You told me you were trisexual, and you accused me of being monosexual. I was intrigued. I thought you had maybe reached new heights of sexuality I had never dreamed of. Strange erotic pathways into the hypersexual unknown. I thought you were an insane fetish nightmare, and I wanted to journey into that living Hell with you. It wasn’t long into our nude, fumbling interplay that I knew the truth. You had never had sex before, and you didn’t even know what sex was. I stepped out of my marriage based on the incomprehensible ramblings of a confused, possibly mentally unstable, virgin.