Salaam be hameh.
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Kheili mamnoon

Roxana

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I am also modelling for Hustler now. Photos with my Islamic Hejab and porn poses out soon….

xxx

It is actually pain that is stabbing my flesh, like hundreds of tiny successful daggers that rip my skin and slowly and very definitely slice my veins into shreds of justice.

My love, why can’t I be with you? I gesture to you, you say I have eyes of sex. You only want me for my services don’t you?

It was at the opening of their art exhibition that the girl and the boy first set eyes on each other. There were many people around talking about art and the evening’s impending events. It was dark and thundery outside. It was the night.

She saw this beautiful boy and in a sudden bold move walked up to him because she had pumped a fresh dose of cocky bravery, followed by the swagger of self confidence to compensate for the fact that she was feeling a bit nervous about the opening of her art, her heart. People around her were hostile to her, standing around like dry  withered green stems, hearts bleating but not alive, alive like her, full of the moon, full of the open heart.

He was taken in by her and he instantly knew she would make him stray. So he walked away. Like dry white wine he was to her. And now she knows it was because he was afraid, because he already pictured them together and knew she would be dangerous to him. To his lovely girl, to his promises to himself, to his tidy well mannered well fed, well brought up family background. She was one of those. A Katie to his Hubble. And Hubble’s girl was lovely. Petite. And had straight tidy hair and a mild manner, and Katie had curly hair and was a wild tiger, her favourite animal.

She came from the wildest jungle and had passions burning in her tummy and her heart to give to him. But she didn’t know it yet. She loved her husband back at home and was there to cuddle him day and night when he needed it and was there by his side every day and night. She didn’t know it yet.

And so he walked away because he knew she was a temptress and she thought him so rude and full of conceit. She didn’t know then that he would remember every detail about her. Her smell, her eyes, her talk, and the exact spot where they first set eyes on each other. She was the hurricane in his art and he had society norms patterned out for him that he had to continue to obey and submit himself to.  

And secrets. Secrets are so quiet, so delicious. Betrayal. Betrayal is heartbreaking but sometimes it must be done. And when the boy and the girl met once more in a public place, she was cold because of his previous arrogance. But he had thought about her all this time and he had to make himself abandon his circle of adoring female admirers so he could be by her side. Discreetly.

The girl’s life was an opera. Her love life was cinema. She displayed her colours for the boy in public and everyone thought they suited each other like wildfire and moonlight. He was a beautiful boy and heartbreakingly she was starting to yearn for him. An aching in the pregnant belly of the ocean was beginning to stir.

The boy’s life was by the book. By the book of what life should be. Put your head down and hold yourself back. Once you have reached a certain age, settle down with a nice girl and be devoted. Live in a nice house. Be clean and tidy at all times. The boy liked to show what a rebel he was by eating a sticky toffee apple every day whenever he could sneak away. He thought about the girl a lot. He thought what a temptation she was, how dangerous she was to him. He thought about his loyalty to his lovely girl at home and then he thought how much he would love to make fire-works with the girl.

And so they touched and looked into each other’s eyes and laughed. The girl open and ready and she bravely decided to go with her heart even though she knew it would all end in extreme pain. But she liked the boy and the boy…oh the boy had a list. He would not touch the girl on his crisp Ralph Lauren sheets in his beautiful house where his lovely girl, the nice and petite girl with the tidy hair would stay but he would let the girl tempt him in the back alleys and hotel rooms and although she wanted him to kiss her and hold her he would push her away preferring to only watch her giving him a service. That way he stuck to his list. That way he followed the rules of society. That way he broke her heart and strangled her all giving love.

And he wanted her so much. But he had to follow what was in the book of social etiquette. He soldiered on, his art staying stagnant because of it and his heart torn to a frenzied mess. The hurricane in his painting would never move on until he followed his inner beautiful fire.

I know you think about me because you tell me how you have thought about me since we met. How your actions and thoughts are tainted by me, the temptress. Demon girl.  I can see you now alone amongst your family and your grandeur, sickened with guilt over your lovely sweet girl and torn in your heart because you covet my abandon, my spirit. The spirit that you are not allowed to have. The tiger instinct that your family and ‘the good’ have instilled in you. You do what good people are supposed to do.

“Follow the map, put your head down and kill your heart”, I whisper to you “and your art will never leave the ground. Hold my hand and look at my soul and you will be a success, my beautiful boy.”