If there are two things in life that I really hate, they must be: stereotyping and racism. So I have to warn you in advance that this story is about both of them. But it's a story that needs to be told because the ending is so satisfying.
I was born and grew up in New York City. One of the stereotypes that I would like to dispel right away is that all Jewish males are smart. I'm Jewish, but in high school I was only an average student. Still, my parents want me to go to college, so I applied around. I had been told by Guidance that southern colleges were easier to get into, so I applied to a couple of them. Not only was I accepted by both of the two I applied to, but "Ole Miss" even awarded me a scholarship. I found out later it was because they wanted "diversification" on the campus. They didn't want ALL of the students to be white Christians from the South, and since I was a New York City Jew, I was just what they wanted for diversification. So as strange as it might sound, I went to Ole Miss.
I had always loved sports, but I was never very good at it. Still, at Ole Miss when I volunteered to be business manager of the football team, they jumped at the chance to have me. After all, who would not want to have a genuine Jew as business manager?
And it was as manager of the football team that I got to meet Tricia (short for Patricia) Williamson. Tricia was one of the cheerleaders for the football team, and she fulfilled all of the qualifications: She was about five-six, 110 pounds, beautiful blonde hair, blue eyes and a figure that any girl would have died for.
She was not adverse to dating football players—as long as they were white, which was about half the team. Being business manager, I got to know her pretty well on the bus rides to other schools for games. As we all know, dark-haired Jews love blonde girls, so I asked her out—and was surprised when she accepted my invitation. The source of my attraction for her apparently was because I was from the big city of New York—almost an alien in other words.
My last name is "Miller," and I did not realize until she went into one of her rants while we were on a date that she was totally unaware that I was Jewish. She apparently did not know that "Miller" could be a Jewish name, ala Arthur Miller, and since I did not have a big hook nose, she never suspected a thing.
"You would have liked it a lot better here at Ole Miss in the old days," she said one night while we were on a date. "I was not here at that time of course, but my daddy, who went here, told me Ole Miss used to be a school for only white people from good families."
"Really?" I replied.
"Yes, and now look at all the colored who are here. Half of the football team is colored!"
"I know."
She leaned over conspiratorially. "It all started with the Jews, you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, back in the early sixties, the school had to start letting Jews in because of a court order. It all came from that Eisenhower—that's a Jewish name you know."
"No kidding?"
"Then it was only a matter of time before they had to start letting the coloreds in. The Jews made it possible."
"I'll be darned."
Tricia not only was very pretty, but to my surprise she also was sexually active, hotter than a southern firecracker in other words, and it was not long before we were doing it on a regular basis. I lived in one of the dorms with two other roommates, but they always went out drinking on Friday night. Tricia would come over shortly after they had left, and we would spend most of the evening fucking like rabbits. Despite having a sweet, pretty, innocent face, Tricia was sexually adventurous and ready to try any new position—or any new perversion. She always insisted on both of us doing it completely naked on top of the bed with no covers on, or up against the wall, also naked. And the door had to be left unlocked. I think the idea of possibly getting discovered appealed to her.
Also, she hated condoms. "I want to feel it squirt inside me," she said with a smile. So she made sure she took her pill regularly. This was okay with me because I didn't like condoms either.
One of the things I liked about her the most was her unusual blonde public hair. Instead of being rough and crinkly like most girls, her maidenhair was straight and silky, like southern corn silk. I loved licking it and pushing my tongue through it.
But despite the fact that she was a sexual treasure, I was beginning to get really pissed off at her because of her constant rants about the "coloreds" and about the "Jews." I decided I was going to dump her, but before doing so, I would have one final fling with her—one that would really surprise her.
Damon Williams, a black man from Jackson, Miss., was the captain of the football team and a good friend. When I told Damon about my plans, at first he was scared of the idea. "This is the South, you know," he said. But when I explained to him how there could not possibly be any repercussions, he started getting interested. The idea of a southern black man having sex with a beautiful blonde white cheerleader really appealed to him. But it was not only him.
"You have to line up seven other players," I said. "I'll leave that to you. You can pick anyone you want. The only requirement is: They have to be black."
Damon grinned. "It's a deal. When?"
"Line up in the hallway outside my room around eight p.m."
He shook my hand. "Will do."
