For one night, Halloween lets us be someone we're not and act out the fantasies we would normally shelter in our minds. On Halloween, we all wear masks. This Halloween, my favorite ex was costumed as the ghost of relationships past, and I was dressed as the emotionally na?ve school girl waiting to be taught a lesson in love.
We broke up when he moved away two years ago. He was a senior in college on Washington semester, couldn't promise commitment, wouldn't want to hurt me, and so we went our separate ways. I promised if he ended it I wouldn't let him back into my life. I sobbed at the airport after our last rendezvous. The two swanky male crew members on Southwest gave me extra cocktail tickets.
"Whoever he is, you'll find another one sweetie," they said.
And two weeks later I was dating a lobbyist.
While I no longer wanted the ex as the man in my life, I wanted the sex. I craved it like the Halloween candy you just can't stop consuming. While trying to recapture past fantasies, I was undecided whether sex with my ex was an emotional trick that would leave me done and denied, or a treat to rekindle the chemistry.
Is sex with an ex a trick or a treat?
Even with new boyfriends, the old relationship residue remained. After a few months and a few drunken phone calls, we both moved on. They are still together acting out an 'open relationship.' The ex came to Washington last weekend to sleep with me. I gave in to my ex craving.
Sex with an ex is a seductive trick. Whether it's orgasmic is irrelevant because it is no longer yours to indulge in. If you choose to rekindle the flame, all of the reasons for the break-up still apply, and now history is regurgitated and the ex is soon gone-but the baggage remains.
I could blame it on the hormones, the martinis, the sticky, smoky bar and dim lights. With two years of break-ups under our belts, I'm still drawn to him. I claim that I can handle seeing him and sleeping with him, but I know I can't realistically have emotionally disconnected sex.
I was unsure whether cobwebs over time were shading my memory of the experience. Was it the best sex, even though he is far from the best thing for me? We do have the self-control not to sleep together and ignore the intense sexual tension that lures us to each other.
I stayed at his apartment in New York City when I came back from a semester abroad. There were casual hellos. It had been a year since we had seen each other, and after a shared bottle of red wine we did what most exes with unresolved feelings do: We started throwing the past out on the table. I wanted to toss him, rip his clothes off and forget about the history haunting us. But instead I nursed my glass of wine and pretended to be immune to his probing advances to make me hot, make me mad and make me want him.
He told me I was trouble. He told me I was temptation. I slept on the couch in baggy sweats; he slept in the next room naked. I don't think either one of us really slept that night. Instead, we were contemplating would the sex be as intense, and would the spooky feelings of love and lust resurface...
Then he came to D.C. and we decided it was healthier to get it out of our systems. The sex was definitely a treat. History was left at the door. But the morning after, the stale feelings were still in bed with me. Having sex with an ex is a true test of emotional control. Can you put old feelings aside for the sake of passion and the moment?
As much as I had rehearsed the pillow talk, I wanted him to stay when sobriety kicked in. I marinated in the idea of him returning to my sheets. I wanted ex sex all the time. Sleeping with an old boyfriend is like window-shopping on welfare at Neiman's: You want what you can't emotionally afford. Reviving history with my "Mr. Big" was a trick as much as it was a treat. Now I was left in bed with the taste of steamy sex, but my treat returned back to the Big Apple.
A few weeks ago, he propositioned me for a weekend of sex and champagne in New York. Is it love, chemistry or simply sex that lures us together? Locked in a hotel room away from reality we could pretend that maybe we haven't continuously hurt each other, and simply satisfy the sexual rope pulling at both of us.
Now, I went to New York. The fantasy stops there. The concept of traveling for a steamy weekend down memory lane was much more romantic in my head than it was logistically. The minute I stepped off the train, we were physically back two years in time, but emotionally too much had passed. We had underestimated two years of history, how different our lives could be. After sexy, open-ended propositions, we were left with the decision: Do we sleep together?
And oh, we slept together. It was just like old times, only nothing is as good in reality as it is in memory. We both acknowledged that when we were together, the sex was simply better. The emotion had equated to ecstasy.
"Maybe I have just been using sex as an excuse to keep you in my life," he said.
And with that confession, I transformed from his sexual scandal to his sexual sadness. And all the masks were off, the costumes melted away. Sex with an ex was a treat that taught us what tricks your memory can play on you.
Jessica Bacharach is a senior print journalism major and women's studies minor. Caught with your pants down runs every Thursday. Connie Heiss writes next week.
