Hello, and welcome to The Very Best of Islamic Fundamentalist Erotica, Vol. 2. In The Very Best of Islamic Fundamentalist Erotica, Vol. 1 I shared with you a tale of a pure hearted Islamic fundamentalist man being tantalized by a heathenous harlot at a town market on a sweltering day. Today I’m going to share with you another loin invigorating tale of sexual passion from the vast collection of erotica written by the finest sexually repressed minds of the Islamic faith’s more traditional, back-to-basics followers. This time the tale is one of a down-on-his-luck man, some motivated women, and, of course, maddening, unrestrained sexual desire.
Moderate Islamics or devil worshiping American heathen pigs need not apply.
Today’s tale is titled Scholastic Ecstasy.
Naadir steered his rusty jalopy of a car through the dusty Kandahar streets, hoping his vehicle wouldn’t peter out and die in the middle of a road amid bicyclists and bustling market patrons. The car, an old three-wheeled tin can that looked like a cross between a VW Bus and a scooter, chugged along, occasionally spitting out plumes of smoke from the rear. It was on its last legs.
Knowing the motor, or something under the hood, wouldn’t last much longer, Naadir pulled it over to the side of the dusty road. The smell of burnt oil and smoke mingled with the steamy, sticky air. He stepped out of the car and popped the hood, hoping he would be able to instantly identify the problem. As the hood rose, so did the smoke. Naadir waved to dispel the smoke, but not before some of it reached his lungs, causing him to turn away as he hacked and wheezed for fresh oxygen. And that’s all he wanted – just a breath of rarified air streaming through his nose. But what he got instead was the sultry sting of scholastic enlightenment right in his eyes.
The smoke dissipated, and his vision became clear. Before him, standing beside a dilapidated building that was once a restaurant, stood a collection of women so tawdry, so naughty, that Naadir was taken aback. None of them could have been older than 21 — a ripe age for sexual deviancy and exploration. The girls all held the same books to their chests. One was green and featured a picture of the earth with the word Science slapped above it. The other, a smaller, daintier book, wasn’t as easy to make out, other than one word of the title: Poetry.
These were sexy little devils hoping to expand their minds so they may one day entangle a man in their webs of knowledge and education. These were school girls trying to have a little steamy woman-on-entry-level-earth-and-space-science action. Hard like a rock? You bet Naadir was – like sedimentary rock, which is probably what the girls were going to learn about that day in class.
Naadir had only heard fables of women taking it upon themselves to discover new facts about the world outside of what their men had told them, but he had never seen it for himself. The forbidden nature of a woman trying to fill her brain with the academic propaganda of The West titillated him beyond reason. His loins juiced with a passion he had never known. He imagined the women reading to him, teaching him the ways of Emily Dickenson (whoever that is), and regaling him with the tales of Watson and Crick’s discovery of DNA’s double helix, even though he didn’t even understand what a Watsoncrick was, let alone a DNA.
Feeling overwhelmed, he shied his eyes away from the school girls and back to his car’s engine. It was a mess. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had. Motor oil leakage; a steaming, bone-dry radiator; and the battery was so caked in white, powdery battery acid he could have made a snowball out of it. He felt useless against everything around him.
The power and strength these young girls displayed by simply holding some textbooks outside of a building terrified him; it excited him. He felt a sudden passionate urge take him over, begging him to do something; to act before it was too late; before the moment had passed and the women were gone forever, leaving him to wonder how his life would have been different had he done something. He needed to express to these women how his genitals yearned for the touch of a lady that had taken it upon herself to soar beyond the prison-like intellectual confines of her society and achieve a greatness no man – no matter how powerful – could strip away from her.
So he threw battery acid on their faces and disfigured them for life.