Up until the time I came to England at the age of 22 I had led quite a sheltered life. An Israeli born and brought up in Jerusalem, I did almost three years in the Israeli Defence Force and one year at university. Even in the army I met mainly other Israeli girls, as I spent my national service in a training camp training other female recruits. Only one thing out of the ordinary happened, when one day near the end of my service I was demonstrating firearms and one of the girls' machine-guns went off and several shells slammed into my right breast, shoulder and arm.
I was six months in hospital having operations but they could not save my right arm, and most of my shoulder, including the shoulder blade, part of my breast and two of my ribs had to be removed. This was a terrible shock for a girl of 21. But I spent the next year at university, training to be a teacher, and then as a treat my aunt invited me to London for a summer vacation.
One night she took me to dinner at the house of some friends, and there I met an Englishman, not Jewish but Gentile, who was in his late twenties, was handsome and funny and was not shocked by me being without an arm. I suppose being tall, well-proportioned and pretty, with a pale complexion and long black hair helped. We saw each other regularly, going together to pubs and nightclubs, and after a few dates he told me I should wear clothes that were less "frumpy".
I must admit that like many Jewish girls, even though I was not religious, I wore long skirts, thick tights, flat-heeled shoes, thick long-sleeved jumpers, and long overcoats, and wore my hair conservatively. My English boyfriend said he would take me out one weekend and buy me some sexier clothes. Despite, or perhaps because, of my upbringing, where I had never been able to choose my clothes, I found this exciting, and looked forward to this shopping spree.
I was quite surprised, even a little shocked, and certainly thrilled at the shops he took me to and the clothes he suggested I try. There was also a sexual thrill because I often needed the help of him or a shop assistant to zip me in and out of the dresses and skirts. After two days of shopping in high streets and markets.
I ended up with three tight black long-sleeved mini-dresses, one of wool, one of satin and the other of velvet; a knee-length black diaphanous dress without sleeves; a blue denim mini-skirt, blue denim mini-dress and blue denim jacket; a sleeveless white cotton mini-dress that flared out from the waist; a sleeveless combat camouflage mini-dress; three black mini skirts, one of leather, one of latex and the other of shiny PVC; a black PVC dress, a black rubber mini-dress; two black tops, one a rubber zip-up and the other a PVC lace-up.
Also a white cotton lace-up top; a pair of PVC knickers; a black leather biker's jacket, a black PVC biker's jacket; a long black PVC mackintosh; a shiny black sou'wester-type hat; a pair of black leather lace-up boots with stiletto heels; black leather pull-on knee-high boots; two pairs of black thigh boots, one flat heeled, the other with stilettos; a pair of black cowboy boots, a pair of black rubber riding boots and a pair of white thigh boots with low heels. He also bought me lingerie, including stockings and suspenders, and some items of make-up - lipstick, mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner, nail varnish.
Once, when we were in a little boutique down a side street buying the black rubber dress and the lace-up boots, the shop assistant, a young black man of about 18, came into the changing room and helped me dress. He laced up the boots and zipped up the dress with loving care and as he stood close to me I could feel his breath on me and smell him sweating with excitement.
His hands shook a little. I was excited, too. It was the closest I had ever stood to a black man, and he was touching me - touching my legs, my backside, my chest, my left shoulder, and the right side of my body where my right arm, shoulder and breast should have been. As he stood close, I could feel his erection against my backside. He asked me how I lost my arm, and when I told him he got even more aroused.
After parading for my boyfriend in front of the mirror and agreeing to let him buy the outfit, I went back into the cubicle with the black assistant behind me to get changed. Before he started undressing me, he grabbed me by my left shoulder and round my waist and started to kiss me. I was frightened and turned on at the same time. My heart was beating so much I felt it would burst out of my chest. I let him carry on. He then started to French kiss.
I didn't even let my boyfriend do this! I was shocked, but I loved it! I put my arm around him and he began to caress what was left of my right shoulder. It turned him on, obviously. After a minute or to I pulled away and stepped back, telling him I must get on. He nodded pathetically, and with a sick look on his face, helped me change.
I was disturbed by this encounter. So far I had not even made love to my boyfriend, and was still awaiting an appointment with the doctor to be examined for the pill. I was still a virgin. Yet for a moment in that cubicle I had been aroused by a black youth in a way I had never been before, not even by my boyfriend.
