Note to reader: This story has a slow build, so if you're looking for a quickie you may want to save it for later. Thanks.

September 1975, Denver

Daniel had a big decision to make. And he had to make it soon.

He was sitting in a lecture hall, lost in a daydream while waiting for the professor to arrive so class could begin. Daniel was beginning his sophomore year as an engineering major, and the fall semester was only three days old. His dilemma, and the big decision that was weighing on his mind, was whether he should have come back to college at all. 

It had always been drummed into Daniel’s head that he would go to college, study engineering, get his degree, and then he’d have it made. His parents reinforced this thought throughout his young life. This was a time when engineers were in high demand and graduating seniors, even the mediocre ones, had job offers mid-way through their senior years and would enter into well-paying positions right out of school. No beating the shoe leather trying to find a decent job for an engineer, not in those days.

It all had sounded good to Daniel. Until he actually had to study that shit. It was difficult material, stuff that he was not particularly interested in, and stuff that he now suspected for which his mind wasn’t properly equipped. And he hadn’t even gotten into the real engineering courses yet, he’d only had a few introductory and prerequisite courses. He was more of a right-brain kind of guy. He’d rather be playing his guitar.

His father was a big wheel in the oil business, and had always pushed Daniel in that direction. Dad had painted a rosy picture of a future that Daniel was now thinking he wouldn’t want. Dad had also helped him get a summer job that he had just left a few days earlier to go back to school. That was another part of the problem. 

“Is this seat taken, sir?”

Daniel stirred from his reverie and looked up. It was Chris, also now a sophomore. They had studied and partied together as freshmen.

“Chris, how the hell are ya?” Daniel said, as Chris took the seat next to him. “How was your summer?”

“Okay, man. Worked a lot. Drank a lot. Fucked a lot; my old girlfriend. Now back to the grind. How about you?”

“Oh, I worked a lot, too. Didn’t drink much, didn’t fuck at all.”

This surprised Chris. Daniel was a tall, slim, handsome, broad-shouldered guy, with long brown hair and sky-blue eyes, and usually popular with ladies on campus.

“Really? You have my condolences.” They laughed.

“Nah, just not much opportunity, I guess. I worked a ton of hours and got paid a lot of money. In fact, I’m wondering why I even came back to school. I’m thinking I shouldn’t have.”

“What? You gotta be kidding!”

“No kidding. I’m serious, Chris. I’m not cut out for this. I got mostly C’s and a few B’s last year, and I had to bust my ass to do that, and that was just the basic stuff. It doesn’t interest me and it’s not getting any easier. This summer, I made twelve hundred dollars a week, saved a small fortune. In Alaska, working on the pipeline. That’s more than twice what I’d make as an engineer, if I got a good job, which I would hate. And the foreman didn’t want me to go, said to call him anytime, he would hire me back at those wages, and it could last another two years. I could rack up a lotta dough.”

“Damn, Danny Boy, that’s good money. But what about your education? College…?”

“I don’t think this university is going anywhere. I could always come back later…”

Feedback squealed from the speakers mounted on the walls. A teaching assistant was adjusting the microphone and PA system. He went on to introduce himself, as well as a couple other TA’s, and discussed the course requirements. Finally he introduced the professor, Dr. Malarkey, and the lecture began.

Daniel wasn’t listening. His mind was preoccupied with other things. After about twenty minutes he got up, said goodbye to Chris, and walked out.

----

Daniel called his foreman and after a few tries, got him on the line. The foreman told him to get his butt to Fairbanks and check in at the company office there; he’d arrange transportation for him back to the site in the northern part of the state. He was already in with the union, so it would be treated as if he took a few days off. He told his father his intentions and was surprised when the old man wasn’t pissed-off like he thought he’d be. Make the big money while you can, he said, you can always go back to school.

He sold his car for cash to a dealer and bought a plane ticket. Over the summer, he’d put the car in storage because he would need it when he went back to school. But now he wouldn’t be needing it again anytime soon. He got into Fairbanks two days later, in the morning. By evening he was back in the construction camp in the same movable housing unit he’d lived in before. He went back to work the next morning.

Winter comes fast and hard in north Alaska. It was only mid-September but already cold and windy. Soon the weather turned bitter they were wearing Arctic clothing and woolen masks twelve hours a day.

The job might have paid well, but the work was hard, the days were long, and there wasn’t much to do otherwise. Life took on a certain monotony, day in, day out. Many of the workers would head into towns on Saturday nights to drink and raise hell, but Daniel only did that once. He didn’t find it to be much fun riding in an unheated van over a gravel road for an hour or more in sub-zero temperatures to get to some frontier town that was not much more than a block-long main street with three bars, a gas station, a market, general store, bank, diner and a Western Auto.

Daniel was a music lover. He hadn’t come to work with much baggage, but he did have his music: His guitar, dozens of tapes, earphones and his portable AM/FM cassette player. He fell into a routine of coming in at night, exhausted, would shower and then settle into his chair or his bunk with his music. He’d put on the earphones, listen to his tapes and blindly play along. He’d played in bands all through high school, sixties and seventies rock, but what he loved most was more traditional blues.

Being in the middle of nowhere, radio reception for the most part was nonexistent, and what stations he could receive on his little receiver tended to be semi-scrambled local stations from East-Outer-Bumfuck Alaska or Western Canada. But at night, there was one AM station that came in loud and clear. It was a blues station out of Chicago.

