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It was about 10 o’clock on the first Friday of August in 1967 when I finally made it into Toronto. A month ago saw the centennial anniversary of the country. A few months before that, the Leafs beat my Habs to win the Stanley Cup four games to two. I hope they relished that victory as much as they could because another one wasn’t coming for a long while. Finally, a month before that was the great Expo 67. Safe to say that ’67 was quite a fateful year for my country.

But even with all these landmark events, nothing that year could top what happened in what became known as the Summer of Love in Yorkville.

The drive from Montreal was quite long and tedious, which only furthered my anxiety. Well, actually, it wasn’t all bad: the open road, fast highways, wind buzzing through your windows, blazing up every few kilometres…it was fun! Of course, it would not compare a whole lot to what I experienced in my destination.

You see, I left Montreal in search of the great haven that was Yorkville. I read about the Village scene in theGlobe in Mailand watched all the news stories on the CBC and fell in love with it all. It was a funny thing: all the media coverage boldly spoke of a violent, drug-filled, cancerous, promiscuous cesspool, which, with all intents and purposes, tried to keep us young folks out. Yet, the more I heard about the so called “dangers”, the more I heard the city call to me.I, Tony Sousa, had to be part of that great spectacle.

Thus, on that fateful warm summer night, I pulled onto Yonge Street, the city’s main artery road, in search of this paradise. Now, Yonge itself was buzzing in its own right. I had heard about “The Strip” and its entertainment value. Masses of people were out on the street mingling, running in and out of the coffee shops, having a good time. I even got a glimpse of Steele’s Tavern, the great venue and hang out spot for Gordon Lightfoot and Ian & Sylvia. But while great to see, this party was tame. The real shindig was calling to me from a few blocks away.

From Yonge, I settled onto to Yorkville Avenue to findextremegridlock! Not even rue Sainte-Catherine back home was this packed back home and that was our busiest street! As something I hadn’t counted on, I began to lament my situation. I was sandwiched between vehicles on this narrow one way street. Seemingly only moving a centimetre or two for those first few minutes, I offered a sigh to no one.

But then my outlook changed. I realized that hey, I’m in YORKVILLE! So I grabbed some paper, prepared it with some grass, lit up and just took in everything. I just watched. I just watched as people walked into coffee houses as they did on Yonge Street. I could hear the sweet sounds of folk music pour out the doors. I watched as groups of people with their own acoustic guitars perform sing songs on the sidewalk. I watched as people saluted me, presumably seeing my joint. I honked my horn and tipped my head ever so slightly. I even watched as the cops tried to harass these great paraders on Yorkville Avenue. Yeah, emphasis ontried. One thing I found out about this scene was that people weren’t going to let anything ruin what they had going here. They were hedonists. They were just out for a good time. What was wrong with that? Why did those coppers have to ruin everything?!

So as I was watching this scene unfold, which from my view looked like this policeman trying to bust this scruffy lanky looking dude, I took note of a young lady who appeared to be in the harassed gentleman’s company. The cop was really putting his hands on this poor guy and demanded to hand over his drugs. His friends, of course, were trying to help by yelling at the pig and trying to pry him off their amigo. But the girl…wow, she was something different. She had a hint of hysteria to her demeanour, as if she was more amused by the abuses of authority than alarmed. She’d swoop in, kick the cop in the back of knee to disrupt him rather than disable him and then she’d retreat. Then she’d do it again. Hit and run, hit and run. She was crazy!

And all the while she had this infectious smile on her face. Maybe it was the pot that elevated my attraction to her, but I was so enamoured! Her teeth were white as a sheet of pristine snow, her high cheek were rosy like…well, pink roses. Her dress was quite low maintenance and like most youth of our time, her fashions were right out of a thrift store: a second hand paisley dress that stopped before her knees and cut off just below her shoulders. It modest for a woman in that it was a dress, but the amount of skin showcasing her thighs and bust made it not so traditional. Around her silky, shoulder length blonde hair was a black headband. The best way to describe this girl was absolutely gorgeous! I was so fixated on her that I paid less attention to the scene she was part of it. It was like tunnel vision…only she existed!

