My ex talked a lot while he screwed me. Ahem. Attempted screwing, that is.
In fact, that is all he ever did.
I came out of the bedroom, head reeling and full of his words, and usually jumped on the treadmill to work off the frustration.
He'd be yacking away, and I'd be staring over he shoulder at the ceiling, thinking what I needed to pick up at the grocery store the next day. Counting dots on the ceiling, playing connect the dots, hoping, wishing he'd be done play-acting soon.
Never made a sound.
Didn't even attempt to fake it, wouldn't have lied like that.
No, no whimpering.
None of that guttural grunting that comes with every stroke of a big, hard dick you're trying to take in.
No yelling, no screaming.
Just, silence.
That was it, on my part.
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