escort diary® of Jolie: Why chasing for performance creates performance anxiety.
I have joked to many men about how the first sexual interaction is similar to the first crèpe you make: meant to me imperfect, never the right texture, and slightly funny to look at.
The image that movies, novels, porn and almost every input of media has thrown in our faces for eons has always been the same: the passions of the first touch, the first kiss, the first time you see the other undressed, this night of bliss when two people finally connect in a way that shortens the existential dissolution. Somehow, bodies are in sync, minds are read, women fawn at penetration, men are erect at the ready, and both have an orgasm so life-altering it can only mean they were meant to be in this exact moment.
And then real life happens. You come to see me, I have my first night with someone, a first date goes well. Movements are hurried, teeth meet each other, noses bump, the anxiety grows, and your brain just cannot let go of the idea of... performing. You want to please, make sure your partner is alright, feels safe, desired, that it's not too short, not too long, that you will be spoken about in high regard in the group chat, or be thought fondly.
In the state you are the most vulnerable, the only thing on your mind is making sure you deliver properly and accurately... and then the body betrays you. You cannot get hard, you cannot reach orgasm, you reach it too quickly, your mind races further and further as minutes pass and you start sweating (physically or metaphorically...or both). You feel like a spotlight has been lit directly on you, within the watchful eye of a beautiful person you are trying to impress. And why wouldn't you? Aren't we all trying to look good in the eyes of the people we are attracted to?
Here is what I want to say to that: of course you are. And that impulse: the wanting to be good, to be enough, to be the kind of lover someone remembers fondly, is not the problem. It is possibly the most human thing about you. The problem is that the impulse to perform well and the ability to feel well cannot coexist at the same time. They are running on different wiring entirely, and one will always shut the other down.
I see this constantly. And I need you to know: I have never once thought less of someone for it.
What I think, when someone's body (yours or mine) doesn't cooperate with their intentions, is that I am with someone who cares enough about this moment to be frightened by it. A person who feels nothing performs effortlessly and leaves without a backward glance. A person whose hands are shaking wanted this to matter. I will take the shaking hands. Every time.
So here is what happens in my room when the first crêpe is, as promised, imperfect.
We slow down. Not because something has gone wrong, but because nothing needs to be rushed. I am not timing you. I am not grading you. I am not mentally elsewhere. I am paying attention to you, not to what your body is or isn't doing, but to who you are when the performance falters and you're left with just yourself, a little embarrassed, a little exposed, and more honest than you've been in months.
That is the moment I'm actually interested in. Not the performance. The person underneath it.
And here is what nobody tells you about that moment: it is where the real thing starts. Not in the flawless execution of desire. Not in bodies that somehow know exactly where to go, like they've been given a script in advance. But in the small, awkward, terribly human instant where you look at someone and silently admit: I don't know what I'm doing, and I want to be here anyway.