In an attempt to get her attention, I raised my blunt outside my window and allowed the aromatic scent fill the air. In hindsight, over the exhaust fumes that overwhelmed türkçe bahis Yorkville it would’ve hardly been sensed, but for whatever reason (most likely the simple sight of it), she saw me! She skipped over to my passenger and leaned on my open passenger window.

“You got weed?” she eagerly asked. I wasn’t overt about it about it, but I noted her wonderful breasts which pressed against each other under the tight paisley fabric.

Despite the darkness of the street and of my car, her eyes just glimmered as if they were blue moons themselves. Here was a very happy lass, happy to be here, happy to be able to score some pot. And here I was with a chance to indulge with her.

I look down to the transmission where my rolling papers and little bag of weed were situated. Casually, I replied, “Yes m’am.”

I chucked the last of my present joint out the window and invited her in. She made an obligatory remark about the niceness of my vehicle to which I gracefully obliged. It was truly a piece of crap, but it didn’t matter. All I needed was something that would run finely enough to get me to Toronto.

Thus, I grabbed a paper, opened the bag and sprinkled some marijuana onto it. I was very focussed on my craft but in my periphery I could see her watching with quiet fascination. I always thought of it as an art and maybe she did too, I don’t know. The way her hair hung down and framed her gentle face was also of fascination. She was a simple girl, yet of some strange complexity to me. Anyways, I finished rolling the thing and handed it to her.

“Here, try that” I instructed. “Slow though.”

She did just that. She first exhaled then gently inhaled, filling her modest yet noticeable bust with the sweet smoke. She held for a while, in which case I examined her amazing bust line. Her paisley covered boobs had me. Like red hills suddenly appearing on a flat plain. Then she exhaled and filled the front of the car with the pleasurable smell of second hand smoke. The whole experience in watching her told me this far from her first time which greatly surprised me. It was a rarity for a woman to be so indulgent, to stray so far from a norm from above which demanded modesty and temperance.

She coughed and then giggled while handing it over to me. “Wow!”

I took at tote myself and then exhaled just as she did. When I finished, I asked her (even though I could probably guess the answer) “So, how was that?”

“Amazing! Some of the best weed I’ve had outside of these parts. You brought some good stuff with you.”

I cocked my head at her reply. “How did you know I’m not from here?”

“Your license plates of course. I saw them as I ran up here.”

Of course. She was an observant girl for someone who was already on something. “Well then,” I laughed. “That makes sense.”

“So where in Quebec, monsieur?” she giggled.

“Actually, I’m not French. But from Montreal.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Italian. Name’s Tony” I said as I passed the joint back to her. I watched her take another graceful tote before pressing on.

“So what about you? What’s your story?”

She breathed out. “My name’s Alicja. I live out in the suburbs, Willowdale.”

“Along way from home then” I observed. I remember the name because I had the passed through the neighbourhood on my way into the city. It was located on the northernmost part of Yonge in Metro.

“Yeah, a little bit,” she sarcastically remarked.

“Do your folks know you’re here?”

“Heavens, no!” she laughed. “They’re better not knowing! They think I’m at a sleepover with one of the other nice Jewish girls in the neighbourhood.”

I puffed one up and then blew it. “So you’re Jewish?”

She nodded. “Parents came over from Poland after the Holocaust.”

As we smoked my joint and slowly inched forward on that slow traffic, high pedestrian street, she told me her tale. Her parents narrowly escaped the extermination from the NAZIs. Not being able to go home to wherever they lived in Poland, they immigrated to the Toronto area in the north part of the city. They settled down and had Alicja and her younger brother. They were a traditional family which imposed a lot on Alicja. They reminded her every day of the sanctity of life and living it the “proper” way, which she appreciated, but eventually became too overbearing. Yorkville and sneaking out became an escape for her every other weekend. She’d lie and then hitch a ride to the downtown area and become the reveller she never was during the week.

In a lot of ways, I identified with Alicia…and I told her that. My parents too came from Italy after the war and established themselves in the English speaking section of Montreal. The city was good and my folks were ok themselves, but sometimes they just didn’t get it. Like most people my age I was riveted with the new sounds and movies, and my parents tried as they might to distance me from that. Couple this generation gap with an ethnic gap between hometowners and immigrants and Anglophones and Francophones iddaa siteleri and you see why I couldn’t stand the bullshit that was Montreal.

