27/09/2025 - This thing that screams "I want it".

The start of my downfall of hormones has passed, like a shock to the system even though it happens every month. And now I’m ok again. Bonjour, the fucking rollercoasters. I’m in my bed in the albergue for tonight, which is a donativo one, meaning every pilgrim gives what they can. I paid 10€, which is usually what other albergues in this style cost. I’ve just eaten a burger, by far the best meal I’ve had since the Camino began. Sorry Spain, Jàmon y tortilla, but nothing beats a burger when you need comfort. Now I’m taking the time to write a bit before chilling to the max, one of my favorite parts of the day. Then, I need to work.

Yesterday, I posted some of my childhood pictures in my story and got so many cute messages from people. It’s not about the return, but about witnessing myself being proud of all the versions I’ve been. I believe that Louna of seven years old would love Louna of twenty-nine. That’s the kind of validation I seek nowadays. Which also means that if she wouldn’t fuck with you, I won’t either.

I thought about my family while walking, how grateful I am. My dad who gave me his crazy, always encouraging me to become a menace to society with the craziest dad’s lore, and who I was the little princess of. My mum who showed me that a woman is powerful in her multidimensions, this absolute style icon who loved me more than herself. My sister, my actual partner in crime, easily corrupted for mischief, rarely snitching on me, and my favorite being to ever exist. The four musketeers against the rest of the world. One has been missing from this plane of existence but still holding our hands through spacetime. I love them beyond, and even more.

I stopped writing after the last paragraph because, as yesterday again, I didn’t want to write. Didn’t know what to, or why anymore. This kind of blank I don’t really experience usually. I started watching House of Guinness, by the same director as Peaky Blinders, so it should be promising. But I didn’t even finish the first episode. I was just feeling overloaded with stimulation, even though I’m on a pilgrimage with almost none. It’s just that in my head there were too many thoughts and feelings mixed together. I needed to breathe, calm down my nervous system, relax my body, and land.

I meditated for a moment, lying down in my bed, a towel hanging from the upper bunk to create a minimum of intimacy, and breathed. I saw the spiral of information within myself and how I get too easily trapped in it. I wandered around inside, and slowly everything brought my attention back to the present moment, to my body, my senses, what is happening in the now. I felt better after thirty minutes but still not great. I didn’t want to go down to the living room and hang out with people. Didn’t want to make any effort, not even to stretch or take care of myself. But also not watch something or be on my phone.

So I started imagining being with my friends, dancing, having fun, smoking a joint, talking, playing pool, cards, darts, backgammon, anything I love to do before a party. I just wanted to lose myself a little, to imagine not being so present and trapped in this reality.

The room emptied itself and when everyone was gone, I put my AirPods on and blasted "Hella Good" by No Doubt. I started dancing, somewhere between sexy, edgy, and careless. I lost myself in the movements, in the music, because that’s all I’ve got to feel better. No substance, not even chocolate. My body and the rhythm. It’s still, and will always be, the easiest way to change my mood. I recorded myself dancing, loved the result, but it was too sexy to post in my story. I could, you can’t see anything, I’m wearing a big black sweater, a head bun, and yoga shorts.

But it’s the attitude. I never needed to wear something special to emanate sex appeal. This thing that screams "I want it". And I’m still learning how to deal with it, how to embrace it and share it in a way that feels aligned. That’s the real dilemma. If there were only girls in my private story, I’d post it there. But there aren’t. And at the same time, I’d want certain guys, not crushes, just the ones I find cute, to see it too. But I can’t pick and choose, so I’d rather send it to all the girls than have it seen by everyone.

Because it would make me uncomfortable to make other women uncomfortable if they knew their boyfriends had watched it. I know it sounds crazy, but I wish I could curate who’s allowed to react to me. I’d love to filter out the noise, to only receive attention from the ones I choose. But of course, I can’t. And maybe that’s what triggers me, this lack of control, this vulnerability. Because I’ve been shamed and pointed at for being this sexy self. For not needing to show much to be considered sexy. I just am. Ohlala. I am fucking sexy, and I love sex, what do you want me to tell you.

Then there’s the other part of me who wants to shout that I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. But I know that’s my ego, so I’m trying to temper it and keep writing. Still, it’s a real debate inside. Being cute always felt good. Being funny too. But being sexy, that’s the one that feels both the most powerful and the most vulnerable. I’ve always kept that part for the bedroom, for certain men. And if I’m completely honest, no one has ever seen my full sexual self.

Not even my exes, because I wasn’t as liberated, embodied, or in touch with my sexuality as I am now. Of course they saw most of it, I’ve always been a sexual person and never tried to hide it. But shamed for it? Yes. It started with my father, when he found out I’d watched porn on my laptop and woke me up one day calling me a little slut. Funny coming from him, but that’s another story.

Then came the women, through jealousy, envy, or projection. Because they didn’t know how to access that energy within themselves, therefore I shouldn’t have either. And other men… don’t even get me started. Between those who couldn’t handle it and tried to make me feel small, and those who adored it but still managed to slut-shame me somehow.

The thing is, there’s performative sexuality and embodied sexuality. The performative one talks loud and seeks attention, wanting to be seen. The embodied one is lived, it emanates naturally, with no need to prove anything. It’s like a fighter who knows he can kill and therefore chooses peace. Well, same for a fucker, I guess. Sorry, but writing this makes me laugh. That’s a part of me I’ve been showing in my book through many angles, but now I’m contextualizing it. And posting it here too.

And I always come back to this in-between, where I don’t know how to let this part of me exist without it being too much for people to handle. Not that I want to start an OnlyFans or post pictures in lingerie. But for example, with this video, I wish I could post it and feel completely comfortable, but I’m scared people would think I’ve gone too far, that I’m seeking validation, that I’ve lost my mind, that I’m turning into a slut. I don’t know, I’m just writing freely now.

Why do I even want to post it in the first place? Because I share every other part of me now, but this one I keep secret, and that frustrates me. Still, I don't understand why. Sexuality is intimate. So why do I want to show it? Maybe because I haven’t shared it with anyone for so long. Fuck, we always end up back here, love. I need this man asap.

Because if I had a man, someone to send all my dirty texts, pics, and energy to, I wouldn’t give a shit about posting online. I’d do heels dance classes and perform for him. I’d create sexy games, arrange nights to have fun. I’d make a life where I’m constantly plugged into that sexual part of myself, seen in it, liberated, and admired. Oh my god, I can’t wait for that chapter of my life. Please, it needs to happen now. I may be lacking some physical touch and affection apparently. I’m an animal, I know. I just accept it.

I’ll go to sleep now, hopefully ending up having some sweet dreams (we understand each other by now...) and wake up fresh tomorrow. Hope you’ll have some great dreams too. Don’t hesitate to let me know if they’re about me. Actually, maybe not. Depends who you are. If I ever made you feel that maybe there was something between us, then yes. If not, I’d rather not know. Either way, enjoy. Bonne nuit coquin(ne).

With love, Loune.