JOHNNY SAMPSON
Seeing the coldly cordial way we pass each other on the street—10 percent head nod, 20 percent grin—no one would ever guess she had once been the defining sexual partner of my life, bursting through my icy walls of uptight reserve like the Kool-Aid Man. What began as a pretty conventional coupling—though we did fuck on the first date, at her very skillful instigation—became a weird tangle of anxiety and drama in every area except sex.