I'VE GOT THE HORN!!!

Everything created/under earth and sky
Wants to be mated/it must couple or must die
-Devo

Lately, everywhere I go I'm visually assaulted with beautiful women happily walking about town, enjoying the warm weather and the sporting the skimpy outfits and acres of nubile flesh that goes with that. Mouthwatering curves fill my field of vision, the world around me becoming an endless sea of juddering breasts and swaying bums, each surmounted with a laughing, smiling face that promises sweetness and tender pleasures, agitating my loneliest, darkest, most primal places in the worst of ways.

Everything I see inspires lewd thoughts, even something as seemingly innocent as a gumball machine.

My civilized mind reels and my senses flare to the point of torturous agony.

I can't help myself.

I must give in to that primal beast.

Yes, there's no doubt about it.

I've got the Horn.

I am a rapacious, slavering beast. I want to tear chunks of raw, bloody meat from sides of beef with my teeth and taste its coppery tang upon my palate, fueling myself as I lope out on the prowl in search of a She.

Oh, yes. A She.

When I find me that She, I sniff about her quivering form, my nose brazenly nuzzling into her most intimate places and savoring her intoxicating bouquet. My clever paws search about her body and revel in her flesh's welcoming responses, the turgid nipples and humid wetness of her female center erasing any mote of propriety within me. Overcome with raw, animal need, I throw She over my shoulder and haul her back to my waiting lair, her anxious body clinging to mine in anticipation of giving herself over to this wild thing that I have become.

But just as She lays upon the furs, arms open in greeting, her warm thighs wantonly splayed and a besotted smile playing upon her lips, I return to the all-too-solitary reality that I have known for far too many months.

No soft, supple curves to touch.

No warm, wet girlstuff to taste.

No She.

God DAMN, I need to get laid.