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A Date With Tamar Ch. 1

By: miskeivitch



As the airplane landed in Lod, I vowed to myself that I would never patronize a Gentile travel agent, if I ever got the opportunity to travel to Israel again. I thought that landing in Israel on Friday would give me a wild weekend in Tel Aviv before my expense account kicked in. I had a series of tours set up by my magazine for the article I was supposed to write. My Israeli companion, after learning that this was my first trip to his country, started to disabuse me of my notions about the wild weekend.

"My friend, the ultra-religious have determined that, on Shabat in my country, everything but everything which might give a man pleasure shuts down. There are no movies, nightclubs or restaurants open, except for hotels and a few street vendors. Even if they were open, the buses don't run and you can't get from here to there. Even those of us who haven't been to a shul since our bar mitzvah are reduced to shtumpfing the wife for recreation instead of taking the mistress to a club."

I asked "Did I hear you just say that there are no buses running? How am I going to get to my hotel? I don't have much money for this weekend. My expense account doesn't start until Monday."

My friend was getting wound up now. "Relax. There are still taxis and as long as you don't pay in shekels, your ride to your hotel will be almost painless to your budget. By the way, don't even think of converting your hard currency to shekels. Israel is right now going through a period of hyperinflation and the prices in shekels jump every hour. If you want your money to disappear and not have any fun at the same time, just convert it at the airport to shekels."

"Well, how do I buy anything without local money?"

My friend warmed up to the subject. "Israelis despise their own shekel so much that they will do almost anything to get hold of a dollar or mark. The taxi driver will take you directly to the hotel and will even act polite if you negotiate a fixed price in dollars for the trip. The hooker will perform the most amazing acrobatics on your hard putz and then do the most amazing mental calculations on your hard currency. The foreigner is king in the Israel of today and we poor Israelis are just schmucks."

The pilot came on and announced, in English and Hebrew, that we would shortly be landing at Lod airport. I strapped on my seat belt and contemplated the bleak weekend my friend had outlined. As the airplane landed, suddenly everyone clapped and a few bars of "Havenu Shalom Aleichem" came over the sound system. "Happens every time", my companion said. As we entered the immigration hall, my friend said goodbye. "I probably will be long gone by the time you get through passport control. My line for Israeli citizens will be much shorter than yours. Most Israelis lack the hard currency to travel these days."

I handed my passport to an unsmiling clerk. Why did passport clerks look so sour the world over? Do they have a school for customs and immigration clerks in an obscure third-world country? Do they all have annoying rectal itch? As I was pondering this question, having received Immigration's stamp of approval, I found my luggage on the conveyor. Maybe the weekend would be dull but at least my luggage had arrived without damage. I found a taxi outside and, as my friend had predicted, the price in dollars was quite reasonable.

I came down the stairs, wondering how I was going to eat on Friday evening if everything was closed, as my friend had predicted. Fortunately, the hotel restaurant seemed to be open and I tried to see what I could afford on the menu. As I was looking over the hotel offerings, I couldn't help but notice a young woman in an army uniform having an angry conversation on the telephone. I don't know much Hebrew, having spent my life in Sunday school rather than shul, so I didn't quite know what was her problem. I kept hearing her say over and over again "Ben Zonah", which I assumed was the person at the other end of the conversation.

As I was deciding what I might eat, the soldier slammed down the telephone, turned to me and said "Ma sha'ah?" I was face to face with the world's most beautiful soldier. She was short like most Israeli women, about 5' 3", deep brown eyes, dark-skinned with black hair in a roll. She was so beautiful that my first thought was that I might even like being attacked by a platoon of soldiers like her.

I interrupted this momentary fantasy and turned to my soldier's question: "Sorry but I don't speak Hebrew. Do you speak English?"

In English that sounded vaguely like a cultured London accent with only shades of Hebrew in the background, she said: "Oh, a tourist. I'm sorry to put you on the spot. Welcome to Israel. I was asking what the time was in Hebrew. I guess you aren't Jewish if you didn't understand 'Ma sha'ah'?"

"Yes, it's my first time in your country and you're right about my religion but wrong about being a tourist. I'm here on business. As for the time, it's nearly 7:30. And as for you, I guess you're in the army and you just had a fight with someone called Ben Zonah."

My soldier just about doubled over with laughter. "You're going to get into a lot of trouble here unless you learn a few words of Hebrew. Ben Zonah describes the person I was talking to but his name was Mossi. Ben Zonah isn't a person's name. It means 'son-of-a-whore'. Israelis use ben Zonah the same way an English speaker would use 'bastard' or "son-of-a-bitch'. But you're right about having a fight on the telephone. My boyfriend was supposed to meet me here in Tel Aviv but he cancelled. He works for the Finance Ministry and he says that they can't solve the currency crisis without him."

"Yes, I learned about that on the airplane before I landed but I obviously have a lot more to learn about Israel. In fact, that's why I'm in Israel, to learn about the country. Can I ask where you learned to speak such beautiful English?"

"Like most Israelis, I studied it as a second language but I was really interested in the language and took a lot of extra courses at school. Then, I listened to the BBC a lot. You can pick it up here on a pocket radio. My English helped me land an easy job with the Army. I am doing my army service after graduating from high school last year. I actually work in an office. The only time I saw a gun was when I did my two weeks of basic training."

I looked at her hands and saw that they were manicured and polished. Her face was tastefully made up, bringing out the best of her Semitic features. There definitely was nothing that I could detect, other than the uniform, that suggested a life in the trenches..

"What do you do in the army that's such a easy job?"

"I'd love to tell you but, with the current military situation, we are not allowed to mention to foreigners where we're stationed. If the army ever found out I had told a foreigner my unit and where I was stationed, I would be severely disciplined."

"OK, just name, rank and serial number. I'm Christopher. I'm working for a magazine, writing an article about the tourist spots in Israel. My Canadian passport number is …………"

My friend giggled at all this information. "I'm Private Tamar Yaakov, Zahal serial number ……. Say, are you meeting anyone tonight? If you aren't, could I tag along with you. I can show you how to have fun in Tel Aviv."

"But a guy on the airplane told me that nobody has fun on the Sabbath in Israel."

"I bet he was some old guy without any imagination and he gave you the wrong impression of Israel. Yes, Shabat is dull in places where the ultra-orthodox live, such as Mea Shearim or B'nei Brak. But we secular Jews know how to have a good time. We're both alone tonight and you don't seem to know your way around here."

Tamar grabbed my hand and led me down to the beach area. I couldn't reconcile what I saw with the bleak picture my friend had painted of the Jewish Sabbath. The boardwalk was filled with people walking up and down just to see and be seen. Tamar's idea of "tagging along" was to take me along the board walk showing me all the different ways to have fun in Tel Aviv's beach area. Finally we ended up at a falafel stand in the middle of the beach area. Tamar explained that the falafel came in half a pita and an Israeli's objective is to pile as much salad, olives and peppers as can be transported to a table. I was smart enough to realize the peppers were extremely hot but I generously ladled what I assumed was relish on my sandwich.

We sat down and I bit into my falafel and discovered that the green stuff was fiery hot. Tamar asked:

"How do you enjoy the schoug? It's a specialty from Yemen"

I decided that to maintain the macho reputation of Canadian tourists, I wouldn't say that it had just incinerated me. I just steered the conversation towards discovering more about Tamar. Her family had left Iraq in the 1950's but she was a sabra, born in Israel. Her family was strict, as were most mizrakhis. Tamar was quite open that she enjoyed the freedom that the army gave her, so she had taken the opportunity to find a boyfriend. I thought to myself: "Your family must be strict if the army represents more freedom."

Unlike Canadian women, Tamar was quite open about her sex life. Despite her strict upbringing, Tamar enjoyed sex. In fact, she ensured me that she screwed her boyfriend almost every time she went on leave. That's why she was so angry when I heard her on the telephone. She wasn't angry at being stood up. What had made her really angry at Mossi was the prospect of a celibate weekend. As the conversation was taking this interesting turn and I was thinking that I should volunteer to help out, Tamar said:

"Let's go to a club. I will show you what young Israelis do for fun."

"OK. There's one over there. Would you like that, Tamar?"

"Christopher, you still don't know enough about Israel. That one's just for tourists. Listen to the Ho-Ho music they're playing! Besides that, it's too expensive."

We went down a street a few blocks from the beach. Tamar pointed to a small club that emitted Arabic-sounding music. Tamar explained:

"This is the kind of place that young Israelis go to. That music is what's popular in Israel now."

We went in and Tamar looked for a group of soldiers, explaining that that was the easiest way to ensure that the group was her age. We sat down and made introductions. The soldiers had varying fluency in English but were able to make themselves understood. I apologized for my lack of Hebrew but nobody seemed to mind. As the evening's conversation progressed, I found out that everyone in the group was either an immigrant or a first generation sabra. They had come from all over the world to live here, just like people in Canada. Another reason to feel at home was that the dances were much the same as in Canada. What had I expected? A night of dancing the Hora barefoot? After an hour, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I said to everyone:

"This has been fun but I'm so tired and jet lagged that I just have to get some sleep."

"Can I stay with you tonight, Christopher? Mossi was supposed to take care of everything this weekend. I'm broke and I don't have any place to stay this weekend."

I was surprised Tamar would proposition me in front of everyone but what did I know about Israeli women? I paid for my tab and Tamar's and left the club with Private Tamar on my arm. We walked wordlessly along the boardwalk to my hotel. Tamar seemed to understand when to stop talking and let the sexual tension rise. She was young but wise in sexual matters. The clerk didn't even bother looking up from his copy of Ma'ariv as he handed me my room key. I suppose that every tourist in Israel must leave the hotel for supper and come home with a soldier for dessert. I wondered how my article on tourism would be received in Canada if I wrote that the hotels in Israel featured hot and cold women soldiers.

My room door shut behind us. Tamar was suddenly all over me, wild with her kisses. I didn't mind at all and returned each kiss. As I explored Tamar's mouth, my tongue noticed that her mouth still bore traces of garlic, cumin and the hot peppers. Definitely, I wouldn't let Tamar suck my dick with her mouth in that condition. I'm not particularly religious but, at that moment, I prayed that none of the hot stuff got on her hands or mine. Otherwise, the night could be a disaster. Tamar unbuttoned my shirt and kissed me on the chest. I felt my skin tingle and the chest hairs curl. Definitely my dick was not going in that mouth no matter how much she begged me.

I removed Tamar's soldier hat while she worked on my chest. Her hair was done up in a not very attractive roll at the back of her head. This could do with some improving, I thought, so I started to pull pins out of her hair. By the time I had removed more pins than a box full of grenades, Tamar's hair fell down to her soldiers. Stepping back for a look at Tamar's profile, I couldn't help thinking how she reminded me of that famous bust of Nefertiti, Semitic nose included. Tamar was definitely a desert beauty.

I unbuttoned Tamar's khaki blouse and let it fall to the floor. Reaching around Tamar's back, I undid Tamar's army-issue brassiere. As her bra straps slid down her arms, I could not believe what I saw. The Israeli army's lingerie did not do justice to their women soldiers' tits. Tamar displayed the biggest pair of tits I had ever seen in my life outside of the silicone-inflated tits in centerfolds. They were enormous, without any hint of sag. Tamar moved close to me, touching my chest with the youthful firmness of large tits. I reached up and started to caress Tamar's tits from the side. Tamar started to make some low moaning noises that increased in intensity as my hand came closer to her nipples. Her nipples and areolas matched the rest of her breast for size. Tamar's nipples were standing erect and hard, penetrating through my chest hairs to my skin.

I already knew Tamar wasn't shy. As I was gently massaging her nipples, she reached down and undid my belt and zipper. She reached in my shorts and gasped as her hand circled my dick.

"That feels thicker than my boyfriend's zain. I want to see it. Oh wow, it's longer than my boyfriend's and it's circumcised. How come? You said you weren't Jewish. I want to suck your schlong now that I see it's circumcised."

"In my country, lots of non-Jews circumcise their boys for health reasons. But please don't suck it, Tamar, or I'll go off too soon. Your lips are luscious but they're deadly hot."

Tamar seemed disappointed I didn't want a blowjob but still looked admiringly at what she had in her hand. Since I didn't feel any tingling on my pecker, I decided that my hands must be OK as well. I put my hand under Tamar's skirt and pulled down her panties. They were so sensible they looked like Victorian bloomers. Tamar stepped out of the pile of cloth her panties left on the floor. I parted the lips of her beaver and put my middle finger inside. Tamar was wet and ready for a screwing. I gently moved my finger along the slippery valley made by her inner lips and up a mountain of a hard, pulsating clitoris. One gentle stroke was enough to send her into orgasm. Tamar moaned and shuddered while still standing.

When Tamar had finished her orgasm, she pushed me back on to the bed.

"You've worked hard enough and you're tired from the trip. I'll take over now."

Tamar pulled off her khaki skirt. In the dim light, I looked at the bush I had had just been feeling. Tamar's bush was black, standing out from her olive-coloured skin. Her bush hair was curly but short, a beautiful sight for the horny traveler. Tamar wasn't into bush trimming like Canadian women were. She didn't need to with her curly short bush hair. At that length, they were unlikely to get caught in the action. I thought to myself that here I was assigned to write about the beauty of Israel's tourist destinations. How could I tell the readers of a family newspaper that I had found a place of beauty that surpassed them all?

Tamar climbed on to the bed and straddled me. Her parted legs, exposed her glistening pussy lips. My finger had explored her wetness and now my eyes confirmed that Tamar was ready. She parted her lips and lowered herself on my dick, grunting as she forced my dick in a bit. Tamar knew exactly what she wanted from me, which is why she chose this position. She held me in this little bit for what seemed like hours, driving me crazy in the process. Then she came down on me very slowly and withdrew again very slowly. Again and again, she came down on me and then withdrew me, taking me in a little at a time. Tamar worked slowly, wordlessly, effortlessly taking in my dick without making me come. Somehow she knew exactly how to play me, as if we were old lovers and she had done this many times.

