Just spent an hour in the shower with my cock in my hand, trying to remember exactly how you taste. I can't. It's fucking maddening. I'm supposed to be the one who knows every inch of you—how your pussy gets slick when you're really turned on, the way your ass clenches when I spank it just right. But it's fading. Two weeks without burying my face between your thighs and I'm losing the details. I'm not even allowed to touch myself thinking about you—your rule. So I just stand there, hard and useless, water going cold, trying to piece together the memory of your cum on my tongue. I'm a fucking ghost of myself. The only thing that makes me real is you. Let me remember. Please.