Untitled - K.M. Lessing

“K.M. Lessing shows tremendous courage in baring her personal tragedies and her
affliction with being in love with the imam she knows is worthless. An admirable,
trustworthy, and loving human being herself, K.M. illustrates time and again how
the imam uses her love for him against her and to his own advantage. Her
temporary conversion to Islam in an attempt to find peace inside her is illustrated by
her continued visits to a mosque only to find that there is tremendous hatred for
everything Western inside its walls and in the thinking of the Muslims she knows.
The author writes about her feelings of betrayal because of the imam’s marriage to a
Muslim wife and his philandering on the side. That she lives with a broken heart is
obvious in every word she writes. ‘I felt the civil war raging in my heart. Isn’t it so
hard when a relationship dies a long, slow death? It’s like a long, slow walk to the
guillotine. Maybe while you walk with your beloved, you hold hands, you talk, but
always looming ahead of you is the shadow of the guillotine. You know that one
day, sooner or later, you’re going to get to the end. And it’s so, so sad.’
Perhaps the most important wisdom she shares with her readers is following:
‘There are no substitutes for cultivating an independent identity and an
independent ideology. No husband or family can truly give you that
independence. There are no substitutes for cultivating a relationship with
yourself and the truth!’
This book will not be easily forgotten or dismissed as it holds many important
lessons for women everywhere.”
- Cassandra, author of Escape! From an Arab Marriage: Horror Stories of Women Who Fled
From Abusive Muslim Husbands
Allah Is A Deceiver
K.M. Lessing
Copyright © 2015 Kopfschmerz Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic,
electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information
storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
A half-wit would know that this book is not intended to provide medical, relationship, legal
or other advice. If such advice is needed, take ownership of your life and seek a
“professional.”
ISBN: 978-0-9863459-6-8
ISBN: 978-0-9863459-7-5
ISBN: 978-0-9863459-8-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922807
Certain stock imagery © 123rf
Cover design by K.M. Lessing.
Website: www.kmlessing.is
Books by K.M. Lessing:
God Has Failed Me, A True Story, Part 1
The Land of Dark Secrets, A True Story, Part 2
Allah Is A Deceiver, A True Story, Part 3
For those who want the truth.
C
ongress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or
prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the
press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the
Government for a redress of grievances.
- The First Amendment to the United States Constitution
F
AIR USE NOTICE: This book contains copyrighted material. Such material
is made available for the purposes of commentary, criticism, and education, and to
advance understanding of human rights, democracy, moral, ethical, social, and
ideological issues. This constitutes a “fair use” of any such copyrighted material as
provided for in Title 17 U.S.C. section 107 of the US Copyright Law.
This book was not written for the purposes of entertainment. It was written to tell a
true story. K.M. Lessing is a pseudonym. The characters are authentic; the events
are real. The names have been changed, with one exception, because he is a public
figure.
About the author: K.M. Lessing is an Independent Artist. She worked for too many
miserable years in the corporate world before writing her first books about her
search to find the only thing that really matters in life. As she refuses to suppress the
complexity of emotions and conflict of desires that make her a human being, she is
definitely not very professional.
Acknowledgements: Special thanks to the women who knew my secret and kept it
while I was writing my books. You showed the compassion and understanding that
only comes from someone who has experienced a similar hell.
You are now entering a Politically Incorrect Zone. By turning the page, you
acknowledge that the “right to not be offended” doesn’t exist. If this is not
acceptable to you, close this book and go watch TV instead.
CONTENTS
1
The Unforgivable Sin
1
2
The Day I Lost My Sexting Virginity
25
3
The STD Test
42
4
The Mullah Was Running Late
62
5
He Broke My Heart In San Francisco
88
6
Deliver Me From Evil
106
7
The Cheshire Cat Jerk
121
8
Stilettos And A Wounded Heart
144
9
The Sheep And The Sheikh
159
10
The Hidden Shi’a Masjid
167
11
Advice From An Atheist
178
12
The Cheshire Cat Explains Tarof
185
13
The Three Bunnies
194
14
The Islamic Rockstar
202
15
My Slave
213
16
Beware The Muslim Octomoms
225
17
The Cheshire Cat Reinvents Himself
239
18
A Maelstrom of Anger Followed By A
Tsunami Of…
252
19
Allah Is A Deceiver
257
20
Another Woman’s Story
267
21
Ardishir the Iranian Jew
271
22
Hezbollah In Your Backyard
288
23
The Grand Seduction of America
301
24
The Ocean Of Deeper Meaning
305
25
F.A.Q.
307
26
They Can’t Be A Part Of My Beautiful Future
313
Epilogue
“K.M., your desire for the truth is going to save you.”