Tamar finally took me all in and paused to get used to me. She had to get used to me? I had to get used to her. Tamar was very young and she was still very tight. She was as hot and wet inside as Tel Aviv's beach. Tamar was taking my dick to heaven and the rest of me was tagging along. I had to detach my mind from my dick and begin to think of mundane matters, otherwise I would shoot off at that very moment. My money problems helped. So did thinking about my writing assignment.

Tamar started to moan a little as she sensed I was ready for some more movement. She lifted herself up slowly almost letting me fall out and then slowly let herself all the way down, increasing her volume when I was all the way in again. As Tamar picked up the tempo, the strokes became shorter and her moans became louder. I opened my eyes to see Tamar's full, firm breasts bobbing in the dim light. As my dick and me resumed our journey to heaven, I thought "Mossi, you fool. You gave up this for your career?"

On Tamar's last and most decisive downstroke, I felt her youthful interior become even tighter and moans turned to screams. I didn't realize that it was also my scream as well. We were both having an orgasm together. My orgasm was so deep and intense that I lost track of Tamar's activities. I felt as if I couldn't stop coming. Was I becoming multiorgasmic man? My tired mind reeled and my body tingled from the experience.

Tamar lifted herself from my still-hard dick and cuddled up beside me. I was so zonked from the jet lag and the intensity of the fuck that I fell asleep right away. That's not the way to treat a lady after she's just fucked your brains out. Would Tamar understand?

When I awoke in the morning, I half expected that Tamar would be gone along with my little stash of dollars. After all, she admitted that she was broke and that's why she stayed with me. However, I could hear her having a shower. Tamar came out of the shower wearing only a big smile. Her ample bush dripped a bit of water on the terrazzo floor.

"Finally awake, my stud-tourist? Get dressed fast because the dining room is closing for breakfast in an hour."

We went down to the dining room. All I saw on the buffet was some pita bread, tomatoes, cheese, sweet peppers onions and a semi-liquid that looked like mayonnaise. Instead of a coffee pot, all I could see was a hot water dispenser and containers of teabags and Turkish coffee. Nothing that I could really relate to as breakfast.

"I guess we're too late for breakfast. They've put the salad bar out for lunch already."

Tamar giggled and said: "Christopher, you still have a lot to learn about Israel. This isn't a salad bar. This is the standard Israeli breakfast, vegetables and white cheese."

"Tamar, a Canadian has this concept of breakfast as consisting of bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, a balanced variety of cholesterol to get his day going. This is a side dish for dinner."

"Well, even the non-kosher restaurants in Israel won't serve you bacon for breakfast. Get used to this."


A Date With Tamar Ch. 1



Tamar eagerly filled half a pita bread with a mixture of vegetables and what she had described as cheese. I took the other half pita and did the same, having learned the night before the art of overfilling a pita without losing everything. Tamar then showed me how Israelis make coffee, pouring hot water over the grounds in the cup. As I ate my first Israeli breakfast, I had to admit that it really wasn't bad. It filled without the heaviness of the traditional Canadian breakfast. I would learn to appreciate this breakfast as the best thing to start a hot Israeli day. The grounds settled in our coffee and, sipping her cup, Tamar smiled at me.

"You were so wonderful to me last night Christopher. You're much better than my boyfriend. You fucked me so long that I had something that I never experienced before. I had a vaginal orgasm. Do you know what we Israeli women say about Israeli men?"

"No, Tamar. This is still my first day in your country. Is it something that my magazine can print?"

"I don't think so. We say that an Israeli man comes so quickly because he wants to run and tell his friends who he just laid. I thought it was just a story but now I see that it's true. You foreigners do last longer."

Sometimes it's better to agree with a generality than to show that it may not be true. I just accepted the compliment and returned it. I told Tamar that she had the tightest cunt I had ever experienced. I explained how big, firm tits like hers were a national treasure. I speculated whether there was a future for her as Miss Israel. This was all true so I didn't feel at all guilty about laying it on.

We spent the rest of the day walking around Tel Aviv. The and restaurants of Disengoff Square were closed on Saturday but Tamar assured me that I should have a look during the week. While we were sightseeing, I asked Tamar:

"When can we meet again, Tamar?"

"Christopher, please don't push me. I like you a lot but it's all too complicated to think of seeing you again. I'm in the army and, by the time my next leave rolls around, you'll be long gone back to Canada. Besides, if I told you how to meet, I'd be violating my orders not to reveal my unit's location. Then there's my boyfriend. He's from Morocco and Moroccans are famous for taking revenge on someone who screws their wife or girlfriend. If he's not enough problem, my family would likely do the same thing if they found out I was making it with a non-Jew."

I sadly agreed that it was very complicated and tried to enjoy what seemed to be my last moments with Tamar. Around sunset, we walked to the Tel Aviv bus station. The station was obviously originally built for a smaller Tel Aviv and was now totally inadequate. There were a few proper stands for the older, more established routes. However, the bus stops for the newer routes flowed onto the narrow streets surrounding the old bus station. Shops tumbled out onto the sidewalks as each store set up displays guaranteed to interfere with the traveler. The same Arabic-sounding music that I heard in the club the night before blared from the shops, adding to the annoyance factor. I wondered how anyone could find their bus in this chaos. Finally, we found the right platform.

"This is my bus. When you take this bus in Israel, find out first from information how much the fare is that hour. Then go to the black market trader around the corner and get your shekels from him. Make sure you get the next bus because the fare will be higher the next hour."

With those instructions, Tamar kissed me and got on the bus. I saw her in the window and she was waving to me as the bus left the platform. Was that a tear that I saw in the corner of her eye? I didn't know if I would ever see Tamar again and I sadly turned to walk back to the hotel. My eyes watered as I passed the public toilets and I was reminded of how inadequate the bus station had become.

As I picked my way around the shops' sidewalk displays, a woman stepped in front of me and started asking questions in Hebrew that I had no hope of answering. As I looked this woman over, a universal truth that applies in Asia, Europe, Africa or America came to my mind. A hooker dresses like a hooker wherever the profession is practiced and there was no doubt as to what this woman was selling. I remembered what my friend had told me on the airplane about Israeli hookers and dollars. This one looked not bad and didn't have too much mileage on her. She was a much more exotic rental unit than the hookers in Canada. I decided to see what I could negotiate here.

"I'm sorry I don't speak Hebrew. Do you speak English? Anglit?" My Zonah smiled.

"Tourist? Got dollars? I give good head for good price. Come to my apartment and I blow you off right now."

"I wasn't planning on a blow job right now but how much for a lay/"

I was amazed at how well the negotiations proceeded. The Zonah haggled for her price the same way that a bazaar merchant would haggle for his wares in the shouks. I decided to see if my haggling skills, learned in Canada negotiating for a series of used cars, could be transferred successfully to the Middle East. The Zonah started at $50. I said that I had hardly any money with me as I had left it at the hotel. I said that I only had $10 American. My Zonah spit on the street and turned to walk away but I asked how much that was in shekels. When the answer came in the 10's of thousands, she became interested again. Her next offer was $40. I said that I might have $5 more but the Zonah stood firm. I turned to walk away but she grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of the apartment. "OK, $30 and you get laid." Finally, we settled on $20 and I was led to a street south of my hotel with a number of old concrete buildings. 

The apartment was on the 4th floor, no elevator. It was surprisingly cool inside despite no air conditioning. The Zonah took her clothes off in a businesslike manner and told me to get undressed. With the price I had just gotten, the lady didn't want me wasting her time. I got naked as fast as I could. I never paid for it before now, so I really found this situation exciting. My dick was hard and standing out straight. My Zonah let out a quiet gasp.

"Zain tov. I think I enjoy this."

She got some rubber from her purse, rolled it on my pecker and told me to lie down. She put some saliva on her fingers and rubbed it in her snatch. Then my Zonah got on top of me and stuck my hard cock in. I could see that she was having trouble as she had to work me in slowly. When it was all in, my Zonah stared putting the squeeze on me bouncing up and down on me. I really made her work for her $20. Tamar had squeezed the juice out of me the night before so I wasn't inclined to come with any speed. The other problem she had is that Israeli condoms are so thick they feel like they're made out of old rubber boots. But, my Zonah was good, despite the problems she was working with. I could feel my dick growing and feeling more and more sensitive until finally the end just exploded. I half expected to see half my dick missing from being blown apart. That or the end would be worn off from all the rubbing it had undergone.

After the fuck, I was just a pile of sweat on the bed. My Zonah must have been in better shape than me, as she had hardly broken a sweat at all. She got off my dick like she was getting off a bicycle, handed me a box of Kleenex with Hebrew writing on it and told me to clean up and get dressed. I didn't have any reason to worry. My dick was still in one nice, long piece. She hustled me out the door of her apartment. At the building entrance, she pointed me in the direction of my hotel. Then my Zonah walked away in the direction of the Central Bus Station without a word. Nice doing business with you, too.

As I walked back, I thought, "Isn't this a great country?" I had been in Israel less than a day and I had already gotten laid twice. I couldn't remember any day like that in Canada. This trip was going to be one of the best I had ever taken.



A Date with Tamar Ch. 2



Tamar had left my life but I couldn't get her out of my head. She was so different from any woman I had ever met before, so intelligent and capable. Tamar may have been still a teenager but she was far more mature than many older women I had known. What was it that gave this maturity to Tamar? Was it the Army or was it growing up and surviving in a harsh climate and dangerous political situation? The more I thought about Tamar, the more I realized just how special she was and how lucky I had been to meet her.

As I travelled up and down the country on my tour, I tried to forget Tamar and to concentrate on my job. The tour operator shuttled me from holy site to holy site, each one guarded either by dry old nuns or rabbis of indeterminate age. The nuns and the rabbis had one thing in common despite the religious differences. They both seemed to shuffle in an old geezer manner when guiding the tourist around the holy site of their chosen religion. The contrast between the shuffling of these old farts and the youth of Tamar kept reminding me that Israel was a land of contrasts. I decided that I would use the theme of contrasts in my article, the peace and tranquillity of the holy sites versus the violence that often erupted. I wondered if I should use the celibacy of the nuns versus Tamar's obvious enjoyment of sex? Should I contrast Tamar's orthodox upbringing to her skills in bed? It occurred to me that, whatever I wrote for my newspaper, I would have to leave out Tamar, the most interesting part of Israel. After all, I worked for a newspaper that the whole family read.

As I travelled up and down the country, I tried to picture Tamar in my mind. I thought of her black hair, brown eyes, olive skin, her full breasts camouflaged by her army uniform. I even imagined the black, curly hair of her bush between her full solid thighs. Was I falling in love with a manicured soldier? As my tour bus travelled through Israel, I tried to see if I could find her among the soldiers standing at bus stops or trying to hitch rides by the side of the road. They stood in baggy combat fatigues in the dust and the sun with M-16s slung over their shoulders. It was futile to try and find Tamar in those sad groups of kids. Tamar had boasted about her cushy job. No, I would never find Tamar by the side of the road.

I threw myself into my writing at nights to try and forget Tamar and not to become attached to her and to bury my feelings. I arranged my notes and began some of the articles I would publish when I returned home. It didn't work. Every time I tried to write about some place I visited, my thought was how much more fun it would have been to have Tamar tell me what an Israeli thought about the site. I thought about how unfortunate it was that we met my first day in Israel. I was so tired that I just laid back and let Tamar play with me. If only I could see her again and give her the fucking she deserved.

I did have one thrill during my tour of Israel. I went shopping one evening on Allenby Street with an Israeli I had met on one of the Egged tours I had taken. We wandered into a department store and were immediately accosted by a woman soldier. Unlike Tamar, this woman looked as if she had walked all the way from Sharm-al-Sheik to Tel Aviv. She was dusty, dirty with a greasy ponytail tied at the end of her peaked cap. An Uzi was slung over her shoulder as she approached me. In broken English, she rudely told me to spread. Assuming that the Uzi was loaded, I complied and spread with my hands up.

I gazed at the ceiling as her hands went up and down my arms, my legs, over my ass and then started to fondle my jock. Normally, a woman giving all this attention to my crotch would produce an immediate woody. Instead, I found the situation embarrassing. Besides, that, she wasn't all that gentle with her search. I was afraid that I would take bruised balls home to Canada. Still, when a woman has a gun, I let her have her way with me. Afterwards, I asked my friend:

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, she was searching for terrorist weapons."

"Look, my dick is hardly any threat to the security of Israel. I mean, why was that woman feeling up my crotch for so long? She didn't do it to you. Why is a tourist more likely than an Israeli to carry a bomb in his shorts?"

"It's nothing against tourists. She knew right away that you were harmless. She was measuring your dick and checking it out for foreskin. Remember, she's never seen one that hasn't been cut by the mohel. It's all natural curiosity for a woman in her late teens. So please don't be offended."

My second encounter with an Israeli woman soldier made me remember my first, with Tamar. Everything in Israel made me think of Tamar, it seemed. Tamar was cultured, almost elegant, a real queen compared to the rude soldier with an attitude who had just felt me up. 

As I was packing my bags and my notes on the holy and archaeological sites, I counted my almost depleted budget of hard currency. What was it about this country that ate money? At that point, the telephone in my hotel room rang. My magazine was owned by an equally cheap newspaper chain that assumed "foreign news" occurred somewhere out in the suburbs of Toronto. Somehow Israel's currency crisis had piqued the curiosity of an editor in the Toronto head office. The editorial Board decided that they needed a man on the spot. Me, in other words. Hard cash could be found at Bank Leumi with the magic number I had just been given.

I had never covered real news before this assignment. Yes, I had been through the journalism classes at Ryerson Polytechnic but I had long ago decided that the slower pace of a features writer suited my skills better. As I unpacked, I tried to remember how to organize a news story, in the sequence of the most important points, not necessarily the sequence in time. I didn't have much time as the Finance Ministry announcement was the next day and my mind kept returning to that evening with Tamar. Try as I could to picture what my teachers had said at Ryerson, all I could picture was Tamar's olive-coloured face. My teachers and Tamar had both taught me a lot but I couldn't imagine any of my teachers providing the fucking that Tamar had my first day in Israel.