Supposing we had been somewhere else, like in a hotel room or the back of a car - would I have succumbed? I felt I would have. For the rest of the day, and all during next, I found myself looking at every black man and black youth that passed us. I was especially fascinated by seeing black men with white women, and seeing white women with black men's babies. I began to wonder what sex with a black man would be like.
Two days after this encounter my boyfriend took me to a nightclub. It was the first time I had ever been to a place like this. He helped me dress up in black fishnet hold-ups, PVC knickers, black rubber zip-up top, black rubber mini-skirt, leather biker's jacket and stiletto heeled thigh boots, and after I had made myself up he varnished the nails of my left hand, using black for one half and red for the other half of each nail.
I had never seen my face made up before. The red lipsticks really brought out the fullness of my lips and the mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow made my eyes look bigger. Standing back and looking at myself full length, I found I turned myself on. I looked dirty and sadistic. The fact that the right sleeve of my black leather biker's jacket was completely empty made me look sinister. I thought it was a pity I did not have an eye-patch just to make the look complete. I asked my boyfriend: "What do you think?"
"Let me show you," he said. He knelt down and began to lick my right boot, starting at the toe and licking the length of the foot, then sucking the heel, before moving up to the ankle, calf, knee and thigh. When he had licked, kissed and sucked the right boot, he repeated it with the left. Now I realised. My boyfriend was a pervert! I was shocked, hurt even, but again I was also excited and turned on. Nothing in my past had prepared me for this. It was new; it was thrilling.
By now he was kissing my thighs and my backside. "I will do anything for you," he said.
I laughed. "Anything?"
"Yes," he affirmed, between kisses. "Anything."
I decided to test him. I told him about the black sales assistant who had kissed me in the changing room of the boutique last Saturday when I was trying on the rubber dress and the lace-up boots. "Supposing I had wanted to have sex with him?" I asked. "Would you have let me?"
He was in front of me now, lifting my flared rubber mini-skirt and kissing my PVC knickers and smelling me. "Yes," he said.
I pushed him gently with my knee. "You mean that? I am still a virgin. I have only let you kiss and touch me. You would let a strange black man fuck me? That is what it would be. A fuck."
"Yes, was long as I could make love to you afterwards."
This was amazing! What a revelation!
Playfully, I kicked him to the floor and stuck a stiletto heel into his scrotum. "Would you let him fuck me in front of you?"
I pushed my heel against him even harder. "I am full of his semen. Would you still want to make love to me?"
"Oh, yes, yes!"
Placing my foot on his chest, I asked: "Supposing I suck his black cock, and he came in my mouth, would you still want to kiss me."
"If I spat his semen into your mouth, would you drink it? Would you swallow it?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"You're not normal. You're a sick pervert," I told him. "I know," he admitted. "I can't help it. I've always been a voyeur. I've always wanted my girlfriend to dress up in fetish gear and watch her flirt with other men and then have sex with them in front of me! I'll do anything for a woman like that."
I realised now just how much power I could have over him. All I had to do was dress in leather, rubber, PVC and thigh boots, and I would have him grovelling on the floor! Whereas before having only one arm and made me timid, I had now gained a new source of strength, and my boyfriend had given it to me. By dressing me up in fetish clothing, he had willingly let me have power over him and over other men. I was anxious to get to this nightclub and flirt with them in front of him. Perhaps there would be some handsome black youths.
Once he had dressed and I had rearranged my makeup we left his flat and walked to the nightclub, which was a few blocks away. This walk alone was an interesting experience. Holding my boyfriend round the waist with my one arm, while he held me round the hips, I received admiring glances from parties of men passing us in the opposite direction. Women, too, stared at me wide-eyed.
Passing cars beeped their horns and flashed their lights on and off, the men inside shouting remarks out of the windows. A group of black men went by and one turned to his mates and said: "Did you see the strawberry pips on that!" I asked my boyfriend what he meant. "Lips," he said. I noticed his penis was erect under his tight leather trousers.
As we neared the club a car pulled up alongside of us, and a young black man got out and said to my boyfriend: "I like your woman." He gave my boyfriend a card. It was for a swingers' club and he urged us to get in touch so he could tell us about the next meeting. Taking another look at me, he got back into his car.
