This was Sandy's big night. She prepared carefully -- a bubble bath followed by a touch of Chanel 5 on her ear lobes and another down south where the action would take place. Then she made a light dusting of scented powder between her breasts.
That was it for the parts of her body which would not be exposed after she dressed. Then she slipped on her dress, and hoped it would be worth the price she and her husband paid for it. The Vee neckline plunged so much that her titties, unfettered by a bra, could be seen to jiggle when she walked. She selected a pair of thin panties, then decided to leave them in the drawer. As she walked she could feel the thin silk dress rubbing against her bare buns. The crack of her derriere would be discernable to those walking behind her.
Sandra was a strong believer in the axiom "to be sexy, a woman should look and feel sexy." She knew the clothes made her look sexy and as soon as she felt the thin silk material against her skin she knew she was positively sexy.'
And it showed! Greg, her husband of fifteen years, looked at her proudly, and walked her to the door. Then he backed off a bit and looked at his wife. "You'll drive them crazy down there darling. I hope to see you back here very soon with a prize, a very big prize,"
Sandy blew a kiss to her husband, then walked out the door. She was off on the biggest adventure of her life, and her husband would share in it.
Outside the posh hotel she caught a cab. When she announced her destination to the cabby, "The Rhapsody in Black and White" in the Village, the cabby give her a knowing smile and said, "Party time eh? I'm sure you will have a good time. That place is a popular destination for so many lovely women."
The game was afoot! She wondered if the cabbie thought her a cheap tart or a beautiful woman. She felt a slight thrill at being a cheap tart. Her visit to the Big Apple was growing more exciting every night.
At her destination, Sandy paid the driver and walked past the sign which read "Exotic pleasure for mature people of all colors," Inside, it was obvious the message was understood. Many other women were already there. Most, like herself, were white. Their ages ranged from thirty to fifty. So far as she could see, the male clientele consisted of nothing but black men.
This was not a Sunday School meeting. Sex was in the air, and Sandy was a part of it. A voltage meter would surely have detected a highly charged current running between her and the men who watched her as she made her way to an open spot at the bar.
She took a seat and ordered a Chablis which she held it in her left hand as she sipped it. It drew attention to the large, expensive wedding ring Greg had put on her finger this date fifteen years earlier. He agreed it should stay on for their adventure this evening. Both recognized that a married woman was special in a singles bar. Most of the patrons go there to hook up with a woman, and a married woman was considered a premium. Even the married men felt fucking another man's wife especially exotic.
Whether it was the ring or not she had her first offer immediately, "Hey, white mama, Y'all like to dance with a hot dude?" The invitation was from a guy who looked so young he surely had been carded before he got into the joint.
Young dudes were not in her plans. She opted to reject the offer and hope for something containing less of an age gap and a culture gap. She couldn't imagine spending an evening trying to both fight off the titty groping and decipher the jive talk. Sandy gave him a sweet smile and said, "No thanks."
The kid tried again, this time in a more plaintive voice. "Aw come on white mama' if'n y'all tried black you never go back."
He heard "No thanks." again, this time with a bit more emphasis.
"Awwww comeon. . . "
His pleadings were interrupted by a buff, fortiesh guy who cleared things up. "You heard the lady and you know the rules. "No" means no and that's your clue to cool it bro. Now behave or I'll have you eighty-sixed." The young man uttered "Sheeeit," but it was muted. He walked away, obviously disgruntled,
Sandy felt a bit sorry for him. She too had been lured into the place by an advertisement which promised an exciting tryst. But her disappointment was short lived. Her protector sat down beside her and asked, "White mama' doesn't do it for you eh?"
Gloria could not help laughing. "I'm afraid 'white mama' is not the image I wanted to project."
The big, black, buff guy said, "White mama, whatever image you wanted to project was one which hit the spot with most every dude in here, including one of the owners of this joint."
"And who is this owner?"
"At your service maam. I answer to the name, Tyrone Harrison, but it's Ty for short. The name and the skin color make me a natural for bouncer as well."
Sandra looked up at Ty, smiled and offered her hand "I'm Sandra visiting town from the hinterlands. I'm honored to meet you."
Ty said "Thank you. I hope to keep you interested until at least one customer of your choosing puts a move on you."
Sandra gave him the "come hither" smile she'd been working on for just this moment, "Suppose I've already spied exactly what I want?"
"I'd say a guy named Ty just found himself the luckiest man in the world. Let's dance while we discuss the details."
Soon Sandra found herself on the crowded dance floor and in the arms of a black man twice her size. Although it was breathtaking, she wasn't sure whether she was the hound or the hare, but things were going her way so far. Her heart was beating faster. No daylight showed between the couples, most of whom were engaged in fondling, kissing, rubbing their partners.
She too moved in close. Then, "You sound somewhat different from what I expected."
Effecting a nasal whine, Ty answered, "Y'all spected I'd go on an on a talkin about mah big twelve inch pecker?"
Sandy smiled and said, "I suppose a white woman on the make might make that inference, and is it true about the twelve inches?"
