It's been an entire month since the severity of your scent has faded from the accepting pores of my skin–along with the dwindling blood supply to my throbbing and earnest cock.

I will accept the withdrawal, the delirium, the confusion, the derision EVERY, SINGLE, TIME, if it means being able to press my pulsating and urgent manhood up against the perilous heights of your body, mind, soul.

Your spell is the mutiny wreaking havoc inside my consciousness.

I declare WAR.