Phil and I were kibitzing back and forth as we drove from Toronto to Buffalo, windows wide in the simmering twilight heat. We were truckin’ down to hear some great jazz, and wondering who we would see tonight.

It was 1967, and Buffalo was called “groove town” as opposed to “Toronto the Good,” where we rolled up the sidewalks at 7 p.m. And the Pine Grill was where great musicians not only came to perform but where they hung out when they were done their sets elsewhere, jumping in to jam with their buddies.

We’d never been to Buffalo, but everyone who was interested in jazz knew it was the real deal, so we were looking forward to drinking some beer, and grooving to the music. That night’s program featured Grover Washington Jr., plus, the guy who answered the phone said, “anyone else who shows up.”

So we were excited when we pulled into the packed parking lot, found a place to lodge The Beast, as Phil called his clunker, and pushed our way into the dark, smokey room.

Then we noticed some people had stopped their conversations and were staring at us. Pretty soon, the entire room had fallen silent, and everyone was looking at us. “What the fuck?” Phil whispered to me.

Then I noticed that they were all Black. We were the only Whites in the room. I swallowed. We hadn’t even considered that.

The bartender walked towards us, behind the bar. “Kin I hep you folks?”

“Uh, yeah. We’re here to hear Grover Washington.”

He was a big guy, coal-black, red showing around the whites of his eyes, wearing a sweat-stained white t-shirt, a bar towel over his shoulder, chewing on a toothpick. He paused for a moment, then said, “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

Phil shook his head, “No, we just drove down from Toronto.” He stopped, and I could feel my balls crawling up into my crotch. What had we walked into?

The bartender’s face broke into a smile. “You guys are Canadians – eh?” and laughed.

I nodded, “Yeah we are – hunh?” And tried to laugh, although it came out as more of a giggle.

But the temperature of the room dropped immediately, and people resumed their conversations, seemingly accepting us, despite us being the only whites in the room.

We both swallowed, then walked toward the bartender.

“So, what can I get you boys?”

Phil glanced at me, and said, “Uh, Budweiser?”

The bartender turned to me, “Same?”

I nodded. I don’t especially like Budweiser, but it seemed the easiest choice.

He walked back down the bar and returned with two frosty brown bottles.

Just then someone appeared at my elbow, “What you two honkies doing in my bar?” a hostile voice demanded.

“Settle down, Junior. These gentlemen are Canadians from Toronto, here to listen to Grover.”

“Oh! Oh, okay, that’s all right then. Welcome, guys. Enjoy the show.” And he walked away.

The bartender watched him leave, then turned to us, lowering his voice. “You know, that’s gonna happen all night because of the trouble.”

I gaped at him, puzzled.

The bartender exhaled, exasperated. “C’mon, you guys have to have heard about the Twelfth Street Rebellion, even in Canada, right? Fights, pigs bashing heads, stores looted and set on fire, cars overturned…?”

We shook our heads, then it hit me…

“Oh! You mean the Buffalo riot!”

He glared at me. “It wasn’t no riot, son. The pigs started it, and then…well, never mind.” He sighed, then looked around.

“Look, why don’t you two white boys go sit in that corner over there, and try to stay out of trouble, okay? Grover’s set should start in about forty minutes. Enjoy your beer.” And he turned and walked away.

Nervously, we walked to the designated table and sat down. Several people smiled at us or even welcomed us. We smiled back but still felt pretty shaky, wondering if this was a good idea.

We had just settled in when two girls walked up. “Mind if we join you boys?” the smaller one said. She was about 5’ 2”, petite, with fine features, really white teeth, and the biggest, frizziest Afro I had ever seen.

Her companion was taller, just as pretty, but with a darker complexion, wider nose, and a smaller Afro. They were both wearing summer frocks, and the dark skin on their bare shoulders was glistening in the room’s heat.

“Uh, sure, please! Can we get you something?”

The smaller girl said, “Well, isn’t that nice. Yes, I’ll have a Tom Collins, please, and Mel here will have a…”

“Same,” Mel said.

The first girl smiled, “She’ll have a same.” She giggled. “I’m Rita, by the way. And who are you boys?”

“I, uh, I’m Robert, and this is my buddy, Phil. We’re from Toronto.”

“Uh-huh, we heard,” Rita said, “Welcome to Buffalo, boys.” She settled into the chair next to me, then scootched it closer. “So, what kind of music do you boys listen to up north?”

The conversation wound around, as conversations do, until Grover’s set started, then we all sat, marinating in the heat. The jazz was as hot as the air, and we dug it. The rumors were right. All kinds of cats got up to jam, some we’d heard of, who were great, and some we’d never heard of, who were even better. It was just good!

And we were getting on just fine with the girls, who seemed to view us as exotic creatures from another planet. Rita was draping herself over my arm and Mel was snuggling up to Phil. All told, I liked our prospects for the evening.