The evening disc jockey called himself Bernie Blue, and Daniel loved his show. He was on the air in Chicago five nights a week from seven p.m. until midnight, and played blues from all eras and areas, and would educate his listeners as he recapped the playlists, recounted the artists and backing musicians and told anecdotes about them. It was obvious that Bernie loved what he was doing. The passion dripped from the speakers as he spoke. Alaska time was three hours behind the Central Time Zone, so he left the air at nine. After work, this gave Daniel maybe two hours each night to listen, play along and learn. He started recording the shows so he could listen to them again and again.

There were a couple guys who would make runs into various towns as the camps slowly worked their way southward, and would take orders from the different workers for products and bring them back to them at camp. For a nice profit, of course. Most people ordered booze, beer, food items or personal products. Daniel got cases of blank cassettes from the Radio Shack or Sears or wherever. 

Week after week, Daniel worked ten-to-twelve hour days, laboring with the music in his head, looking forward to the evening time when he could listen to Bernie Blue on the radio from thousands of miles away and play along with the masters. He recorded the shows direct onto sixty-minute tapes, and filled up at least two a night. He cataloged and labeled everything so he could find a certain tune or artist easily. He hated when a tape would run out in the middle of a cool tune or during one of Bernie’s discourses.

Sometimes Bernie would have theme shows: Chicago blues, Delta blues, Memphis, Texas, Zydeco. Or blues guitar, or piano, or horns, or certain artists, and explain it with historical perspective and tie it all together for the listener. For Daniel, every show was like going to class, getting an education he could never get in college. Gradually, Daniel realized a couple things. He realized that he was becoming very knowledgeable about the music, and very adept at playing it in all its styles. More importantly, he realized what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to do what Bernie Blue was doing.

Daniel wrote Bernie a letter. He told him how much he dug his show, how much he was learning from him, and how inspired he was to do the same thing in his own life. He described his situation, working in the middle of nowhere in the wilderness tundra of Alaska, freezing twelve hours a day, and what a treat is was to come in at night and listen to his show. He made some requests, and asked him to play them in the last two hours of his show if he could, because that’s all he was able to hear most nights because of his work schedule and the time difference. He thanked him and said he’d be listening. 

A couple weeks later, at about eight-thirty on a Thursday night, Daniel was seated at his tiny desk listening to the radio, as usual. Outside it was twenty degrees below zero, and the gusting winds were rocking the house and making the chill factor another twenty degrees below that. He had just put a blank cassette into his recorder, and coming out of a commercial break, he got goosebumps when he heard Bernie’s voice. 

“This next set goes out to an avid listener of the program,” said Bernie Blue’s lush baritone voice. “A listener who’s way out on the edge. His name is Daniel, and he gets our signal way up in Alaska, out on the last frontier, freezing his butt off, working on the oil pipeline that hopefully someday soon will mean cheaper gas for all of us, and no more waiting for hours in gas lines. Thanks for listening, Daniel, and thanks for taking time to write in. And if you have any other requests, be sure to let me know.” Then the music kicked in. Bernie played all of his requests back-to-back. It took until the end of the show and Daniel got it all on tape. Daniel wrote another short letter thanking him, and put it in the mail the next day.

Daniel was very surprised when he received an envelope in the mail from the radio station. It was a short note from Bernie that told him to be sure to be listening a week from Friday night during the last half-hour of the show. He would be playing some tunes that, judging by his earlier requests, would knock his socks off. Daniel was listening that Friday, and Bernie was right, and their long-distance bond was beginning to set.

Thus began a correspondence between them that continued for fifteen months, during which Daniel had exactly one week off. In those days, long distance calling was very expensive and not always feasible or reliable, especially out in the outback of Alaska. So they became pen pals. Daniel liked having contact with anyone from out in the real world, especially someone who was taking the time and interest to serve as his far-off mentor. And Bernie liked having a listener who truly appreciated his work and was just as passionate about the music as he was.

Finally the time came when Daniel knew he had to get out. It was the dead of winter, and the project still had some months to go, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was tired all the time, and frozen most of the time, and sick of wind chill factors of -50 degrees. A few times his balls got so cold he thought they were frostbitten and they burned for hours as they thawed out. He gave his notice. Bernie had told him more than once that when he came back to the Lower 48, to look him up if he ever was in Chicago. He planned to do just that. The last thing he did before he boarded his flight in Anchorage was drop a letter in the mail to let Bernie Blue know he would be taking him up on his offer.

----

Daniel was ready for some time off. He’d banked over $80,000, so he could afford it. He flew home to spend a few days with his family and catch up with some friends, including a girl he’d known back in high school. Her name was Suzy and he bumped into her at a local bar. They were both lonely and horny and went home to her place and fucked that first night, and for a few nights after that. There had been female workers on the pipeline, and he’d laid a few of them, but they all were older and there wasn’t much of a connection. One gal, Wanda, had been a steady thing for a while. She was a skinny blonde from Texas, mid-thirties, divorced, and they hooked up once or twice every weekend for almost six months. She was the type to take control and give directions, do this here, do that there, suck on this, stick your tongue here, and she was a moaner, and she came like a fire hose. She loved to fuck and suck and he learned a lot even if he did pick up a few hickeys along the way. But they were convenience fucks. That’s what Suzy was to him, and vice versa.

He bought a new Volkswagen Westfalia. He thought that made sense because it was big enough to haul around all of his essentials, primarily clothes, books, music equipment and hundreds of tapes, plus he would never be homeless. He could live in it if he had to. 

“But what about college?” the old man said. 

“Later.”

He packed up the van, said goodbye to Mom and Dad, and headed for Chicago.

