Read Dear Infidel for Free Online Page B

Texaco and Toys-R-Us.’
    Salman was in rapture. He’d never heard a British person speak like this. He looked at her, her face thoughtful, all that sunshine gone.
    ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty, my dear. If God has been generous to you in this life, then just thank Him and enjoy your bounty!’
    ‘I’m not a believer. It’s not that I definitely don’t believe, more that I don’t know or care. God isn’t going to come down here and wave His magic wand. It’s up to us, isn’t it?’
    ‘Hmm, hmm.’ Salman wasn’t listening, his mind having got stuck at the point where she said she didn’t believe. He noticed a bus finally appear on the horizon.
    ‘Tell me, what does your faith give you?’ Trying to avoid the question, Salman stayed focused on the bus.
    ‘It gives my life meaning.’
    ‘But my life has meaning,’ she retorted. ‘I love my child and my partner and they love me. Isn’t that enough?’
    ‘I’m glad it is for you,’ muttered Salman, cursing the bus’s slow progress.
    ‘So why do you need more?’
    Salman turned sharply.
    ‘Look, lady. Islam is Allah’s gift for humanity, His final word. We’re all bound by His commandments. If you choose to ignore them then that’s your loss.’ The bus pulled up. The front door opened and Salman bolted for it, but then he remembered her condition and all that heavy shopping. He hesitated but picked up a couple of bags. She expressed mild surprise and smiled awkwardly, but he avoided any eye contact. He let her in first and after paying for his ticket he followed behind. Laying the bags at her feet he sprung up to make for the upper deck.
    ‘Well, have a happy Eid!’ She spoke quickly before he was out of sight.
    ‘We say Eid Mubarak , actually.’ He glared, hissing his displeasure. He waited until she forcibly looked away before rounding the corner and going upstairs.

7
    Imtiaz was cold. Finally in bed after exhausting the night’s entertainment, he wrapped the duvet around himself tightly; a spent force entombed. On his side he brought his legs right up, his knees close to his chest. The position though was uncomfortable and he soon gave up, bringing his hands together in his lap. He had recently cum however and his too-thin semen had spread and begun drying off. His lap, therefore, was both cold and damp. How can my cum be cold?
    The mercy of sleep beckoned, though, and accepting gratefully, he began sinking. As he went below the surface he took one last glimpse at the clock radio, establishing that it was 10.01 pm and that the radio was on low. And then ... nothing. He slipped into slumber gently, belying the frenzy of the day just done. Stillness. Stillness and quiet, or rather almost quiet. If you listened hard, you could just make out the radio, the broadcaster introducing the new show, but Imtiaz was no longer listening; gentle waves were lapping his shore. Come, come my son, the night beckoned. Enter my waters and drift away. Seduced, he sank, offering no resistance. He landed softly on the water’s bed, and with arms crossed and legs tucked under he simply was: no eye movement, a minimum of brain activity. A mere babe in an incubator. Heal me ...
    Then suddenly Imtiaz is rising. Propelled upwards by a force other than his own he looks up at the approaching surface. There are lights, big bright lights. And people – lots and lots of people. He breaks through and is met by a din. Such a din. But now Imtiaz is risingbeyond the crowd; the noisy, passionate spectators. And the searing heat isn’t going to distract him either. Or the tension, or the drama. For destiny is calling the Boys from Pakistan.
    Imtiaz squats behind the stumps and claps his gloved hands together. ‘Come on, Imran!’ he shouts, but Imran is well out of earshot. He is busy instructing his men, marshalling those of his troops that are nearby. The match is tight, delicately poised, but the initiative is now shifting England’s way. The Pakistan captain must engineer