In the queue outside the club there were many different kinds of people: punks, Goths, fetishists, grungy student types, common tarts, tourists, Arabs, Asians, Orientals and blacks. Because of this and because they were all into themselves and their own little world, we did not stand out or attract much attention. Inside my boyfriend bought himself a pint and me half a pint of lager, and we sat on high stools at a chest-high table.
I had never had an alcoholic beverage before, not even kosher wine, so I sipped my drink slowly. In the time it took me to drink half a pint, he drank three whole pints. This worried me - I began to wonder if he had a drinking problem. (He found this very funny when I told him later.)
Each time he went to the bar I looked around me and noticed little groups of men and women staring at me and talking about me. Their looks seemed to be admiring and I didn't think any of the talk was malicious, but I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. When I was on my second half pint a beautiful blonde girl in a black PVC cat suit and sadistic-looking shiny thigh boots came out of the crowds, kissed me on the cheek and shouted: "Well done!" She turned to my boyfriend and said: "You're a very lucky man!" Not long afterwards a man came up and asked where I had bought my thigh boots.
By this time I was feeling light-headed, as I was not used to drinking. We were also surrounded by smokers and I think some were smoking marijuana. I was getting quite high, and beginning to think again about what it would be like to have sex with a black man. I asked my boyfriend again whether he really meant it when he said he would like to watch me have sex with a black man and make love to me afterwards. Again he said: "Yes".
"What if it was more than one?" I asked.
"Like, how many?"
"I don't know - two, three, maybe even more."
"Well, the more the merrier."
I leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear. "What if I was swimming in the semen of black men - up my vagina, up my back passage, in my mouth...? Would you still want to make love to me?"
"And you would still love me?"
"I would love you even more. The more men you had the more I would worship you."
This was incredible. "Supposing I got addicted, and wanted black men every night?"
"I would still love and worship you."
"What if I got pregnant?"
"Phew! Better still."
"Look into my eyes and tell me you mean it."
He did so, and then I said: "I want to be a prostitute."
He looked at me long and hard in complete silence. Then he said: "Say that again."
"I said: I want to be a prostitute."
"You're making me go weak at the knees. But I'm not sure I believe you."
"I mean it," I said.
"Prove it," he challenged me.
"Alright," I said. "Let's leave now, and I will pick up a customer on the way home."
I had no idea how much prostitutes charged, but I decided I would quote a figure of Â£100 and see if anyone bought it. If they did not I would lower it. If they appeared too eager, I would find some way of increasing it.
When we were within a few hundred yards of my boyfriend's flat, we separated. He stood by a wall at the corner and I walked up and down in my rubber gear and stiletto-heeled thigh boots. It was quite an expensive area, made of up of big Regency and Victorian houses, and there were many expensive cars parked there, including SUVs, BMWs, Mercedes, Volvos and so on.
A few men passed me and stared at me, but despite turning round for a second look none approached me. After about ten minutes a passing SUV flashed its lights at me and a man leant across the passenger seat and opened the door. Looking up and down the street to make sure no one was watching.
I stepped off the curb between two parked cars and climbed into his SUV. He was about twenty, black, with corn-rolled hair and dressed in black leather trousers, a maroon PVC T-shirt, a black rubber coat, and dark tan knee-high boots with stacked heels. His car smelt of leather and dope and some kind of beat music was playing on the car radio.
As soon as I got in he noticed that I had only one arm. "How did that happen?"
I told him.
"Jewish, eh? A Jewish prostitute."
I was getting angry.
"I like that idea," he went on. "How much?"
I told him Â£150. He said it was too much - especially with a condom. I realised that I didn't have any condoms. "I'm talking about without a condom," I said.
He looked at me in astonishment. "You're on!" he said.
He found a parking spot, lowered the middle seat and crawled into the back of the car, followed by me. Taking seven Â£20 notes and a Â£10 note out of his pocket, he showed them to me, and rammed them down my right thigh boot. He then removed my biker's jacket and unlaced my PVC knickers.
