Does it ache when you gaze upon beautiful women? That initial urge to flirt, swiftly followed by an internal barricade of rejection. Memories flood back of past encounters—nothing but resounding denials. The fleeting thrill dissipates, leaving the harsh reality to sink in. The pain is palpable; I simply wonder its depth. Even here, in your sanctuary, stroking beside me, the ache persists. Longing for me intensely, knowing it’s futile—it’s agonizing. The act of stroking itself brings both relief and torment. This, perhaps, is your sole companionship. How does it feel to confront that truth? To climax to such a realization?