- Dr. Smith, Ph.D., N.D., personal friend
Chapter 1
The Unforgivable Sin
August 13, 2013 (Tuesday)
I closed my eyes…night had fallen…I stood on the dune as my goth sheikh sultan
approached, riding his white steed…the hot desert wind blew through my hair…the
scent of myrrh swirled around me…as he came closer, my sultan gazed down at me
with kohl-rimmed eyes…Mahdi dismounted from his exotic steed and reached to cover
me in his embrace…the wind blew and I felt the long cotton of his white robe
whipping around me as he held me in his arms…gently he whispered to me in a
language I couldn’t understand…I fell into a swoon as his enchantment covered me…
Once again I continue the daunting task of trying to translate my broken heart
into words. And really, words fail completely. I mean, if I say, “I feel so hurt,” do
those four words even begin to describe the emotional landscape of my heart? How
do those words convey that every day, in my heart, I walked with bare feet on
shards of glass…that the sky was gray and pulsing loudly with the thunder of
betrayal…that a tsunami of anger and love continually fell on me and washed me
away into a deep, heavy ocean of conflict…
I grew up in America. As a kid, I did all the typical American things. I
celebrated Christmas with my family. I went hunting for Easter eggs on Easter. I
dressed up in costumes for Halloween. The tooth fairy left me some money under
my pillow when I lost a tooth. I went to birthday parties, Sunday school, church,
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K.M. Lessing
and football games.
As I grew older, I had many friends from other countries, but none of them
were devout Shi’a Muslims from the Middle East. I was only barely familiar with
Iran when I met a guy who called himself “Mahdi.”
He portrayed himself as just a normal guy, so when I saw my smitten, singlesuddenly-turned-married internet boyfriend of two months wearing a black turban, a
long Islamic robe, and a gold wedding ring, sitting on what looked like a throne,
giving a speech in Farsi, with titles such as “Maulana” and “Hojjat al-Islam” before
his name, I didn’t understand what that meant.
Of course, I recognized his clothing as being identical to that which Ayatollah
Khomeini had worn. But what implications did that have? What was Mahdi—a
religious figure from Iran—doing in the United States? Was he a terrorist??
As Mahdi consistently gave me half-truths or outright lies about everything, I
had to try to piece things together on my own. That took time.
By this point in the story, I had figured out the meaning of only some of
Mahdi’s numerous titles. “Sayed” meant an alleged descendent of the prophet
Mohammad. “Hafiz” meant a person who had memorized the entire Quran. “Qari”
meant a reciter of the Quran. “Maulana” meant “Our Lord,” a title given to clerics
in Shi’a Islam. The only title I had not really figured out yet was “Hojjat al-Islam.”
These titles were all very important to those countless Muslims who flocked to
hear Mahdi recite the Quran or listen to him give a speech on their accountability to
Allah…
As I was not very familiar with the Islamic world, these titles didn’t mean a
whole lot to me. Instead, Mahdi was simply my long-distance boyfriend whose
secret best friend I was.
“Mahdi” (real name: Abazar Wahedy) turned out to be married—something he
had lied to me about. The crafty internet predator was far from being the innocent
single lovestruck “virgin” he had so convincingly acted the part of during the first
two months I knew him. Mahdi was also the imam—the Islamic equivalent of a
pastor—at Fatimiyya Islamic Center in the Bay Area of California…a fact that he
had conveniently failed to mention in the beginning. He was also involved as a
teacher at the Shi’a Association of the Bay Area (SABA) in San Jose, California,
where he frequently called me from his classroom on facetime when nobody else
was around...
Fatimiyya Islamic Center and SABA, both organizations of dubious repute,
were rumored to be Jew-hating, anti-America, pro-Hezbollah, Khomeinist entities.1
To understand what happened when I asked Mahdi about that earlier in our
relationship, and to understand the events which led up to this point, the first two
books of my true story, God Has Failed Me and The Land Of Dark Secrets, are available
to the world.
My trip to San Francisco was four weeks away. I was still undecided if I wanted
to see my married mullah boyfriend, Mahdi, or not, while I was there.
2
ALLAH IS A DECEIVER
Mahdi texted me:
Mahdi (7:29 pm): Salam K.M.
Mahdi (7:29 pm): How are you?
K.M. (7:30 pm): salam. I’m good
Mahdi (7:35 pm): I miss my angel
K.M. (7:36 pm): I miss you too :)
Mahdi (7:50 pm): I'll call you after my class my queen
Mahdi (7:50 pm): Inshallah
This book contains actual, verbatim text messages that Mahdi and I exchanged.
I have included as many text messages as are necessary to tell this true story. Text
messages have not been edited.
He texted me a picture of himself.
K.M. (7:51 pm): thank you
K.M. (7:51 pm): ok
Mahdi (8:00 pm): :)
I would be remiss if my books didn’t include every voicemail that Mahdi left so
you can see that this relationship existed because he came to me! I didn’t go to him!
Voicemail from Mahdi 8:57 pm: “Salam K.M., this is Mahdi, sorry I couldn’t call
you… (indiscernible) my class was so hard… (indiscernible) for field trip…
(indiscernible) it was a very very hard class.”
As with books 1 and 2, all voicemails throughout this book are real and are
transcribed verbatim. Voicemails have not been edited.
I returned Mahdi’s call at around 9:00 pm. We talked for about an hour. When
Mahdi and I talked, it was never about politics, Khomeini, Hezbollah, the Iranian
Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRCG), nukes, or how Khomeinist Iran wants to blow
Israel, the United States, and Saudi Arabia to smithereens. Instead, we talked about
how our days had been. We told jokes. We blew kisses. We talked about Middle
Eastern culture, Mahdi’s travels, his books he was writing, his speeches, his mother,
the bunnies he wanted to get, and God.
