“I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish…”
–Simone de Beauvoir
I have been travelling due to love for a very long time. My parents were divorced when I was two years of age, however I did not have regular visits with my mother until I was an older child, due to unfortunately having a less-than-stellar father.
Once I was finally visiting my mother and her girlfriend regularly, when the time came to drive me back to my father’s home, I would rail & storm, scream, cry my guts out, beg them to kidnap me, and generally, quite understandably, cause anxiety & misery for the entire five hour drive.
It was hellish, and I can only imagine what my poor mother went through during those heartbreakingly tragic times.
The first time a man traveled to see me was when I was not yet twenty years of age.
Mr. Frenchheart came from Montreal with a tent, simply to visit me. He was some kind of accountant, or studying for hotshot-math-something, and due to our long, drawn out philosophical conversations and lovely rapport, he decided on a whim to change his life entirely, quit what he was doing and follow his passions instead. We lost contact, and I don’t know how he truly is now, but social media checkups tell me he’s doing wonderfully and is making films that have already been showcased in a few festivals.
The First time I genuinely traveled for love, I was in my twenties, he was twenty years my senior. I trusted this man because we had a mutual friend whom I also adore.
Mr. Savage, as I will call him, is absolutely trustworthy. Unfortunately, I found out a little late that his character judgement is a mite skewed in the ‘optimistic’ direction.
Mr. Scootercat, when not imbued in cheap island rum, was admittedly a genius. His skill at all aspects of art & music, literature & gastronomic delight were impeccable.
I will never cook another marinara recipe again, and I will always hold our talks of culture & philosophy in my heart. Unfortunately, quite soon it got to the point that I was no longer living with the same man. I left before further damage could be done once I realized he and the household would not take responsibility for a resourceless woman in the tropics. I had to hustle, there was no time for reliance on others.
Because of that experience, I got to meet an absolutely wonderful Filipino chief of police. Mr. Chief was all-flirt, full-man, and tough as nails, but he was also absolutely the sweetest thing. He always made sure I had a coffee and a breakfast pastry. He allowed me to devour all of the novels he had stacked on a shelf. He made sure in the evenings that I had food, or had money to go to the night market to buy my own. He insisted I use his own private facilities to wash and freshen up, because it had a lock and key. He was always asking me if I had found a boyfriend, and telling me I would make someone a happy husband someday. The poor fellow didn’t know I had the sweetest crush on him, I bet he would have had a heart attack!
The most recent travel excursion was to a man I had known for almost ten years previous, but had never met in real life. A real sexy, red-blooded American. From Philly. With Italian roots, good god he was a timebomb.
Charming to the gills, absolutely hilarious, the biggest bookcase I had seen in a man’s house since an ex’s father’s in high school, talented in music, art & writing, and by god, clever. Things ended when I returned to Canada to work, in order to save for an upgraded apartment in six months with him. A deeper issue left untreated turned a small issue into a blistering mess.It got ugly, and I walked away due to feeling irreparably disrespected within our dynamic.
I miss all of the men who have came and went from my life…the ones that exert effort to make a Lady feel proper. That doesn’t necessarily always mean using your manners…we’ll talk about my love for bad boys sometime in the future…but it does mean offering her something a little bit more, while also respecting her autonomy.
It is not her job to feed you treats once you’ve successfully shown her your tricks, but impress her and she may show off tricks of her own.
I love travelling for men.
A man that takes care of your travel arrangements, so all you must do is show up, sit, then strut the floor like you own the airport, is absolutely thrilling. It’s the extension of the luxury of your own private car. It is romance, adventure, anticipation, exhilaration all at once. It makes you feel thoroughly courted. Mix that in with the heady lust that travel incites in a human, well…is there not one better combination in the world?