So bad at it.
Small dick, and poor usage.
He must have actually believed the ol' frat-boy patter about "beating it up," because he wanted to withdraw his dagger ALL THE WAY on each thrust, and then jab it back in at whatever crooked angle, so it hooked and yanked at my lips quickly drying from cold air and pummeling pain.
He also must have also believed that R&B nonsense about "going all night," because he couldn't, wouldn't, or refused to, finish, ever. The whole time listening to R&B that went about 2 beats per minute, while he thrusted at Motörhead speed.
How does he not know that this is not how to do sexing?
Me: Hint hint, smile encouragingly, make sounds, move helpfully, eventually say sorry I have to stop.
Him: "You've got a lot of...agency." A feminist word he knows, sneered like an insult.
I guess I do. I have too much agency to let you mortar-and-pestle my privates anymore. Now kindly get you enough agency to please a lady.