16/11/2015 - My sexual power is mine.

I’ve been trying to let ChatGPT write an article for my blog from a conversation I had with it, but I’m never better served than by myself. Just a reminder that AI can do plenty, but it won’t steal my unique voice and vision. What comes out of me holds a vibration of authenticity, and it just hit different.

After writing at Radio Bush yesterday, I knew there was more inside me, so I sent my entry to ChatGPT and asked it to create a few questions to help me dive into the core of what I was circling around. I love doing this. I don’t use ChatGPT to reveal the truth for me, that would mean adopting a truth that wasn’t born from within. I use it the same way I use Tarot: as a mirror that helps me pull out what is already alive inside me. It accompanies, but it never dictates.

This is where we need to stay conscious with AI, not falling into the echo chamber it can create. AI reflects what we feed it. It does not hold our truth waiting to be delivered. The work is still ours. If we forget that, we become disciples of a machine, giving up our creative power. I’ve watched people around me fall into that trap, and I fell into it myself in the beginning. It’s almost part of the initiation into any new system, especially one as disruptive as this.

Coming back to the conversation, I was pushed to express what I genuinely desire from men and connection. And what surprised me was how easy it felt to admit that what I want right now is a sexfriend. Someone mentally challenging, charismatic, fun, emotionally regulated, capable of exploring sexuality with me while valuing me and leaving me free. Saying it felt like naming something that had already been sitting in me for a long time.

The more I dug, the more I understood the real layer underneath. After sex, what I actually desire, beneath the fear that the exploration will stop too soon, is that I always want more. I rarely feel satisfied the first time because to fully open, I need to feel that there will be another time. That we’re not rushing something sacred into a single night. That a dynamic is being built. That I can open slowly, safely, wildly.

And the truth is this: I had to start guarding myself because, in the past, I didn’t. A few times, I gave everything the first night, my sexual energy, my power, my intensity, and the next day, silence. Ghosting. No explanation. And that’s where the addictive pattern began. Not addiction to the man, but addiction to the version of myself that came alive in that moment. And anger at being robbed of the space to explore her further.

It was never about them.

It was about the part of me I met through them.

I confused the portal with the person.

I used to think men “activated” something in me, but I now see the conditioning. This idea that men are the center of feminine experience, that what we feel is thanks to them. No. My sexual power is mine. Yes, some men are better in bed than others, but I was falling in love with the part of me that I revealed, not with them.

So what do I want from a man now? It’s funny, because for so long I believed that meeting the love of my life was the arc, the destination, the reward at the end. And I held this belief with pride, and absolute devotion. But maybe I needed to go to that absolute extreme, to believe in it with all my heart, so I could finally release the expectation altogether. Like a balloon which needs to be inflated to the maximum before exploding.

What I want today is simple and precise: respect, mental stimulation, admiration, clarity, and an unquenchable desire for my body. Freedom to express and receive what feels true. Simplicity. No filters. Pure authenticity in the game of exploration. And yes, someone who loves to play as much as I do, with a hint of perversity.

Emotionally, I want someone who is able to process his emotions and not project them. Something I long thought men were incapable of, when, in reality, I’m the one who is naturally detached. I feel emotions deeply but without scarcity. I don’t cling. I don’t need a relationship to feel grounded. The joy, pleasure, and wonder I seek already exist within me. The other is a mirror, not a savior.

I now see that I imprisoned myself in a belief because I was afraid of my own truth. That I am as free as I claimed to be. That I may not be as romantic as I am, and more so sensual with it comes to my partners. That I can live exactly as I want, even if it doesn’t follow the expected path. I don’t need a partner to feel safe exploring my sexual depths. Love isn’t the key. I already embody it.

Still, men are portals. Through shared intimacy, I meet new dimensions of myself. My voice, my desires, my primal self, my dominant and submissive poles, my shadow. Being taken in total surrender. Being led into someone’s shadow too. That’s what I crave, the discovery of myself through someone who can hold me.

And I can no longer postpone it. I want to explore with the men who appear on my path, not randomly, I’m rarely attracted to anyone, I’ve had sex twice this year, but I won’t cut off connections just because I don’t see a future with the person. I’m done chasing the “right” partner. I want what I want now. If it evolves, great. If not, it was still true.

Maybe it took me this long because I’m not afraid of my sexual power. I’m afraid of what it would mean to be taken by someone who can hold the full expression of it. Afraid of the ecstasy, the release, the absolute intensity. Afraid of losing the filters that keep me relatable. Afraid of becoming fully myself. Afraid of who that woman is.

But when I imagine her, I know exactly who she is. The artist inside me. The one who doesn’t hold back. The one who turns life into a sensual playground. The one who lets her dualities coexist without taming them. The curious child with a wild heart and a twisted mind.

And then came the last question from ChatGPT: what actually stops you from going there?

The answer was clear: men’s view on me. Their judgments. But more specifically three archetypes: the father, mine and the collective one, the one you want to impress by “being good”; the desired man, the one I wanted but who didn’t let me explore myself through him, holding the rejection wound; and the vile man, the repressed ones who judge women for exploring what they secretly wish they could express.

And the truth is: if no man were watching me, I would dare everything. I would speak everything. I would show women what I’ve accessed within myself and encourage them in accessing theirs. I would be whole. I would not hold back. And perhaps this text is already the first step.

The beautiful part is that this conversation also clarified a project that’s been forming for a month: Carnet Brut. A six-week journaling workshop, in French first, where people learn to write from a place of acceptance and discover their unique voice. It’s an intimate exploration of oneself through writing.

And from there, another branch will grow: Carnet Brut – Intimacy. Where women can explore their sensuality and sexuality through writing, sharing, and witnessing. Because I’ve done it myself. I know the freedom, release, and grounding it creates. There isn’t one truth. There are billions. And all of them deserve a place to be expressed. And in order to create intimacy with another person, let us first create it with ourselves.

With truth, Louna.