----

Daniel arrived in Chicago on a Tuesday afternoon and got a hotel room. First thing he did was take a shower, as he was pretty grungy after three days and nights in his van. He ordered some dinner. He set up his recorder and tuned in to the station. Bernie came on the air at seven and Daniel called him shortly thereafter. It rang for a while before Bernie answered.

Bernie was delighted to hear from him. He put him on hold for a moment while he put a long tune on the turntable so they would have a few minutes to chat. Daniel didn’t know exactly how to proceed because, even though Bernie had extended the invitation, he was unsure how much time he would be willing to devote to him.

“How long are you in town?” Bernie finally asked.

“No schedule, I’m flexible,” Daniel said. “I came here for one reason, to meet you. I’m looking forward to it. Whatever works for you will work for me.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“That would be great.” That’s what he’d hoped Bernie would say.

“Okay, let’s do it. Come to the station at six-thirty. That will give me time to prepare for my show, and I’ll show you around before we go on the air. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds great, Bernie. Thank you so much for taking the time.” He liked the way he’d said ‘we’.

Bernie said it was no problem and he was looking forward to it. He gave him directions to the station and told him to ring the bell and hold it down for a few seconds, and be patient, the staff leaves at five and the door will be locked.

----

The next evening Daniel rang the bell at six-thirty sharp. A couple minutes later the door was opened by a large man, perhaps six-four, with broad shoulders, huge arms, black skin and an Afro the size of a basketball.

“Daniel?”

“Yes. Bernie Blue?”

“In the flesh,” Bernie said, and stuck out his right hand, which was like a catcher’s mitt. They shook hands. “Come on in.”

The door latched behind them and Daniel followed him through a suite of offices and down a hallway to where the studios were located. Bernie gave him a quick tour of the facilities, and showed him all the music he’d pulled for the show. Soon it was time to go into the air studio. The drive-time jock had just wrapped up his shift and it was showtime for Bernie Blue.

Daniel had so many questions and didn’t know where to start. Bernie was smooth and it helped him to relax. Daniel marveled at how he made it look so easy, moving from tune to tune, the knowledge oozing out of him, playing commercials, and the way he’d comment about an advertiser every now and then, making you want to run down there right away and spend some money. No phoniness at all, pure sincerity, someone you would trust.

The five hours flew by so fast. Daniel couldn’t ask all the questions he wanted to because Bernie was asking him questions about his life: College, his family, Alaska, the pipeline. At midnight Bernie signed off. Daniel didn’t want it to end.

“Bernie, can I buy you a coffee or a beer or something?”

“Something sounds good,” he said.

Bernie led him to a bar down the street and around the corner. It was a small, neighborhood place with a jukebox and a TV on with the sound off. They took seats at the bar. Daniel ordered a bottle of beer, Bernie a scotch and soda. The drinks came and Bernie proposed a toast.

“To your future in broadcasting,” he said, and they drank. “So, you really think you want to get into this crazy business?”

“Yes, I do,” Daniel said. “My father is an engineer and he’s been pushing me in that direction my whole life. But that’s not for me. I had a year of it in college and hated it. I love music, I play guitar and piano. I worked the pipeline because the money was good. But I can’t tell you how desolate and lonely it was, especially in the winter. Damn it was cold. Thank God I found your show on the radio. I listened every night, and you are so knowledgeable and passionate, I could hear it in your voice. I soon realized it is what I want to do with my life.”

“Well, this business is hard on somebody starting out. No experience, you’ll need to start out in a small market, and it won’t pay much. Ya need an understanding woman because it’s a lot of hours, sometimes there’s groupies and you’re always picking up and moving somewhere else for a better gig in a bigger market. Tough on marriages, for sure.”

“Are you married, Bernie?”

“Was. Well, still am technically, but we been apart for over two years now. Great lady, I still love her, but a lot younger. She was a tiger in bed, though, let me yell ya. It was my fault really. I took her for granted, she strayed and had an affair. I got pissed, said some things I shouldn’t have and we split up. When I got my next job, I moved on and she stayed behind.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah.” He paused for a second, took a drink. “I still think about her.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

“Not for a long while now. She’s not coming here and I’m not going back. I miss her, but it’s old news. One of these days one of us will want to remarry and will file for divorce, I guess. Anyway, enough of that. First thing you should do is get a license.”

“License? I need a license?”

“Yeah, FCC requirement. It’s a piece of cake, study the book for a day or two, multiple-choice test. But you should get that, save you getting it later. The federal office is three blocks from here, do that while you’re in town. You don’t have a tape because you have no experience, so the best thing would be to identify where you want to work…”

“Anywhere but Alaska!” Daniel said, with a laugh.

“I hear that. But, I mean the stations that might hire you. Blues is not a mainstream format, as I’m sure you know. Chicago, and the station where I work, are exceptions. You’ll have to knock on doors, be relentless, and convincing and enthusiastic and charming. And it could take a while, you’ll have to be patient and have a thick skin, get used to rejection.”

“What the hell, I should be prepared. Girls have been blowing me off my whole life.”

Bernie laughed in his rich, warm baritone. They ordered another round, and then another. For two hours they talked, about the music and the artists and the business, until closing time.

“Tell you what,” Bernie said, draining his drink. “Give me a call in a couple days. I have an idea, a place I used to work. The GM is a good man, I’ll give him a call, see what he’s up to. He helped me along, that’s for sure. It’s a small market back east, but it’s only about thirty miles outside of D.C., and has a pretty strong signal, the tower is up on a mountain.”

“Oh wow, you’ll do that for me?”

“I’ll make the call, no guarantees. Call me the day after tomorrow. And get that license.”

