Try living with feigned apathy. Histrionics and half-gasps make lustier bedfellows.
Bones pop and joints refuse to loosen. For that, you shoot the rapids in a one-man vessel. Steady stroke and rigid tendons, shallow breath determination, aiming for the cataract a million miles hence. Arms windmill, legs clamped against one another. Far away at home before disturbed bedclothes, before crawling from the empty womb, fingers bury into cleft. Urgent scrabbling and arched back. Stuffing fist into face, facing the ceiling, fistfuls of chasteless implacable need.
Dramatis personae, indeed.