He liked them. He sniffed them. He liked that too. I lay on my back and he lay on top of me. First he kissed me. While he kissed me he asked me questions. How old was I? Was I married? Did I have a boyfriend? Was he Israeli? Was he Jewish? He said: "I'm glad your boyfriend's white. It'll give me great pleasure to stretch your cunt and send you back to your pathetic white boyfriend with my spunk up your sore and aching cunt."
I wondered what he would say if he knew I was a virgin and not on the pill.
After a few minutes he grabbed my long black hair and pushed my head towards his knob. It was massive - about the length of my left forearm and hand and as thick as my ankle. A good thirty centimetres long, it was twice the size of my boyfriend's, which I had seen, caressed, kissed and sucked but not had inside me.
Now this massive black man was going to take my virginity even before my boyfriend had his chance and possibly even make me pregnant. For a moment I was afraid, but now he was ramming his cock in my mouth and I had no time to think. Within a matter of seconds he spurted his semen into my mouth and over my face.
"Swallow, bitch!" he commanded. I swallowed, and wiped his semen off my face with the palm of my hand and licked it.
Then he lifted my rubber skirt, spread my legs apart, and began rubbing my clitoris and my labia. Soon one finger was inside me, then another. "My, oh my, you're tight!" he said. "Are you sure you're a whore?"
"I haven't been doing it long," I said. I wasn't going to tell him it was my first time. But supposing I bled? Would there be blood? I didn't know. I was worried.
Finally he got three fingers in, and after ramming them up me several times, he slowly inserted his knob. I cried in pain. He told me to shush. I held him tightly with my left arm as he pushed deeper, pulled out, pushed deeper and deeper, pulled out again, pushed deeper and deeper still, until he began to pound in and out really hard - so hard I thought I would burst or go through the back of the car. To my astonishment I began to buck up and down with him and I could hear myself screaming with pleasure. Suddenly I wasn't in the back of a car anymore being fucked like a whore. I was in paradise, in heaven. It was unbelievable.
I was no longer 22-year-old Lital, ex-Israeli Army sergeant with an arm, a shoulder, two ribs and half a breast missing and an English boyfriend. I was a little glowing ball being propelled into outer space. The little ball was now being filled with something, something hot and creamy. Now I was lying on the shore, tossed there by a wave. I lay on my back with his penis still inside me, breathing heavily, my heart beating, my cunt glowing and tingling. He began to kiss me again, using his tongue like the black boy in the boutique.
After a while he helped me back on with my knickers and jacket. He asked for my phone number. I gave him my boyfriend's, saying he "understood," and he gave me his, written on part of a cigarette packet. "I'm gonna tell me friends about you," he said.
I stepped unsteadily out of the car. I did not know what to do. I had proved that I would become a prostitute but now I didn't know whether to go straight back to my boyfriend with the money and the proof or walk up and down some more and see if I could attract some more customers. I decided it would be unfair to keep him waiting. But then I remembered he had promised he would do anything for me. "Anything" included being kept waiting. So let's see if he's as good at keeping his word, I thought. Besides he had said "the more the merrier"!
So I walked up and down again and ten minutes later another car pulled up but the driver was white and I said I wasn't a prostitute but was on my way home from a fetish club and lived just around the corner. He looked embarrassed and drove off. This happened another two times in the next ten minutes, and after half an hour had passed I was about to give up when another SUV stopped and this time their were two black men in it.
I realised it was the same SUV and driver as before, and that he had come back with a friend, hoping I was still here. While the friend, who was also a Rastafarian, had sex with me in the back, my original client - and the man who had taken my virginity - was on his mobile phone to another friend, telling him of his amazing find. I was having my second terrific orgasm of the night when another car turned up with three more young black men inside.
I had left the nightclub with my white boyfriend at just after midnight. By three-thirty in the morning I had sucked the cocks of five black men and been fucked twice each by them all. I had Â£750 tucked down my thigh boots and a hot, wet, well-stretched cunt to prove it. Now was the time to see whether my boyfriend would indeed make love to me after five black men had cum inside me. If he didn't, I didn't care. I knew where I could find sex any time I wanted it.
When I found him, he was still leaning against the wall. He was cold and looked tired. I decided to liven him up. "Smell my breath," I said, breathing on him.
"It smells of spunk," he said.
"Five massive black cocks have come in my mouth," I told him. "And they fucked me twice each," I added. "Put your hand down my thigh boot."