I woke up with a weird feeling that there was something I needed to do; something left unfinished the day before.

I opened my eyes and the world swum into dim focus. I turned and saw the young white girl sleeping next to me; yep, that was it.

I got up and stretched my old bones. It was raining outside, grey and dripping, splashing into the splits in the outer windowsills before sliding into the leaf clogged drains, to somehow find its way down to the river where it could slide seaward without further hindrance.

I looked at the sleeping girl and my cock shifted in anticipation; shit, she was young. And skinny too. I couldn’t push my big old black penis up between those innocent white legs. It just wouldn’t be right.

I went into the kitchen to put on some coffee. She’d sleep for a while; we’d only come in after 2AM, and we’d both been pretty drunk. I remembered some fondling and groping. The little girl fingers on my cock, my thick black fingers in her thin blond hair, her pert tight tits against my chest and her mouth around my tongue.

She wanted me; or she had last night. Most likely she’d wake up in terror and want to go back to wherever she was staying with her German schoolgirl pals. I was glad we hadn’t done it.

She’d been with two other girls, the three of them dancing and drinking at the club where I was on stage. They’d all been flirting with everyone, the way naïve pretty girls do, not yet aware of the evil impulses their beauty inspires in the horrible men who lurk in the shadows of those places.

Men like me.

So many women; it was easy from the stage. I just played my guitar, sang my old songs, and let my eyes find a willing victim. Tourists are the best, because they’re so often looking for a little naughty fun.

That’s why they come to New Orleans. That’s why they come home with me.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t bring home any more skinny white girls, but I’d done it again. Was it just because I could? To prove I still had it? Was it for that brief thrill of conquest, that look of terror and desire in their eyes as I filled them with nigger cock?

And when our needs were met, when they’d had their nigger jazz man big dick experience, they’d be on their way, back home to real life. Some had husbands waiting, and kids.

Once or twice, a girl wanted to stay. That was even worse; because I don’t want to be a daddy to some starry eyed kid until it all ends in tears.

I was disappointed with myself. I had to stop banging those floozies or I’d always be alone.

The girl walked out of the bedroom, naked.

She was beautiful, in a white girl way. Long and thin, her blond hair tangled around her high cheekbones, her blue eyes trying to make out who she’d made out with. She had a small bush of blond pubic hair pushing out from between her skinny legs, and her generous tits stood proud and defiant in the dim morning cold.

I couldn’t remember her name.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Ya.” She said, nodding her pretty head and sitting down at the table.

She was Russian; first time away from home, looking for some adventure. Traveling with her friends, just girls. If they had boyfriends anywhere, they weren’t mentioned.

“I had a few drinks too many last night.” I said.

“Me too.” She said with a moderate accent that was sort of evil and cute.

“I don’t remember your name.” I admitted. “Cream and sugar?”

She laughed, her thin mouth suddenly breaking into an attractive smile as her eyes brightened.

“Maybe I won’t tell you.” She suggested. “Just some milk if you have it.”

I wondered how old she was; somewhere between 15 and 25.

“I’m sixty three years old.” I informed her.

She giggled nervously, which caused her young breasts to wobble distractingly.

“I’m eighteen.” She said defiantly, in the way teenage kids do.

Yes, she still wanted to. She’d probably tried all the party drugs, jumped out of an airplane, tasted lots of ethnic food, listened to different types of music. She was that sort of girl, she wanted to know what things were like. Old nigger jazz man, just another experience to stack away in her memory before she went on with whatever it was she would go on to.

She would go to university, get a decent job, meet a suitable suitor, have a nice boring family life. But first she’d do all the things she needed to do. My cock shifted again, eager to help.

We had our coffee in near silence. The girl went into my bathroom and showered. She came out after a while wrapped in a towel, and I went to have a shit, a shower, and a shave.

A towel around my hips, I steeled myself before opening the door. Probably she’d left I told myself. Run back to her hotel and her little friends. What would she tell them? Would she brag about her adventure, or keep it to herself?

She was lying in my bed. Naked. Waiting.

She’d come a long way for this, and she wasn’t leaving until she got it. I felt the fight go out of me; there was no use in holding back. I let the towel drop to the floor and advanced as my artillery prepared for battle. She just lay there, staring at me with her big blue eyes, waiting to be ravaged, defiled, penetrated. Her knees parted and I was looking into the pinkest, tightest little snatch I’d ever seen.

My eyes shifted to her face. So pretty, so young, so utterly unsuitable. She looked afraid, terrified even. Yet she held herself there, knees open, waiting for me. She was even more conflicted than I was.

I took hold of the base of my penis and squeezed, causing the front half to swell.

“Do you really want this?” I asked her.

Her mouth quivered, she couldn’t seem to find words. But she nodded her young head in agreement.

“Let’s fool around for a little while first.” I suggested, getting into the bed alongside her.

I wrapped a big black hand around her little blond head and held it steady as I kissed her mouth. Her hand went to my cock; it was nice, irresistibly nice. I put my other hand on her breast and fondled it. She was very white, probably the whitest white girl I’d ever been with. Her skin was untouched by sunlight, almost see through, as pure and wholesome as fresh milk.

I tore my lips from her young face; my cock was as big and stiff as it had ever been, quivering in the kid’s eager fingers. But my brain was telling me not to do it; a man my age, a black man, doing it with a sweet young thing like her would be an outrage. Yes, it was technically legal; but everyone knew it shouldn’t be.

I imagined an angry crowd coming to my door with torches and pitchforks. They’d be justified.

The girl smiled hesitantly, then lowered her face to my groin. I looked down at her; she looked back with an expression of doubt, anxiety, and desire.

“Go on girl.” I told her gently, “Put it in your mouth.”

It had to be done. Maybe I wasn’t going to fuck her, or maybe I was, but she was going to have to taste it. We’d both come too far to avoid that.

Her thin white mouth opened wide; her face really would have needed a little color. Her blue eyes looked up at me pleadingly, but I don’t know what she was pleading for exactly. She ducked her head over my penis, wrapping her young mouth around my experienced old rod.

It never gets ordinary. When a woman or a girl sucks my cock, it’s just as exciting as it was when I was a kid. The wet warm pressure, the lips, the tongue ... but what I really like is watching it, looking into her eyes as she does it to me. That’s the thrill; knowing her submission, her desire to pleasure me is what makes it so good.

The Russian kid had crazy pale blue eyes, ice blue, nazi blue, alien blue. Her white face held my black cock inside it as if there was nothing wrong about the act at all, as if it was perfectly acceptable for a white teenager to service a black granddad. Her fingers went to my swollen balls and a groan escaped from my throat. It was too good, far too good.

The truth is that I’m a sex addict. I had several good women over the years, but could never keep my greedy cock out of the forbidden fruit that was constantly on offer. I’d been a professional musician for 40 years, and pretty successful for a short time. I make a meager living out of it these days, but my face was still to be found on a few old record jackets and some people still knew my name. Women were always available, for sex at least. But like the nameless young fan enthusiastically sucking my cock, that was all they wanted. Just that exciting forbidden fruit, a secret tryst that their friends and family would never know about.

I’m sort of good looking. Nearly six foot, without too much of a gut hanging over the belt. I keep my face shaved, but the grey on my head shows my age. My shoulders are wide and my hips narrow. I have a wide nigger nose though, and my skin isn’t brown, it’s black. And of course, so was the big stiff cock in the little girl’s pale mouth. I’ve got an old house, little cash, no car, and no debt. Things could be worse.