The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps

I have never known another person with your name. I have met perhaps two others, but never known intimately anybody else with the same name as you. 

That is a blessing and a curse. I don't often have to say your name out loud, but because I only ever say it out loud to mean you, that gives your name a kind of mystical quality that it doesn't really deserve. If you had been called Dave or Steve would you have been easier to forget? Your face blending in to all the other Daves and Steves so that you were more quickly forgotten? Perhaps not. 

Your name is not uncommon as such, just uncommon in the culture and religion here. You don't need a surname, like Madonna or Prince. There's only one of you. Oh, there is only one of you, you fucker.

Like Lolita, you had several monikers: she was Delores on paper and plain Lo in the morning with sleep in her eyes. I had several names for you, and the first thing I ever called you was "Sir" which is just weird when you think that I ended up with your cock in my mouth along with your name. Certainly I struggled to call you by your Christian name at first, after years of calling you "Mister Surname". And then as the years wore on I would call you Pudding as an homage to your shape, short and round. A harmless nickname for a harmless man. Your two syllable name was shortened to one short and lyrical syllable when I liked you and two snappy little sounds when I didn't. In my head I always think of you as the shortening, but aloud to others I refer to you as the shattered glass of the legal and official. 

Your name wasn't unique, but it was unusual and that pretty much sums you up. There are others out there that have done what you did, but you're the only one that I ever knew.