The BIG ANNOUNCEMENT turned into a Middle Eastern exercise in theatrics. The Finance minister stood at multiple microphones and, speaking in the most profound Hebrew since the Prophets walked the earth, announced that there would be a New Shekel for man, woman and profits. I was aided in following the financial prophet by an English text, thoughtfully provided by the Finance Ministry and the English-speaking guides from the Taxation Museum. I could follow the Hebrew speech by picking a Hebrew word borrowed from English or another word that ben Yehuda had robbed from French or another foreign language. When I got bored from trying to follow the finance minister's speech, I started to look around at the suck-ups fetching him water and passing cheat notes when the Israeli press' questions became more pointed. Which one of those brownosers was Mossi? Was Mossi the twerp with the bad tie or was Mossi the dork with the baggy pants? Was Mossi one of the spooks at the back of the auditorium. No, not those guys. They were from Shin Bet and Mossi was a bureaucrat. The were dressed in trench coats despite the summer heat, all the better to hide the Uzis, I suppose. What did we need them for? Would someone steal all the New Shekels before they were issued?

As I was musing on who had gotten into Tamar's pants before me and writing my notes, the journalist next to me introduced himself.

"Percival Purves at your service. Working for one of the tit'n bum papers at the moment but I do expect to get a better position soon with one of the provincial papers."

"Christopher …….. from Canada. I work for one of Lord Golliwog's newspapers. Cheap bastard was born in Canada and then he went to England on the money he made. Bought a stuffy old paper and became a Lord of the Realm. Actually, I'm the travel writer for one of his magazines. I'm covering this event just because His Lordship was too cheap to send a real foreign correspondent. They extended my stay here for a few days."

"Well, probably you don't know the filing requirements for news stories in Israel. Did they tell you that you have to clear every news story with the Army Censor's office before it's sent?"

"No, they didn't. How do you do that?"

"It's really no burden. They can be quite helpful most of the time. They're just making sure that no information on military matters gets to people they don't want it to. I don't know what military secrets we could ever find over at the Finance Ministry, unless it's how badly they pay the soldiers doing their two years' service. I say, old chap. When you've got your story done, I'll take you to the Censor's office and introduce you to Colonel Krotchnik. She's a fun girl really, has a bit of a thing for me. Krotchie will see your story gets passed."

We went back to our hotels to write our stories, PP to the King David and I to the far more humble Eldan. Apparently even a humble Brit tit'n bum tabloid could keep its correspondents in better style than Lord Golliwog could. Obviously PP had put out of his mind the little bit of unpleasantness that the British Army had experienced at the King David in 1948. Actually, PP wasn't too bad guy as he picked me up later with my story and drove me to the Army Censor's Office. When we walked in, the tough-looking woman at the front desk got up and greeted PP as if he were an old friend. In a voice with a heavy Eastern European accent, she said:


"Percy, you old Pervert. Vhat interesting things heff you brought today? Does your young friend heff a news story as well? Rega, vun minute and I'll get a jobnik to help your friend."

The gaunt wiry woman walked to the far end of the office without one wiggle of her narrow hips. I looked at her desk and the name on the plate was Colonel Chava Krotchnik. So this was Percy's secret love, Krotchie, career censor. I looked around the office. The room was large, full of mostly women soldiers wielding red pencils on copy in various languages. I wondered why there were so few men in the office when I realised that it went against the Israeli male sense of macho to perform Army service in a non-combat position. My speculations on the Israeli male ego were interrupted by Colonel Krotchnik's jobnik:

"Sir. Your concept of the underlying Hebrew in the Finance Minister's text is vague at best. Your copy also betrays a grasp of English syntax that I can best term tenuous. At least, you have not revealed the identities of the Shin Bet 'spooks' as you call them, so I will not alter that little bit of sarcasm about our country. With your permission, however, I would like to work on your text and improve it. If you will tell me where you are staying, I will deliver the copy personally, well before your deadline."

Why did I take all this arrogant crap from Krotchie's jobnik? Because I couldn't think of what to say to Tamar, the soldier I had met and loved on my first day in Israel and who had been in my thoughts ever since. She was even more beautiful at work, dressed in her everyday uniform, sans weekend makeup. Tamar was a natural beauty, combining the ruggedness of the desert with the lushness of the kibbutzim and moshavim all rolled together with the beauty of Jerusalem. Jerusalem. That reminded me that I was like the woman in the Song of Songs, searching for her lover all over the streets of Jerusalem. In the Song of Songs, the lovers conveniently meet in bed. I found my love by chance in the Censor's Office. Tamar, intelligent girl that she was, sensed my confusion and leaned over and whispered:

"You don't know me. We'll meet later." I took Tamar's cue:

"Well Private Yaakov, I am sorry that the story doesn't meet your exceedingly high standards. I usually write travel pieces and this is my first work as a correspondent. I would be pleased if you could use your valuable experience to assist me. You can courier the copy to me at the Eldan."

Colonel Krotchnik finished her cursory examination of her old Pervert's copy and stamped it with what I assumed was the Hebrew word for Approved. I caught Krotchie giving Pervert's hand a squeeze and remembered Percy saying they had a thing going. On the way back to the hotel, Percy expanded on exactly what the "thing" was:

"Keep this under your hat, Chris old boy. I have a date with Krotchie tonight. Says she has something interesting in leather for me. Likes it a little rough, you know. Lovely girl. Doesn't want commitment, just a partner willing to do it her way."

Yes, Col Krotchnik would take her riding crop to the King David Hotel tonight and play horsy whilst whipping Purves' buttocks into a red, welted fury. You know what English men and Army broads are like. The strange relationship of Krotchie and the Pervert gave me food for thought but I had more important things to ponder. I had found Tamar and this time I wouldn't let her go. Percy must have noticed Tamar as well:

"Actually, if Krotchie hadn't insisted on pleasuring me tonight, I might have had a go at that little Private you were chatting up. What was so dashed interesting? I can only imagine what you had to talk about. She's a real beauty I say. Did you make a date with her?" 

"No, we just talked about the story I wrote. She wouldn't pass it so we were discussing what needed to be changed. Private Yaakov was being helpful, just like you said they would be."

I returned to the hotel and waited anxiously for Tamar to bring my story. Finally the telephone rang and the clerk informed me, in a voice that sounded as if he thought this was the wrong room, that a soldier was inquiring after me. I assured him that I was expecting a soldier from the Army Censor and that I would be down right away.

Tamar had my copy, neatly retyped and stamped with the Army's Hebrew mark of approval. Tamar handed it to me with a smile. I looked it over. It was hardly the same story, Tamar had reworked it so that it flowed better and the paragraphs were arranged in the proper sequence. Tamar had a sense of what was important to an Israeli that I wouldn't have grasped in a month, never mind the short week I had spent in Israel. I had to admit that Tamar's version was much better than what I had originally written. Tamar had talent as an editor. Furthermore, the copy was ready well before my deadline. I turned the story over to the clerk for faxing to Toronto and made sure that he heard me say:

"I want to thank you very much, Private Yaakov. May I invite you to dinner as a way of saying that I appreciate your work?"

Tamar grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of the dining room.

"Why that would be nice. You don't know how bad Army food can be. …..OK, the clerk can't hear us. Forget the dinner, Christopher. I want that big stiff zain of yours stirring up my insides again. Take me to your room and make love to me. We must hurry, though. I must return to the barracks before eight tonight. Otherwise, Colonel Krotchnik will give me shit for staying out late again."

"Relax, Tamar. Your Colonel Krotchnik is probably at the King David right now, dressed in full leathers and beating Percival Purves' arse to a purple pulp, according to what Percy told me. Don't worry about Colonel Krotchnik catching you AWOL. It takes a long time for a dominatrix to perform her sado-masochism act properly. Your Colonel will be out later than you tonight. So, let's take it slow and easy. Who knows when we will ever have this chance again?"

Tamar relaxed a little and let me take her hand. I wouldn't let her get away and I wasn't about to be rushed. We took the back stairs up to my room. I wasn't sure if the Israeli Army approved of horny foreigners boinking a member of their fighting machine. Besides that, Tamar seemed to be afraid of being reported AWOL in my bedroom. 

Having made it without being seen, I started to undress Tamar's regular uniform. I didn't fit very well and she was wearing the same Army-style underwear as when we first 10 days before. Tamar's only concession to style was a gold chain around her ankle. Tamar was shivering because I had turned the air conditioning on full blast to get the room down to Canadian standards of coolness. I undressed quickly and took her by the hand and pulled down the bedsheets. 

Tamar pulled the covers up and cuddled up to me to get warm. Tonight, she would get laid Canadian-style. I put my arms around Tamar so I could bring her warm, naked body to mine. I wanted to feel her enormous tits flatten against my chest. I held her so tight that I could feel her erect nipples dig into my chest. Tamar started to paw and grab at my dick. The first time we fucked, I was so tired that I hadn't realised how young and inexperienced Tamar was. In fact, I was so tired that I let Tamar screw me rather than take the initiative. I thought it was about time I started giving directions:

"Tamar. Please slow down. I am over the jet lag so please let me make love to you the way I want to. And I'll be on top this time."

"What are you saying? Israeli men like the woman on the top. They call it the passive-aggressive position."

So that's how Mossi gave it to Tamar it all the time. Well, she would be in for the treat of her short sex life tonight.

"Tamar, Canadian men are different from Israelis. Just let me take over and I will show you the Canadian way of enjoying good sex."

Like the obedient soldier she was, Tamar decided to take her orders from me. I slowly explored Tamar's rock-solid body. My hands moved gently along the smooth curve of Tamar's hips and over her thin waist. I felt her ribs move in and out with rapid breathing. My hand touched the base of Tamar's huge, firm tit. Tamar responded to my hand on her tit with a slight shudder. I was in luck. Those big tits weren't just for show. Tamar had sensitive tits and I would caress them until she was in a sexual frenzy.

Tamar's responses and the feel of her tits had its effect on me. An immediate message went from my brain to my dick: "Head to Dick: Get ready for a good one. Hot woman in bed." My dick responded by getting harder and harder and crawling up Tamar's stomach. Tamar moved closer for a better feel. I gently moved my free hand over her breast, firm enough so that I didn't tickle but not so firm that I hurt. Breasts as sensitive as Tamar's required my special touch. Finally, with my hand on her tit but not touching the nipple, I began to suck on the nipple and play with its erectness with my tongue. Tamar acknowledged that she was with a tit expert.

"Oh Chris. Your touch is so sweet. Mossi never touches me like that."

Eat your heart out Mossi. Maybe you've got your career but I've got your woman in bed with me and she really loves it. Tamar grabbed my wrist and tried to push it downward on her stomach. "Slowly," I said, "I want to make this moment last." I gave each tit all the attention they deserved. Did I mention how big Tamar's tits were? It took me some time to smother each of these enormous tits with kisses, just as it takes more time to climb Mount Everest than to climb one of the Laurentians.

I moved my hand over Tamar's flat, firm stomach. My hand gently rubbed Tamar's black, wet bush on the mound. Tamar had so much fur on her snatch and it was so wet I thought I was stroking a wet animal. At this point, Tamar bit my shoulder without realizing it, leaving a bruise that I would carry back to Canada. Tamar was breathless as if she was on a forced march with full kit. I was pushing her sexually as no man had before. I passed over her bush and my hand went down the inside of her thigh. Tamar was so wet that she had begun to trickle don her legs. I went down her leg to her knee, gently caressing under her knee. Tamar eagerly parted her legs, saying:




A Date with Tamar Ch. 2



"Now, Chris, now. I want you now."

Like her Sergeant, I ignored her pleas. I was pitiless with my foreplay. I slowly ran my free hand up her thigh and kept the other hand pressuring Tamar's breast. I parted her pussy lips with my ring finger and forefinger and gently searched for her cunt with my middle finger. It was flowing wet like the river of Banias in Galilee. I gently moved my now wet finger upwards until I felt it gliding up her swollen, erect clitoris. I moved back down and up several times until Tamar's moans signaled that she was almost coming. Then I moved closer to the top, never touching the top until Tamar exploded in screams of orgasm. Then I moved my finger to the tip of her clitoris and gently caressed it, keeping Tamar in ecstasy for what seemed to me like an eternity. Finally she stopped and I took my fingers away.

"Ohevi, Ohevi. No man has ever done that to me. I thought I would never stop. Now, shove that big, hard zain in there like you're bayoneting me. Kill this soldier with that weapon of yours. Don't make me wait any more."

I really wanted to be obliging to such a beautiful woman as Tamar but I had something else urgent before my dick got into action. I got into position between Tamar's legs as if I was going to slip her some dick but then backed off teasingly. Then I put my arms around her thighs, spread them apart and began my patented all-Canadian muff dive. Did I mention that Canadians are the world's greatest hockey players and muff divers? It's true. Both began as a French sport but were refined in Canada to their present day form. My hockey isn't that great but Tamar was about to find out who holds the gold in muff diving.

I parted Tamar's lips again and let my tongue taste and feel Tamar's quivering snatch. Tamar was fresh and clean between her legs, tasting vaguely like watermelon. I moved my tongue up and down, over the inner lips, between them and to just below the clitoris, never on top of it. You can drive a woman wild by not putting pressure directly on the clitoris, always on the bottom side and never on the top. Not that Tamar needed encouragement to be wild. It was a good thing I had hold of her solid thighs or all that thrashing might have kept me away from my "work". I finally heard Tamar scream something in Hebrew, which I assumed announced another orgasm. Whatever Tamar said, I doubt it was phrased in Biblical Hebrew.

I stopped the tongue work and grabbed my dick. Tamar was utterly limp, without a trace of aggressiveness. The Canadian tongue had subdued the Israeli Army and I hadn't even used my best weapon yet, my dick. I moved up between Tamar's legs and put the tip of my dick at the opening of her cunt. I pushed at the opening without any result. I remembered that Tamar felt young and tight the first time we fucked but I didn't remember anything like this.

