Love, Sex and Islam
I don’t consider prostitution an ignoble profession if nobody gets hurt and it’s what you want to do, but it’s not for everyone and it should not have been for me. Paying for what Lucette gave freely out of love for me, and the pleasure she got when I returned that love, should have been sufficient.
If I could say no to Anne, why could I not say no to these young women? Booze and loneliness obviously played a role, but it’s no excuse.
I don’t remember her name, but since Jasmine comes to mind, that is what I will call her. With Jasmine, I was to spend the most enigmatic night of my life. Jasmine was a young stripper working the day shift at a strip club around the corner from Thursdays.
I barely recognized her when she walked into the bar. It was the first time I’d seen her there. She sat on the stool next to me and bought herself a drink. Being from Toronto, she didn’t speak much French, but she knew I spoke English when she spotted me at the bar.
Jasmine’s skin was a dark brown, not black. She had the curves but not the robust physique of Mary. Mary braided her hair, while Jasmine’s hair was all curls, a lot like Little Orphan Annie; black curls, like a halo surrounded an angelic face, making her look almost too young to be buying a drink, let alone stripping for a living.
She was returning to Toronto the next day. Her mood was somewhat sullen; not what you would expect from someone trying to seduce you into paying for sex, which I assumed was her intention when she first sat down next to me.
It was early in the evening and she was still nursing whatever she had ordered when she turned to me and said, “I’m tired of this. Can we just go over to your place and watch television?” That is what we did.
She did not sit at one end of the couch but toward the middle, so I did the same after turning on the television and getting us each a beer. We put our feet up on the coffee table and looked at each other, then she smiled.
I put an arm around her shoulders and gently drew her in. That sullen mood slowly disappeared as we talked about I don’t remember what, ignoring what was on TV. It was inevitable that I would hazard a kiss, something you don’t do to a working girl. She kissed me back, if only a little.
I’m not a fan of tonsil hockey so it was just fine. Maybe I was wrong about her. She had not demanded any money up front or mentioned any hourly rate and what was included. She had done none of the things that working girls do when they get you where they want you. Instead, it was like taking a girlfriend back to your place for the first time.
She giggled when I started unbuttoning her blouse with my free hand. There was no frenzied undressing, just a slow, methodical removal of garments with generous kisses to show my appreciation of what was being revealed. She didn’t grab at it or stroke it using the classic three-finger grip, or any other grip. She just lightly touched it now and then, as if by accident, but the sensation was enough to add a few centimetres.
I had her lay back in a semi-sitting position, her shoulders resting against an arm of the sofa, legs raised facing me with her heels only a few inches from her bum. I usually didn’t care to—what is the phrase?—go down on a partner who may have, even days earlier, had sex with someone other than me. With Jasmine it felt different. With Joyce I only rounded third base my first time at bat; with Jasmine I would get to linger there a while as if she were a high school sweetheart I hoped to persuade to go all the way.
There was another reason my head was between her legs. I had already touched her there, gone inside hoping to draw out more of the natural lubricant that would avoid me rubbing her excitable ‘little man in the boat’ the wrong way but finding what I was looking for in short supply. At this point, if she had not done so at the beginning of proceedings, a working girl would have reached for her tube of K-Y Jelly and generously coated the entire area, inside and out; not my Jasmine.
I was now convinced she was not that kind of girl, at least not that night with me. I slowly parted her legs and moved down, giving her belly button more than a passing kiss before reaching what, in my dimly lit living room, stretched out before me like a short, sparkling rivulet of pink barely visible between two brownish, hair-free contoured ridges.
There would be no hands wrapped around my head making sure I stayed glued to it, or hands pushing me away because the sensation was becoming too intense. She did, however, play with my hair, a sure sign that she was not totally enthralled by whatever I was doing down there. Nonetheless, my efforts were partially rewarded with a sufficient increase in the lubrication that would ensure a smooth glide back and forth.
I might have taken the time to put on a condom, but I had used up my supply making sure I was protected when Mary crawled into bed after our first time bareback. Jasmine didn’t have any protection either, another sign that she was genuine.
I crept back up that incredible body of hers until I was again staring into her eyes. There was no sign of disappointment, just anticipation. It was not just her eyes, but her smile and parted lips waiting to breathe.
Her expression never changed, except for her smile, which fleetingly became a grimace when I crossed the threshold and morphed into a sly grin when she detected that it was over. There was no warning. I had not felt any urge to increase the pace when suddenly, I was flooding her insides. It felt like the spasms that announced there was more to come, no pun intended, would go on forever. It was like how it happens in dreams, the best of dreams.
The fact that I came and she didn’t even come close was to be expected. Even if I had managed to last all night, it was not going to happen, that was obvious from the very beginning. Assuming she was at least eighteen, she could have been making love to a friend of her father, something that I suspect, for most girls, is not a turn on.
