The strap of your night gown invites me to slide it down your arm even further. As I do, you crook your arm and the impediment is removed. Your breast comes into full view in the dim light, your nipple, dark against the alabaster skin of your breast. Inviting my touch. Inviting my mouth. Inviting my tongue. I am in awe at the perfection. God made you a woman. God made you a perfect woman. God made you a desirable woman. And God gave this perfection to me. At this moment. In this place, God brought us together for one purpose. To share in the pleasure that you give to me and I give to you. My fingers find your nipple. As I gently stroke, gently pinch, my mouth waters. I want to know the taste. You touch yourself, cupping your breast from beneath, offering it to me, offering it to my lips to devour. My fingers free your nipple and my hand goes to your back. I pull you to me. My lips find their way and I suck. Your nipple, pliant and ready, is drawn between my lips and my tongue. I joined them.Once inside, I realized it was just one large room, like an airplane hangar, nothing more than a cement floor with metal walls and a metal roof.A wooden platform had been constructed on one side of the building with a microphone and two large speakers. A man in traditional Mid-Eastern clothing stood on the platform waiting for all of the refugees to enter.As the room filled, I began counting heads, there were about eighty men with black hair. There were five or six men with lighter hair standing in the back with me, they were reporters from other news agencies around the world. I said 'hi' to the Canadian guy immediately to my right, I forgot his name but I had met once before in Thailand.Suddenly the man standing on the platform spoke into the microphone,"Greetings my Muslim brothers. I know there are many of you from many different nations, so I am speaking English because I believe you will understand me better speaking English than any other language."Many of the.
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