I waited for Tamar to relax from her second orgasm. I saw her eyes open and she tried to speak. I realized that Tamar had relaxed enough and I slipped my dick in an inch. Tamar grunted and didn't say a word. I stopped and withdrew a bit and generally played my dick around her opening. However, you can't stop a woman from talking, not even in the middle of a great fuck:

"Oh Christopher. Zeh tov meod. It's Great. Oh Chris. I've never oral sex and I've never had it slow like this. You're so good. Israeli men just ram it in. Work it in slow Ohevi."

Thanks for the feedback, Tamar, but I don't need to be told how to do my job. I worked my dick in slowly, pushing, withdrawing slightly, never in a hurry. Tamar tried to relax but she was enjoying herself too much at the hands of an expert. She would get excited at my slow zain, as she called it, and would tighten up again. Feeling each squeeze me would almost make me come and I would have to stop until she relaxed. The process to get my dick in took 10 minutes to just get me all in.

We just stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, my dick buried in Tamar, her legs holding me in and her hands holding my head. We stared in each other's eyes, as connected by our stares as we were down below. Tamar felt fantastic. Every inch of her gripped my dick firmly. I could feel Tamar's every muscle quiver as if she was about to come. What I remember most was how hot she felt inside, as if she wanted to give me back my dick in french-fried condition.

"I'm going to come. Fuck me hard Ohevi. Pump me with that zain."

I started to pump in and out and Tamar's eyes rolled up. She started to moan and scream and I could feel her tighten up more that I thought possible. Tamar's fingers dug into my back so deeply that I was sure I would find her nail polish in the scratches later. Under those conditions, I couldn't last and came in bucketfulls. The sperm lubricated the moving parts and was able to stroke faster. Tamar came with screams and thrashing and finally went limp again.

I rolled off Tamar and held her limp form in my arms. Finally, she came back to life and looked at my travel alarm.

"Chara! I didn't know it was so late. You must have been screwing me for hours and I was in such ecstasy that I never noticed the time."

"Tamar, don't leave me again. I have to get in contact with you again. I can't let you walk away from me after this."

"Chris, I don't want to leave but if I don't get back to the barracks soon, I'll be confined and we'll never see each other. Let me have a shower and I'll figure out a plan."

I turned down the air conditioning so that Tamar wouldn't be in such a rush to get dressed. I enjoyed watching Tamar shower and watching the water run off her curly bush hair and down her legs. Tamar dried herself and I did a quick cleaning as she was dressing. I walked Tamar from the Eldan to the bus station to get her bus back to the barracks. After a good fuck, and Tamar had just given me the best, I prefer to be quiet and appreciate the art that that went along with the job. This time it was different. I had to let Tamar know how I felt about her:

"Tamar, in Tel Aviv, you said that we couldn't meet again because I might find out your unit and where you are stationed. That little secret is out in the open now. I love you and you said that my dick was the best you've had. How can we meet again?"

"Ohevi, I have a three day pass coming to me and I can arrange to have it this weekend. Come with me tomorrow on a trip to the North. My family and Mossi's family live in Be'er Sheva so nobody will know us up there."

"I was thinking more long term, about how to bring you to Canada when you get out of the Army. My assignment is over and I'm supposed to fly home tomorrow."

"Ohevi, it's OK to think in the long term but you must live in the short term. No Israeli plans too far ahead the way things are here. We have to deal with how we get together now, not when I get out of the army. Can you or can't you spend the weekend with me?"

"Tamar, I want to spend this and every weekend with you. But my job is finished now that I've filed my story. Also, I'm out of money. I don't see how I can go anywhere with you this weekend."

"Can I introduce you to some good old-fashioned Jewish chutzpah. Call your newspaper and tell them that you just have to stay and get some man-in-the-street opinion on introduction of the new shekel. Tell them that you have a translator who will help out. Then tell them to send enough money to pay the translator and travel expenses. That's how an Israeli gets an expense account holiday, Ohevi."

I decided to give it a try. I bought Tamar some shwarma from a stand at the bus station. The last I saw of her that evening was a wave to me from the bus window. When I got back to my hotel, I called my office with Tamar's "man-in-the-street" proposal. To my surprise, they thought it was a great idea. The editor congratulated me on the story he obviously read while Tamar and I were having a fuck. He would get accounting working on the money right away. Tamar's idea was a winner, just like her reworked copy. As I hung up, I thought to myself, "There's something to this chutzpah business after all."



A Date With Tamar Ch. 3



I kissed Tamar goodbye and told her that we would meet again. The tears flowed in Tamar's eyes as she said that she was not as hopeful. Tamar couldn't promise me anything. I gave her my telephone number in Canada but she said that she couldn't afford to make any overseas calls and I must never call her family. She cried as she left me at the luggage security giving me a long, passionate and deep kiss before leaving for the bus stop. Tamar's face was lined with tears and worry. I sensed that this would be the last time I would see her. Frankly, I was kind of weepy myself. Who would ever recognize us as the happy, carefree couple we had been the last three days?

The security staff at check-in was not impressed with me. I was male, single and in a rush to catch my flight. The agent looked like my grandmother except older and more suspicious. She opened up my passport to see if the photo matched me. Not too likely, as I had shaved the beard and moustache I had in university. Granny looked me in the eye:

"Canadian, I see." I could see what was going through her mind. Every Israeli knew that Canadian passports were traded like baseball cards in the shouks. "Why did you come to Israel?"

"I'm a journalist. If you look a few pages down, I have the proper visa and work permit." I could see from her face that she thought all foreign newspapers printed a steady diet of anti-Israeli propaganda.

"I see. Did you pack your luggage yourself or did someone else do it for you?"

"Someone else packed my luggage. My girlfriend."

"I see. Where is your girlfriend? Is she travelling with you?"

"No, she's Israeli. She can't come to Canada with me just yet."

"I see. And how long have you and your girlfriend been acquainted?"

"A little bit over two weeks. I hope you aren't suspicious of Tamar. Tamar and I are in love."

"I see. You fell in love after knowing this Tamar after two weeks. Where did you visit in Israel and was this Tamar with you?"

Like an idiot, I mentioned that I had been north near the Lebanese border but I couldn't remember the name of the town. That did it. Granny started probing my luggage but came up with only my dirty underwear. Then Granny took my typewriter over to a bomb expert while another security guard started to take apart my single lens reflex camera.

I still had half a hope that I could make my flight when I heard a woman scream and a man shouting in Hebrew. I turned to see what was the problem and Tamar was screaming at me: "Chris! Be careful. Mossi has a knife!" That was redundant information because I could clearly see a young Israeli man running across the airport departure hall towards me with a knife in his hand. I must have been tired because I didn't run from my Israeli rival. All I could think of was how that long hunting knife reflected the lights from the ceiling. Fortunately, two Israeli bystanders tackled what I assumed was Tamar's resentful boyfriend. The knife skidded harmlessly across the terrazzo floor of the departure hall.

The security guards who arrested Mossi took their orders from a woman in her late 30's. She didn't have a uniform like the guards, just typical street clothes like any other Israeli woman. She asked Tamar a few questions and another security guard took her away, although they didn't put her in an armlock. The leader came over to Granny and talked in Hebrew to the security guards fondling my underwear. She shook her head incredulously and turned to me:

"Are you the one called Chris? I don't know what to make of all this. The guards think you want to hijack the airplane. On the other hand, this young man obviously wants to kill you so your plot must be very complex. I'll have to detain you while I sort this out. Give me your passport and ticket please. I can't allow you on an El Al flight while you're under suspicion. Livshitz! Take this so-called tourist and search him!"

I hadn't noticed that a burly soldier had quietly walked up behind me and trained his Uzi at parts of me that I preferred he wouldn't shoot at. Without words, he motioned to a small room. I didn't hesitate one second. Once the door was shut, Livshitz said: "Take off clothes." Livshitz' conversation didn't improve much as he went through my pockets and looked over my notebook. He left me standing in the cold draft of an air conditioner as he left with the contents of my pockets and returned with a pair of latex gloves.

"Bend over. Spread"

Impressed that Livshitz could put three words together, I did as he asked. At that point, I don't know if I was displaying nervousness or the aftereffects of too much falafel washed down with Nesher beer. All I know was that, when I bent over, I cut a fart that turned the small room into a miniature version of the men's bathroom at the Tel Aviv Bus station. Livshitz staggered back but then started poking angrily around my rectum for whatever it was he was looking for. The pain was excruciating but I couldn't give him any pleasure by acknowledging it. Finally, Livshitz stopped poking, threw the gloves in a wastebasket and said: "Put on clothes."

When I was fully dressed, Livshitz led me down to another room and sat me down on my sore ass at a table. Livshitz sat down, cradling his Uzi in his lap, on the opposite side of the table at the end. The woman who had told him to search me entered the room along with a uniformed policeman and another man dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. The woman sat down and deliberately arranged my passport, ticket, a pad of paper and two pens in front of her. I had seen this act before on television and it didn't intimidate me. All I could think of was my sore ass and my missed flight. In addition, I was concerned about what had happened to Tamar. If Mossi couldn't kill me, would he kill Tamar? Finally, the woman spoke in a soft Hebrew-accented voice:

"I am Daniellah Argov of El Al security. I don't like this kind of incident happening when I'm on duty. It frightens our passengers and it doesn't look good for El Al. I intend to find out what happened and why this happened. I believe you have already met Sgt. Dov Livshitz of Zahal. Also assisting me in my investigation is Lieutenant Ze'ev Kinnor of the Lod Police Detachment and Agent Shlomo Galil of Shin Bet. If we determine that you're a criminal or a security risk, one of these two gentlemen will assume responsibility. Now, you will tell me everything. What are you doing in Israel, who is that woman, why does that man want to kill you? I must advise you that they are being interrogated elsewhere. If we find that they have a different story, you're in deep trouble."

Kinnor and Galil just sat in silence and scowled at me. Livshitz kept fondling his Uzi. Obviously Daniellah wanted to sing the part of the good cop in this quartet. It wasn't a difficult part for her to play because she was definitely the best looking of my four interrogators. Daniellah had a bit of mileage on her but she wasn't middle aged yet. I put her in her mid-30's. Like most Israeli women, she had dark, shoulder-length hair and brown eyes. A business-like suit hid Daniellah's tits from my inquiring eyes but I assumed they were big, if Tamar was a typical example of an Israeli woman. Her fine Semitic features were marred by a stern expression, which I assumed was intended to increase her intimidation factor. 

I began my story by telling them how I was a travel writer doing a travel story about Israel. Tamar Ya'akov was an off-duty soldier I met at my hotel in Tel Aviv. (Chapter 1) I said that I thought that the man with the knife was her boyfriend whom I only knew as "Mossi." Tamar had been stood up by Mossi on the Friday evening I landed in Israel. She decided that I would be her friend that night and she took me to a club.

Daniellah interrupted. "Exactly how friendly were you two"

"Tamar stayed with me that night and we made love. Actually, Tamar was fantastic in bed. I want to take her to Canada with me and marry me."

Livshitz stood up and pointed his Uzi at me. "OK, Dani, I've heard enough. This man violated a female Israeli soldier his first day in the country and now he wants her to desert from the Army. Just let me take him outside and execute him for inciting treason."

So Livshitz could put more than three words together. Daniellah snapped at him: "Sit down Livshitz. You're just insulted because he farted in your face. I told you that would happen if you insisted on rectal examinations of every suspect. Now, this is my investigation and we'll do it my way." Daniellah turned to me: "So you became lovers. Please tell me about your night of love."

I told them everything about my first night with Tamar. Daniellah pursued the minutest detail, how long was our foreplay, who was on top and if Tamar had reached orgasm. Finally, Daniellah asked: "Was that the only time you made love?"

I was afraid that Daniellah would ask me about other women I might have fucked and I would have to tell about the zonah I met near the bus station. Not knowing the status of prostitution in Israel, I was relieved not to have to tell that story. I related the story of how I spent the next week travelling around Israel in search of Tamar among the young soldiers by the road side but finally met her again in the Army Censor's office. (Chapter 2) Daniellah interrupted:

"I can check out your movements from your hotel receipts. Tell me about the next time you had sex with Tamar."

I told about how Tamar had rewritten my story I submitted for approval. She arrived in uniform at my hotel but had quickly shed her uniform and was in my bed begging for foreign zain. Strangely enough, I was starting to feel good about telling these four about Tamar's and my sexual exploits. I plunged into the details of where my hands went, where and what Tamar's hands explored and where my zain plunged and explored. Daniellah started to give me a different kind of good feeling. She got a dreamy expression on her face and I felt her foot nudge mine. When I got to the part about going down on Tamar, Lieutenant Kinnor jumped up:

"I've had enough of this. This man's a sick pervert. A real man doesn't kiss a woman down there. Let me take him to the Lod jail where he can rot with the finest flashers and pedophiles in all Israel."

"Sit down Kinnor. This is still my investigation as long as it concerns an incident in my airport. Continue, please, and remember to count the orgasms for me."

I continued to the end, adding an extra orgasm for Tamar. Well, it was only a slight exaggeration and Daniellah was obviously interested how I was on top this time. By now, she had taken off her shoe and I could feel her bare foot caressing my leg above my socks. Non-religious Israeli women never wore nylons, I assumed, because of the heat. I suppose that it also allowed the Israeli male quicker access inside their women's pants without fighting an extra layer of panty hose

"Is that all? Was that the last time you made love? I still don't understand why Pvt. Ya'akov is not in uniform tonight. I want all the truth. Tell me what else happened. Kinnor, get some Tempo or Kinley for our suspect to drink. He must be getting thirsty from all his talking."

When Lieutenant Kinnor came back, I took a few sips of orange Kinley. Then I shifted my weight to find the best way to sit on my aching ass. I resumed my story and Daniellah's foot resumed exploring my leg hairs.

