You shouldn't.
You really shouldn't.
But you are.
You're thinking of how delicious it would feel. How utterly sweet the agony of surrender, the process of devolution into panting and slick skin.
But the fucking isn't sweet. It's coarse, crude, and dirty. Half-dressed bodies, muffled screams, and hard surfaces. Fingers scrabbling for purchase, an attempt to find balance where there is none. The serene obscenity of animal hunger.
It is you, doing what you shouldn't.