Over the past four decades, I had practically developed a PhD in the art of saying no to men. A lifelong cocktail of bodily shame and a nagging sense of inadequacy had thoroughly convinced me that my naked form was strictly a private exhibition. However, at the age of 44, having just survived a rather tedious and grueling battle with cancer, I experienced a sudden thirst for life. I craved companionship. I wanted someone with whom I could share my Belgian exploits, the sheer absurdity of my life story, and the hurdles I had overcome. As we say back home in Bavaria, if you survive a major storm, you might as well enjoy the beer that comes after. So, I descended into the trenches of modern romance, otherwise known as the apps.
It did not take my analytical mind long to deduce that Tinder, Bumble, and Feeld were essentially a digital circus. After a few dates with men who seemed less interested in my intellect and bizarrely fixated on the novelty of my late-in-life virginity, I decided to pivot. My best friend in Germany suggested a brutally efficient alternative: hire an escort. Initially, gazing upon a sea of oiled, full of themselves machos online, I was appalled. I thought, why on earth would I pay for a narcissistic headache when Tinder provides them entirely free of charge. After modifying my search parameters to something akin to gigolo minus the toxic masculinity, I stumbled upon Julian's website. His profile immediately resonated with me. My curiosity piqued, I asked for an introductory meeting, which felt very much like an interview. And heavens, when he walked in, tall, silver hair, with broad shoulders, my well-cultivated, intellectual composure completely evaporated. I felt like a giggling schoolgirl. We talked for two hours in an absolute suspension of time and space.
A week later, we progressed to the bedroom. I would be lying if I said I was completely zen. Aside from my very clinical General Practitioner, no man had ever seen me in my default state, let alone touched me. But as the armor came off, Julian completely disarmed me. He didn't rush. He simply looked at me and told me I was beautiful. He traced my shoulders with his fingers before kissing me. That night, I finally discarded my virginity, and more importantly, a substantial layer of my shame. Do I still scrutinize myself in the mirror occasionally? Naturally, old habits die hard. But his words, which sounded so remarkably authentic and real, still echo in my mind when the doubts creep in. In the meantime, I have confidently returned to the digital wilderness of the apps, and I am having the time of my life, exploring my sexuality and my desires. Yet, once in a while, I still book a date with Julian. We go out for a wonderful dinner, and he brings me home to spend the night.
Originally written in English
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