"Tamar arrived the next day and announced that she had a week's leave from the Censor's office. That's why she was out of uniform. Tamar said that Col. Krotchnik was so happy the next day after her leathery tryst with Percival Purves that she would have granted Tamar a month's pass if she had asked. Col. Krotchnik thought it was a great idea to help out the foreign press. After all, hadn't she just been helpful to a British tabloid?"

Daniellah interrupted: "Galil, can you check out tomorrow whether this man Purves is MI-5. A journalist is a great cover for a spy, don't you think? Oh sorry, you're a journalist. Please continue."

"I rented a car from the hotel and put my luggage and Tamar's knapsack in the trunk. Tamar was out of uniform, dressed like one of the hundreds of Israeli teenagers I had seen on the street. She had sandals and a gold ankle chain that seemed to be de rigueur for young Israeli women. Her tight halter-top showed off her big tits to great effect. The low-cut jeans revealed an absence of handles on her hips. When Tamar walked, she flaunted a perfectly round navel on a flat stomach. Tamar's jeans were so tight that the crotch outlined a nice mound between her legs. I couldn't wait until I could get my dick poking around in there again."

Daniellah interrupted me. "I saw how your Tamar was dressed. Can you get on with the story and whether you had further sexual contact with this woman."

"On the road to Tel Aviv, Tamar kept staring straight ahead at the road. I think she didn't believe that I could cope with Israeli drivers. I kept assuring her that I had survived a car trip to Quebec so I knew how to handle bad driving. I was just as happy that Tamar was frozen in her seat as I could take quick glances at that beautiful body outlined in profile against the passing scenery."

"In Tel Aviv, we did a few interviews in Dizengoff Square. The problem with that was Israeli shoppers really are no brighter than the mall rats you find in Canada. So, I said:"

"'Tamar, these people are useless to me. They don't seem to know anything about national finances and even less about their personal finances. Where can I find Israelis who do some real work.'"

"'If you want real workers, Chris, we have to go to Haifa. Let's get back to the car.'"

"So off we went north to Haifa. Tamar said that the best way to interview working people in Haifa would be to talk to them as they cruised the Hadar in the evening. Tamar found a small inexpensive restaurant that she said would be filled with workers later. Since we hadn't had lunch, Tamar said that we should eat and she knew just what I would like. She called it 'white steak' and it came in a pita just like falafel. I had a bite and my jaw dropped on the table:" 

"'Tamar! This is a pork chop. This isn't 'white steak'. I thought that everything in Israel was kosher.'"

"'Don't you like it? Of course it's chazir but no Israeli would ever say that word. 'White steak' is an Israeli euphemism for pork. Don't you like it? We're told that all goyim love 'white steak.' Don't you like what I chose for you?'"

"'It's great, Tamar. Probably the best barbecued pork I've ever had. It's just not something that I expected from what I've read about Israel.'"

"'Chris, Israel is one of the most complicated places in the world. You can't learn about it after just a week here.'"

At that point Galil interrupted. "This foreigner obviously doesn't know that Yishai Ya'akov is prominent in the National Religious Party. Can't you imagine the scandal if the newspapers find out his daughter ate trefe food with a goy. Let me ensure that he never talks about this again."

That was the first time I had heard that Tamar was politically connected. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me. On the airplane to Israel, an Israeli had assured me that the Knesset had more political parties than the whole population of Israel. No wonder Tamar kept saying that her situation was complicated. Daniellah sang her good cop song again.

"Let the man finish the story and then we can determine if he's a threat to your precious politicians. So far, all I make out of his ramblings is that he's remarkably naive. Please continue."

"Tamar was right about meeting a lot of working types around the restaurant. I got great interviews, especially with Tamar translating. She could frame a question better than I could and she was more of a people person. I would have been jealous of her talents if I didn't love her so much. In Haifa, everyone was well informed about politics and had great answers. Do you need to know who we talked to in Haifa so you know I'm not a spy?'"

Daniellah replied: "We will find out ourselves. Right now, Shin Bet is checking your interview notes. Please proceed directly to your lovemaking."

"After we finished our interviews, we went to our hotel. It was also in the Hadar area. Tamar whispered in my ear on the way back that she couldn't wait for my 'big, circumcised zain,'" as I quoted her. Daniellah had to ask:

"How big is your zain, may I ask, and why is it circumcised if you claim that you aren't Jewish?"

I held my hands out, demonstrating a modest length in case I provoked penis envy amongst the men in the room who could put me in jail, torture me or have me executed. I was about to explain the relationship of circumcision to penile sanitation in Canada when Daniellah interrupted: "My first question was, 'what happened the next time you made love?'"

"OK, Tamar undid my belt and fly as soon as the room door was shut. She pulled down my pants and shorts without much ceremony. I watched as Tamar looked at my zain longingly as if she wanted to prolong the moment." I wasn't exactly sure if the foursome were well acquainted with English slang like "dick," "pecker," "prick," etc. Anyway, after two weeks in Israel, and a week of screwing Tamar, I was speaking Hebrish, even when describing sex.

"Finally, Tamar took my zain in her soft hands and brought it to her lips. Tamar's uncertainty about what to do made me realize that this was a first for her. I was about to get Tamar's first blowjob. Tamar's uncertainty seemed to melt as her estrogen and her instincts took over. Tamar first started to kiss the tip of my zain and moved along the shaft with her luscious lips. Her tongue then darted out hesitantly at first then more enthusiastically as she became accustomed to the taste."

Daniellah's foot went a little higher up my leg as she interrupted again: "So, what did Pvt. Ya'akov tell you your zain tasted like?"

"Actually, Tamar wasn't in a talking mood. She put my zain in my mouth and started sucking on it like she was a child with a lollipop. I thought I had died and gone to heaven so I wasn't in a mood for questions either. Tamar's mouth was heavenly on my zain. Slowly she took more and more of my zain into my mouth until she had it all except for about four centimeters.

"Tamar started to bob her head back and forth very quickly, grabbing my hips and pushing my zain in and out of her mouth. Tamar's black hair was bouncing all over the place like she was Zubin Mehta conducting the Israeli Philharmonic. Well, no zain can last long treated like that and I came in liters as the tip of my zain was hitting the back of Tamar's throat. Tamar suddenly coughed as her gag reflex took over. She coughed a mess right into my shorts that were hanging around my ankles."

"I held Tamar while she was coughing, not an easy job when your ankles are floating in a sticky mess. Finally, when Tamar had recovered, we cleaned up her face and the mess. Tamar sat on the side of the bed and I sat down beside her. Tamar's face was still red from her coughing, so I held her hand for a few minutes while she recovered."

"'Charah! That's awful, Chris. Your liquid tastes awful. How do the zonot ever manage to do that every day?'"

"'Well, Tamar, one difference is that a zonah will usually blow a man while he's wearing some rubber. I guess the taste of latex is better than the taste of a man's juices. I suppose you don't want to ever do that again, do you?'"

"'I didn't say that! Chris, you don't understand women very well, do you? A woman will endure the unpleasantness of childbirth to have the joy of motherhood. A woman can put up with dirty diapers so her child can grow up. I'll put up with that awful taste just to get your beautiful zain in my mouth again. I think that men must be childish if they think a little unpleasantness can keep a woman from a great pleasure. I love you and I love every pleasure your zain gives me.'"




A Date With Tamar Ch. 3



"OK, Tamar told me off but I couldn't care less. She had said the words that I was waiting for, that she loved me. I pulled her towards me. I kissed Tamar deeply in her mouth. She sucked in my tongue just the same way she had been sucking my dick. Tamar was a quick study. Then I kissed her on both of her bare shoulders. I sensed some incongruity in our situation because I was buck naked and Tamar was fully clothed. To correct the situation, I removed her halter top so I could feel her huge pair of tits against my chest. Tamar's tits fell out of the top and my dick stood right at attention again."

"Tamar's tits fascinated me. They were huge but every square centimeter of skin was sensitive. I played with them for what seemed like hours, kissing all around one tit while playing with the other, never touching the nipples. Tamar couldn't take the teasing and grabbed my head, forcing one nipple in my mouth, playing with her other nipple herself. For Tamar, sometimes enough was enough."

"Keeping Tamar's nipples in motion with my tongue, I undid the fly of Tamar's jeans. All day, I had watched her crotch with her sex graphically outlined. It was as if Tamar was teasing me by flaunting her navel and her hips every time she walked. I slid my hand between her jeans and her panties. It felt like the confined space was filled with liquid."

"I pulled her jeans down slightly and slid my hand into her skimpy panties. I worked my hand over wet, curly bush until I found where her lips parted. My middle finger entered a cauldron of wet, hot slit. Tamar was so wet that my finger slid easily up her slit, mounting her erect, throbbing clitoris. Tamar was so excited that just one pass over her clitoris was enough to send her into ecstasy. I kept light pressure and a sliding motion to keep her orgasm going."

"Daniellah interrupted: "How long could Tamar keep going, as you say?"

"Really, I don't know, Ms. Argov. It just seemed to me that the woman kept coming and coming and couldn't stop. When I was screwing Tamar, I never watched the clock. Tamar taught me how to live for the moment and to enjoy life. I didn't understand what l'chaim really meant until I met Tamar."

"I will put down 2 minutes for the purpose of my notes. Could you please continue."

"When Tamar stopped coming, two minutes as you wrote down, Tamar was as limp as a rag. I pulled off her jeans without any protest from her. Then I rolled down her panties and threw them on top of the discarded jeans. Tamar reached down and spread her legs and her lips. She mumbled weakly: 'Oh Chris, Chris. I want you.' That and some Hebrew I didn't understand."

"I got between Tamar's spread legs. She brought up her knees to give me a better view of her Promised Land. Tamar reached down, grabbed my dick and placed it between her spread pussy lips. Tamar knew where it belonged. I pushed forward and Tamar yielded to my pressure. Damn, the woman was tight. Fortunately she was also wet and I could slowly slide in a little, back off and then slide in a little further every time. Every time I pushed in a little further, Tamar started to become more and more excited until she came again. Since Tamar tightened every time she came, I couldn't do anything but stop and enjoy Tamar enjoying herself."

"It took a lot of work, but I finally got my dick all the way in. Tamar had stopped coming and had loosened up a little. I started to stroke in and out slowly at first and then picking up speed. I managed to grab one of Tamar's tits with a free hand and gently played with one erect nipple at the same tempo as I was stroking in and out. Man, my dick had traveled past the Promised Land and was in the Garden of Eden."

"When Tamar blew me off, it was so total that I could have kept fucking her all night if she had been an average woman. But Tamar wasn't average. I don't know if all Israeli women are as hot-blooded as Tamar but she was able to slowly work up one last orgasm as my zain picked up speed. As Tamar came one last time, she clamped on to my zain as I pushed it home. There was no way that I could prevent coming myself, with my zain caught somewhere in Paradise and Tamar screaming from joy. I couldn't stop myself and I shot off my load again."

"By now, I was exhausted and so was Tamar. We just dropped off to sleep in each other's arms, me naked and Tamar with her halter top rolled up over her tits. I slept the sleep of the totally decadent that night."

By now, Daniellah's foot was firmly in my crotch, rubbing on a nice woody. I don't exactly know why my dick had gone stiff. Maybe it was happy memories of making love to Tamar, maybe I enjoyed Daniellah's clandestine footsie game so much or maybe it was all the Kinley I had been drinking. The men were also becoming more and more restless as I was talking. So, I asked:

"Can we take a break. I have to pee now"

Daniellah withdrew her foot and that took a bit of pressure off my bladder. "That's a good idea. Livshitz, take our suspect to the sherutim and watch him carefully. I need to go to the sherutim myself."

Daniellah left and Livshitz grabbed my arm with his Uzi-free hand. We marched down the corridor to a small bathroom. Livshitz motioned towards a urinal and stood against the opposite wall, weapon in hand. I unzipped, took out my weapon and tried to pee without success. Have you ever had your sphincter tighten up because you had a gun trained on your back? Livshitz started to get impatient and shoved his Uzi in my back

"You pee now! I don't have all night to stand here watching you play with your zain."

That did it and I finally let go. When I zipped up, I turned and asked Livshitz:

"If you want to pee, I can hold your gun to your back and you can see how easy it is."

"You're too funny, you perverted piece of charah. Get back to the interrogation room."

Livshitz turned his Uzi over to Kinnor and left, presumably to the sherutim. Kinnor didn't display the same gun fetish as Livshitz, so I relaxed a bit. I began to think about how I would tell the rest of the story. I had gained Tamar for myself in Haifa but I began to lose her the next day. I went over the events of the day in my mind and placed them in order for the security foursome.

To Be Continued...



A Date With Tamar Ch. 4



I waited in the interrogation room for what seemed like an eternity. My sense of time told me that it took me half an hour to pee, thanks to Livshitz' Uzi in my back. My interrogator, Daniellah Argov, was taking even longer. Random thoughts flashed through my head as I waited. What was this delay all about? Was she ordering up a thumbscrew to help with my interrogation?

Finally Daniellah returned. I noticed that she was a bit red and flushed underneath her nicely-tanned skin. "I must be handling this interrogation well from my side," I thought. "My interrogator got so horny from my confession that she's been beating her meat in the bathroom." Pleased with myself that I had, in my own way, reached out and touched someone, I flashed Daniellah a smile. Daniellah responded with a wink, then resumed her stern visage. As she opened her note pad, her foot resumed playing with my ankle. These Israeli women are very well co-ordinated, I thought.

"Now that we're all refreshed, may we resume the interrogation? I believe you said that you were in Haifa? Where did you go the next day?

There they were arrayed before me, my four interrogators. Lieut. Ze'ev Kinnor was a cop secure in the belief that I was a pervert on a mission to seduce Israeli womanhood. Shlomo Galil was the internal security spook who wished he were James Bronstein of the Mossad, hobnobbing with fellow CIA and KGB agents, rather than interrogating mere tourists. Sgt. Dov Livshitz was just a garden variety psychopath, totally happy in a profession, where he could inflict maximum pain and humiliation on his fellow man.

