As a young girl making it in a world surviving off the desires of every man and woman, it occurred to me that every sensual fantasy is often the seed to what the heart desires for a sense of belonging, need, and hunger for more. A provocateur is not just a girl rebelling against conformity but a girl looking to discover her identity and purpose.

Moving to Paris from London when I was just twenty-one yearning to find what every girl desires as a young woman brought a great sense of delight to find out that every independent woman begins her journey with a curious nature to explore the sexiest city in the world. Falling in love with my new home introduced me to a feeling of who I was becoming and what I wanted to learn. But as with every young girl, the french accent of every man in the city often becomes the curiosity to explore every fantasy we seldom share in conversation with any other.

Moving to Paris was nothing more than a discovery to see the world and learn more about myself, the french capital had the benefit of being close to home for regular visits but enough distance to feel as though I had found my independence. My routine was predictable, curate a variety of outfits to ensure I always looked my best, work as a barista at a local café to make sure I never needed to call home for financial support, and enjoy occasions of fine dining on my own followed by a movie at the local bioscope was the closest thing I had to romance.

It wasn’t long before I was enticed by french men in corner street cafés to get to know them by name. At first, I wasn’t very flattered by the idea of an older man unclothing me with his eyes and alluding to sexual innuendos with words I could not understand. But as with every woman, flattery is still appreciated even if he isn’t that young, tall, dark, and handsome cliché we all fantasize about. Intimidating but always something I happened to brag about on every call with my girlfriends back home.

Things would soon begin to change and change fast. A morning like any other in Paris with gray skies and light rain as I walked to get my regular morning coffee and croissant, I discovered a gorgeous little patisserie called Carette. As a single girl in an intimate city, it doesn’t take long to get to know your local grocer, baker, and flower shop owner when you’re a tourist but the intimidation for an attractive, inexperienced girl working as a barista to make rent and maintain herself whilst learning a new language is never easy. To most, I was the typical description of what many would consider a Margot Robbie type with blue eyes, natural breasts, and always maintained my presentation along with a strong educated London accent.

I wasn’t your typical Londoner who had experienced the promiscuous lifestyle larger cities often engrain in you, I had a serious boyfriend growing up who had at most kissed me, seen my breasts, and run his fingers between my thighs before stopping him to save what I thought would be for the “right guy”, although I would secretly spoil myself with my secret stash of vibrators in various shapes and sizes but still keep my virgin status as a conflicting truth of where I was as a young woman.

Walking into Carette on a typical wet day in Paris, I removed my coat to then drop my umbrella as the door swung away from me. “Ma chérie, ton parapluie”, your umbrella my dear! Turning to find a man who had picked up my umbrella wearing a chic business suit, detailed with expensive accessories, a silk tie and my umbrella in his hand stretched out to hand it back to me. Looking up to this stranger who stood a head taller than me with an appreciated smile, I replied “Merci”, after all, it was one of the only words I could say with confidence. From my accent, he immediately recognized that I was a tourist and replied “Ah, English girl!”. It was at this moment where my curiosity about the most romantic city in the world would become my life as I know it.

The grace of his accent, confidence in financial stability, and good looks were apparent. Something we get to read in Fifty Shades of Gray of successful young men and wonder what comes of a man who has more when he reaches his fifties and sixties. I soon came to find out, this tall, seemingly successful man with deep blue eyes, an obvious routine for skincare, light stubble, hair brushed back with some length and hints of gray would soon become an experience most women would envy because few men would ever dream to have girls do what they wish without the fear of breaking “the rules” society inscribes in us…