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In his white cotton pajamas, he dizzily stumbled to the bathroom and had a good look in the mirror. He thought about trimming his beard and plucking some of his nose hairs. Rather than rushing to the big mosque on campus, he decided to say prayers in his room. Out of the faucet sputtered a rusty sprinkle. He recited aloud:“In the name of Allah The Beneficent, the Merciful.”He ran his hands under cold water which broke his drowsiness. With a rough bar of soap he washed his hands up to his wrists and between his fingers three times like a surgeon. He did the same with his mouth, nostrils, face and forehead, arms, ears, head, neck, and feet, each three times. When the remains of sleep and the uncleanness of free dreaming had been abandoned for another morning, he dried himself with a towel and donned his kurta and turban.He spread his prayer cloth towards Mecca. He tried with great difficulty to concentrate. Each time he prostrated he thought about Rashida and her nude face. He was. Slowly turning her head toward her nightstand she gazed, blurry-eyed, at the clock."Five-thirty!" she whispered to herself as she struggled to get to her feet; knowing her husband would be getting up for work soon, she wanted to check on her son.Oh, fuck my head she thought, holding it in the palm of her hand while slowly making her way to the wardrobe closet.Still in her baby dolls, she pulled out a tan-colored long robe, not wanting to make too much noise, and headed toward her son's room."Dustin?" she whispered, as she lightly knocked on his door. There was no answer, so she slowly opened it to find her son in the dim light lying on his back, naked, with a hardon as he slept.Terri felt her pussy tingle as she stayed motionless, just gazing on her son's stiff wood. Unable to control the sexual desire she was feeling, her forbidden thoughts got the best of her, and she found herself wondering if she could take that monster down her throat.Stop! You have to stop with these.
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