Who Needs Personal Experiences?

Just now I was looking at old blog posts, as I do from time to time, and I saw an old post where I made brief mention of a hilarious story about my friend's roommate's ex-boyfriend.
"Shit," I thought, "I shouldn't throw away such a good story like that!
Unfortunately, I'm not part of the story. I only have a loose connection to the people involved; the ex-boyfriend in question I have never met, I don't even know his name. So, if you like you may call what follows fiction. Or, if you like the whole "I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT REALLY HAPPENED!" aspect of things, you can think of it as creative non-fiction. I hope I don't distort things too badly.

My friend's roommate, we'll call her Amy for the sake of her privacy, enrolled in a local community college. She already had a teaching job with a provisional license, and needed to take classes to get a permanent one. At one of these classes she met a young man, whom we'll call Doug because we don't know his name.
Doug is apparently a looker. We may assume this to be true because he paid for college with money he earned modeling. Doug is also, at the age of 28 (or something like that), a self-made millionaire. I don't know exactly what the idea was, but he came up with something good when he was about 23, and he made literally a million dollars off of it. Having earned enough money to last him the rest of his life, Doug decided to give back to the community by becoming a public school teacher. Yes, really. He's attractive, rich, and has a social conscience. Furthermore, and I have to go on Amy's word for this one, he's a nice guy. Considerate, good at conversation, a good listener. The word charming was used.
Amy was naturally smitten, and apparently he liked her too. They went on a series of dates, and after a while began having sex. Healthy, normal, consensual sex. Then one of Amy's ex-boyfriends came back to town, and she decided she still had feelings for him. She told Doug she couldn't see him any more, and he was sad, but not in a way that was creepy. He didn't stalk her, or send her anything disturbing in the mail, or even give her dirty looks in class.
Time went by. The class ended, and Amy and Doug went their seperate ways. After a few months he called her up.
"Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. Let's have dinner, not a date, just to catch up."
So Amy said sure. Why not? Catching up sounded nice.
She met him at the restaurant, and they got a table. The waitress came with their drinks and took their order. Amy told Doug about her teaching, Doug told Amy about whatever it is Doug was up to. Then the conversation took a strange turn toward the confessional.
"Do you know what I always wanted you to do with you, but never had the courage to ask for?"
"Uhm, no, what's that?"
"I wish you had shit on me."
"WHAT?"
"Oh not like I'd eat it or anything gross. Just you know, have you smear it around on my chest."
That was not all he had to confess. This was but the springboard into a whole list of bizarre sexual fetishes covered over dinner, ranging from misogynistic Japanese porn and butt plugs to the difficulties of getting semen out of his dog's fur.
Amy went straight home from dinner and told her roommate, who in turn told me several weeks later over the phone.
"What?" I said, "What a great story! I'm going to casually refer to that in my blog and never go into any detail, until six months later when, motivated by a lack of material, I decide to throw caution to the wind and play someone else's embarassing story for laughs!"