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.