----

Daniel went to the federal testing office the next morning. He told the lady behind the counter the reason he was there and she handed him a booklet and a sheet of paper with guidelines and relevant information. The booklet was a thin digest and glancing through it, looked like it contained pretty basic material. The woman told him they allowed an hour for the test, and they closed at four-thirty in the afternoon Monday through Friday, so show up before three-thirty. His plan was to study all day Thursday and Friday morning, and take the test Friday afternoon. He asked directions to a library, and was directed to the branch a few blocks away.

He studied all day and memorized all the key elements, band widths and frequencies and regulations and historical facts. He tested himself with the sample questions in the back of the booklet. He took the test Friday afternoon at two and was told he passed. The license would be mailed to his parents’ house, still his address of record.

At six-thirty he called the station and after the phone was finally answered and he waited ten minutes on hold, Bernie finally came on the line.

“Good news, I hope,” Bernie said. “I talked to my man, and he said to send you down. Said if you’re willing to go that far, he’ll talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s great Bernie, thank you so much.”

“It’s a black station in Virginia, but not too far from D.C., and has a strong signal. Plays soul and R&B, and Gospel and religion on Sundays. Reggie, he’s the General Manager, he digs the blues and he used to let me do a blues show. He’s toying with the idea of going twenty-four hours, they sign-off at midnight now, so they may need somebody for overnights. Now, you got a pen? Write this down.”

Bernie gave him all of the pertinent information: The call letters, address, names, numbers.

“I didn’t know your schedule so I told him you’d be there in a week-to-ten-days.”

“Damn, Bernie. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Someday a young listener will contact you the same way you did me. Help them out and we’ll call it even. Look, I gotta go, I’m on the air in six minutes. Good luck and keep in touch.”

----

It took a month and a half, but Daniel was hired. He sent Bernie a thank-you note.

He met with Reggie, and they hit it off immediately. Reggie was a huge black man with a big round face and a smile that could light up a room. The interview went well, but he was told it was a family-owned business, and decisions were made carefully, and slowly. Reggie liked the blues and thought a blues show would make a nice addition to their programming. Daniel called every other day for weeks, feeling like he was bugging the shit out of the man, before Reggie told him the plan.

The station was going to start staying on the air twenty-four hours around the clock from Fridays through Mondays. In other words, they would be adding a midnight-to-6 a.m. shift Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, and that would be his blues show. It wouldn’t pay much, and he’d have to sell enough ads to more than cover his salary, and in addition he’d be paid commission on his sales. Daniel trained with the different deejays for a couple weeks as he prepared, practiced in the production studio when it was open, and the station promoted the new show and hours constantly on the air and ordered new music. The record library was well-stocked, but not with new stuff. He also tagged along on some sales calls to learn the pitch.

Everyone who worked at the station was black, except the part-time engineer, the cleaning woman, and now Daniel. But everyone was friendly and seemed willing to accept him. Reggie set the tone and it trickled down. Most people he didn’t see much because they worked different shifts or were out of the office much of the time, but one person he saw a lot of was Norma, the receptionist/secretary. Norma was a cute, thin dark-skinned girl with an Afro, nineteen or twenty years old. She’d gone to secretarial school and wasn’t a great typist, so she kept the correction tape handy, but she was witty, had a good sense of humor and was sweet as a chocolate pie.

One morning Daniel was in the front office going over procedures with the sales manager when the door opened and a woman entered and had a brief conversation with Norma. He hadn’t noticed her because he and the manager were busily occupied, but later he got an odd warning from Norma.

“Daniel,” Norma said, “Did you see that woman that come in here a while ago?”

“No, who was it?”

“It was my aunt Dixie. She was asking about you.”

“Asking about me? Why?”

“She likes white boys.”

“She likes white boys?”

“Yup. And she was checking you out and she likes what she sees. Are you coming to the remote next weekend?”

She was referring to a live broadcast the next Saturday afternoon at one of their biggest advertisers, a car dealer. He was expected to be there to observe and learn.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“She’ll be there too. Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

“No, why?”

“Just be prepared.”

----

The first weekend on the air was a little shaky as Daniel became comfortable and got over his nervousness, but he soon adjusted and took pride in planning his shows. He’d been told the audience would be small at first, but the station kept promoting it heavily throughout the week, and he passed out cards and fliers when he was out and about trying to sell radio ads. 

On his second shift, at about 2:35 a.m. Sunday morning the phone light started flashing. So, somebody was out there listening. He had just put on a six-minute Buddy Guy track so he picked up. 

“Play ‘Three O'clock Blues’. Could you do that for me?” It was a breathy, sexy female voice, almost a whisper.

“Probably. Whose version?” he asked. 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be listening. In bed. By myself.”

He played the original by Lowell Fulson right at three o’clock after he did the station identification. “This next tune is a request,” he said into the microphone. “It goes out to the lady with the sexy voice. Three O’clock Blues.”

The next night he had a call in the first hour, some guy asking the name of a song he’d just played. Daniel felt good. Maybe his show was already catching on. Then she called again, the same sultry voice with the same request. 

“Play ‘Three O’clock Blues’ for me.”

“You must really like that song,” he said.

“I do,” she breathed. “I get off on it.”

He played B. B. King this time. He made a mental note to spend some time in the music library and find other covers of the song.

----

Daniel got the thumbs-up from management. Reggie had tuned in for the first hour a couple nights and although it was a little rough around the edges, there were no gaffes. Not a bad start. The station kept promoting it. Daniel even closed his first sale the next week, a record store. He had decided to target businesses closer to the city rather in their backyard where the others had knocked on pretty much every door.

