All of it will always be secret. Raspberries blown in dissatisfied consternation are acceptable, but will go unacknowledged. Oh fine, here's an unconfirmed back-and-forth exchange I may have pulled off of the NSA's servers after they allegedly, randomly, and remotely activated my cost-effective flip phone on a dare:

"Gosh, Lois, that skirt sure is brazen; I can see your knee caps!"

"Don't talk while you're working my clit, farm boy. You're ruining the fantasy! And I thought we discussed you leaving the cape on?"

Forever a mystery...