Remember right before we broke up? Remember how many times you asked if I had cheated on you, and I said, "Never, never, never"? Remember how you dumped me anyway? Well, answer me this: Do you consider about 40 blow jobs from 30 different hookers over the last year "cheating"?

It started on our first date, when you decided we wouldn't be having a sex life. When I left your place, I wasn't looking for a prostitute--in fact, I was en route to the porn shop for a quick little jerk-off. But when I saw that girl working on the side of Aurora... well, one thing led to another and I purchased a $40 blow job.

And then, lo and behold, after our next date you still didn't want to touch me. Two months passed, and when you still hadn't resolved your "issues," my Aurora cruise became a nightly affair. Eventually I had to spend less on your dinners, so I could afford the blow job you should've been giving me, but weren't.

I was indignant and bitter at first, but after I settled into a routine, it wasn't so bad. I could take you out, eat some dinner, drop you off, get my dick sucked, go home, go to bed--and tell you with a straight face I hadn't cheated on you.

Here's a little advice: I've got no problem if you lose your sex drive due to some manufactured trauma in your life. But do me and every other guy you date a favor. Either cut 'em loose, or start using your mouth and hands.