On my first trip to New York City--to visit a college buddy whose home was there--I was having trouble hailing a cab. Everybody else just barked, jumped in front of the cab, and hopped in while I stood there trying to politely flag a taxi, dumbfounded. That's the way you get a cab down South where I'm from.
I finally jumped in the back of a taxi a split second after a woman had hopped in from the other side. She screamed at me like a harpy until I finally got a word in edgewise and asked, in my most Southern gentlemanly manner, where she was going. Turns out she, too, was going to Long Island, so I suggested we split the fare. She changed her attitude in a hurry when she realized that it was in her best interest to go halfsies, as the fare would be astronomical all the way to Great Neck.
She was a very aggressive woman looking to be in her late 20s, about 10 years older than me at the time, and despite her conservative business suit, I could see she had a tight, petite body, with good-sized bulges on her chest, and nice legs. Having a full-featured face and dark eyes, straight, jet-black hair to her shoulders, and an olive complexion, she had a somewhat exotic look.
A New York Jew, she was fascinated with my Southerness. This was the late 1970s and, like so many people then who had never been below the Mason-Dixon line, the only person she was familiar with from the South was Jimmy Carter, then the President. Hearing my accent, she just assumed I was from Georgia. I'm not, but I was going to school in Atlanta at the time, so I just played up the Goyim from Georgia act making my first trip to the Big Apple. She really loosened up and laughed when I quoted the line from Stevie Wonder's Living for the City, "Skyscrapers and everything!" To be honest, I was intentionally laying on the thick Dixie persona purely for my own entertainment.
Before long, she was touching my arms and legs ever more, getting progressively closer to my crotch. She was tickled with my Southern accent and manners, and I'll always remember her asking me, in all seriousness, if I knew Jimmy Carter! Like all of us hillbillies hang out together weekends watching stock car racing while downing Moon Pies and RC Cola. I was tempted to tell her Jimmy was my third cousin twice removed, and that we liked to catch a beer buzz while fishing for catfish with his brother Billy, but somehow I restrained myself. Even so, I did ham it up with the cornbread & turnip greens, mint juleps on the veranda, and Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes bit.
Having never met a Southerner before, she was positively enthralled with me. Though I was not exactly fighting off her hands on me, I was not reciprocating, either, which just emboldened her that much more. Soon, she made her intentions abundantly clear--planting a huge wet kiss on my lips with plenty of tongue, holding me by the shoulders, and saying, "How'd you like to fuck a JAP (Jewish American Princess) right here in the taxi?"
I'd barely finished saying, "Well, I'd be most apprishative, ma'am," and she was unbuttoning her suit with one hand and my belt buckle with the other. But for her pearl necklace and earrings and my watch, we got completely naked, right there in the back seat of the Checker Cab! She looked positively amazing: an aerobic-instructor body with super-firm D-cup boobs, dark little nipples, a tiny, tight butt, legs like a ballet dancer's, and the thickest, blackest bush I've ever seen.
She was very aggressive and took complete charge of the sex, and I just played the meek Southern gentleman role that had so attracted her to me in the first place, saying things like, "My, oh, my, darlin', that does feel right nice," as she gave excellent head while grinding her crotch on my shin.
Of course, all this did not go unnoticed by our Middle Eastern driver, who tried his best to see the action in the rear-view mirror, which did not work too well, so he kept twisting his head around. When he did, she'd scream, "Watch the fucking road, Mustafa!" before resuming her sucking and fucking. So much for amicable Arab-Jewish relations! He could not really drive too well to begin with, and the rear-seat distraction only made matters worse, as tires screeched, horns blared, and he clipped the occasional curb on turns.