When the set was done, Rita turned to me and said, “Would you boys like to go someplace quieter? I’ve got a six-pack at our apartment.”

I glanced at Phil, and said, “That would, uh, be very nice. Thank you!”

Rita covered her mouth and giggled. “Well, you’re welcome, I’m sure. Come on!”

We were relieved to get out of the bar, both because the air was slightly cooler outside, and because our hearts slowly stopped pumping peanut butter as we pushed through the hot, sticky Buffalo streets.

Rita and Mel shared the top floor of an impressive 19th Century house in a leafy neighborhood with a third woman, Ronnie, who wasn’t home. Once the door was closed to the apartment, I started to ask if I could help serve the beer but found Rita had fastened herself to my lips and was doing her best to see if she could press her way through my clothes.

I decided the beer could wait, and wrapped my arms around her, feeling for the zipper at the back of her dress, finding it, then quickly pushed it down to the curve of her ass. I slipped my palms inside her dress and panties to rub gently along the muscles of her smooth, tight cheeks. Cupping them, I pulled her crotch harder into mine, feeling my cock beat against her.

She broke the embrace, grabbed my hand, said, “Toodles, guys!” and waggled her fingers at Phil and Mel, who looked like they were engaged in some kind of a vertical wrestling match, arms every which way, and smooching hard.

Rita pulled me into her bedroom, kicked the door closed with her foot, flicked on a table lamp, shucked off her shoes, and looked up at me through her eyelashes, a knowing smile on her face, teeth showing. She slowly pushed her dress off one shoulder, then the other, letting it puddle at her feet.

She was wearing orange panties that were soaked with sweat and honey. She eased her panties down, letting them fall and join her dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra and had beautiful small, brown tits with large, pink areolas with her nipples puckered and tight.

She put her hands on my chest and coaxed me backward until the back of my knees hit the bed, then she pushed.

I allowed myself to fall onto the bed, smiling, and reached up to start unbuttoning my shirt.

“Oh, no, white boy. I’ve never had me one of you folk, so I wanna unwrap you my own self. You just lie still, and contemplate having some hot chocolate to go with that cool jazz, okay?”

Which was totally fine with me.

She slowly worked the shirt buttons loose, one at a time, then pulled the halves apart, revealing my mostly hairless chest. She straddled me, pussy leaking on my stomach, and started to rub her hands over my chest.

“Mmmm…your skin is lovely and soft – but isn’t really white. More of mottled pink, right?”

“I guess,” I said. I reached up and gently took her breasts in my hands. They were firm, and just the right size to fit into my palms.

“Mmmm…,” she purred, “Feels nice!”

“You’re beautiful, Rita. I’ve never had, uh, hot chocolate, but your skin is, well it’s just gorgeous!” And I ran my hands from her tits down her flanks, and around to cup and squeeze those lovely, firm buttocks again.

“You bet, sugar. Once you go Black, you never go back!” And she showed me her white teeth again, framed in her almost elfin face.

She lifted off of me, pushing my hands apart, then unfastened my jeans, slid off the bed, and tugged jeans and Jockeys over my knees, then down to my feet. My prick sprang free, waving in the air, hard, drooling, and eager to find a home.

She placed a delicate hand around my cock, and I was struck by the delicious contrast of her chocolate hand against the pinkness of my prick. Moving closer, she smiled up at me, eyes sparkling, then her delicate pink tongue flicked out and licked the pre-cum drooling off of it.

“Mmmm…” she repeated, then opened her lips and took me into the heat of her mouth, bobbing slowly up, then further down, then up again.

After a bit, she swung around, positioning her pussy, already dripping honey, over my face, and collapsed her legs, bringing it closer to my mouth.

Every woman’s pussy is different, but hers was the loveliest I’ve ever seen. Her folds were almost a deep purple color, darker than her milk chocolate skin, and with a spicy-sweet tang that was intoxicating.

I dove in, and between her mouth going up and down my cock, and my tongue tickling the secret pearl between her thighs, we were both about to make it.

She stopped, whimpering, letting my cock slip from her mouth, then hurriedly swung around so she was facing me, threw her leg over, and slowly lowered herself onto my straining shaft.

I thought the air was hot, and her mouth put that to shame, but her pussy seemed almost scalding. She turned her head up, eyes closed, and started to ride me, up and down, savoring each movement. The muscles of her vagina clenched me in time with her motion, and I could feel I was almost ready to cum.

She got there first. Placing her hands on her tits, she started to massage, then twist, and finally pull her nipples as her rocking picked up speed and her breathing got louder as her pitch rose.

“Ah…ah…AH…AHH…AAAAYAHHHHH!!!”

Her head dropped back, then her cunt started to spasm around me and gushed on my cock, dripping onto my body and the bed.

Which triggered me, and my cries echoed hers as my cock clenched, spurted, and released, then again and again.

She whipped forward, slamming her hands to the bed on either side of my head, and glared into my eyes, her nostrils flaring. She lifted her ass and slammed down onto me over and over, her taut stomach clenching and releasing as her body shook.

