This was the result:
My ex opened me up to sharing my overly sexed, otherwise hidden side with her. She made a point to learn what turned me on most and accommodated my kinks as if they were her own.
Oh, she was a master, or should I say mistress, at erotically teasing me. Licking soft serve ice cream into the shape of a penis head while out for a mid-day snack at McDonald’s was one of her first escapades. Telling me to jerk off while she watched with fascination as we were parked in any convenient location – a lover’s lane at night, a suburban neighborhood on lunch break – was another. The night we finally hooked up she sat down in the aisle of a bookstore and had us read Penthouse Letter type stories out of an unpurchased book. In loud whispers.
Months later we got kicked out of a so-called “family-type restaurant” for nourishing a particular kind of hunger by reading our own erotic works of fiction to each other. Quietly, at our own table.