What about a grandfather? That is what the fifty-three-year-old Muhammad could have been to the child he contracted to marry when she was six, and first had sex with when she was nine. Jasmine knew what to expect and still, I had some difficulty getting her to a state of arousal that made for at least a pleasant sexual experience, if only mind-blowing for yours truly. How would a man ten years older than me prepare a girl at least half Jasmine’s age to be bludgeoned by his manhood, if he could even be bothered?
It is obvious that Aisha didn’t have a clue what this old friend of her father’s intended to do to her, based on her account of the blessed day. It was all hush-hush. She was taken off her swing set, her face was wiped clean, and taken by her mother to sit on Muhammad’s lap.
My mother came to me while I was being swung on a swing between two branches and got me down. My nurse took over and wiped my face with some water and started leading me. When I was at the door she stopped so I could catch my breath. I was brought in while Muhammad was sitting on a bed in our house. My mother made me sit on his lap. The other men and women got up and left. The Prophet consummated his marriage with me in my house when I was nine years old. Neither a camel nor a sheep was slaughtered on behalf of me.
Unlike Muhammad’s many other marriages, the most famous and impactful was not publicly celebrated, the meaning of “Neither a camel nor a sheep was slaughtered on behalf of me.” The fact that the day God’s spokesman took Aisha’s innocence was not “celebrated” is a clear indication that Muhammad knew the whole thing was unseemly and that his kinsmen would not have been keen on toasting his having sex with a child.
Muhammad could have easily picked up the child sitting on his lap and, remaining sitting, impaled her then and there, but I doubt that is how it happened, and not only because of the bloody lap that would ensue from the tearing of the child’s hymen and perhaps other tissues. He probably instructed her to get on her hands and knees, after which, if he had not already done so, removed her dress, or simply lifted it up and over, exposing her pristine “private parts,” for all intents and purposes his property to do with whatever he fancied.
In the mandatory marriage contract under Islamic law, the bride guarantees the groom unfettered access to her vagina and whatever other parts of her body Allah considers private but her husband’s to do with whatever is permitted under Islamic law. As Muhammad makes clear in the following hadith, there is no derogation from this written undertaking.
The Prophet said: "The stipulations most entitled to be abided by are those with which you are given the right to enjoy the (women's) private parts (i.e. the stipulations of the marriage contract)."
Without further ado, God’s spokesperson would have then grabbed his child bride’s hips with both hands, not only to steady her but to keep her from trying to move away as he relentlessly pummeled her from behind. A squirming child beneath him would have made first positioning himself, then forcing his way inside her more difficult than it need be.
But this is not the only reason the Prophet probably did it the way he did. From what I remember reading in an issue of Le Point, a “French weekly political and news magazine,” from behind is how Muhammad and Arab men of his time preferred to engage in inter-course. There are at least three demonstrable reasons for this preference—four, if you count Muhammad’s plausible example on how to first have sex with a child to whose vagina you have been granted, via a legal document and God’s blessing, exclusive and unrestricted access.
Arab man wore the equivalent of long flowing robes which may not have been unlike today's thawb or thobe, an ankle-length garment, usually with long sleeves. The female equivalent could be said to be the Abaya. If you wanted a quickie during the day, the wife simply lifted up her robe, exposing herself and leaning against something, or simply got down on all fours. You then lifted the front of your garment with one hand and used the other to guide your manhood—without rubbing it, for that could be considered a sin, that of masturbation—into her exposed finery, another euphemism used by Allah and His spokesman to describe the parts of a female’s anatomy that are for her husband’s eyes and use only. What could be simpler?
A variation of the above, if you were out in the open or in a communal tent and wanted a modicum of privacy, was demonstrated in a scene from The Good Kill about the use of drones in Afghanistan. You should not need to hit your intended with a haymaker to get her to lie down, as in the following example.
In this scene, which may or may not have been staged, a drone is filming a woman in a courtyard sweeping patio stones. A man dressed in what appears to be a traditional flowing robe enters the courtyard and without so much as a “by your leave,” punches her, sending her crashing to the ground in a heap with her back to him. He then mounts her unresponsive body and reaches beneath his clothing, then hers.
If it was not for the assailant’s discernible rocking movements beneath the tangle of fabric, none would be the wiser. He is obviously a busy man, so after only a few energetic thrusts, he gets up, makes a few adjustments to his clothing, and continues on his merry way. The motionless figure then stirs to life, grabs her broom, and resumes sweeping as if what had just happened was nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn’t; maybe it was her husband’s way?
The first levels of Paradise will mostly comprise believers out in the open, reclining on couches next to and facing each other (houses and palaces being reserved for the more worthy such as martyrs in Allah’s Cause).
37:43 In the Gardens of Bliss;
37:44 Upon couches, facing each other.
The Prophet said, "Last night two men came to me (in a dream) and made me ascend a tree and then admitted me into a better and superior house, better of which I have never seen. One of them said, ‘This house is the house of martyrs.’"
In Paradise, of course, you will not need to immobilize your houris before getting down to business; how you have sex with a lack of privacy, however, may be similar to the man and woman in the courtyard.