“Yorkville is where I needed to be,” I summed it up to her. “Yorkville will free me.”

She nodded and flashed that beautiful of hers. “Yeah, definitely.” She got it.

After about two hours of slow moving traffic, chatting, bonding, and suave glances at her chest, we made it to Avenue Road. Upon Alicja’s instruction, I turned onto this less condensed (yet still packed) street. I parked on the side of the road between two cars and we got out.

I went to grab my weed, but noticed I was only with one paper now! I guess I wasn’t monitoring how much I was using up on the way over here.

“Don’t worry,” Alicja assured me with a smile that had now become her trademark. “Why, we can stop by the Grab Bag!”

“Grab Bag? You mean that little store back there?” I recalled. People were flooding in and out of this place that was neither a coffeehouse nor a house in general. “It has papers?”

She giggled. “Sure does! Now let’s get going!” She exclaimed while grabbing my arm. Thus we started our way back up Yorkville Avenue.

As we made our promenade up, we joked with each other and all the other revellers asserting their freedom: couples making out with no shame, people lighting up in every which direction, dancing, drinking. It was a merry old party!

We joined in with spontaneous sing-song anthems that began out of the blue and spread to all the pedestrians in remote range. At one point Alicja was handed a set of hand drums to which she happily and rather furiously (yet rhythmically) beat to the tune of the chants. At that moment, I realized I was where I need to be. I was partaking in this communal spectacle while also bearing witness to the awesome playing of a very sensual woman.

Before I knew it the performance was over as spontaneously as it began. “Well that was fun!” she giggled.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She shrugged and giggled. “I didn’t! I just went with it!”

Hearing those words, I went with it too. Perhaps, it was the weed that allowed it all to happen impulsively grabbed her with one arm around the small of her back and for a brief moment before going in, I looked into her eyes. They glimmered of someone who didn’t know what was happening.

Then I kissed her.

We lingered there in the middle of the sidewalk for a few moments while random passers hollered at us. But after those brief moments she began to push me away.

We broke it and I looked at her quizzically. Thoughts ran through my head. What was wrong with it? Was I not good? Was I too forceful? Was she not ready?

In a rather quiet yet perfectly calm voice she said, “Nobody’s kissed me before…”

My heart stopped. I was hoping I wasn’t dealing with a completely inexperienced sprite. “You mean, ever?”

“No…” she said. “I mean, like that before.”

Shivers ran down my arm. I had made a mistake. A forced myself on a sheltered girl. A broke her trust, forced her outside of her comfort zone. “I’m so sorry…I won’t do it again –”

“No,” she interrupted. She licked her lips. “I liked it. It was liberating, free, powerful, even reckless and uncalled on your part…but still needed.”

My doubting ways dissipated with that utterance. I only further saw her as a girl that needed to break out her shell. I held out my arms as if it to call her into them. She ran into them, effectively accepting the invitation. I swung her around (to use her word) rather recklessly on that sidewalk.

When I put her down, I had to ask, “Are you a virgin too?”

She smiled and nodded a few times.

“Cool.” I graciously reciprocated.

I took her hand in hers and we walked down Yorkville for a few more feet until Alicja instructed us to stop. I looked to see the reason and saw we had found ourselves in front of a sign that read “Now Appearing at The Riverboat”

Under it was a list of the night’s as well as upcoming acts. Alicja pointed out the main draw. “Joni Mitchell is playing! She has the voice of angel! We have to go see her, Tony!!!”

Joni was an artist I heardofbut I wasn’t completely familiar with. Thus, I trusted her judgement on this one and we lined up. The crowd to get in spanned at least twenty people, which, as Alicja pointed out was normal on any given night. Tonight was special because Joni was going on for three sets. Thus, while in queue we partied with the other revellers. A bottle of something was being passed around. I caught a wiff of it as a cautionary measure and determined it to be quite foul and nasty. But I took a swing anyways. So did Alicja who swiped the bottle from my hands and took a shot herself. I was shocked at her ambition and by the conversation I had with a neighbour in line, so was he. He commented on her jumpiness to which I entertained him with agreement. We shot the shit for the duration of that wait in line. I was still high but nowhere deneme bonusu veren siteler near as hyper as Alicja. I let her run around like an excited little puppy would until she calmed herself. Eventually she did nuzzle herself inside my jacket.

