Guide

My name is Laura, I just turned 32 this year, and I have never felt so at home in my own body.  I grew up in the north of France, in a fairly strict family. As a child, I lacked for nothing — except perhaps a little freedom and lightness. From a young age, I have been passionate about books — they are the way I found to escape the everyday and dare to step outside the frame. Books have truly taught me everything: about myself, about relationships, about seduction, and even about sexuality. It was a subject I never discussed with my parents, and naturally, by the time I was 15 or 16, I needed answers.  I devoured romance novels, guides, and graphic novels on the subject. My little favourite at the time? The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, published in 1972: a classic of historical romance that I would recommend to every woman.  After a degree in communications, I immediately wanted to start working. For weeks, I approached every bookshop in town until someone gave me a chance. I was barely 20, and it was around that time that I also began to flirt with men. For real, I mean — beyond my own mind and my fantasies. Before that, I don't think I truly felt allowed to. After 2 or 3 genuinely disappointing encounters, I met Thomas at a party. The chemistry between us was immediate. The conversation flowed, the attraction was there.  Less than 2 years after we met, I fell pregnant. We were using protection so it wasn't really planned, but I didn't question it for a moment.  Mathilde's first months were inevitably difficult and utterly exhausting. She took a very long time to sleep through the night — a newborn who needed a great deal of attention. For my part, I was prepared for that reality, I had anticipated this shift in rhythm, but I believe Thomas hadn't quite grasped what becoming a parent truly meant.  At first, I didn't hold it against him at all. After all, we were young, he too wanted to invest energy in his career, and he always took care of me. He was doing his best, he truly was. But the truth is, exhaustion crushes everything. Naturally, our intimacy took a blow, and so did my libido. I no longer had the mental space or the energy to dedicate to our sexuality. In that first year, we couldn't even find a moment together for a restaurant or a film. When I sensed that he was pulling away, I took the initiative. I finally dared to ask for help from our friends and family to look after Mathilde at least once a week. I gave everything I had to rekindle the flame: romantic dinners, flirty messages, fine lingerie, playful games… I tried everything to breathe new life into our intimacy. At first, it worked reasonably well, but I was always the only one to take the initiative. Being a mother, a bookseller, a woman, a lover… I could no longer give 100% to all of those roles. Thomas was growing distant, and nothing I put in place was enough to hold him. I could clearly see he was elsewhere, that he no longer wanted to invest in our relationship. I realised we had become housemates, co-parents at best. I was no longer desirable in his eyes. That realisation hurt me deeply, especially after all the efforts I had made to save our relationship.  Our daughter wasn't even two years old when I did what I never thought I would do: go through his phone while he was in the shower. I don't know whether it was exhaustion, fear, or simply instinct, but I found what I had been dreading. A conversation with a woman he had been messaging for months. Messages, photos, words… All that attention that was no longer meant for me.  I read it, reread it, over and over again. And it was devastating. Not only because he was cheating on me, but because I felt invisible. Replaced. Humiliated. Even though I know today it makes no sense, I compared myself to her, I analysed every detail, every photo. I confronted him. He didn't deny it. He didn't fight. He didn't even try to hold on to me. He let me file for divorce. He signed the papers. And it was over.  After that, I disappeared a little myself. I became only a mother. Efficient, organized, always there for my daughter, but no longer a woman at all. My body, my desire — as if erased. Even self-pleasure had become impossible for me, as if my mind had shut that door. I went back to work, met people, tried to rebuild myself. But it was never enough. I felt empty, and guilty for feeling empty. Six months after the divorce, I finally talked about it with a friend. She was seeing a sex therapist as part of couples therapy, and she gave me her details. I made an appointment — partly out of curiosity, partly out of desperation. On the day of the appointment, I could barely speak without breaking into tears. I told her everything that was on my heart: the divorce, the betrayal, my exhaustion, my anger, my shame… She looked at me, patiently, and then she said something I will never forget: « You have the right to become a woman again. You have the right to be modest, and you also have the right to experience pleasure. » Just that. Three sentences. But it shattered something in me. My husband had stolen nothing from me. My body, my pleasure — they were still mine. For the first time in months, I felt seen, whole, legitimate in my desire. She explained that one could be modest, that one could find pleasure without shame, that pleasure was not a betrayal, nor a luxury, nor a whim. That I could be a mother, work, love… and fully experience pleasure. That small revelation was enormous. As if someone had handed me back the right to breathe for myself, to think of myself. Before I left, she had scribbled on a post-it: 1969 And the name of a clitoral massager: the Wand « Start here, » she told me. « Take it slowly. Come back for a follow-up appointment. » I placed my order. The package sat on my bedside table for an entire week. I would look at it — a little wary, a little excited, a little ashamed. I was waiting for the right moment to open it.  Then one weekend, Mathilde was at her father's, and I dared.  At first, I simply ran the toy over my skin to explore my arms, my thighs, my stomach… rediscovering forgotten parts of my body. I was no longer used to touching myself just for me. And it was delicious. I didn't know the inside of my thighs was so sensitive — I had never taken the time to discover my body in my past relationships. Neither had my partners, for that matter. Then I brought the Wand close to my clitoris. I hesitated for a moment, heart racing, as if I were about to cross a forbidden threshold. I turned on the softest vibration and breathed slowly, deeply, over and over, as if to reassure myself that I had every right to be there and that I was doing nothing wrong. And then, I combined the Wand with the caress of my own body. The sensation… I had never felt anything like it. A warmth that floods everything, an immense release, as if every corner of my body had been holding something back for years and finally had the right to let go. At first, it was quick, overwhelming. I didn't know where to place my hands, how to breathe through this sensation that rose so fast. And then I began to listen to my body. To breathe with the rhythm, to draw out the pleasure, to explore by combining touch and vibration. I didn't even want penetration — everything was perfect just as it was.  Each small pulse became a discovery, a shiver, a quiver I had never taken the time to feel. Multiple orgasms, mastery over the rise of desire, a world I thought was closed to me, that opened up in an instant. When I heard my friends talk about multiple orgasms, I thought they were exaggerating a little — I didn't think it was possible. How wrong I was.  I don't feel ready to meet someone, but I feel alive and connected to my femininity, more attuned to my desire. My libido is reawakening, gently, and with it, a part of me I thought I had lost. I went back to see my therapist a few weeks later. We talked about what I had discovered, about this pleasure I had finally allowed myself to feel. She encouraged me to keep exploring, to relearn my body, to listen to my desires. Today, I'm not necessarily looking for love at any cost, but I know I can allow myself pleasure, take time for myself, and savour my own sensations. I want to keep exploring, to try new intimate toys — it's true that the Rabbit has been catching my eye… All I want is to savour this rediscovered freedom — just for myself.  

Born in July 1969, the year humanity set foot on the Moon, Nathalie never imagined that her own intimate exploration would begin decades later. At 56, after a life devoted to her family, a simple gift from friends opens the door to an unexpected discovery: that of her own pleasure.