Daniellah Argov was the hard one to figure out. She had a sisterly wholesomeness about her, if your sister happened to be Jewish. Yet, she could display roughness and hardness when interrogating. Obviously, she took her duties seriously about running a clean, safe airport. Also, her footsie game wasn't sisterly and she definitely had a healthy interest in the sex life of the tourist. Since Daniellah was the one in charge here, I decided to pitch my story to her obvious interest in sex.

"Fine. Tamar and I showered and had breakfast. By now, I was enjoying the white cheese and tomatoes for Israeli breakfast. Tamar obviously was enjoying getting Canadian zain every night. Let's say, we were adapting to each other. At breakfast, I told Tamar that I had had enough of talking to urban Israelis about the monetary crisis and that I wanted to talk to rural people like kibbutzniks. Tamar said:"

"'Are you sure you know what you're doing, Chris? Kibbutznikim never carry money. They're shielded from real life by the way the kibbutz owns everything except for their underwear.'"

"'I'm surprised at you, Tamar. You were the one that said we should make the most of our expense account living. I agree that kibbutzniks may not contribute much to my story but the Canadian image of Israel is that of a farmer on a kibbutz with a pitchfork in one hand and an Uzi in the other. So the first reason is that my editor will be looking for an interview with kibbutzniks. The other reason is that I want to make love to you somewhere it's quiet. Somewhere in the country would be great."

Livshitz started fingering his Uzi and growled at me: "Are you making fun of my mother because she was a Pioneer on a kibbutz? Dani, can I take this shmuk outside for a few minutes and teach him some respect for my mother and the Pioneers?"

Daniellah glared at Livshitz as her foot rode up the calf of my leg and along my thigh. "Be quiet. I think he's telling the truth. Foreigners think all Israel lives on a kibbutz. Please continue. Did you have the opportunity to make love to Tamar in the back seat of your car when you drove through the countryside? I have heard that foreigners like to make love in the back seat of a car." 

"No, Ms. Argov. Have you tried to find a secluded spot in the north of Israel? Tamar wouldn't give me any details on where we were going, so I had to concentrate on her directions on the drive north from Haifa. The car climbed until we finally entered a narrow valley. The road sign said Metullah and it didn't look like a kibbutz at all. In fact, Metullah was obviously a resort town from all the hotels, motels, chalets and restaurants. I complained to Tamar:"

"'This is just a resort town. I mean, it's the nicest resort town I've seen in all Israel and maybe the world. But I'm sure that there's just beautiful people here like in downtown Tel Aviv. Why did you bring me here?'"

"'Just keep driving, Chris and you'll find out soon enough.'"

I drove past the hotel strip. At the end of the main street was a large building, the reason for Tamar's mysterious demeanor. I was dumbfounded: 'Would you look at that? It's a real hockey rink. I thought that Israelis didn't play hockey.'"

"'We don't. Canadian Jews donated this facility to Israel on the theory that 'If you build it, they will come.' That unfortunately only works for baseball fields. We have no hockey team in Israel and it's used mostly by figure skaters. Since I knew that Canadians were so crazy about hockey that Only a Canadian would try and play the game in a desert country, I had to show this to you.'"

"We drove past the hockey rink, as close as we could to the Lebanese border. There were a few Arab workers straggling through the maze of barbed wire that constituted the Customs/Army post. Tamar explained that Israel is chronically short of workers and that these workers drove for hours to work In Israel. They had to leave Israel every evening, by law."

"We had coffee in one of the chalets with a view of Mt. Hermon. There was no snow at this time of the year but Tamar assured me that Israelis skied on Mt. Hermon in the winter. I thought that this might be the right time to intimate to Tamar that I was after something a little more long term than a night in Tel Aviv or a few days of her leave. I told Tamar that a Canadian would only give up hockey for a woman like her. Whether she didn't understand the importance of hockey or just wanted to avoid commitment, she just smiled."

Daniellah interjected: "Did you screw Tamar in Metullah? Remember that you are still under suspicion and this place is close to the Lebanese border."

"No, Ms. Argov. Metullah was too expensive, especially for the cheap newspaper I work for. We drove towards the Golan Heights. Tamar pointed out that we were passing through the Hula Lakes. I was a little bit late for the lakes because they had been drained and were now under intensive cultivation. We arrived at the kibbutz and I could hardly contain my disappointment."

"'Tamar, this is just a four-star hotel out in the country. You promised me a real kibbutz.'"

"'Chris, the hotel is run by the kibbutz as a sideline. You must trust me that you'll get to talk to real farmers.'"

"We checked in and Tamar got into a long conversation with the clerk, presumably about my mission to interview the kibbutzniks. The clerk called in a rather ordinary-looking guy in an open collar white shirt who introduced himself as the secretary of the kibbutz. Tamar had another animated Hebrew conversation with the secretary. It was obvious that she did a complete number on him because he just raised his hands in defeat and waved us out a side door from the hotel lobby."

"We seemed to have the run of the kibbutz thanks to whatever Tamar had told the secretary. Man, was there ever a variety of people on this kibbutz. We talked to farmers as they were returning their machinery to the kibbutz' machine shop. We found teachers on their way to pick up their toddlers from the beit yeladim. We even interrupted artists welding up who knows what the sculpture was meant to symbolize. 'Probably, their application to work in the machine shop was rejected,' I ventured to Tamar."

"After interviewing the kibbutzniks, I started to write my story in our room. Tamar sat in the side chair watching me for a few minutes and finally said: 'Chris, your typing is painful to watch. Can I type and you can tell me what to write?'"

"Typing never was my best skill so I let Tamar take over. As I told her what I wanted to say in my article, I noticed that Tamar actually wasn't paying any attention to my dictation. In fact, she was writing the story herself. My ego was deflated as I looked over Tamar's shoulder and discovered that Tamar's work was better than mine. What could I do but sit down and watch Tamar's fingers fly over the keys and do all my work."

"'Why should I worry if Tamar takes over', I thought. 'This is a real soft touch for me having someone else do my work. The newspaper is getting a better story, thanks to Tamar and, by the time I get back, I'll be so well-laid and happy that I won't be the same problem employee that I was when I left. In fact, when I marry Tamar, I should be so well-adjusted that I'll be in line for the "Lord Golliwog Employee of the Year" award.'"

"I was lost with my thoughts and fantasizing about our future life in Toronto, working together, writing together and living together. I didn't even hear Tamar tear the last sheet of paper with our story out of the typewriter. The first clue I had that Tamar was finished was her hot, sweet breath in my ear as she spoke the words I had been waiting for all day. Tamar displayed her best Sabra personality and proceeded directly to the point:"

"'Let's fuck.'"

I couldn't help noticing that I now had a narrow Israeli foot firmly in my crotch, toes caressing my growing woodie. At least there were two of us in the room enjoying the interrogation.

"'Sounds like a good idea, my love, but shouldn't I read the story first? Then, we should fax it before my office closes.'"

"'You keep forgetting the six hour time difference, my foreign lover. Do you think you can keep fucking me for six hours straight?'"

"Without waiting for my answer, Tamar unbuttoned my shirt and began caressing my chest. She reached all the way around to my back. As her hands glided up my rib cage, I lost all my willpower. Any responsibility I had for my story or loyalty to Lord Golliwog's publishing empire evaporated. My zain was now my boss, not my editor with all his goddamn staff meetings. There was only Tamar, me and our relationship in my world."

Daniellah interrupted. "Would you characterize your relationship with Pvt. Ya'akov as one where she was dominant and you were submissive?"

"Not at all, Ms. Argov. It was a relationship of perfect equality. I like the personality of Israeli women that they know what they want and they aren't shy to ask for it. They also like a man who knows what he wants as well but they respond to gentleness. I think we demonstrated to each other our respective masculine and feminine sides, just like two modern people of the 80's. If I may continue."

"Tamar undid my belt and I undid her jeans. They just slid off her slim hips, dropping to her sandals. Tamar tried to climb out of her jeans but her sandals caught. I thought the moment would be lost but Tamar quickly undid her sandals and pulled my pants off in one motion. I stood up, climbed out of my pants and held Tamar as close as I could without crushing her."

"My stiff zain pressed against Tamar's furry beaver, sex to sex, through two layers of clothing. We stood there and kissed for minutes and then removed each other's shirt/halter top as if we were a beautifully choreographed ballet. Tamar's huge tits bobbed as I pulled her top off. As she pressed her tits into my chest, I could feel her erect, hard nipples."

Kinnor yawned: "You think erect nipples prove something? You just had the air conditioning turned too high. Is this foreign pervert trying to show that he can't work masgan?"

Daniellah glared at Kinnor this time. "Would you please be quiet and let the suspect finish his story. Then you can charge him with sexual crimes, if you have the evidence. Now the suspect can continue."

"Simultaneously, our hands went to each other's hips and we let the last vestiges of clothes slide to the floor. Without taking her eyes away from mine, Tamar managed to get my briefs off without hooking the elastic on my stiffy. Tamar's high cut panties clung to her thighs from her dampness. Tamar's bush tickled the underside of my zain as we hugged and swayed back and forth. We clung to each other, as if we had some sense that we would soon be torn apart."

"Tamar moved me towards the bed and we fell together on the sheets. Our lovemaking may have looked like two bodies randomly squirming on the sheets. Trust me, it wasn't anything like that. Our hands had plans, working around each other's body, arousing each other to new heights of passion. I thought I would shoot my load just from Tamar's hands on my back and listening to her moans of passion as I caressed and kissed her big tits."

As I worked my way down Tamar's body, I noticed that I could trace Tamar's career in clothes from all her tan lines. Tamar's hands and face were darkly tanned. Less darkly tanned were her arms, shoulders, stomach and feet. You could clearly make out the straps of her sandals she had been wearing the past two days. Inside her halter top and below the waist of her jeans, you could see the faint outline of a bikini. I guessed that some of her leave was well spent on the beach showing off that dynamite body."

I could see from their smiles that the three male interrogators agreed with my assessment of Tamar's body. Daniellah looked jealous so that was my sign to get on to the good part. "I digress. As my hand started to caress her mound through her big bush, Tamar panted:"

"'Chris. I want you to kiss me there like you did in Jerusalem."

"'And I want you to kiss my dick the same way you did in Haifa. The only way everybody gets what they want tonight is if we do a 69. Turn over on your side, my love."

The Secret Agent in Galil suddenly woke up. "What are these numbers? Livshitz, is 69 a secret code for Zahal? Is Pvt. Ya'akov revealing secrets"

Daniellah glared at Galil. "Be quiet Shlomo. It's not a secret code. I'll explain it to you some day. Let the suspect continue." Livshitz looked puzzled and Kinnor just snickered.

"Tamar took my zain in her mouth and I simultaneously got my tongue into her soaking wet pussy. Tamar tasted clean and feminine, even though she hadn't showered all day. Healthy woman always smell good there. I let my tongue slide up her slit, wet tongue gently caressing wet pussy whilst tickled by curly long hair. Tamar licked my zain as if she had been trained from birth for oral sex. The woman was a fast learner."

"Tamar had, under most circumstances, unshakable concentration. I had tried to turn her on while she was typing but she was as cold as Livshitz' Uzi when she was working. Let me give her some tongue in the beaver, and Tamar's mind would halt as she felt her orgasm building. So, I wasn't surprised when my dick popped out of Tamar's mouth and lay loosely in her hand. Tamar was now groaning as was about to come. I kept working my tongue up and down the groove until Tamar's whole body convulsed in my arms. Tamar's groans became screams but I wouldn't stop until she was utterly drained. When she had finished, she said:"

""Oh Chris, that was so great. I simply must take care of you now. Let me on top of you. That was the way we first made love. I want to show you how much better you've made me as a lover.'"

"Tamar held my zain in her hand and squatted until the tip was pressing against the opening of her vagina. Even if we hadn't done a 69, I think we would have both been wet. The tension had been building all day and now we were about to get as close as a man and woman can get physically. Tamar was tight and it took her a bit of effort to get me in a centimeter."

"Tamar had another orgasm just from the tip of my zain. I thought she would fall off, her head tossed and eyes rolled so much. Tamar's orgasm subsided enough that she turned to the job at hand. She slowly slid me in, rising slightly when I pressed her too hard inside. Tamar worked me in slowly, and it was work, she was so tight. Tamar said she wanted to take care of me but I could tell, the way she stopped at certain points that she was taking care of herself as well."

"When Tamar had me totally enveloped, she dropped to her knees , threw her head back and started to grind up and down on my zain. Up and down she went rhythmically, slowly at first and then picking up tempo, as if she were fucking me in time to the music of a hora. If I may Sgt. Livshitz, I would like to compliment the Israeli Army on the physical training they give their soldiers. Tamar was inexhaustible as she slid up and down on my zain."

"Really, I thought that Tamar was going to grind my zain into a pulp. She had orgasm after orgasm as she worked my zain in and out. Her internal muscles became ever tighter, a further tribute to fine Zahal physical conditioning. Finally, there was no way that I could stand this treatment any longer. I came and came, I felt like I was filling Tamar with buckets of male hormones. I think I screamed and Tamar screamed as we came together, long and intensely.

"Tamar collapsed on top of me, panting and letting my now-limp zain slide out. Sticky, hot liquid poured over my stomach. 'I thought I would die trying to make you come. You really can last a long time can't you?' Tamar was so exhausted that she didn't even try to clean the mess between her legs. She just slid down my left side and lay with my arm as a pillow, her eyes staring dreamily at me.

"'Chris, I am so much in love with you. You are such a great lover.'"

"'I love you, Tamar more than any woman I've known. I want you with me, working, playing, screwing, every moment of my life.'"

"Tamar didn't answer me. Slowly her eyes shut and she fell asleep. I slid my arm out from under her head, cleaned up a bit of the sticky mess on my crotch, dressed and took my story downstairs to the hotel fax. When it was confirmed sent, I went back to the room, climbed in bed beside Tamar, curled up beside her and covered us both."

