Turkish Muslim tomboy meets black man in Austin.

I took my First State Central Bank of Texas credit card, and paid for our orders, which came out to thirty six dollars. I left five dollars as tip, and then Pops and I skedaddled. Pops returned home to his new lady love, a skank named Miranda.

Sorry, I'm sure that Miranda, a plump, blonde-haired and green-eyed slut who works at a grocery store near my Pops house is a nice lady, but I can't stand the woman. This broad has redneck written all over her, and even makes Muslim jokes. Now, I'm not a Muslim but I am a Muslim man's daughter. It irks me when people disrespect my father's religion. Pops knows about Miranda's views and puts up with her. What could he possibly see in her? Beats the hell out of me. I don't think I want to know what could compel a man as intelligent and as handsome as my Pops to lower himself to the point of dating a neighborhood skank.

Still, I can't judge my Pops relationship choices. My mother's choices are downright scandalous. Seriously, I love my momma, she gave me life, but her penchant for dating guys even younger than me embarrasses the hell out of me. These days, mommy dearest is dating Pedro, this tall Latino dude who used to be the cornerback for Stephen F. Austin High School when I went there.

I was a total tomboy back then, and the first female to join the high school football team. Pedro the macho cornerback of the high school team ( and self-style campus ladies man ) hit on me and I slapped him for being too insistent when I rejected his ass. Now the dude is dating my mother. Small wonder I've got anger issues, eh?

I hurried to my sociology of deviance course at Austin Community College. It was taught by Pat, an ex-cop, and one of my favorite professors. Due to my job as a mechanic ( yes, female mechanics do exist ) I've had to skip class a few times and Pat is always flexible with me because he knows I'm serious about the work. I was about five minutes late, and found someone sitting in my usual spot.

"Dude, you're in my spot," I said to the tall, well-dressed young Black man who sat in my favorite chair. The guy looked at me, smirked, and playfully smacked my ass. I grinned, and happily sat on the seat next to him. Only one man can get away with treating me like that, and it's my boyfriend Bilal Winston, the Chicago-born African-American stud who stole my heart.

"As salam alaikum, Sister Bee," Bilal said, putting his arm around my shoulder and planting a kiss on my lips. I kissed Bilal back passionately, not caring that we were in the middle of class. Lucky for us, Professor Pat was trying to work the projector, so he had his back turned. I looked into Bilal's soulful brown eyes and smiled. This brother always makes me feel naughty and I can't get enough of him.

I met Bilal last year, at a meeting of the Interfaith Club at Austin Community College. Jews, Christians and Muslims, having dialogue and discussing religion, politics and community, in a peaceful manner. That's the idea of the Interfaith Club. Bilal is from the Nation of Islam, his parents were once devout supporters of Malcolm X, and the brother is outspoken in his criticism of law enforcement. I clashed with Bilal because, well, I'm a cop's daughter even though I've had clashes with the system myself. We argued a lot...and fell in love.

Typically, I don't get along with the opposite sex, nor do I get along with my own gender either. I'm too much of a tomboy for most broads, and they find me weird. When you're a grown woman, being tomboyish isn't cute anymore, it makes guys hesitant to speak to you and it makes queer women hit on you. I've got nothing against gays and lesbians, but I am one hundred percent heterosexual. It just takes a special kind of man to get past all of my bullshit and get at the surprisingly vulnerable woman within.

I still get frissons when I remember the first time Bilal Winston and I made love.

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