Finally, as you get older, especially if, like Muhammad, you have more than one wife—and young ones, at that—whom you must service on a regular basis, the position that will literally get you the most bang for the buck without tiring you out is the one demonstrated with Anne and Mary. You both lie down and the man enters the woman’s front passage from behind. The rest of the body can relax while the hips do most of the work. As an added bonus, non-Muslim women can surreptitiously help get themselves there, if that is problem, by discretely massaging the sensitive nerve bundle that does not get much attention due to the angle of penetration, the G-spot notwithstanding.
For the young women and teenagers who were part of Muhammad’s coitus rotation, his having intercourse with them from the back undoubtedly made it easier for them to imagine, if they were so inclined, that it was someone much closer in age making love to them—something they would never get to experience.
No man has had more of an impact on an imperfect world than the so-called perfect human being. Muhammad’s every action, for those who believe in his perfection, are to be emulated as closely as possible so that they, too, can come as close to perfection as its personification.
In the year 624 or thereabout, a fifty-three-year-old Dark Age illiterate, revered as the perfect human, forced his manhood into a nine-year-old’s vagina, and by his example, made it the inalienable right of every Muslim man to do the same.
In May 2006, the Iranian Parliament voted to make it compulsory for girls under the age of 15 and boys under 18 to require court approval to get married. This vote was quashed by the Guardian Council whose responsibility it is to ensure that all laws passed by Parliament are compatible with Islam. It overruled the Parliamentarians because of Muhammad's example, thus reaffirming the right of men to take children as wives.
A nine-year-old child would have had no idea what to expect on her wedding night, and Muhammad admitted as much when he said that a child’s consent was her silence.
Narrated Abu Huraira:
The Prophet said, "A matron should not be given in marriage except after consulting her; and a virgin should not be given in marriage except after her permission."
The people asked, "O Allah's Apostle! How can we know her permission?"
He said, "Her silence (indicates her permission)."
Aisha knew from experience that this was a specious justification for having your way with a child, and told her husband, in so many words, only to have him repeat his revolting claim.
I said, "O Allah's Apostle! A virgin feels shy." He said, "Her consent is (expressed by) her silence."
Without informed consent, as silence supposedly implies, a woman’s—let alone a child’s—vagina will be mostly dry, free of the extra lubrication that comes from sexual arousal and facilitates penetration to avoid abrasions, tears, and other such injuries common in rape victims. The depiction of then twenty-nine-year-old Emilia Clarke’s wedding night rape scene from Game of Thrones caused quite an uproar. Imagine instead the face of an innocent nine-year-old girl who is being mercilessly raped from behind, looking at you in fear and pain (image may be subject to copyright).
It should leave you nauseated and outraged that this is still happening to children because God’s alleged spokesman and acclaimed perfect human being did it first. If that doesn’t make you sick to your stomach, there is something seriously wrong with you.
In one way, Aisha was luckier than many child brides. Muhammad, by favouring quantity over quality, probably never built up an adequate sperm count, which would explain his difficulties in conceiving. Perhaps Allah should have been more specific when He said that He creates humans from water: that He meant what is swimming in the fluid itself.
25:54 And it is He who created from water a human being; then he made him a kin by blood or marriage. Your Lord is All-Powerful.
In the sub-Sahara, where Islam is making the greatest advances at this writing, Modern Ghana news magazine reported on an extraordinary increase in a condition called vesicovaginal fistula or VVF, where the afflicted experience "the continuous involuntary discharge of urine into the vaginal vault."
The magazine goes on to explain that the increase is mainly a result of children giving birth: "Thousands of underage child-wives are abandoned by their pedophile husbands when these little girls develop VVF and dribble urine - a complication of obstructed labour during underage child birth."
Whatever the reason for the perfect human being having sex with a child, it should not be an excuse for causing so much misery and suffering to this day. Of all the religions that have come and gone, and those that still plague our existence, none has proven more detrimental to the welfare of children than the one whose founder’s example is very much the essence of the religion.
It is not only a matter of creating orphans where once there were only sons; it is not only about sanctioning grown men taking children as wives, and impregnating them before it is safe for them to give birth. It is so much more. It is about creating a world of violence and death that is unsafe for children because the religion’s founder valued terror as a means of getting people to submit to his will and to the will of the god for whom he claimed to speak.
Narrated Abu Huraira:
Allah's Apostle said, "I have been sent with the shortest expressions bearing the widest meanings, and I have been made victorious with terror."
After resting in Jasmine’s arms for I don’t remember how long, I got up and asked if she was ready for bed. She took my hand and I led her to the bedroom. That night, for the first time since arriving in Montréal, I was cuddled. I imagined myself with my Lucette. That, and what Jasmine said the next morning when I offered her some money, set me on a path to a renewed self-respect—redemption if you like—and isn’t that what angels are supposed to do?
She refused to accept anything from me. She was not a prostitute; she was a dancer, and she hadn’t had sex with me for money. She was lonely, and it just felt right. To accept my money would make it all wrong. She wrote the name of the strip club she normally worked at in Toronto on a piece of paper and handed it to me, then walked out the door. I never saw her again.