"When we got up, we showered in silence. Normally when a woman gives you the silent treatment, it means that something is wrong. This time was different. Everything was right between us and we were savouring the moment. Tamar and I were in love and we only had to work out the details. I decided to set out my plan at breakfast:"

"'Tamar, I meant it last night when I said I love you.'"

"'I meant it as well, Chris.'"

"'Then, what are we going to do about it? You have to break up with Mossi and I have to get you a visa to Canada. You have a real talent for writing and it won't be any problem for you to find work. As soon as you do, I want us to get married.'"

"'Chris, it's not all that easy. My family is very orthodox and they follow eastern customs even though we're Israelis. Love is not a reason for marriage in my family. Mizrakhi Jews are fond of arranged marriages and it's a given that they would never arrange a marriage with a goy for their daughter. Trust me Chris, even someone like Mossi is very hard for my family to take. If I decided to run away and marry you, they would sit sheva for me, in other words, treat me like I was dead. Strange to say, Chris, but I do value my family despite their faults.'"

"'Well, Tamar, can we try and work this out when I get back to Canada. Can I call you at the Army Censor's office and we can plan this out.'"

"'Please don't push me, Chris. Just try and enjoy what we have on this trip. I don't even know if I'll be alive when you get back to Canada. Israel has enemies that can strike at any moment. If that happens, I must leave all my makeup and skimpy underwear behind and go to the front, just like the men. All I can promise you is that we will stay in touch through the Army Censor's Office. If I'm still alive when I get out of the Army, we'll work something out.'"




A Date With Tamar Ch. 4



"To me, that was as good as accepting my proposal. 'OK, if you don't like to make plans for the long term, can we do something in the short term. Check-out time is 11:00 am. That would leave us enough time to make love at least twice. What do you think?'"

"'Oh Chris, I don't want to be completely difficult but I have some more bad news for you. I began menstruating this morning.'"

"'That's good news to me. It means that you're not pregnant. If you're family's so religious, how would you enjoy telling them that you're having a baby with a goy?'"

"'Chris, you never understand what I'm trying to tell you. An orthodox woman is taught that she is unclean when menstruating. She must not touch any man, not even her husband when she's menstruating. Do you think that I can leave my upbringing and my religion behind just because I'm in love with you? I really have sacrificed a lot of my Jewishness from the moment I met you. Look at me! I'm handing you food and I'm not even supposed to be doing that. You must understand that sex while menstruating is one taboo that I can't overcome just now, if ever. I want that big zain stirring up my insides right now more than anything else. But there is something else inside me that prevents me from having sex during my period. Can you understand me now?'"

"I learned to never push a point with Tamar. We talked aimlessly about how Israeli politics and how the religious parties would make political grounds because the government had allowed the revived Biblical shekel to devalue into nothing. Tamar told me the position of every party in the Knesset but there are so many of them that I just couldn't keep track of all their platforms. If I only knew then that she was from a political family, I would have paid more attention so I could understand this complex woman. Finally, Tamar got up and said:"

"'Let's hit the road. Now we'll head south and see what the people in the Negev think about the new shekel.'"

"On the way, we stopped in Kiryat Sh'moneh for gas. Tamar wanted to go into the mall across the street and get some of her favourite Elit chocolate bars. I've always wondered why you Israelis call malls "kanions." Your concept of a mall seems to be about 10-20 shops that happen to be under the same roof. Now, in Canada, a mall isn't a mall unless there are at least 100 stores along two or three floors. Now, that's what I call a real 'canyon'."

At this, Daniellah lost patience. "Could you just continue with your story and stop criticizing our country." I noticed Livshitz finger his Uzi again. Better continue, just as the lady instructed.

"We were just leaving to go back to the car when an ultra-orthodox woman in a long dress, hairnet and long sleeves called out: 'Mah shlomech, Tamar?'"

"It took me two weeks in Israel to figure out that 'Mah shlomech' was 'How are you?" in Hebrew. Tamar's face drained of colour and she began a Hebrew conversation with the woman, nervously pointing at me and the camera I was carrying. As I said, I hadn't learned much Hebrew but I could tell nervous Hebrew when I heard it. Finally, the ultra-orthodox woman gave me a warm shalom but declined my handshake. On the way back to the car, I asked:"

"'Tamar, who was that and what was that all about?'"

"That was Mossi's cousin, D'vorah. I forgot that this is really a small country and Mossi has some family here. She wanted to know who you were and what I was doing in Kiryat Sh'moneh.'"

"'So, what did you tell her?'"

"'I said the truth. You're a journalist from Canada, you don't know any Hebrew and I'm translating for you. Chris, do you think that she noticed that I was upset? Do you think she suspects anything about us?'"

"'If I noticed that you were nervous and I don't speak Hebrew, then D'vorah really suspects something. In fact, I suspect she's on the telephone to cousin Mossi or his family right now.'"

"'You're right, Chris. Run to the car. I have to get you out of the country immediately. Let me handle this mess.'"

"We started running and I asked, 'What mess? We just tell Mossi that it's over between you two. You love me and we're getting married as soon as you're out of the army.'"

"'You still don't know anything about Israelis, do you Chris? Mossi's family is from Morocco and they're partial to instant justice. As soon as they hear that I've been screwing a foreigner, they'll go meshuggah. Either Mossi or one of his brothers is sharpening up a knife and he's going to carve up whoever's been fooling around with his girlfriend. Now do you get it? If you don't take the next plane out of Israel, you're dead meat.'"

"Dead meat. That I understood. We ran to the car and I started to drive to the airport. Tamar made me stop and said that I hadn't learned how to drive in Israel either. Tamar climbed behind the wheel and smoked the tires. Tamar was no longer the careful high school driving course graduate. Tamar went full Israeli behind the wheel, 20 km/hr over the speed limit and weaving in and out of traffic, just like any other normal, healthy Israeli maniac on the road. We arrived at Lod in half the time it took me to drive north from Jerusalem."

"I checked out the car with the rental agency and rushed to the El Al desk. There was a place on the next flight to Toronto and I had enough time to get through security and change my money before boarding. I kissed Tamar goodbye and was just minding my own business in security when I was so rudely interrupted by Mossi and his knife. That's when we found ourselves together in this room and became such good friends."

Daniellah removed her foot from my crotch. She had worked my dick into a nice stiff woody again. Daniellah fumbled for her shoe under the table up and announced: "Let's go and check out this story with the other interrogators. Livshitz, keep an eye on the suspect until we get back." Kinnor and Galil left with Daniellah and I was left with a sullen Israeli soldier with a loaded Uzi. Livshitz still hadn't warmed up to me and sat there fingering his Uzi in the hope that I would try and make a run for freedom. Finally, Daniellah returned alone:

"El Al apologizes to you for any inconvenience. You are free to go anytime. Livshitz, I won't need you anymore."

Livshitz grunted, slung his Uzi over his shoulder and left Daniellah and me alone. Daniellah moved around to my side of the table and sat on the edge with her skirt riding slightly above her knee. She crossed her bare legs, flashing her white panties at me. She sat so that one leg was pointing towards me. I couldn't help but notice that Daniellah wore a heavy gold ankle chain, consisting of a series of linked hearts. 

"Your story checks out completely. We called your office in Toronto and they confirm your assignment and the dispatches on the days you say they were sent. Under interrogation, Tamar Ya'akov confirms all the times and dates of places you visited together. She also confirms the, ummh, other 'details' of your relationship. Tamar seems to consider you quite the stud, although I might question that as she appears to be relatively inexperienced."

"Can I see Tamar now, Ms. Argov. I must tell her how sorry I am that I got her in trouble."

"Please call me Daniellah now, not Ms. Argov. I am afraid that it's impossible for you to see Tamar at the moment. Some of Yishai Ya'akov's flunkies came to the airport accompanied by a Hasid in a black hat. When they Tamar away, the wouldn't tell us anything except that she had a lot of explaining to do to her father. I think it's best for both you and Tamar to forget about each other."

"But, why?"

"Your assailant and vengeful boyfriend is Moshe Bar-Lévi, nickname Mossi, formerly a low-level clerk in the Finance Ministry but now a resident of Lieutenant Kinnor's jail. Mossi was born in Morocco and his family made aliyah to Israel when he was a child. Although we Israelis tend to like all kinds of revenge, Moroccan Jews make it into an art form. Mossi will be spending time in prison for attempted assault but he will never forget the humiliation your zain caused his ego. If he ever finds out you're in Israel, he'll carve you up."

"Now what do I do? My flight has long gone. I have no friends here in Israel and El Al has my passport, my ticket and my money."

"Don't worry, we will return everything to you tomorrow and we will book you first class to Toronto on the next available flight. In the meantime, El Al will put you up at a hotel. I've made all the arrangements and will personally take you there. Let's go."

Actually Dainellah could be quite charming when she wasn't in interrogation mode. At some other time, I might have planned on asking a woman like Daniellah up to my hotel room to "see my etchings." That night, I was tired and I was emotionally devastated that I might never see Tamar again.

To Be Continued...



A Date With Tamar Ch. 5



I followed Daniellah, trying not to walk like an old man. I was stiff from too many hours of interrogation and my ass still ached as a result of Livshitz' style of interrogation. Daniellah barked out instructions in Hebrew to several security people as we walked down the corridors of the airport. This was the part of the airport that travelers never get to see, offices with telexes clattering, people screaming into telephones as if a crash was imminent, lost baggage in search of an owner; If you spent too much time here, you would never fly.

Daniellah walked in front of me making sure I had a full view of her cute little "tuches" swaying back and forth out of phase with her long dark hair hanging down her back. I wondered but Daniellah was coming on to me when I was a lot younger than she was. I assumed that it was because of the charm I had shown in the interrogation room. On the other hand, maybe Daniellah was an older woman with a taste for younger zain.

If I had met Daniellah instead of Tamar on my first day in Israel, it might have been fun to play an older woman's studmuffin. Instead, I met Daniellah on my way out of Israel and not under the best of circumstances. I had just lost the first woman I truly loved. I was tired and my ass had too many memories of Livshitz. No, Daniellah was all wrong for me tonight, I concluded. If only I knew exactly how wrong, I would have declined El Al's generous offer and slept on an airport bench.

We drove into Tel Aviv and Daniellah started asking all sorts of personal questions, if I had ever been married before, how many serious girlfriends I had, was it true that goyim were better at oral sex, etc. I thought I had told quite enough under interrogation so I said:

"Daniellah, don't you ever stop interrogating your suspects? Perhaps you could tell me a bit about yourself for a change?"

Daniellah did exactly that. She began with her childhood, playing doctor with the other children behind her apartment building. She moved on to her teenage years, losing her cherry in the second year of high school and distinguishing herself by working her way through her school's soccer team in her senior year. During Army service, Daniellah appeared to have serviced officers at all ranks, keeping Israel's fighting men in loving trim. If there was one theme in Daniellah's life, one could politely term it promiscuity.

Daniellah's life story terminated as we stopped in front of one of the poshest hotels in downtown Tel Aviv. When El Al apologizes, it apologizes with class. The hotel lobby spoke to me with these words: "You can't afford to stay here." Well, it was just like expense account life. I was about to enjoy a stay on somebody else's shekel.

Daniellah had a long discussion with the hotel clerk in Hebrew and then took a key. It was only on the way up to the room on the elevator that I noticed Daniellah's large shoulder bag. I was hoping that it contained some pajamas and spare underwear. I was a little ripe from all the sweating I had been doing recently and I would need a shower and a change of clothes.

When we got to the room, I said: "You've been really kind to me, Ms. Argov. You can just let me have the key and I'll take a taxi back to the airport."

"Nonsense. The other three released you into my custody and I can't have you escaping when I'm responsible. I want to see you settled in. Besides, I have a few things here for you," motioning to her shoulder bag.

Thinking that was my much-needed change of shorts, I went along with Daniellah. I let her open the door and I walked into the room first. The room was really luxurious, large and soundproof. I would need that to get a good sleep. I walked to the window, stood there with my hands on my hips and admired the night view of the city and the beach. 

I began to enjoy life again when Daniellah grabbed my arms from behind. Before I could react, I heard a double click as both hands were securely cuffed. Before I could react, she shoved me towards the bed so fast that my momentum left me sprawled on the middle of the bed, face down and my hands behind me. Daniellah turned me over and clamped a hand on my mouth. There was a smirk on her face and her voice had gone back to the interrogator of a few hours before.

"If you make the least little bit of noise, I'll tell everybody that you were trying to escape and I had to put you in handcuffs. Now, do everything I tell you. Otherwise I'll feed you to Livshitz."

My sore ass prompted a nod of consent out of my head. "Livshitz" worked just as well as if Daniellah had a gun in her hand.

Daniellah continued. "So you like Israeli women, do you, my little Canadian boy? Tonight I'll give you more Israeli woman than you can handle. I'll show you more woman than that little girl, Tamar, could show you in a year."

Daniellah got off me, picked up her shoulder bag and went into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and left me wondering what she was up to. I resented Daniellah calling Tamar a little girl. Tamar was the most mature woman I had ever known. What did Daniellah mean that she would show me more woman than Tamar possibly ever could?

I must have had 15 minutes to ponder all of this when the bathroom door finally opened. Daniellah emerged dressed in a black leather brassiere decorated with two stainless steel Magen Davids, from which protruded each pink nipple. Daniellah had studded bands on her arms and legs. Her fishnet stockings were suspended from a studded leather belt. Over her garter straps, she had pulled on split-crotch panties. All that equipment was menacing enough but Daniellah had done something to herself that dredged up a nightmare from my subconscious. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but I knew two things for certain. I was in shit and I was in the presence of another Israeli dominatrix.

"OK, lover boy. Let's see if Tamar was telling the truth about your manliness. Remember that we can easily rearrest her if she lied to us about you."

Daniellah undid my shoes and threw them in the corner. Then she undid my belt and zipper, pulling my pants off so roughly that I almost was dragged on to the floor. I raised myself slightly so Mistress Dani wouldn't rip what seemed to be my last pair of gaunches in the world. Daniellah roughly forced my knees apart and knelt in front of me.