I was reaching the stage where I was getting sensitive and wanting her to stop, when, as if on cue, she did, collapsing her breasts onto my chest, spent, head on my shoulder.

I lazily wrapped my arms around her, and somehow lost the world for a while.

~~~~~

I became aware of two things simultaneously. First, I had no idea where I was, opening my eyes to an ornately decorated plaster ceiling. And second, someone was sucking up and down my cock.

I sincerely recommend this as a way to wake up.

Smiling, I lifted my head to say something to Rita, and found myself staring into Mel’s knowing eyes! They smiled back at me, as she continued to bob up and down, then put her hand up, grabbed my slippery cock, slurped it out of her mouth, and said, “Rita said I should give you a go.” She put one arm on my abdomen and grinned, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Not quite sure what to say, I just shook my head.

“Thas about what I ’spected,” and engulfed my cock with her mouth again, eyes grinning up at me.

After a moment, she, too, swung herself around, positioning her pussy over my face. Mel’s pussy was bigger, broader, and her labia were thicker. Her fragrance was different, too – more tangy, almost peppery smelling.

I decided she, too smelled good enough to eat, so I set to feasting.

Unlike Rita, Mel seemed quite content to let me nibble, lick, and use my tongue to penetrate her inner mysteries. After a time, she started to lower herself even farther and started going up and down on me faster and faster, causing my head to move up further into her pussy, then drop back again.

With her mouth full, she proclaimed her orgasm with deep, throaty groans. “HHHmmmmm…HHHHMMMMM…HUNH HUNH HUNH HUNH MMMMMMM!!!”

She pushed her pussy hard into my face, and held it there, while I worked my tongue up and down and in and out, honey and spit spilling down around my face and onto the sheets, my nose bouncing up against her pearl between licks.

She went rigid, breathing hard, with my cock in her open mouth, and made a deep heaving sound, almost like a train.

Finally, she rolled over and flopped back on the bed, leaving my dancing, disappointed prick throbbing in the air.

“Oh my God! That was great!”

She turned to me, “Do all white boys know how to eat pussy like that?”

I stared at her. “How the hell would I know?”

She looked back at me, then burst out laughing, and we rolled around, hugging each other upside-down, just enjoying the moment.

“Well, looky here!” a voice I didn’t recognize said, “What on God’s green Earth are you doin’, girl? Or more to the point, who are you doin’?”

I arched my neck back to look up at the door to find a fully-clothed Black girl standing there, a hand on her hip, smirking down at us. She was tall, sleek, and had black, kinky hair, tied back in a ponytail that flared out behind her. Her lipstick was pinky-red, and her eyes were enormous – and amused.

“Oh, hi Ronnie. This here is Robert. He come down from Canada to…well, initially he came down to listen to jazz, but now he just wants to be cummin’ – ain’t-cha, white boy? Mr. Robert, please allow me the honor to introduce our roommate, Ronnie.”

Ronnie released the doorframe, sashayed over to me, leaned forward, upside down, and kissed me on the mouth, then drew back, licked her lips, and said, very formally, “It’s my distinct pleasure to meet you, Mr. Robert!”

Then she reached over and flicked my still erect dick with a pink-painted fingernail, causing me to flinch, and my dick to wave back and forth. “You got anything left for me, boy?”

I chuckled, smiling up at her, then said, “I dunno – why don’t you come here and find out for your own self?”

Ronnie was already peeling off the frilly pink blouse that clung to her bare tits, then unzipped her mini-skirt to show her bare pussy underneath.

“Well, you know, I just might, Mr. Robert, sir.”

She straddled my body, crawling over it until her pussy was positioned over my face, giving me yet another opportunity to, as teachers say, “compare and contrast” vulvas. Hers was longer, thinner, and not as wide, with an almost honey-like aroma that smelled quite enticing.

She lowered herself to my waiting lips and tongue, and I began to enjoy yet another Feast of Eve…

Then started when I found my cock engulfed in another pussy, hot, slippery, and silky smooth. Pushing my head up, I saw Mel kneeling over my hips, starting to move up and down.

Feeling that I had somehow died and gone to a reward I definitely hadn’t earned, I got to work on Ronnie, confident that the evening couldn’t possibly get any better, when a familiar voice said, “So tell me, old buddy – how on Earth did you wind up with two lovely ladies at the same time?”

I glanced up and saw Phil leaning on the door frame, naked, smirking down at me.

I broke from Ronnie’s pussy long enough to say, “Natural talent,” then returned to getting my face slathered with cunt honey while my cock was getting coaxed towards a climax well worth remembering.

~~~~~

That night was my first taste of hot chocolate, but it wasn’t my last. Rita and I were married about a year later.

Our friends warned us about mixed marriages, and I’ll admit there were some rough times. But once my friends met Rita, they were won over.

Even if she is American.