TODAY: FRANÇOIS*, END OF QUARANTINE
François is in a “cul-de-sac”. The woman he loves, the mother of his children, is seriously ill, things are not going to get better, so much so that sexuality has not been on the agenda for a long time now. Confidences of a man struggling with a painful and oh so taboo “sexual loneliness”.
Before going any further, allow a clarification. You should know that François, in his late forties, is obviously not proud of it. He feels immensely guilty and seeks some sort of “validation” here. ” Is it correct ? Am I normal? The idea is to validate this solitude…” he says, visibly uncomfortable and unaccustomed to confiding.
A bit mysterious, with his clear eyes, his handsome face and his obvious sensitivity, our François must have made many hearts beat in a previous life. Except today, it’s broken. He knows it, and it shows. No, this testimony will unfortunately not be very enlightening. “I would like that, to no longer perpetually look like a beaten dog…”
“When illness strikes, the first adjustment is shock,” he begins. Then there is an insecurity that sets in. And then there is a guilt of being good, or of having impulses…”
Impulses that he never verbalized, nor even simply insinuated, we guess here. And we’re guessing right. His solitude, even less. “It’s not something you express out in the open: hello, I’m sexually lonely. Are you okay? “, he quips, to set the tone for the conversation.
Speaking of “sexual solitude”, François compares his current reality to what he experienced as a teenager. “You have a taste for warmth, for discovering, for knowing, but there is a solitude! »
You have urges, and you don’t know how to deal with it…
François, late forties
His very first time, “late in life”, around 18, was actually “anxious”. “But it was a saving starting point,” he explains gently. » Once this milestone has been passed, François gains “confidence”, then “aura”. “When you are more convinced, you are better with your body, ready to explore and listen. »
Note the choice of words: François “listens”, he exchanges, validates. In consent mode, before the word was fashionable. “I have so much respect for women,” he confirms, “I have difficulty taking my place! »
Which does not prevent him from experiencing several years of “really” beautiful sexuality, “with partners who [lui] communicate their wishes, in a symbiosis, it’s simple and effective. It goes through the heart, the soul and the body, but never the body first…
And then in his mid-twenties, François decided to settle down. “This moment when I decide that I need stability, that it is time to create a home for myself, for me, it is a vow of respect,” he takes care to specify. With whom ? The mother of his children. Why her, exactly? “The question is why not? […] Our eyes met…” And sexually? “Perfect,” he said. Everything that is most traditional. No going beyond, no shortcuts, once again, in fullness, respect and sharing. There was no excess that could exceed what the other does not want. In tune with his wishes, in tune with his desires. Nothing spectacular, because that’s not what we want. That’s not who we are…”, he sums up nicely.
Certainly, a few “thrills” here and there, but again, nothing too bad. “A few risks that make the heart pump, because it’s fun,” he remembers. At friends’ houses, or in the car in a rest area, it’s purely love. »
This beautiful “fullness” lasts ten years. Then the children arrive. “And that changed completely. ” Why is that ? The first had an illness (he too, and first, we understand). “And quickly, it took up all our time and energy. This led to a deviation. The couple was pushed aside. We became companions. » No more privacy at all? “Almost not,” he replies. We were very concerned. Perhaps too much… And it put a lid on something. »
No, they never talked about it.
I saw it as fighting a fire. You’re not going to buy ice cream when the fire is burning…
François, late forties
“But perhaps it was a mistake to have forgotten ourselves…” he adds, after reflection.
And no, it didn’t frustrate him. Or rather: he didn’t allow himself the right to feel frustrated. Even less to express it. To continue with the incendiary allegory: “You can’t be frustrated putting out a fire. Priorities fell apart, and frustrations turned into grief. And mourning, in solitude…”
We understand that here he combines the mourning of one illness then another, which occurred a few years later: that of his wife. Because no, they did not further discuss the sexual desert already established when her diagnosis came. “The effects of the illness,” he continues, “and that’s what’s disturbing, is that despite all your love, sometimes the sick person no longer finds themselves beautiful or desirable, they engage in self-sabotage. […] So you don’t find yourself in this situation: Hey, I have an urge, how are you this morning? », he quips again.
“The question is how we manage this mourning,” he continues. Sexuality is something quite primary, it can even define you, it’s a magnificent energy! »
Has he thought about finding this “beautiful energy” elsewhere, do we dare? “No,” he shook his head. This would make her a doubly victim of the disease. […] I don’t want to hurt on top of hurt. […] It’s as if these impulses become forbidden. You feel like walking with your head down…”
No, no one raised the issue with him either. Nor in those around him, even less in the hospital. “The workers are underpaid and overused, they lack time, that’s not the first of their worries! We are on survival! »
Hence his testimony here: “I need to validate that the loneliness experienced by others is surmountable,” he insists. We have covered the question. But there are still so many questions to ask. How would it be? “By the nobility that it has,” he says. I don’t know. Do we earn points in heaven? », he always quips. His wish now? “I would like that, to have the impression of living,” he replies softly. How does he plan to go about it? “By burying this solitude as far away as possible, avoiding it and completely forgetting it,” he concludes. But I miss this: […] the big hug […] the human […] the heat […] I miss it… “
* Fictitious first name, to protect anonymity