The next Saturday afternoon Daniel helped load the equipment into the company van to go to the car dealership and set up for the remote broadcast. It was an overcast, drizzly day, so there wasn’t as much traffic on the lot at they’d hoped. A few of the station employees stopped by, including Norma, who had an attractive black woman with her. He watched them as they said Hi to a few people before they meandered his way.

“Hi Daniel,” Norma said. “How you doin’ today?”

“Fine. Just taking it all in and learning. How about you?”

“Good. Daniel, this is my Aunt Dixie. Dixie, meet Daniel. He’s our new late night jock on the weekends.”

This is her aunt? Daniel was amazed and impressed. Not what he’d envisioned, not by a long shot. She looked to be only a few years older, and although he’d never actually dated a black girl before, he thought Dixie was an ebony goddess. She was slim, toned and hot, perhaps five-six, with smooth dark skin a shade or two lighter than Norma’s. Her long black hair was straight, and pulled back, accentuating her sheeny, taut face. She had a collection of bangles on both wrists, and was dressed in a flowery sleeveless top and tight, white jeans. She wore it with a casual confidence that made him look, but didn’t try too hard.

He stuck out his hand. They shook, nice to meet you, all that jazz. Over the next hour the three of them talked. Norma, the go-between, came and went, giving space so her aunt and Daniel could talk, which they, after the initial uneasiness, had found easy to do. For example, Daniel mentioned to Dixie that she looked much too young to be Norma’s aunt, and found out that her much-older brother was Norma’s father, and he had become so at eighteen. She was only twenty-seven. She said she’d been married for a while but it hadn’t worked out, no kids. He told her all about his brief college career and time on the pipeline.

“What kind of work do you do?” Daniel asked her.

“I’m a real Go-getter.”

“Really? What does that mean?”

“I work at the hospital. If the doctors or nurses need something, I go get it,” she said.

Daniel laughed. “An orderly?”

“Exactly. I get orders and I follow them.”

When the remote was over, Daniel, Dixie and Norma went to a nearby watering hole for drinks. Daniel had two beers before switching to Coke because he had to go to work that night, and spent the whole time talking to Dixie. He found himself more and more attracted to her as they conversed. He’d expected Norma’s aunt to be a motherly, frumpy, forty-something, not the slim black fox sitting across from him. As their get-together broke up, Daniel asked Dixie for her phone number and she handed him a slip of paper. She’d already written it down for him.

Daniel went home for a nap. He’d rented a room he’d found in the classified ads of the local weekly newspaper. It was a small room in a small house. The owner of the house, his new roommate, was an older guy named Phil. Phil’s wife had left him and he was going through a divorce, and had rented out the room because he needed the extra money. Because of their schedules they didn’t see much of each other. The house had a telephone, Daniel knew that because the number had been in the ad. He’d have to find the phone and give Dixie a call.

Daniel went on the air at midnight, and had just signed on and kicked off his first set when there was a phone call. It was a drunk-sounding guy with a request, said they were listening down at some lounge. A few minutes later another guy called with another request; he sounded coherent but the background noise was the same as the first call.

There was another call, but he didn’t pick up because the set was about to end. He opened the mic, ran down the cuts he had played, and then did a commercial break. He had just kicked off the next set when the phone started blinking. He took the call. It was her again. That breathy, seductive voice.

“‘Three O’clock Blues’,” she murmured. “Will you play that for me?”

“You know I will.”

“When?”

“Give me a half-hour.”

“Thank you, I’ll be ready. Play a long version, if you have one. I’m going to masturbate.”

Click. She was gone. Daniel felt a tingle between his legs.

----

He called Dixie the next afternoon. He reached her and they talked for forty-five minutes before somebody picked up on an extension, said ‘Oh’, and hung up. 

“That’s my Momma,” Dixie said. “I live out back in the carriage house, but it’s the house phone, I have an extension.”

They made a lunch date for Tuesday and got off the line.

Their schedules would make things interesting. Dixie alternated shifts from days to evenings, and worked every other weekend. Daniel worked nights on the weekends and scattered daytime hours during the week. A challenge, he thought, but who knows, maybe a blessing, too.

Daniel couldn’t believe how enthused he was about having lunch with her. They’d talked so fluidly, opened up so much. She was so sharp and so natural. The more he thought about her, the more attracted he became. But doubts crept in. 

They were so different. His father was an engineer, his mother a teacher, upper middle class city folk. Her deceased father had been a trackman for the railroad and her mother a factory worker, rural working class. And there was the color thing. 

He’d played sports and music with black guys, and had appreciated their prowess and bonded with them as teammates. He respected them; in his experience they were usually the better players. But he had no experience with black women.

----

Lunch was great. They went to a barbecue joint, had pulled pork and sliced chicken slathered with sauce, fried potatoes, pickles and cold beer. They listened to the jukebox and talked a blue streak. Dixie had a slight buzz when Daniel dropped her off.

A couple nights later they had dinner at a restaurant with a nice view of the mountains. It was a steak and lobster joint, and that’s what they had. They caught a few gawkers, as interracial couples were still a rarity in that neck of the woods, but they had fun, more lively conversation, and even held hands at times. After the meal the waitress asked if they would like coffee, and Dixie nodded. Then Daniel said, ‘Yes, we would, thank you. And I take mine black, like my woman’. The waitress got a frightened look on her face and scooted away to get the pot, while they grinned at each other and Dixie slapped his wrist and called him a naughty boy. When they kissed goodnight, it got a little hot and heavy, and their hands wandered over their bodies a bit. Daniel’s cock was hard when Dixie’s fingertips brushed it. He didn’t want to rush things, but he knew he had to figure out how to get this mahogany minx in the sack.

