then smiled, while her foot traveled up his leg. When Wahida’s foot brushed against his crotch, Jonathan gasped in surprise.
“Now we see if you’re all talk, Johnny-lad,” Wahida retorted, a challenge in her voice. With that, she got up and headed to the ladies room. Halfway there, she stopped to readjust her boot, bending to lace it or something, and giving Jonathan a peek at that big round bottom of hers. The things I’d like to do that ass, Jonathan thought, smiling wistfully.
“Challenge accepted,” Jonathan said to himself, and he counted to ten, and then headed to the washroom. As he turned around the corner near bahis şirketleri the door, Wahida practically pounced on him. He looked at her and she looked at him. There was a dangerous light in Wahida’s golden brown eyes. Gone was the uptight overachieving gal, and she was replaced by a rather wanton woman, one whom Jonathan was quite happy to see.
“What took you so long?” Wahida asked, and Jonathan grinned, and then the two of them finally embraced. Wahida started making out with Jonathan like it was nobody’s business, and he totally got into it. She drew him into the men’s washroom and they headed for the biggest stall, the one reserved for handicapped people. Giggling, they got their freak on.
“I wasn’t too sure, but dammit, I’m down for whatever,” Jonathan said, and Wahida grinned and grabbed his ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Jonathan grinned and returned the favor, grabbing Wahida’s ginormous ass and squeezing it. When he caressed her breasts through her turtleneck shirt, Wahida sighed happily and hiked up her top. Jonathan pressed her against the washroom wall, and went to work on her.
“Go for it,” Wahida hissed as Jonathan stroked her breasts with one hand while the other hand slid between her legs. She gasped as Jonathan’s fingers slid into her wetness, and he began working his magic on her. Wahida locked eyes with Jonathan, and saw the primal need in his gaze. She drew closer to him, and took his face into her hands, a silent demand issuing forth from her.
“As you wish,” Jonathan retorted, kissing Wahida passionately. Embracing passionately, they continued with their fun. Wahida’s hands caressed Jonathan’s chest, then went for his crotch. Jonathan grinned as the foxy gal unzipped his pants, freeing his manhood. Out came his dick, long and hard. Wahida smiled and stroked him, a wicked smile on her lips.
“No time for romance, stud, this is a quickie,” Wahida said, and Jonathan grinned and leaned against her, pressing her against the wall, hard. Wahida hiked up her skirt, and pulled down a pair of crimson panties. Jonathan watched as she grabbed his dick, and nodded at him. With a swift thrust, Jonathan entered her, and Wahida hissed, her way of welcoming him inside of her.
“Hmm, nice,” Jonathan growled, and Wahida flashed him a savage grin, her arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he fucked her with deep thrusts. Jonathan had been with a few ladies in his twenty years, but none of them were anything like Wahida. As he leaned into her, he felt her fingernails dig into the flesh of his back, in spite of his wintry jacket. Wahida planted a hot kiss on his neck which made Jonathan smile, until he felt her teeth sink into him like a vampire. Freaky lady, Jonathan thought as he continued hammering his dick into her.
“Hmm, thanks, I needed that, best exam relief ever,” Wahida said, a little while later. Jonathan looked at her and grinned. This gal is definitely something else, Jonathan thought. They exited the stall, and a couple of Oliver’s Pub patrons gawked at them. Wahida winked at them while Jonathan smiled politely, and they left the pub altogether. Jonathan headed home, to his apartment on Bronson Avenue, and Wahida drove home to Nepean. Just another night at Carleton University, folks.
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