I wasn't grateful. You want to talk cranky, coitus interruptus takes me well beyond cranky. My engorged labia felt like they were pressing on my brain--what there was of my brain--and if I didn't get to fuck someone, something, now--a vampire would do--I was going to fucking explode. My cunt ached like a bruise. Beyond cranky, rather fortunately, doesn't transmute into embarrassment. It transmutes into fury. As my blood pressure began to rearrange itself to a more standard unengorged pattern I was seething.