You know on the cover of men's magazines, when they put a really salacious title like "Have Your Woman Begging For More"? Then you find the article and it's got a half-naked woman and a list of tips?

My ex saw the title and looked at the picture but forgot to read the tips. I think he believed that simply owning the magazine would make him a Sex God, kind of like the way I think that merely buying vitamins will make me healthier. This is perhaps why Mormons are virgins on their wedding day. They won't know how bad they really are.

One New Years' Eve, we stopped the car in a park after going to see the fireworks. We used to do this a lot before we had our own place — sometimes we'd have sex, but more often than not we'd just eat burgers and smoke cigarettes and try desperately to feel grown up. I thought it might be nice to go hang out for a bit before we went back home to relieve the babysitter.

We finished our food, and without a word of warning he pressed the lever that made my seat lay backwards and threw his head into my lap.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He looks up at me, puppy-dog eyes in full force, one hand on my zipper. "I never gave you a Christmas present," he says. "I thought I could give you one now." Thank God he didn't actually wink while saying this, because otherwise I honestly don't know what I would have done.

Note to husbands everywhere — not giving your wife a Christmas present is a Very Bad Idea. Making it up to her with oral sex in a freezing cold 1984 Mercury Topaz that smells like Big Macs is an Even Worse One.

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