Their third date is when they bonded on a new, more comfortable level. They were relaxed together and enjoyed each other, they knew that already, so Dixie asked Daniel to go to a drive-in movie with her. She picked him up in her car, stocked with snacks and a cooler in the backseat filled with canned beers on ice. She drove them to the theater and they pulled into a great spot in the second row off to the side. They started drinking beer.

They sat through a couple cartoons, then a few previews, and a long commercial for the snack bar with juggling popcorn and dancing hot dogs. Then it was time for the feature: ‘Abar, The First Black Superman’. The flick was low-budget and corny as hell and they laughed uproariously and drank beer through much of the movie before they started making out. They kissed at first but quickly intensified. Daniel unbuttoned her shirt and felt her firm breasts for the first time. Dixie rubbed his dick for the first time too, and fingered its hefty hardness. She felt his hand between her legs, fumbling for the zipper on her jeans. She was wet down there, but she wasn’t ready yet. She pushed his hand away.

“Let’s stop,” she said, buttoning up. 

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She unhooked the speaker from the car window and replaced it on the pole. She turned to face him and added, “Look, Daniel. I want you too, I really do. But I don’t want our first time to be in a Buick.”

He laughed, then she laughed. He started to apologize but she shushed him. 

“Kiss me,” she said.

They kissed a long one, soft and hard at the same time, with aroused genitals and their tongues dancing in the dark. Then Dixie turned the key and after a few tries the car engine came to life.

They didn’t say much as she drove them home. They shared another prolonged kiss when she dropped him off, but she didn’t come inside.

----

By this time, everyone at the station knew Daniel and Dixie were seeing each other, Norma made sure of that. Daniel heard his share of wisecracks from her and others, but Norma was relentless, teasing him all the time, but all in good fun. Daniel likes the dark meat. Hey, Soul Brother. Danny’s living on the dark end of the street. Hey, White Chocolate. What’s up, Oreo.

One of the salesmen had gotten an order for a heavy schedule of commercials promoting a James Brown concert in D.C., and the spots had been running for a couple weeks. It had been half cash, and half trade for concert tickets. They were giving tickets away in contests on the air, but there were plenty to go around so Daniel scarfed a couple. He and Dixie were excited. Who wouldn’t want to go see the Godfather of Soul?

The concert was on a Saturday night at eight o’clock. Daniel would have to go on air at midnight, but he thought the timing would work out okay. He parked his van on the street a few blocks from Constitution Hall and they walked to the venue; he didn’t want to get stuck in some big garage or traffic jam in case he was hurrying on the way out.

The tickets weren’t the best seats in the house because they were comps, but weren’t the worst either. They were up on the side about halfway back with a clear view of the stage. There were plenty of white people in the audience, which pleasantly surprised Daniel; he thought he might be the only white face in the crowd, but there were many other whites and biracial couples in attendance.

The lights went down and The Hardest-Working Man in Show Business hit the stage like a hurricane. The energy was immense and immediate, and people were on their feet instantly, dancing, grinding, bumping, couples interacting with other couples, sharing partners, gyrating to the rhythms of pure joy. James and his supertight band played all the tunes the fans wanted to hear, the moaners and the funky stuff. He grunted, and sang to the crowd, I got you, loud and proud, and told them how Papa’s got a mess and a brand new bag, and it’s a man’s world, and everyone in the auditorium broke out in a cold sweat as the superbad Minister of Funk sang please please please, I love you, yes I do.

It was a seventy-five minute booty-shaking jam, with the congregation moving in sync with smiles on their faces and their organs on high alert. Dixie and Daniel’s bodies spent most of the concert in some form of direct contact. They were covered with sweat, and their clothes were soaked-through when they left, two hot, happy, horny prisoners of love. They left the arena arm-in-arm. The night air cooled their sweaty bodies as they walked to the van. Daniel could see the moisture on Dixie’s neck where her hair was tied back in a pony, and adored the sight of her thin, red dress that was sweat-plastered to her body with her nipples perked up through the fabric.

For the first time since he’d gotten his new job, Daniel didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to tear Dixie’s clothes off, lay her down in the back of his van, eat her black pussy and fuck her right there, parked on the city street.

But he didn’t, of course. They got in their seats in front and Daniel drove them homeward, and they talked about how incredible the show had been, and held hands when he wasn’t shifting gears. 

“I wish tonight didn’t have to end so early, because I had a fantastic time, but I have to get into work,” he said when he pulled up in front of the Dixie’s house.

“Hey, how ‘bout if I go to work with you? Watch you work for a little while, would that be okay?”

“There’re no rules against it. But are you sure? It’s not very interesting, watching a guy play records.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “I can stare at your ass.” She leaned over and kissed him.

“You talked me into it.”

She followed him to the station in her car. She sat in a chair and they talked while he got all of his music together. Daniel saw Nate, the evening jock, through the glass and waved as they entered the adjacent studio.

The show started smoothly. Through the first set of tunes, Daniel showed Dixie around the small studio, pointed out all the working parts. She seemed very interested and asked some poignant questions. On air, he did a quick rundown of what he’d played, ran a string of commercials (the customers to whom he’d sold ads received numerous bonus spots on his overnight shows) and cued up the next set, a couple of long tracks.

“And now, I hope you’re in the mood for some slow blues,” he said into the microphone. “This next song has been covered many times. This one is The Climax Blues Band: So Many Roads. Kick back and enjoy.”

He swiveled around to face Dixie and said, “There, that should hold them for a while.”

She was seated in a cushioned chair and had a glazed look in her eye.

