Dear Adam:

Everyone should have one dysfunctional relationship so they don't judge other people's too harshly. You did me a favor.

I never told you you were cruel, and I knew I should've walked after the third date. You were hilarious and brilliant and cute, and I thought I could save you. I thought if I were just nice enough, if I just kept trying, you'd change.

So anyway, I'm healed. It's been what, four years? Haven't spoken to you since. I'm not mournful anymore … just low-level vengeful. Dude, you are the most sexually uptight guy I've ever dated. Why, yes, I did in fact notice your neurosis about having your dick touched after you came, and guess what, I got a secret kick out of triggering it! I would deliberately reach for the base of the condom when you were still inside me, after we fucked, to help you pull out. You'd go "No, let me." I'd persist, murmuring, "Come on, let me help," until you'd start stammering, "NO NO NO NO NO!" Guess what, I tell that to everyone now. Also that you fuck like a jackrabbit.

I never told you that for months I imagined running into you on Eighth Avenue and laughing with a merriness I didn't feel and telling you you were the worst fuck I've ever had. True, by the way.