To write is to lie, yes, but I have photos to prove what I'm saying: As soon as he's with me, the cyclist throws his padded ass in the air. He too begs me to stop, but I refuse to comply. I start off by assuming that his requests are as false as those of women in this matter; by obeying one disappoints more than by intensifying one's thrusts on the mount. I am uncontrollable. p. 12