"Well, well, Tamar was right. You are circumcised but your zain is much bigger than you showed us under interrogation. Normally, the men I interrogate always exaggerate size of their zain. You must be the only modest man in the world. Can you tell me why is that? Oh, never mind. I don't really need to know. The bottom line is that you lied to Mistress Dani. You must be punished for telling lies during interrogation."

I was grossly uncomfortable with the handcuffs digging in my back. Also, there was my sore ass, thanks to Livshitz. Despite all this, my dick began to stiffen in Daniellah's hands. She stopped examining its size and put my dick in her mouth. Daniellah slowly slid the tip of my dick to the back of her mouth and started sucking on my dick. I thought, how does she do that? Really, it was quite a credible blow job. Daniellah, OK Mistress Dani, had the most incredible method of touching the sides of the dick only with her lips and then clamping on the tip with the back of her tongue. I was kind of enjoying myself, even if I was cuffed and they were digging into my back.

When I finally came, Mistress Dani swallowed without any hesitation, no flinching and no making a face. Now, that's a tough woman for you. I speculated if it was the army training that made Mistress Dani such a tough customer. It was the best head of my life and there was no muss, no fuss afterwards. Now was the time for a compliment, in my opinion.

"That was great, Daniellah."

For no apparent reason at all, my compliment bought me a slap to the side of the head that made my left ear ring. "I said to be quiet, suspect. You have too much initiative for your own good. You also forgot to address me as Mistress Dani." Mistress Dani gave me another slap across the face in the other direction, setting my right ear ringing. Now, you will behave for the rest of the night or I will need to adjust your attitude further."

In the meekest voice I could raise over all those ringing noises, I said meekly: "As you wish Mistress Dani."

Mistress Dani gave a slight smile. "That's better, suspect." She had what she was after, my submission to her game.

Daniellah undid the cuffs and took off my jacket and T-shirt. She told me to lie down on the bed and I obeyed. I don't know at that point whether I feared Sgt. Livshitz or Mistress Dani more. One thing was certain. If I didn't come up with the right answer every time, no way was I going to get out of this in one piece.

Daniellah tied my arms and legs so I was spread-eagled on the bed. Then she got on top of me and began a routine of alternately caressing my naked body and then biting, pinching or scratching me with her nails or studs. I call it a cycle of moderate pain management and not really my idea of a fun evening. Whatever you want to call it, Mistress Dani knew her business and got my pecker hard and stiff again. She climbed off and removed the split crotch panties.

"Mistress Dani orders you to give my your tongue the same way you gave it to your young slut. You confessed to me that you have a tongue like a vibrator and I must confirm this."

Mistress Dani didn't give me any time to determine what the correct answer was for this one. She clamped her beaver tightly over my mouth. I managed to force my tongue out and up between her outer lips. Daniellah eased up a bit on the pressure and I could start to slide my tongue up and down between her inner lips. I managed to sort out the relative locations of cunt and clit and proceeded to provide a credible tongue job under the circumstances. I might even have found Mistress Dani a nice and juicy morsel to lick, if only the voluntary elements weren't missing from this encounter. Mistress Dani had spent part of her time productively in the bathroom, applying a flavoured douche. It was watermelon flavour, I believe.

Mistress Dani must have thought I was providing credible tongue service as she came suddenly, practically smothering me with her weight. Mistress Dani's lush bush hairs tickled my nose almost making me sneeze. The only thing that prevented me from sneezing was the pain from one of her garter belt clips jammed in my left ear. Yes, my ears had stopped ringing by now. Mistress Dani got up before I turned blue from lack of air and put her split-crotch panties on again.

With her back to me, I saw clearly what part of Mistress Dani had freaked me out. Mistress Dani had tied her hair into a tight bun at the back of her head, just like my Grade Two teacher, Chastity Flogchild. Old Miss Flogchild was a spinster who loved beating crap out of us little monsters, her term of endearment for children. Many was the time that my hand had turned red and raw thanks to Miss Flogchild's strapping. I often thought that it was a good idea that there wouldn't be any little Flogchildren. Or maybe there were and they didn't survive the abuse. How did Mistress Dani discover this secret fear?

As I recalled my memories of Miss Flogchild, my dick went limp. Mistress Dani looked disgusted. Wham! Another slap to the head. I summoned up the courage to meekly ask:

"Could Mistress Dani demonstrate again for the benefit of my zain her great talent as a fellatist?"

Mistress Dani smiled for the first time since my interrogation began and started sucking on my dick again. This time Mistress Dani went over the top with her blowjob. She knew precisely how to tease my cock so it went to the edge of orgasm but not over. Then she would stop and let my cock back off before sucking it in and out. Mistress Dani's great talent kept me hard and on the verge of coming but never quite going over the top.

Mistress Dani suddenly removed my dick from her mouth, reached inside her leather bra and pulled out a rubber pecker ring. She held it open with three fingers and placed it on the base of my pecker.

"There, that will keep you stiff while I carry out your punishment, you foreign scum."

Mistress Dani climbed on top of my zain. She parted her split-crotch panties and her pussy lips and just shoved my cock in without much ceremony. My dick sank in deeply, still rock hard, locked in a rubber-induced priapism. Mistress Dani was quite well-lubricated for an older woman or else I had given her the best tongue of her distinguished career. I wish I could tell you if Mistress Dani was tight or if she could tighten her cunt muscles at will. The fact is, I had no feeling in my dick except for the scratching of the panties as Mistress Dani bounced up and down on my dick.

I think that Mistress Dani also kept the nipple clips in her bra. They just seemed to appear out of nowhere, although Mistress Dani was so well stacked that I would never call a pair like that nowhere. Mistress Dani had one pair of clips for me and a larger pair for herself. I would have complimented on how stylish hers looked and how they matched the stainless steel Magen Davids but I was in torment. I admit that I have a low threshold of pain and I can give you my dentist's name to confirm this fact. I groaned in pain and begged her to take the nipple clips away. I should have known better. That's exactly the wrong way to get a motivate a dominatrix. Mistress Dani got her pleasure from my pain and she was going to getting the most pleasure out of me she could.

Mistress Dani put her hand inside the top of her split-crotch panties and started to vigorously masturbate, scratching my dick with her long fingernails near the base but below the pecker ring. Finally, she came again and collapsed on top of me and scratching my chest with her studded armbands. I hurt so much that I couldn't come. Daniellah climbed off me again.

"So you're still hard, my little foreign boy-toy. I think you're ready for some more fun. Wait here while Mistress Dani gets some more equipment."

Now what was I in for? Maybe it was the pain from the nipple clips plus my sore asshole that made time pass slowly. In addition to ass and nipple agony, the pecker ring had cut off circulation to my dick for so long that it was starting to turn purple and pulse with pain. Finally, I heard the toilet flush and Mistress Dani emerged from the bathroom with her new "equipment. One hand held a meter-long whip and the other hand had a paddle that looked like a half-sized cricket bat.

Mistress Dani undid one leg and one arm from her cuffs and told me to roll over. I got up with my stiff zain hanging down like a horse. Wham! Mistress Dani laid the cricket bat across one ass cheek hard enough to send the nipple clips flying. Then she laid another one on the other cheek. Both blows were placed on the cheeks with care, never near the asshole, so as to not aggravate the fine work done by Livshitz. "How thoughtful," I thought. "At least those damn clips are history."

Mistress Dani amused herself with the whip and then told me to get on my back again. Snap! On went the cuffs again and Mistress Dani climbed on top. In went my zain deeper than before, rolling the pecker ring right to the base. Mistress Dani pulled me out a bit and then ground down on my sore pecker again. Out. Grind in. Out. Grind in. An occasional crack of the whip if Mistress Dani thought my attention was wandering. The woman was tireless and in great shape for her age. And she never lost a nipple clip all evening.

So, that's how I spent my last night in Israel, as the unwilling sex slave of Mistress Dani. Finally, she exhausted herself with all the grinding, whipping and beating and just rolled off me. With a contented look on her face, she took off my cuffs and the pecker ring. Then she got undressed, let her hair loose from that terrifying bun and gave her final order before falling asleep:

"Hold me close, Chris. Please don't leave me now."

I moved close to Daniellah, put my arm around her and cupped one hand one of her big tits. I wasn't going anywhere. I thought a lot about escaping but I had a simple deterrent: What kind of story would anybody buy from a naked, scratched and bruised man with a purple pecker dangling between his legs? Not being in an inventive mood, I dropped off to sleep to await my fate in the morning. 

Actually, my fate wasn't all that terrible. Daniellah woke up first and picked up all her equipment before having a shower. Then she, or probably the airline, bought me a Canadian farm breakfast of sausages and eggs. They even had sliced bread instead of pita and the first peanut butter I had seen in two weeks. True to her word (I guess there must be some code of honour in the world of the dominatrix) Daniellah took me back to the airport, gave me my luggage and passport as well as a first class ticket to Toronto.

"Because of all that inconvenience due to the 'incident', I've bumped you up to first class. Enjoy, my darling Chris."

"That's not the only thing of mine that you've 'bumped up', Daniellah. I hope that the seats are soft in El Al's first class because, right now, my body aches all over."

I should have known better. Pain is a compliment in the ears of a dominatrix. Daniellah said "You're so sweet," hugged me and kissed me full tongue. She whispered in my ear:

"Goodbye Chris, my love. I'm never going to forget you. You've been such a good sport for me. Thanks for the fun. When can we do it again?"

Do that again? I think I mumbled: "I won't forget you either, Daniellah. But I have to get going. They've just made the call for first-class passengers." I gathered my carry-on luggage and hurried across the tarmac to my airplane.

I was so happy when that airplane took off. Hopefully, I was leaving the sadistic Mistress Dani behind, but I was also leaving behind Tamar, the soldier I loved and who loved me. On the other hand, getting laid by three different women and falling madly in love with one of them wasn't a bad score for two weeks in a small country. Mentally, I deducted a few points from my score for one of the women being a dominatrix and the other being a hooker.

The flight to Toronto was quite boring so I decided to make the best use of being "bumped up" to first class. As I flew back and sipped a Maccabe beer in the 747 first class cabin, the Israeli next to me was reading a Hebrew newspaper.

"Anything interesting in the paper," I asked, trying to be friendly.

"There's a weird story here about some guy from Morocco who attacked a tourist at the airport last night. The newspaper says that it was some kind of an affair of the heart. They arrested the tourist, the assailant and the woman they were fighting over."

Hoping that I might find out something about Tamar's fate, I asked: "Did they say what happened to any of them."

"There aren't any other details. But, I can tell you this, my friend. The way our security forces operate, the would-be assassin, the woman and the tourist were all in deep chara until they sorted this tzimmes out."

I thanked him for his insight and I settled my sore body back to my first-class lounger. 

The rest of my story is sad. I was never able to get in contact with Tamar again. I tried to call the Army Censor's office several times asking for Tamar Ya'akov but I mostly turned up clerks who spoke only Hebrew, Yiddish or Russian. There must be a real demand for Yiddish censors.

I even got hold of Major Krotchnik, as she now was. Apparently, shortly after my interrogation, Shin Bet "discovered" that Percival Purves actually did work for MI-5. The Foreign Ministry revoked Percy's work permit and he was put on the next British Airways flight to London. Apparently, Chava Krotchnik had quite a tearful farewell for Percy at the airport, which resulted in quite a long interrogation at the airport. You guessed it, Livshitz, Kinnor, Galil and Argov with Sgt. Livshitz leading the interrogation.




A Date With Tamar Ch. 5



I guess that this time, Livshitz was quite sympathetic to the plight of one of his superiors, although Daniellah Argov was the one insisting on performing a rectal examination this time. From Major Krotchnik's description of her rectal, one dominatrix isn't exactly respectful of another dominatrix. Major Krotchnik was only able to avoid a trip to Kinnor's dominatrix tank by claiming that she was actually torturing Percival for information. Livshitz had Chava Krotchnik demoted for carrying out an unauthorized operation.

I sympathized with Major Krotchnik but I pressed for some news about Tamar. The Major explained that the Ya'akov family had used their political influence to have Tamar transferred out of the Censor's office. Major Krotchnik was not exactly sure where Tamar was stationed but she believed it was guard duty outside a minor religious shrine near Be'er Sheva. We agreed that was a plausible destination because the family could keep an eye on her for the rest of her Army service. Colonel Krotchnik said that she didn't know anything else about Pvt. Tamar Ya'akov. We wished each other mazel tov in finding our lost lovers and we hung up.

That's how the trail for Tamar went cold. Other than the information Major Krotchnik gave me, I couldn't find out anything else about what happened to Tamar. However, I won't give up. Mossi or no Mossi, I will return to Israel and be reunited with my love.

Whatever happened to Daniellah Argov? I think that one of Mistress Dani's submissives is in the Mossad and he's stationed here in Toronto. No matter how often I change my unlisted number, I still get a call from her every month. Daniellah tells me how much she misses my big stick inside her cunt. I tell her that I don't miss at all her big stick hitting my ass. Even though I tell her that I really don't want to see her again, she insists that I take a winter holiday in Israel and meet her for a wild weekend in Eilat. I always must decline because I'm not too sure if Mossi is still looking for me.

The truth is that I still can feel Mistress Dani's leather whip cracking against one or the other of my bum cheeks. I don't think I could take a whole weekend of being caressed by leather in high speed motion or being bashed by Mistress Dani's cricket bat whenever I give her the wrong answer. Don't ask me what I think about nipple clips.

Last week Daniellah called to tell me that she applied for the job of El Al security chief at Malton airport. She says that she's looking forward to cruising the leather bars of Toronto with me and beating the Bejesus out of her favourite suspect. Right after that, I put in for a transfer to Whitehorse as the editor of the "Better Igloos and Muktuk" section of the Yukon Star. I'm almost positive that El Al never flies to Whitehorse and leather bars are completely unknown up there.