I’ve always been a dichotomy; in high school, on the cross country team, I’d be a sweaty mess at the end of a workout, but be disgusted if the guys were hocking loogeys. I’m not saying I’ve never stood on a bridge and spit on passing cars, (or even from a balcony) but it’s the kind of thing you do in front of a select audience. To me, the same applies towards burping.
I get it, you eat or drink too fast and you feel a little extra air rising in your throat. In my case, I try to swallow it. I’ve found if you catch it fast enough, you can pass it off as a hiccup. I know sometimes you can’t help yourself. We’re all human. But it should be a once in a while thing. Burping all the time is not becoming on anyone, especially in front of someone you’re fucking. Take heed #61.
#61 was also a dichotomy. He would hold the door open for me, paid whenever we went out and always let me cum first, but then he would burp. Loud. And often. And sometimes when we were fucking. But there was nothing I could do. I mean, what do you say? You’re a fucking pig and I can’t believe I’m letting you keep your big, hard dick in me for hours at a time? I mean, I’ve got manners.
Luckily there came a point in our relationship where it was either going to have to go further or end. So we ended it. It wasn’t dramatic. Basically we both stopped calling. It’s sad when your major memory of someone is their lack of manners. Sure it’s funny when my Pops burps my name, but #61, you didn’t make up half my DNA.
Moral of the story, the only thing I want to hear coming out of your mouth is how tight my pussy is. If you feel that requires a sound effect, turn up the stereo.