Finally making our way to the front of the line, a woman sold as our tickets for $7. This was easily the highest cover in the entire Village, but The Riverboat was renowned enough to justify such an entrance fee. Thus, we descended the stairs and entered the joint.

When we we’re inside, we found ourselves in what was a long and narrow basement. There were a lot of people in that room (my estimate was 100 groovy souls), but I wouldn’t have called it crowded. As I led Alicja by the hand down the thin chamber, I discovered that the stage was visible from every locale in The Riverboat. It was intimate.

I scanned the walls looking for a free area to park ourselves. Greenish wood and nautical windows lined the walls, which truly gave the impression of that we we’re coasting the seas. Against the walls too were these funky looking booths with red vinyl. More likely than not their inhabitants were enjoying a cup of tea and a cigarette. Alicjia loved how many couples were in attendance. She would giddily point them out and just smile while trying to kiss me.

By fluke we managed to find a free seat in booth about 6 or 7 feet from the stage. We sat down across a couple who were well into themselves. The guy nodded at us but never said a word. The chatter of the coffee houses tied down as a man got on stage.

“…And once again, Miss Joni Mitchell,” he simply introduced. Turns out that man was Mr Fielder, the great owner of the joint.

He got off the stage and on came a rather beautiful blonde girl in a blue dress with her acoustic guitar. She tuned it a little bit and strummed while talking us up with soft spoken words about how her time in Toronto has been thus far. Much like me and Alicja but for different reasons, Joni was very happy to be in Yorkville.

Then she went into her hour long set. Oh man, what a talent! She played these complicated classical guitar patterns, which, while impressive on their own, were not the full appeal of this woman’s efforts. Her melodies were graceful and operatic and penetrated every ear and heart in that place. All eyes were on this young woman as she recounted her tales of heartbreak and happiness.

By now Alicja had finally (and thankfully) mellowed out, so she lay against my body while taking in Joni. Occasionally I found myself staring down at her instead the songstress herself. Alicja was more in awe of Joni than I was and this showed in the uninterrupted gaze in her eyes. On one instant she actually caught me. She looked up, touched my face and then reached up to kiss me. It was a long one and combined with the heartbreaking sombre melodies was so perfectly timed and flavoured. I held her in my arms and we gently swayed to the mood of the music. Whatever it was, suddenly the situation was arousing. My dick hardened in my pants. It poked up at Alicja as well. She must’ve had the most devious grin on her face when she felt that because she turned the sways into grinds. So while this melodic and soulful music was going on, she was getting my crotch stiff. Not exactly the ideal soundtrack to arousal but hey, we couldn’t help it!

Joni finished her set and the crowd gave her a warm reception. She blushed as she thanked us for listening and reminded as that she was playing more sets tomorrow night. We all continued to buzz after she got off the stage. We talked about the meaning of her songs, the significance in all our lives…it was truly unlike anything I had experienced. It was another instance of belonging, yet more intimate.

Out of Alicja’s prompting, we made out there in our seats. We were so inspired by Joni’s loving sounds. It became the soundtrack to our love. She started the dance and obliged with my tongue. Time stood still in what turned out to be a few minutes. It was in this instance that I decided I wanted Alicja’s body.

“You’re as sensual and angelic as Joni ‘cept something totally better. I have to have you,” I told her between smooches.

“You already do,” she said back.

I broke it up. “We have to get out of here.” I hastily declared.

I practically dragged her out of that coffeehouse and back onto Yorkville Avenue. At 1 am it was still bouncing and still going strong. I needed to find a room for the both of us.

“Tony?” she asked. “Where are we going?”

“We need a place to crash. Know of anywhere?”

She smirked at the thoughts I was implying. “Umm, there’s always a bunch of rooms above the coffee houses. Could try one of those.”

Before setting out on this, I ventured into the Grab Bag, which was a few doors down from The Riverboat, to buy some papers. The owners were awesome hippies that were cool about everything.

Following this interlude we ventured down Yorkville trying to find a room. After a few tries at places, we settled upon the upper floor of a place called the Upper Crust. It was already occupied by several souls who were either smoking up or indulging with one another right there on the hardwood floor. The floor was booming with the chorus to “With A Little Help From My Friends” fromSgt. Pepper’s.

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