Enbal describes sex among the metro set:
Innocent (and awkward) fumblings at buttons and zippers, velcro, hooks and eyes, and whatever other closures they come across: "Belts, there’s always at least one belt, and it’s usually not leather." Then a lot of heavy breathing, almost more from the effort of helping your partner disrobe, than from the arousal of seeing your partner disrobed. Then whispers of "you’re so hot" (answered, typically, with "so are you"), followed by whispers of "you feel so good, baby" (answered, typically, with "so do you, baby" or, atypically, its more randy variants, "yeah, baby" or "do it"). And culminating, finally, in a short series of rabbit thrusts, a swallowed moan or a throaty gurgle, and a sweat-soaked collapse onto 200+ thread-count sheets.
She shakes her head, "It’s surprisingly bad for people who look so good. Boring boring boring. But there are exceptions..."
Enbal next describes "the golden sword." Golden, you can imagine. Sword, maybe.
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