“Do you take requests?” she asked.

“Sure, if we have it. What did you want to hear?”

“Uh, let me see,” she said, rising from the chair. “How about, ‘Three O’clock Blues’.”

It was the voice. Daniel felt a prickly sensation all over his skin and his jaw dropped. 

“You?” he asked.

Dixie laughed. “Me. Why, are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed? Hell no, why would I be disappointed?”

“Because there’s only one woman who wants to get in your pants, and not two.”

“I have the feeling you would be all I could handle.”

“Good answer.” She stepped toward him.

“That voice. That hoarse, seductive whisper…”

“Pretty good, huh?”

“God, it’s sexy.”

She was standing in front of him, he was seated on the high stool in front of the board. She put her lips to his and they kissed. Arms wrapped, lips locked and tongues twirled in a hot second. It was a long, fervid kiss, hot and wet, and soon their cold sweats were coming back in spades. He was hard. She was wet. The blinking phone lights were ignored.

“Let me ask you,” she said in her raspy, sexy phone voice. “Have you ever fucked while you were on the air?” She placed her hand between his legs, gripped his hard rock jock cock through the denim.

Daniel shook his head. He was speechless. Not good when you’re a disc jockey.

“Or how about a blowjob? Maybe that’s more doable.” She kissed him again, another long one, it went on and on.

Her fingers found the snap at the top of his jeans, flicked it open and lowered his zipper in a quick, deft move. His cock popped out into open space.

“Ah, nice and hard and ready,” she said, in her phone voice. “Lift up.”

He stood briefly and she lowered his pants. He sat back down on the stool. She shimmied his pants down his legs and took his cock into her hand. She put her face up close to his.

“I want all of you, Baby, but I’m going to have this first,” she said, and gave his cock a squeeze. She jammed her tongue into his mouth. Daniel snaked his arms around her. They kissed deeply while she stroked his swollen, pulsing meat.

She went down. She cupped his balls in the palm of one hand and kissed his cock up and down, taking her time, before licking its glistening tip, which was already oozing his preliminary spunk. When she wrapped her lips around it, Daniel almost fell off the stool.

Dixie dug her thumbs and fingers into Daniel’s thighs, held tight, and in one power move, pushed her face hard against his groin and took his whole cock into her mouth. Her lips kissed his pubic hair and her nose tickled, and she breathed in his sweaty, funky white boy scent.

She sucked his dick like it was a clogged straw buried deep down in a vanilla shake. Daniel eased his butt off the stool. Dixie was squatting before him with her dark mouth full of white cock and her fingers were now kneading the cheeks of his ass. He massaged her neck and shoulders as he gently swung his groin into her face. Daniel was in a timeless trance, his mind in a nebulous glow, and his dick in a warm, wet paradise. 

He looked at the console. ‘So Many Roads’ was rapidly approaching its end. He would have to switch to the next song soon. Meanwhile his cauldron of semen was coming to a boil.

“Shit, I’m gonna come!” he said, almost shouting.

Instantly her fingers dug into his buttocks and her clamping mouth sucked him harder still. He eased his body a little closer to the turntables, reached for the control to segue from one to the other. His cum began its rise.

“Oh, shit!” he squealed.

Daniel found out that a smooth transition from one song to the next could be a problematic task when his cock was embedded in the mouth of a passionate woman with jaws of steel.

He did a little half-step hop and eased a tad closer. He was able to get a finger on the slider and started to ease it left to right. 

“Ughhh…” he groaned, and his cum was unleashed.

He pushed the slider full right and punched the play button on the second turntable. Then he gripped the back of her head and fucked her face as he discharged his hot sauce into her mouth, stroke after stroke. Once Dixie knew she’d tasted the last of it, inch-by-inch Daniel’s cock reemerged from between her lips. She stood up.

“Did you like that, Baby?”

The deejay was still speechless. “Amazing,” was all he said, and pulled her close.

He placed his parted lips on hers, and his tongue jetted between them. He tasted his oily seed coating the inside of her mouth, and after a long kiss with their tongues slip-sliding away, she backed up a step.

“There’s more where that came from, Honey,” Dixie said. “Why don’t you come over to my place when you get off?”

“I already got off,” he said, grinning.

She smiled. “Well, after you get off work, you can get off again. Look. Come on over, okay? I’ll fix you a nice breakfast, and then we can get in my bed and finish what we started. You can have a taste of my cherry pie.”

“I’ll be there. I can’t wait.”

He walked her out and they shared another long hot kiss. He was getting hard again so they stopped, and he watched her drive off. The rest of the night seemed to drag, but he got through it, and at six a.m. he signed off and quickly reshelved all of his music.

----

He got over to Dixie’s place at six-thirty. He could smell bacon frying as he climbed the steps up to her apartment above the carriage house. He tapped on the screen door, and Dixie said to come on in.

She stood at the stove wearing a pink robe and nothing else, her long black hair hung loose and wet. She came into his arms, they kissed and hugged, and Daniel buried his nose into her damp hair and could smell and almost taste her lemon shampoo.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” he said.

Daniel reached over and turned off the burner under the pan with the sizzling bacon.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh, I’m hungry alright,” he said. “In more ways than one. But I think I need some cherry pie before the bacon and eggs.”

Dixie laughed. “You serious? If I go to bed with you now, afterwards I may not feel like getting up and cooking breakfast.”

“That’s a risk I must take,” he said, and mashed his mouth onto hers.

She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. Dixie slipped out of her robe and was naked.

