In my mind, I was either a sex/masturbation addict (which was wrong) or a dried-out prune (which was also wrong). It was not right.
He turns the corner on two wheels and I turn the page. He shuts the engine, I shut the book. Turns out this type of story is a legendary myth.
I was no angel either. When a guy fucked me right away and deigned to call me the next day, I recoiled, referring to an Eminem lyric that rang all too true.