It was, she'd told me, a blessing and a curse- literally, the bitch of a witch who'd landed me with this thing had screamed it at me, cackling away. 'YOU'LL SEE', she'd screamed, 'IT'LL BE BOTH A BLESSING AND A CURSE. A BLESSING. AND. A CURSE'.

Hold up. Let me backtrack a lil so you can see what the fuck is going on.

So here's the thing- I'm a self-admitted Casanova. I'm a player of fields. A wooer of hearts. A killer of ladies. From the snowy wastes of the north, to the swampy heat of the south, and everywhere in between, the whole world over, I have slaked my thirst from many a cup of womanhood.

See, when I was young, I figured out the secret:

Love.

Every woman wants love. Every one of them. Every one of them that puts themselves in position for it, anyway. Oh, they'll bitch and moan and say they're fine by themselves, but at the end of the day, they want it.
And I gave them it.
I'd find my target- usually alone, but sometimes with people- and zero in. I'd toy a little, compliment her a little, make casual light chit-chat, lower her defences, and then hit her with my best move. I'd smile that little-boy-lost smile of mine, and with a wistful longing in my voice, tell her that I was tired of all the games, and all the tricks; I was bored of the bed-hopping, of the searching, of the meaningless flings. I wanted something real. I wanted love. I wanted to love, and to be loved. Oh, me too, they'd cry, their eyes lighting up, their attention well and truly piqued by now; I want that too, they'd say, totally mine at that point.
We'd make promises to one another, talk sweet nothings, claim our stakes on each other's hearts; we'd go back to her place, we'd kiss or snuggle or sometimes fuck with a weird emotional intensity. Always with the weird emotional intensity.
And then, by sunrise, I'd be gone.

Most of them left me alone; accepted their fates, and moved on, trying to keep a little bit of what dignity they had left. Some of them sought me out in tears, citing promises I'd made- promises they intended to hold me to, but that I'd never once said I'd keep.

One of the latter was the aforementioned witch. An actual honest to fucking christ witch. Magical powers and all that shit.

Now, she'd been monumentally pissed at me- understandable, I guess, given that she'd be losing out on the walking perfection that was me- and had given me the usual psycho bitch 'if I can't have you, no-one can' spiel. 'If you don't want me, you can't have anyone, you'll never find real love, you'll always have something close to it but never the actual thing yadda yadda yadda'.

Point is, after that, something really fucking weird happened. The whole 'blessing and a curse' thing. Oh, boy was it weird.

So, after my ordeal of being shouted at by some clearly psychotic chick with great tits- which was, by the way, bizarrely and confusingly arousing (hello therapry time amirite?)- I'd figured I needed a rest. I'd gone to lie down, closed my eyes, and dreamt- of her. She'd told me, in the dream, that I was doo0o0o0o0o0o0o0med for the rest of my days; every time I slept, even if it was a quick catnap, I'd find myself waking up next to another woman when I woke. This woman, girl, whoever, would love me completely and utterly with all her heart. Reality itself would alter so that everyone would remember the two of us being together, and we'd always have some kind of important event to go to where the fact we were so in love would be brought up.
I'd go to sleep, wake up next to someone else, and the pattern would be repeated. I'd never remember much about them, but I'd remember enough- their names, their faces, the looks in their eyes as they told me they loved me, wanted me, adored me. I mean, that's totally the blessing part, right? A new girl, every day or so? One who loved me and only me? Forever? Fucking. Jack. Pot.
And then there was the whole 'never find real love' thing- which came with a caveat, weirdly, which was basically 'you'll never love anyone until you find the one who loves you, who will remember each new reality, who will seek you out.', along with some bullshit about how I may not know them or anything, but they'd know me.

I figured it out pretty early, actually- if it only changed every time I slept, then I wouldn't sleep. I became a pro at staying awake. I lived on energy drinks and caffeine, and found myself in more than one 'life' with a serious coke habit. And I kind of got used to having a new girl every so often, too- I discovered the usefulness of pet names, and asking questions in roundabout ways. I discovered how to tease out the important information; how long we'd been together, how we met, what her name was, how big her tits were.
I loved, and was loved, a thousand thousand times over, and yet, I was never happy; every time I slept, instead of dreaming, I saw their faces, heard their voices, one after another after another.
I tried to get out of it. Tried looking for a familiar face, but that didn't help; I found that I 'dated' within certain circles; I'd bounce from friend to friend, from sister to sister, from cousin to cousin or mother to daughter. I'd rip through entire workplaces in a matter of weeks, with none of them ever remembering I'd been with coworkers or colleagues just hours previous.
It got tiring. Wearing. Wearying. I never had time to myself, it seemed; my days and nights were filled with them, and I had no privacy, no job of my own to go to; just endless parties and work nights out, and family events. I met countless brothers and sisters and parents and uncles and aunts and just people endless people always people.

Suicide didn't help. Apparently, death counted as sleep.

It was around the fifth anniversary of it all happening that things changed; that the most wonderful thing happened.

But that would be getting ahead of myself, and nobody likes spoilers, do they?

Alright! So, this'll be fairly vanilla, character-driven. You can play the fille du jour, or you can play the one who rescues him. It's up to you completely.
OR you can take secret option C, which I haven't figured out yet.

No kinklists or limits, because honestly, if you want to make this some disgusting fuckfest, you're sort of missing the point of the plot.

Feel free to message me with comments, queries, reviews, comments on my magnificence, replies, etc. Mostly replies, please.

As per usual, if the post's a-rocking, you can still come knocking.