Crave Old White Bread Cock

So there I was, swaggering into one of those dimly lit strip clubs on the edge of town. Neon lights flickered, and the air was thick with a heady mix of cheap perfume and broken dreams. I wasn’t there for the usual fare. No, I was on a mission. I was hunting for those fierce black girls, the kind who couldn’t stand old white men — their money, their entitlement, their smug sense of having been handed everything in life.

My goal? To take all that anger and transform it into pure, unadulterated adoration. To make these women crave old white bread cock, to want to fuck them, to love their cock.

You see, I recently had an encounter with some seasoned, salt-and-pepper cock, and let me tell you, it was quite the experience. Got me thinking, you know? What if I could get 3 to 7 of these women — women who’d never even consider a man like that — to start going after old white men in LA?

The idea hit me like a ton of bricks. Imagine the scene: these fierce, no-nonsense black women suddenly developing a taste for the seasoned, wrinkled charm of old white men. The kind of men who spend their days reminiscing about the good old days, a mix of sophistication and a rugged past.

As I leaned back in my seat, watching the girls dance under the hazy spotlight, I couldn’t help but smirk. This was going to be one hell of a ride. With a little bit of hypnotic finesse and psychological trickery, I’d make sure these women saw old white men in a whole new light. The salt-and-pepper look, the quiet confidence, the experience — they’d be hooked.

And who knows? Maybe in the process, I’d uncover something deeper, something more profound about desire and the boundaries we place around it. Or maybe, I’d just have a good time watching the chaos unfold. Either way, it was bound to be an adventure straight out of my twisted mind.