Wicked Wednesday

I Don’t Remember What My Ex Looks Like

in my memory ever ex looks the same like a stormtrooper

Image via Pixabay

I have one ex-husband and several ex…boyfriends? Lovers? I don’t know what word to use. None of them fit or sound right in my head.

At one point or another, they were important to me. I’m too introverted, shy, and filled with self-esteem issues to let someone close enough to become an ex without them being important on some level.

And now I don’t remember what they look like.

That’s the way of it, though, isn’t it?

It happens when someone dies. And it happens when they or we leave the relationship.

Every time I realize I can’t conjure up a picture of an ex in my head, it’s a jolt.

I fucked him. Sucked his cock. Let him fuck me hard. In one case, called him “Sir.” Now they’re strangers who occupy a very small but unique place in my memories. They appear when I flip through my mental filing cabinet, attempting to remember a different time.

They’re all unique. Individuals. With their own wants, needs, desires, and likely, their own memories of our time together. They aren’t “no one” or random guys. But my brain treats them that way.

I used to feel guilty about losing those memories. And then I realized two things.

It’s normal.

I’m not the most sentimental person on the planet so maybe it’s just me.

But I’m not completely awful. Some memories are clear and wonderful.

I clearly remember fucking a boy (really, being fucked by a boy) in my teenage self’s bed, holding onto the bedpost and thinking, “I could fuck like this all the time.” We only had sex twice and he became a slight obsession of mine that summer. I thought I wanted him but my adult-self knows I wanted his cock more.

The first time I realized you can get rug burn on your face if you’re not careful was delightful. So was the first time I got a leg cramp from being bent over a chair and fucked viciously. Same man, different locations. He’s also the first time I experienced a fantasy straight out of erotic fiction of sucking a CEO’s cock in his office (no, really) while he took a business call. My mission? To make his voice catch or make him lose his train of thought. In the end, he finished his call, threw me on the floor, and fucked me long and hard. And I still won. If winning is satisfyingly brutal sex on an office floor.

I remember the boy who worked the night shift with me the summer before college and fucked me as the sun came up most mornings. We slept in his bed together three or four nights a week. If his mother objected, she never said it to me as she came into his room to check on him (us?) before going to work.

Maybe I don’t remember their faces (and sometimes their names) but the memories that remain tell me things about my past and my present. They are, unknowingly and without trying, part of my journey as a sexual being.

Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! The prompt for this week is about the ex. My memory being what it is, I don’t have stories to share, only glimpses and snapshots in time. I don’t look back on them often but when I do, I’m amazed at all the connections I missed about my own sexuality. Want more steamy stuff? You know where to go!

rainbow circle that says Wicked Wednesday

 

 

About the author

Kayla Lords

I am an erotic author, sex blogger, podcaster, freelance writer, an opinionated marketer, and speaker. You can find me online sharing my innermost sexual thoughts and experiences, teaching other bloggers how to make money writing about sex, and helping kinksters have healthy BDSM relationships. I'm also a masochistic babygirl submissive with an amazing and sadistic Daddy Dom and business partner, John Brownstone. Welcome to my kinky corner of the internet!

10 Comments

  • Sometimes my memory is too good to my own liking, where I can remember faces too well, what happened too well and sometimes even can remember trivial details. Add to that this thing in me that wants to be in good harmony with everyone and you have someone who search for her exes on Facebook and such only to see how they are doing. For what? I have no f***ing idea!
    I wish I could be a bit more like you and at least forget some details!

    Rebel xox

    • I’ve done that too Rebel. My biggest mistake was to contact someone who was an ex-friend (not lover because I didn’t trust him on that front) after 20 years, and got publicly put down. I’m pretty convinced now it’s a bad idea, a bit like calling when you are drunk and sentimental – lol.

  • I relate all too well for having to have somebody be terribly close and important to warrant becoming an “Ex”. There aren’t many in my past who claim that title; only one remains in contact via Facebook to this day. Like Marie, I remember most (although not all) of their faces far too vividly sometimes. When it happens, I identify with a lyric from The Eagles “Hotel California” more strongly than I’d like; some dance to remember, some dance to forget.

    Still, the good times are worth remembering, and it sounds like you get a good healthy dose of remembering the experiences that helped shaped you. In the end, isn’t that the part that matters?

  • I love your “They are, unknowingly and without trying, part of my journey as a sexual being.” So, so true.

    My thing is I can ALWAYS remember the faces . . . and would probably now be quite disappointed should I come across one or two of my “previous acquaintances” decades after our special times together. I would, of course, remind myself that I will have changed as well, and that memories are probably best left as just that!!!

    Xxx – K

    Xxx – K

    • I feel the same way. I try to take something from every encounter, person, and situation – even the truly awful ones – so that everything has some purpose to it. Even if that purpose is to learn a hard lesson about what *not* to do in the future.

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