remember when i called you disparaging names,
denouncing you for your lack of honesty,
and your inability to maintain any semblance of vaginal fealty,
hurling disdainful epithets alluding to your forked tongue,
with artfully placed serpentine references
about your lack of character
and your unpleasant demeanor,
all of which were cleverly guised by your pleasant exterior…?

...and remember when i hurled accusations,
fraught with dramatic tears,
using emphatic adjectives at your seeming lack of character
and all that i deemed you could not offer,
as i sought to ream you into my world of hurt
by retaliating viciously for all that i was worth…?

well, for this, i do apologise,
for i must honestly confess
that i had also been guilty of immersing myself
within the realm of my own misbegotten lies,
whilst embroiled within the deceptive nature
of our relationship’s ties;
for…, remember the times that we were
engaged in the throes of passion,
and you thrust enthisiastically to the left,
as i emitted heartfelt moans,
followed by deep, guttural groans,
accompanied by diva-esque aria’s
uttered in soothing falsettos,
and i bellowed for you to give me more,
my face clenched, and taut,
with muscles corded in my neck as i rode
you barebacked to passion’s gilded throne?

and...,

remember when i would collapse,
panting and heaving
satiated from the splendor,
apparently replete from passion’s surrender,
thanking you for enabling me to achieve
passion’s rapture,
as i rubbed you within passion’s dewy afterglow,
and lovingly said that you were like no other?

well, i lied.

i lied as you repeatedly recited intercourse's erotic alphabet,
(sans the integral letter ‘g’),
as i threw my head back and emitted fake
misbegotten pleas;
begging for you to give me ‘more’,
pleading with you not to stop,
eyes passionately squinted,
head tossed back,
and i mentally constructed my grocery lists,
or the completion of other personal business,
whilst synonymously altering the tones of the moans,
and deceptively trembling and writhing in an orgasmic frenzy,
building to the final crescendo,
collapsing and gasping desperately for breath,
lost, and devoid of passions embrace.

yep, i faked it.

for, as i remain ever so contrite,
you were never able to do me right,
constant inability to find “that” place.
either thrusting too fast,
(knowing that you were never able to adequately last)
ergo, orgasms were never within the realm of my grasp,
as i faked it with passionate vigor,
each performance worthy of a bedroom oscar,
dispassionately listening to your grunting,
amusing misguided anecdotes of your historical 'performance' notes,
describing the nuances and depth of your so-called stroke;
beating your chest with decided machismo
as i pandered and catered to your inflated ego
as i ever remained wanting and fiendin',
reluctant to hurt your delicate li'l feelings...

and so,
i faked it;

****
'Fro