Dear ___________,

I saw that it was a Hustler and I relaxed a bit. Sleazy, but at least it wasn’t totally weird. You obviously went through a tremendous amount of effort to hide the magazine. I discovered it when I attempted to open the bathroom drawer and found it jammed shut. I could tell that something was stuck in the tracks, so poked my head in the cabinets beneath and found the magazine not-so-expertly hidden.

My instinct was to jokingly give you a little hell about it, but only after I had a peek myself…

And then it hit me. I have never had a problem with pornography. I am usually a big fan. You were aware of this. So, why would you choose to hide this from me? Why not throw it on the bed, wide open, like bait? I am a pretty easy catch.

It was hard to not think about our sex life at that point. I traveled frequently for work. When I was home, our relationship was routine and heavily sweetened with marijuana. Through this purple haze it had become difficult for me to see what was happening.

I started to back track in my head. How long had it been? Three… four months? Four months and no sex. Well, at least not with you. Like I said, I traveled. So maybe I wasn't the most honest and faithful girlfriend. Did you deserve it, though? What with all of that classiness you have?

[Break for laughter]

There is definitely nothing sexier than guy who is wasted after 3 beers, has a problem going to work on time, any time, and has habit of doing incredibly dumb shit. Such were my thoughts as I yanked the magazine out of the metal tracks.

Why did it have to be the Multiple Penetration Special Edition? My imaginary train of thought hit a violent switch track.

I sat on the toilet, perplexed. I had refused to ever believe that you had some kind of sexual issue or fetish that I would have a problem with. A small part of me had hoped that you were just gay and we could move on with our lives.

I opened the magazine as if it contained a hidden explosive. I gave the first picture an honest try. However, to me there is nothing arousing about a girl taking two unimpressive cocks in her ass. I know it works for some, I am not judging. I prefer pornography in which the female is having fun or at least doing a damn good job of acting like it.

This talented young lady stepped it up for the centerfold -- two in the front, one in the back and one in the mouth. Impressive, I admit, but more in a ‘Ripley’s Believe It or Not’ kinda way. I couldn’t even justify touching myself let alone breaking out the heavy equipment.

I thought about the fact that you elected to buy this magazine, out of all your choices. I prefer less sausage and more taco, but that’s just me. I stopped looking and left the magazine on the bathroom counter. I felt dirty and definitely not in a good way.

I confronted you about it that night. Deep down I was hoping you would do something dramatic like yell at me and then bend me over the patio railing and fuck me for all to watch. No such luck, though. When I asked you why you hadn’t made a move to touch me in four months you responded by starting to cry.

“My mom taught me to never touch a girl unless she asked,” you said through your sobs.

I stared at you.

“Did you think I was going to cry RAPE???” I asked, hearing the disbelief in my tone, “Jesus-fucking-Christ! RAPE ME! Seriously, I want you to!”

Um… That was your cue. Really. You could have done anything to prove your manhood in that moment and you chose to let your lip quiver. You sucked back your snot and wiped your eyes, looking at me like a lost, lame dog.

It was then that I realized what your issue was. You didn’t have any sexual dysfunction and you definitely weren’t gay. You simply preferred to see a bunch of dick because you were so burnt out on looking at pussy in the mirror all day. Yep, I went there.