The ghost of the ex in bed / Sex with Esther

In bed, only two people rarely sleep together. There's always a third lurking: the ghost of the ex. One partner enters eagerly, but suspects that the other, while busy, is measuring every touch against a memory that has yet to vacate the ground floor. And then, what should be complicity becomes an audit of ghosts.

The curious thing is that neither of them admits it. The duo claims they don't compare, that bygones are bygones. However, it only takes one gesture, one unexpected movement, for the question to arise: "Who did he do this to?" And the task that was supposed to flow freezes, as if the bed were the stage for a copycat competition.

The other party strives to please, but feels the evaluation isn't coming from in front of them, but from behind, from someone who's no longer with them. It becomes a history test: who lasted the longest, who invented the most postures, who managed to elicit the most sighs. And of course, the desire is stifled by comparisons that are never confessed out loud.

How to banish these shadows? First, by understanding that each cot society writes its own script. There are no identical encounters or cloned ground floors. Pretending that the present can compete with the past is like asking a vallenato to sound like jazz : both are music, but not in the same rhythm.

Second, speaking. Because although the mouth—in this case—is designed for kisses, it also serves to design that thing. Saying what pleases, what turns you on, what scares you. Speaking playfully is the best way to dispel ghosts: turn the bedroom into a creative workshop, not a grading board.

And third, remembering that the only thing that matters is being present. Nostalgia will remain in our memories like old songs, but today's melody deserves to be heard in its entirety, without interference. Every person in bed has the right to their own hit, to a new rhythm that doesn't need anyone's permission.

Furthermore, it's important to understand that the cot isn't the stage for championships. No one awards medals for acrobatics or diplomas for speed. The feat is celebrated not for records, but for complicity: that knowing glance that says more than a shout, that pause that's worth more than a marathon. Those who focus on overcoming a ghost end up forgetting that true victory lies in inventing new pleasures, not in repeating the feats of others.

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Finally, it's important for each member to acknowledge the obvious: the ex can be a ghost, but also an involuntary teacher. What was once a learning experience can be transformed into capital for the present. It's not about denying the past, but rather using it as input for the present. After all, no one comes under the sheets as a blank slate: they arrive with accumulated stories, scars, laughter, and experiences (and even desire). And therein lies the challenge: not allowing the "emotionally dead" to rule the ground floor of the "passionately alive."

In the end, the point is clear: one partner doesn't compete with the other's exes, but with routine; the task isn't measured by other people's chronometers, but by the intensity of shared desire; and the bed isn't a museum of memories, but a laboratory of complicity. Because no ghost—no matter how persistent—can overcome two people who truly want to invent their present for the ground floor.