the astrologist who (sort of) got me laid

One day, an astrologer, with the kind of certainty only someone who holds the cosmos in their hands can muster, told me it was “highly likely” I would end up with a divorced man with kids. (Naturally, I took it as gospel). Until that point, I’d only dated men a few years younger than me—probably because, deep down, I knew it wouldn’t turn into anything serious. 

A couple of hours later, I went out to celebrate my friend's engagement—one of those occasions that leaves a single girl questioning her entire existence—I needed a post-party drink to take the edge off. So I popped into the hotel next door, and at that exact moment, a freshly grey-haired man walked in, as if the universe were unfolding a grand cosmic romcom. “Can I buy you a martini?” he asked. I didn’t hesitate.

He radiated an energy that could only be described as ‘daddy’—the kind of man whose mere presence made you feel like you could finally exhale, like maybe you could trust someone again. I’d never considered myself into older men, but there was something magnetic about him—his confidence, his experience. “Was this the kind of man I was destined for, per the astrologer’s wisdom?” “The universe’s unspoken contract?”

To be honest, this was the second freshly divorced, midlife-crisis-ridden man who had hit on me at this particular hotel bar, and Julio, the bar manager, was starting to suspect it might be some kind of "pay-to-play" situation. I was in one of those “having a drink alone” phases—sitting at the bar, not wanting to go home and be alone with my thoughts. I definitely wasn’t there looking for a transaction. At least, I didn’t think I was.

I’ve never been the type to sleep around. I didn’t really know what I thought about casual sex—just that I didn’t offer it on my menu. Getting out of my own head with a stranger was far more difficult than I cared to admit. Waking up next to someone you don’t know, in the harsh light of day, body parts and all? No thank you. Casual sex, to me, meant freedom in your body. As I've mentioned, my body has always felt like a prison, and what I learned at a young age was that sexual liberation wasn’t the key to my breaking free.

So, as you can imagine, I had no idea who I was in the bedroom. Was I the empowered girl, fully in charge of her sexuality and desires? Or was I doomed to remain the awkward girl—lost in strange hookups, faking interest just to get it over with? Or was I just going to end up the most feared girl alive—the one who "dies alone".

At this point, it had been a while, and I’d certainly never done something as crazy as go back to a stranger’s hotel room. This was one of those stories I’d heard other women tell over wine, an experience I’d been too scared to live out. He offered me pink sparkling champagne... so, I took a swig of the bubbles and thought, “Maybe this is it. Maybe he can save me.”

He kept asking if it was okay that he was talking to me. Every time we took a step forward, he needed permission. At first, I thought, “Doesn’t he see I’m already here?” But instead of making me uncomfortable, I felt this weird... control. With each step, he continued asking, “Is this okay?” There was something oddly empowering in that question. I’d never been asked for permission before—not like that. Usually, I was expected to just go along with it. I was being seen not just as an object but as a woman who could say yes or no to whatever she wanted. And, in this, I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself to ever feel: autonomy.

You’ll have to wait until my book for the full story here because it’s too salacious to arrive in your email on a Monday morning. Besides, what would the Substack gods think of me?!

As the night wore on, something started to shift. I could see myself floating outside my body when it was happening, as if someone else were making the decisions, saying the ‘things,’ doing the ‘things.’ My soul hovered above my body, tempted by surrender but unable to give up control. The desire to be touched, to be close to someone, was there—but it felt distant. And that hurt in a way I can’t quite put into words.

I wanted so badly to be that empowered girl, to purge the trauma that had taken root in my skin. I wanted to feel something real, anything resembling a connection. But each time I reached for it, something blocked me—an invisible wall between me and what I needed. My body had learned to protect me, to numb me, and I didn’t know how to tell it it was time to release me.

I thought about what it would take for me to experience real pleasure. How could I let go when I’d spent years guarding myself? What would it even look like for me to give myself permission to feel? As the thoughts crossed my mind..

I did something I had never done before. I pushed him off of me and said, “I’m good.”

And in that moment, I wasn’t just saying no to him. I was saying no to everything that had ever made me question my own worth, my own desires. I wasn’t trying to appease anyone, or to fill some void I thought I needed to. I was making a choice based on clarity, not fear.

Lying next to him, I felt the heavy silence between us, thick enough to touch. We were both unsatisfied—not just sexually, but emotionally. 

I was at a crossroads. The yearning for connection collided with the cold reality that I didn’t know what that connection should look like. Was it possible for me to separate sex from emotional intimacy, or was the longing for one always tangled up with the need for the other? Could I ever unlearn the numbness that had become my body’s default? 

For the first time ever I wasn’t afraid or embarrassed by the fact that I didn’t know what I wanted from a man, from love, from sex, from intimacy. And for the first time ever I wasn’t going to sleep with someone just to feel like I was normal. 

I began to smile, thinking, If this was the astrologer's plan after all, it didn’t feel like fate—it just felt like freedom.