Daniel glanced around as she undressed him from the waist down. He unbuttoned his shirt. The room was nondescript, it looked like a guestroom or a furnished rental. A couple landscape prints on the walls, a chair, lamp, small desk, nightstand and a dresser with an attached mirror. Propped on the dresser were three easel-back pewter picture frames.

Dixie pushed him onto the bed. She stood there for a moment looking down at him, and his eyes took her in: Long black hair, usually tied-back, but now loose and wet; slim brown body, firm tits and hot curves; luscious lips, which had been wrapped around his cock a few hours ago; and her wild, black bush, surrounding her hungry, wet pussy. Oh well, he thought, looks like I’ll be eating some ebony cunt hairs before breakfast.

He reached for her, she came to him. Their bodies molded into one on the bed, every inch of their flesh melded, mashed together, and they kissed, and their bodies thrashed, and their hands probed. Daniel kissed her neck and sucked on her earlobe and worked his way to her titties, sturdy and pointed. By the time he wrapped his lips around one of her stiff nipples, Dixie was already in rapture, and his dick protruded from his midsection like a railroad spike. But he knew he wanted to chow down on her pussy before he rammed his cock up in there.

Dixie’s body went into turbo-thrash mode when he dove his face into her snatch and sucked her swelled clit into his mouth. She grunted with each of her thrusts into his face, and ran her long fingers through his long hair. Daniel’s dick was grinding into the mattress as his face was grinding into her cunt. Her clit felt like plum pit in his mouth and he kept nibbling away, working her toward orgasm. He wanted her to come and come hard, like he had a few hours earlier at the radio station. Then he would mount her like she were a mighty steed and ride her hard.

Daniel’s hands were now under her ass as it wriggled about, and he dug his fingers into her supple butt flesh for a firmer grip. He thought it would be easier to eat pussy if it wasn’t a moving target. He alternately squeezed her buttocks like grapefruits, hoping to extract her orgasm. He kept sucking on her clit like it was a pickle, his tongue basking in her piquant liquor and his nostrils breathing in the spicy aroma of cunt and half-cooked bacon.

Dixie was grunting louder with each of her powerful thrusts, and her fingers were enmeshed in Daniel’s hair, holding tight as she drilled her pussy into his face. She’d gotten a mouthful of his cum a few hours earlier, and now she was going to give him a mouthful of hers.

She screeched as she released and her long, lean body went into spasms. Her cum flowed and her legs flailed wildly on either side of his head. The wet rush covered Daniel’s face, filled his mouth and even dampened his hair, but he got a tasty, potent dose of Dixie’s musky juice.

“Damn, boy!” she exclaimed, and pulled his head up to hers and they kissed. “Drive me crazy, why don’t you.”

“You like that?”

“No, I love that.”

“Been wanting to do that since you walked out of the station this morning.”

“Yeah? I wanted you ever since we was grinding on each other at the concert last night.”

“Goddamn James Brown. It’s all his fault!” 

“Phew. How many couples in that audience do you think went home and fucked the shit out of each other?”

“I dunno. Turned us into sex machines, for sure.”

“Nah, just helped us along. You gonna fuck me now?”

“Does a grizzly bear shit in the woods?” he said. It was time to put his plug in her socket.

By this time, Daniel’s dick was an overgrilled bratwurst ready to bust. He rolled on top of her and placed the tip against her glittery gash. Dixie spread herself with her fingertips and he pushed. He watched his cock slide in between her oily lips with no resistance and disappear inside her. In no time they were fucking like porn stars.

Dixie might have been a trim, wiry gal, but she had a gymnastic groin that could give a man whiplash. Daniel felt like he was trying to fuck a mechanical bull turned up to ten.

She had her legs wrapped over his and her arms around his back and she was soon screwing him with hurricane force. Her mouth was on his, her tongue doing acrobats around his, then she was sucking his neck and chewing his ear lobes and her hands were power-walking all over his back. Daniel’s hands were under her butt, digging into her crack, and he was pounding her pretty damn hard too, trying to keep up.

He’d never been fucked like this. Not this hard, never this physical. She was banging him with every inch of every muscle, and baying like a bitch in heat. Daniel had had sex with a number of girls. He was tall, athletic, attractive and had always been popular with the opposite sex. But this was his first black girl. And it was the wildest ride of his life.

Dixie loved to fuck, this much was obvious. Every inch of her writhing body was into it, every ounce of her soul. She fucked like her twat was hammering nails.

Daniel was covered in sweat as he shoved his cock into her, over and over and hard as he could. The bed frame stressed from their pounding, synced movements, and her vagina was so saturated his dick glided in and out of her with slippery ease. His cum began to rise.

“Ughhh…” he groaned.

Dixie had heard that before and knew he was coming. She fucked him with a little extra oomph, if that was possible.

“That’s it, Baby, give it to me!” she squealed.

He did. His sperm burned its way up through his slithery shaft, and out, and deep into Dixie, while she kept pounding away and juicing his cock with her cunt muscles. He’d no sooner emptied his tank when she began to empty hers.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck!” she howled.

Her climax bordered on savage. Her entire body shook, the bed screeched and her nails dug into his skin. He felt the warm wet rush surround his cock inside her and seep out and cover his drained balls. She kept humping until her discharge was complete. The cadence of their fucking slowed and their groins detached. His body fell down next to hers and they kissed slowly and softly and long.

They held each other for a time, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. Dixie had gotten some sleep after she’d left the radio station, but she was already spent. Daniel was exhausted and nodded off. Dixie eased herself out of the bed, put on her robe and went to the kitchen to finish making breakfast. Her man could sleep, and whenever he awoke his meal would be ready.

End Pt 1