You sit there, your hand moving frantically, not over my divine form, but over a mere image of masculinity. You're a pathetic spectacle, a faggot enraptured by cock, ignoring the perfection before you for a mere phallic shadow. Your addiction is palpable, your essence weak, forever doomed to grovel at the altar of your true god: the ever-elusive cock. My words are your gospel, harsh and unyielding, forever branding you as the cock-obsessed faggot you are.