Make ‘Ghosting’ Sexy Again
An actor reflects on the loss of his favorite love language.
by Patrick Swayze
At the height of my fame in the 1990s, “ghosting” evoked an ethereal romance that transcended the physical realm. I took pride in imbuing the word with its sensuous connotations. But after my death, “ghosting” lost its allure. It is now hauntingly unsexy.
In Ghost, my character Sam Wheat’s return as a spectral presence was a testament to enduring love. He showed the lengths one could go to preserve a bond, surpassing even “‘til death do us part.” Ghosting his wife Molly was a profound expression of devotion.
The ineffable sexiness of that devotion was captured when Sam visited Molly in the dimly lit sanctuary of a sculpture wheel. There, amidst the soft hum of creation, Sam stoked an intimate mingling that transcended the physical.
The air was thick with unspoken emotions. The boundaries between the earthy clay in Demi Moore’s libidinous fingers and my own supernatural eroticism blurred in a climax of passion. It was not merely a union of bodies, but a bonding of body and spirit. It evoked not just desire, but a yearning for connection that persists across the veil of mortality.
Given Ghost’s success, I assumed that after I died, women would think of me, especially at sculpture wheels, and call for me to “ghost” them. Once dead, I was thrilled to learn that encounters of that sort are actually possible––and with no need for Whoopi Goldberg’s help––so long as a woman gives explicit verbal consent. She must say, or even whisper, “I wish Patrick Swayze would ghost me.” How eagerly I listened for those words. I told myself that with practice, I’d have the time of my afterlife, ghosting so well that the word would soon connote the ethereal orgasms I’d give to my lovers.
But soon it became clear that ghosting no longer signified an above-and-beyond kind of love. Ghosting meant a silent severance, a cruel cessation of contact. Due to this cursed inversion of the term’s meaning, no woman ever asks to be ghosted. My legacy itself is wan.
Do not misunderstand. I don’t wish to defend, or perpetrate, spineless vanishing acts ––only to urge that while denouncing such caddishness, we recover the sexier sense of ghosting. I am irrevocably dead. Yet human language is capable of rebirths and renewals. It is not merely a tool for communication, but a vessel for our values and erotic hopes.
Let us reshape that vessel together. By reclaiming ghosting, we can restore its intent and beauty. We can define it as an expression of heightened connection rather than a cowardly escape. Doing so will honor the spirit of what ghosting once represented and could represent again—encounters where sexy souls like mine enchant, titillate, and pleasure.
As a ghost, I remain tall with a lean, athletic build sculpted by years of dance. My glide is more graceful than before. My tousled, dark hair still frames a chiseled jawline, complementing my piercing, soulful eyes. A warm, captivating smile still plays on my lips. May I half-embrace you from behind with my taut arms and help you to sculpt ghosting anew?
Patrick Swayze, renowned actor and dancer, known for his roles in Dirty Dancing and Ghost, died in 2009.