I have rarely felt so seen by a guest blog as I do by this one on fucking your ex. Not that I’m going to fuck any of my exes, you understand. Nuh-uh. I probably shouldn’t. Love is an addiction and fucking your ex is like having just a bit of your favourite, favourite thing: like picking up just one cigarette when you’ve quit for three years, then buying a whole pack then another and another… Christ, I felt this blog post resonate in my skin. Please welcome the absolutely brilliant LM, whose last guest post was a searingly gorgeous BDSM love story (and she’s also written about sex supplements and feeling small and cute – check those out too!). Today she is here to talk about fucking your ex. Why you probably shouldn’t… and why she did anyway.

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This fabulous story is written and read by JM Seaborn. I couldn’t work out how to categorise it, but it touches on a fantasy that I imagine quite a few people will have had, leaning in to the idea of making your ex jealous by fucking a new partner. Note that this story contains use of the words ‘Daddy’ and ‘Babygirl’ during kink. All characters in the story are over the age of 18.

It’s a busy house party and you’re nervous for two reasons. 1. Your ex is going to be there. 2. This is the first time your friends will meet Daddy.

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Tingling with excitement at about 5pm, I hop in the shower. I wouldn’t usually start getting ready this early, but fuck it – there’s no way I’m getting any work done when I’ve been promised the chance to buy a hot guy a pint. Not just any hot guy, either, but we’ll get to that.

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Since I broke up with my ex, quite a lot of people have sought to reassure me that “you’ll find someone else.” It’s incredibly kind and well-meaning, and tempting as all hell to lean in to the idea. Go shopping for men, you say? Sounds fun! Pick one who’s better? Sweet! Hey presto – happiness awaits! I get why people offer this advice, and I don’t want to bat it away with a sarky response because it comes from a place of kindness. It’s understandable and admirable to try to comfort someone who’s hurting. But I don’t really like “you’ll find someone else”, and I thought I’d have a crack at explaining why.

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I don’t sleep in our bedroom any more, I decamped to the spare room months ago. There are too many ghosts in our bedroom now, I do not like being in it. The room in which my ex-boyfriend used to work (and play, and sleep, and live) has long since been closed off: I use the space for drying laundry, but the door to it is firmly shut unless I’m hanging socks. This house is riddled with shadow-versions of him, and most of them congregate in there.

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