The Forgotten Ones

My, but I made some bad decisions in the past with regard to sexual congress. My numbers are … well, high. They say that’s not uncommon with sexual abuse survivors. I’m sure that’s part of it but I also genuinely enjoy sex and have a lusty appetite. Plus, add in the whiskey and, yes, it’s a recipe for a high score card.

I honestly don’t have specific numbers but somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 or 50 seems about right. Thank the lord I came of age in an era of PSAs by Magic Johnson and MTV’s ‘Staying Alive’ campaign.

Some I am happy for and would do - no pun intended - over again: J in Charleston. PS. My sweet husband, of course. Matt B (though, differently and more honest). KVT (again, differently and more honest).

Some I would wipe away from the record books with a snap of a finger if I could: B (I think?!) in Hickory, the German in Maryland, her brother or something in C-land. Dave and most of the boys (and girls) in Dayton. Ben, ugh. Jim. Jason. Freddie. Maybe Gabey. Andy.

Some were fun and frivolous and were almost nothing to begin with, like cotton candy sex, and don’t even seem like they should count: Jesse, and pretty much any of the airmen.

Some I still feel sorry for and might throw them a bone to this day if I were a single gal about town but, then, pity isn’t really a good reason to have sex, is it? A, poor A. First Matt. PJ. Ryan. Scott.

Some, I wish I would have: Michael. Mike. Mike II. Funny that.

Some, years later, I’m still not sure about. Nik. J. Lee.

But it’s the ones I tend to forget about who crop back up out of nowhere that are the most upsetting. It’s one thing to have a regret; it’s quite another to forget someone completely. Mr. Bear came to mind yesterday, followed with, “Oh, yeah … him. I forgot about him.”

Mr. Bear now belongs in the camp I would wipe away. Progress, I guess? I’m wondering how many more will flash back into memory in the days ahead. I’ll keep adding as they come to mind.