The woman who ran the hotel [where I was a bellhop] was attractive and liked me. She confided in me often that there was something about Jews she could not stand; she could spot them in a minute, no matter what their name was or what they looked like. There was a smell about them.
As the end of the season approached, the lady proprietor grew more interested in me. I had tried to maintain my distance. The night before the hotel closed, my lady boss was more attentive than ever. She suggested we have a farewell drink in her room. I was certainly aware of the season finale she was planning as I climbed the stairs to her room. She talked about my coming back the next summer. I thought of all the things she had said this summer: "Hitler is right, the Jews should all be destroyed" and "No Jew will ever set foot in this hotel." After a few drinks, we were in bed together. Strange how hate can be such an aphrodisiac. My hate grew into a tremendous erection and I thrust it inside of her. She was wet and ready, extremely passionate, moaned and groaned. I made certain that over all of these sounds she could hear me very clearly when I said into her ear, "That is a circumsized Jewish cock inside you. Do you think you'll get contaminated? Maybe even die? I am a Jew. You are being fucked by a Jew!" I exploded inside her. She said nothing, just breathed heavily and lay there as I left the room. (Lake George, N.Y., 1935)
from The Ragman's Son: An Autobiography by Kirk Douglas (Simon and Schuster, © 1988)
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