Jenny and Ahmad

The elderly Afghani male sat down on the bed, his maimed flesh freshly rubbed with creams that didn't heal, but merely granted temporal relief. He laid back on the bed, and his prize, the sister of the man that had put him into such a precarious state, lay with him, holding his ancient oak and guiding it inside her.

She's started a heretic, and she still bore the badges of that life. Every tattoo a sin. A life of harlotry, a life of sin, an atheist who in any other life Ahmad would have condemned in every way possible. And indeed, for the longest time, he'd only utilized her to satisfy his carnal cravings and restore what he'd lost.

But she'd wanted more. And despite his consternation, he'd allowed it. She'd converted to Islam, she did her prayers, she wore the hijab and practiced more modicum that he'd ever expected. And now he had only one thing left to do before he passed on.