(Am I currently finishing all my blog posts instead of studying for my exams? Absolutely!
Sometimes procrastination takes the most unexpected forms (although to be fair, I’m actually ahead in my revision schedule, so I can afford to spend my life hanging out at the grocery store flirting with Mr. Grocer, this story is starting to take me a lot of my time, I might have to level up soon). Back when I was working on my thesis in 2018–2019, my procrastination took many shapes: several intense spring cleanings, a few enthusiastic baseboard and toilet-painting sessions, finally reading books that had been waiting for months (or years), and some overly ambitious source research — which later inspired my collaboration with Cybèle and even ended up in Tan’s book TDS. I can’t wait to see what next year brings two dissertations at once, plus exams to spice things up! It’s going to be GLO-RI-OUS.)
A few years ago, while I was wandering around American escorts’ websites (I love admiring my colleagues, that’s pretty much the only reason I’m on Twitter and Instagram, my feeds are full of beautiful people and I must admit, quite a lot of photos of butts and boobs, which makes it tricky to open that app on public transport!), I came across an article one of them had written about the idea of traveling with an escort.
The main argument was “Because unlike your wife, an escort will never say no to sex.“
I’ll admit, I almost choked on my rosemary tea.
There’s nothing wrong if this colleague happens to have a boundless libido and is always up for some fun. But what bothered me was the generalization — and the danger behind such a statement.
Suggesting that an escort is someone who must fulfill another person’s desires at any time simply means denying her right to consent.
And when there’s no consent, it’s…well, we all know what that is.
Oh, and that little jab at “your wife”? Also not great. Really, there was nothing right about those few words.
The myth of the emotionless professional machine
What I saw there was a kind of “professionalism” taken to the extreme, something like, “If someone pays or hires you then you must obey their every wish, forget who you are, what you like, what you feel… Just serve.“
That story stayed with me for a while. I didn’t quite know what to do with it. But since lately I’ve been lucky enough to go on some beautiful trips with my suitors, I wanted to talk about what makes those moments so special and why taking care of each other matters, even (and especially) in this kind of relationship.
I’ve always believed that, no matter what our job is, we’re not robots. The idea that a “good professional” should be able to build a wall between work and private life just to be more productive is, to me, a deeply toxic one. Sure, maybe some people can do it but for how long and at what cost? Even when I was a nurse, it used to drive me mad to be called “unprofessional” simply because I cried when one of my patients died
And the older I get, the more this concept annoys me. Not just for me, but for everyone.
When I travel, my private life travels with me (and yours does too, obviously).
Setting my day-to-day aside for a few hours is usually easy enough. I’m lucky, I meet wonderful people and each encounter feels like a soft little bubble for me too. A pause, a gentle moment where I stop thinking about everything else, focus on the present, our conversations, the kisses, the touches. But even with the best intentions, things don’t always go as planned. When a meeting lasts for several days, it’s a different story entirely. We spend days and nights together, there’s no way to completely separate what’s going on in my life from what’s happening between us. I always do my best but a part of my real life will inevitably sneak into our little vacation. And because I’m human and my body is an absolute champion when it comes to reacting in annoying ways, I can’t guarantee a perfectly smooth, trouble-free trip.
Unexpected things sometimes hop on the plane with us, and not even Trump could send them back home.
- A family emergency,
- A sudden hemorrhagic period,
- A lingerie theft at the airport,
- A pizza-induced food poisoning,
- A spectacular allergic reaction,
- Or a full-on drama-queen crisis from my dog (“Because you left, I shredded your desk, eviscerated the couch, and had explosive diarrhea on my sitter’s bed!!!“).
Yep. All of that (and more) has already happened. There was even one lucky man who experienced three of these disasters during the same trip (can you guess which ones?).
I’m not saying everything has to stop the moment something goes wrong. I’m actually quite resilient.
But knowing that I can be heard, that we can slow down a bit, adapt if needed, makes all the difference.
Yes, we need to talk about things like my period, for example. Very heavy bleeding and painful cramps can be disabling, especially if we have plans to explore a city all day. No, I can’t just “pretend everything’s fine” and hide it. If it’s too hot, I might faint or I might spend the whole day calculating where the nearest public toilets are to avoid… well, a mess. It’s not glamorous, I know. And I get that some people don’t want to talk about periods with their partners. But for me? I need lovers I can rely on for this kind of thing. Bonus points if, instead of laughing or looking disgusted at a blood leak, you hand me a sweatshirt and run to the nearest store for supplies. More generally, my cycle affects how I experience our time together. I’m one of those people who goes through full-on emotional and physical rollercoasters each month. PMS can hit me hard: hypersensitivity, breast pain, fatigue (even after nine hours of sleep and five-hour naps!) and ovulatory periods that make me feel like I’ve had a permanent caffeine overdose (and fall in love every five meters).
And no, I can’t schedule encounters around my cycle. We already have two busy schedules to align mine includes two courses, other activities, my dog and my private life. Plus, since the issue I’m about to have surgery this summer, my cycle has decided to go rogue (even though it used to be as regular as clockwork).
Yes, I’ll do my best not to change our plans too much, even if I have food poisoning. But sometimes, I’ll need a little adjustment: shaky legs, hot-and-cold flashes that get hard to manage in a crowd or heat.
It would be such a shame to replace a planned stroll through the streets of Venice with a hospital visit because I fainted (even if my Italian is decent, I’ve learned nothing about medical emergencies so no, it’s really not a good idea!)