God = Allah = God?
August 14, 2013 (Wednesday)
Prince Babak—he wasn’t really a prince, he just acted like one—was another
Iranian I had known for a few months. Although I had considered him an intelligent
friend, I had not fallen in love with him as he had with me. His short-fused
temper—shown recently for the first time—had been a dealbreaker for me. I had
tried to break things off with Prince Babak. Not one to listen, he continued to text
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K.M. Lessing
and send facebook messages and I continued to ignore him. Once a verbal abuser,
always a verbal abuser! I figured surely if I ignored him, he would go away.
I texted Mahdi:
K.M. (7:49 am): hi
K.M. (7:51 am): when are you going to the doctor to get your test?
K.M. (7:51 am): hopefully before you go to dearborn and before school
starts
Mahdi (7:55 am): Hi. I'll make an appointment today. Inshallah
K.M. (8:09 am): in English, you can tell the doctor "i want an STD test for
everything"
K.M. (8:09 am): that’s it. it’s easy
K.M. (8:10 am): but please make sure it includes those six things that i sent
you in the text message a few weeks ago
K.M. (8:10 am): thank you
Mahdi (12:35 pm): Ok honey: :)
Babak (12:35 pm): Miss you :(
Voicemail from Mahdi 8:31 pm: “Salam K.M., this is Mahdi, I just wanted to talk to
you, I miss you so much. I know I’m calling you late because I got a haircut and
then, actually—stupid—but they towed my car again. Same problem. They didn’t
pass a notice to me and the office said the neighborhood—but I didn’t get any
notice. They charged me $110. Even last time, in that time, they didn’t charge me,
but I got a bill for $110. So basically $220. I know it’s funny, but I lost $220.
Anyways so I think you are at the masjid or you are busy so if you have time please
give me a call. I really miss you so much, I love you so much. If you don’t have time
to call, if you can’t, so good night, sweet dreams, make sure lock the door. Salam
alaikom.”
Mahdi (9:15 pm): Salam K.M.
Mahdi (9:15 pm): How are you?
August 15, 2013 (Thursday)
Babak sent me $100 as a gift. I sent him a one sentence thank-you email. He
replied that he felt lonely without me and he really missed me. He continued to text
me and I ignored him.
Mahdi (7:07 pm): Salam K.M.
Mahdi (7:07 pm): How are you?
Mahdi (7:07 pm): Are you home honey?
K.M. (7:07 pm): salam mahdi
K.M. (7:08 pm): yes
4
ALLAH IS A DECEIVER
Mahdi (7:10 pm): Ok I'll call you after my Asr prayer
Mahdi (7:11 pm): In 15 minutes
He texted me a picture of himself wearing his Islamic robe and turban.
K.M. (7:17 pm): verrrry very handsome
Mahdi (7:18 pm): Thank you
K.M. (7:18 pm): soft, gentle, intelligent eyes
K.M. (7:18 pm): very nice :)
Mahdi (7:20 pm): You are my angel
He called at 7:24 pm and we talked for over an hour. All phone conversations
are authentic and have been paraphrased. You will, naturally, not be able to hear
Mahdi’s broken English or his thick Farsi accent. We frequently had communication
difficulties. Although he had been living in the United States, he rarely spoke
English. He didn’t associate with non-Muslims much. He kept himself sequestered
in his elitist, Farsi-speaking Muslim community. Remember, according to Ayatollah
Khomeini, non-Muslims are as unclean as the sweat of an excrement-eating camel!2
“I’m coming to your city next month from September 12-19 for a short
vacation,” I informed Mahdi. “If you are available, maybe we can see each other. If
not, that’s fine.”
“Of course we can see each other!” he said. “I’m going to Arkansas that
weekend for an Islamic program. But during the week I will be in town. I will cancel
my classes to see you. But there’s just one thing. My brother, who works for the
U.N., is coming from Iran to the United States to do some work at Harvard. He will
come to California to visit me. I haven’t seen him in years—”
What a madhouse. Mahdi had too many damn relatives! Someone was always
calling or visiting or dying…
“Can’t you tell him that on the weekend that I’m there, you have a friend
visiting and you won’t be available, just for that weekend?” I tried to reason. It was
only one weekend.
“No, I can’t. Because my brother is older I have to do whatever he wants,”
Mahdi patiently explained the pecking order. “So I’m not sure when he’s coming
and he might not give me that much notice. But sometime in September or October
for sure. But whenever he comes, I have to accept him. I can’t tell him to come
another time. And besides, I want to see him. He’s my older brother and we haven’t
seen each other for years. When we see each other in the airport we will be so
happy. We will RUN to each other!” Mahdi talked about his older brother with the
same worshipful admiration that an American might give a sports star or a celebrity.
August 16, 2013 (Friday)
Have you ever seen a guy wearing eyeliner? It’s quite alluring. I wish men were
held to the same standard that women are held to. How fair is it that men get to
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To continue reading, please purchase Allah Is A Deceiver.