Yes, I may feel the need to share some difficult things in my life but that won’t spoil our moment, on the contrary. Not keeping it to myself, being able to talk about it and sometimes even laugh about it a little helps me to deal with it better and therefore get back into the moment more quickly (honestly, dealing with my dog’s crisis in Marseille and Venice was something else. Luckily, I was with patient and funny lovers who helped me take a breather, laugh and drink too (the wine and prosecco helped a lot, let’s be honest)). In my work, I find that this kind of discussion and relationship is much more intimate than the “in bed” part. It’s thanks to all these little moments of authenticity that I can dive a little deeper into the connection with my lover.
If you’re looking for someone who always says “yes,” go get a sex doll. You’ll even save some money. You’re welcome !
Now, back to the sexual aspect we mentioned earlier: all these little (and not-so-little) adventures obviously affect our intimate moments.
First, there’s the physical side. I give my absolute best but trying to maintain a glamorous, classy sex session while dealing with food poisoning? Not always possible (and yes, dignity can be at risk, accidents happen fast) Then there’s my period…no need to spell it out. Pray my early-July surgery works, because I’m so over losing liters of blood each month (okay, maybe not liters literally, but enough to ruin my sheets and clothes).
But it’s also mental. Sexual pleasure and a preoccupied brain don’t coexist very well. It’s like trying to nap while the kid upstairs runs around in noisy shoes “tap tap tap tap tap tap tap…“. So, if bad news crashes into our trip, my mind might not be fully in the mood for a sweet encounter. And here’s where the magic of the relationship comes in: if I have a partner who listens, allows me to talk, treats me gently, gives me time and space, chances are we’ll reconnect even faster than expected. Yes, of course, it depends on the news. If it’s a death, well, it might slightly ruin the trip. But if it’s my dog throwing yet another drama-queen meltdown, shredding my precious sexology and sociology books and having explosive diarrhea in my lingerie drawer, then I just suggest opening a bottle of prosecco, grabbing some Stilton or Shropshire and brainstorming your best jokes about my demon-dog (maybe wait until I’ve had a first glass…just in case).
This doesn’t only apply to Venice. This long rant is true for any encounter, in any context — not just in my work.
Of course, long trips aren’t necessary to create this kind of connection. You don’t have to take me out for linguine alle vongole in Venice to connect intimately. And just because you do bring me there, it doesn’t guarantee intimacy. The simple act of caring for each other during our encounters, exchanging emails afterwards to check in, encourage and support each other…that’s the foundation of what I value in a relationship.
Trips are a special case, though, and I wanted to share my perspective on the role of emotions in these moments. Society increasingly wants to silence feelings, insisting that professional and private lives should never mix and the damage is already visible… I know not everyone has the same freedom as I do, but here’s the main takeaway: be kind to the people you meet. You never know what they’re going through (except for folks with a Zemmour fan club card, empathy is in short supply there. Same goes for Trump fans. And we’ll stop there because I have a long list of people I don’t really empathise with… Oh dear!)
Je vous embrasse
P.S.: I wrote most of this text, and then in the middle of the night, I had a revelation : I forgot to tell you about another clandestine traveler! Just like my period, he hadn’t really bothered me in my work until recently. But there was a slightly intense episode and I wanted to share it so you’d know what you might be signing up for if you decide to take me on a trip. I suffer from sleep disorders, not the usual insomnia or snoring, no, it would be too simple ! I deal with hypnopompic hallucinations (yes, I also laughed out loud when I read that term) and sleep paralysis. Quite a package, right?
I’ve had these hallucinations before while sharing a bed with a charming suitor but no one ever knew, because I make no noise. I hallucinate quietly until my brain fully wakes up and I realize where I am and with whom. Nothing harmful! There was, however, one lucky guy who discovered the “theatrical version” a few months ago. Since then, I try to give a heads-up because it can… be surprising.
The moving version of these hallucinations happens mostly at home : I often wake up in front of my front door, not really knowing what I’m doing. Usually, I dream that I forgot to lock it, someone is ringing or I left it open and my cats escaped. I have a bit of a thing with my door… And apparently with doors in general…
One night, I was in lovely company and had recounted my nocturnal love for doors. Being a gentleman, my suitor offered to check the door with me before we went to bed, to reassure me. The next morning, still a bit foggy, I thought I remembered having an episode during the night but wasn’t sure, so I asked my bedmate.
He confirmed: yes, I had hallucinated…quite a bit! I had sat up in bed in the middle of the night and delivered a monologue like this: “Doors… there are doors… doors… doors… doors…“. Then he explained that at another point, I had sat back down on the bed to talk and he added apologetically: “But this time, I didn’t have the translator, so I didn’t understand a word you were saying“
We had known each other for a while, and I think this Valérie Damidot-style Exorcist remake made him laugh (he even rebooked for later trips). But not everyone shares that sense of humor. So, to avoid having to call a priest in the middle of the night, here are the instructions : speak softly, touch me gently (a firm but soft pressure on the arm works) and if possible, turn on a light. No sudden movements, no shouting. I genuinely experience what I hallucinate, if you scream, I might perceive it as a real threat.
I usually wake up completely quickly, sometimes I fall back asleep immediately, remembering only vaguely if the hallucination was mild (like, if I talk about a door, that’s fine!).
If we plan a long cuddle session, I’d be very happy to discuss this with you. I also have plenty of hilarious anecdotes (like the time I woke up writing a text to a lover asking where he was, while he slept peacefully beside me). Knowing I have a “guardian angel” beside me helps me relax and enjoy the night fully and turns potentially stressful moments into funny, tender memories.
Je vous embrasse
