This week, an American student in Paris hooks up, gets ghosted, and goes for a shvitz: 25, single, Paris
DAY ONE
10:30 a.m. Wake up, have Greek yogurt, and think about the day ahead. I’m on a Fulbright getting my master’s degree at a public university and my classes are on Thursdays and Fridays. Next month, I’m starting an internship at a nonprofit helping French organizations apply for funding. I’ll have much less free time, so I’m enjoying these last few weeks.
11:30 a.m. Take the tram to lunch at a student canteen. In France, students can eat a large, usually decent meal at any university restaurant in the country for €3.30. I have cod with white sauce, steamed vegetables, pasta, and a chocolate éclair.
1 p.m. Home. Read a biography of Catherine the Great, then work on a short story I’m writing in French. My degree is in European Affairs, but I want to be a writer, so I write.
2:30 p.m. Walk to the gym and get groceries at Lidl.
6 p.m. Canvassing with the Socialist Party. You don’t have to be a French citizen to join. We’re preparing for local elections in March, which the right wing has a real chance of winning. We go in pairs around a public-housing complex in my neighborhood to remind voters about the election and tell them about our candidate.
7:30 p.m. My roommate, Alex, and I are good friends from undergrad in the States, so we hang out a lot. Tonight, he’s with his boyfriend, so I have dinner solo: a baguette with butter and leftover roast chicken from our holiday potluck. Finish Catherine the Great biography.
8:30 p.m. Horny. Open Grindr and Sniffies. Alex comes home with his boyfriend, Stephan, which is fine (and he asked!), but I want to have some fun of my own. I’m coming off a dry spell due to asymptomatic oral chlamydia, provenance unknown. I have plans with a few guys this weekend, but it’s not the weekend yet.
9 p.m. Sniffies isn’t widespread in France like it is at home — it’s mostly tourists. Chat with Tommy, a cute guy visiting from the U.S.
I’m trying to avoid visitors and guys in open relationships because I want something serious. But … this guy is cute and close by, so fuck it. Head to his hotel. It’s a cringe hostel in the 10th, but he has a big private room.
10 p.m. Tommy is even cuter in person and very sweet. He has tattoos and chest hair. We kiss passionately in the huge bed. I’ve brought poppers (legal in France!), which makes everything more sensual.
We strip. I flip him over and eat him out, then enter him missionary and raw. It’s hot, and he brings out my more dominant, verbal side. I finish inside him and he orgasms simultaneously.
We cuddle, and I get hard again, which I expected. It’s normally easy for me to go for a second round. Tommy sucks me, then does what I really love, lightly teasing my balls, taint, thighs, and hole with his tongue and stubble. It’s so intense and good — it doesn’t take me long to finish a second time.
After all this, Tommy tells me about himself. He’s from the western U.S. and works in gas, which requires him to travel a lot. He’s leaving early, but says I should sleep in the room until checkout. It’s nice.
DAY TWO
6 a.m. Tommy and I say good-bye and exchange Instagrams before he leaves for the train. Back to bed.
10 a.m. My phone is almost dead. There’s a restaurant nearby I like, so I wait at the library until it opens for lunch.
I check out Meursault, Contre-enquête, by Kamel Daoud. Sit down to finish The Catcher in the Rye, which I’m reading for the first time. I borrowed it on a whim after seeing it on the English-language shelf. However: I hate it. It might be the worst book I’ve read this year! Start the Daoud novel.
12:30 p.m. Chicken and waffles for lunch! It reminds me of my family. They live in the South, where I grew up. Missing them is one of the hardest parts of being in France. Alex and I vacationed in Spain for the holidays last year, so I’m really excited to be going home this Christmas.
1:30 p.m. Home. Charge my phone, text friends, fuck around online, read, study.
6 p.m. Alex comes back from class and offers to make shrimp pasta with a spicy tomato-cream sauce. Yes.
8 p.m. We get high and watch music videos: Addison Rae, Charli XCX, Kim Petras. I tell Alex about Tommy. He nods approvingly, only after teasing me about my no-tourists rule.
10 p.m. As always, masturbate before bed.
DAY THREE
9:30 a.m. Zoom classes this week. The break from my commute is nice— my university is in the far end of the Paris suburbs — but it’s harder to focus online. All my classes are in French, which already takes extra concentration. My professor cancels morning class, so I go to the gym.
Noon Afternoon classes on challenges facing the EU and European regional funding, plus preparation for our spring field trip to Finland. Eat a leftover chicken sandwich during break.
6:30 p.m. Have plans with a Grindr guy I met last week. He wants to top me, but I’m not sure I want to make the trip into central Paris. Take a shower and realize I shouldn’t bottom tonight, gastrointestinally speaking. Text the guy this info and ask if he still wants me to come over. When he says we should postpone, I’m miffed but relieved.
7:30 p.m. Alex and I get Chinese food. I have spicy beef with rice. Cheap, filling, and delicious.
9 p.m. Read before bed.
DAY FOUR
8:30 a.m. Yogurt, Zoom class about NGOs.
Noon Boil a bag of frozen pierogi.
2 p.m. Class on the EU’s current challenges.
5 p.m. Had a Grindr hookup planned, but earlier, I checked to confirm, and he’d blocked me or deleted his account — not uncommon. Stephan, Alex, and I watch the premiere of Heated Rivalry, the new gay hockey show.
Stephan has to leave. Alex and I go to a brasserie in the 12th. I get blanquette de veau with profiteroles, and we split a carafe of white wine and some prosciutto (22 euros!).
10 p.m. Walk to the theater to see The Richest Woman in the World, a French black comedy about the Bettencourt affair. I’m going to the movies more before I turn 26 next month and lose my youth discount. Tickets will be twice as expensive. Tonight, I pay €5.90.
1 a.m. Home on the tram.
DAY FIVE
10:30 a.m. Normally I would sleep in on a weekend, but I’m leafleting with the Socialist Party at a farmers’ market.
11 a.m. Pouring rain. We abandon the effort.
Noon Alex makes carbonara, then we go to the Musée des Arts et Métiers, a museum of industrial design in central Paris. Most museums are free if you’re a legal resident under 26 — another thing to take advantage of before my birthday.
3 p.m. Gym. Tonight I’m seeing Kevin, a French guy I went on a couple dates with a year ago. We reconnected last month and he invited me out dancing, so I suggested we pregame at my apartment with Alex.
5 p.m. Finish the Daoud novel and do homework.
9 p.m. Kevin arrives. He, Alex, and I have apéro — cheese, sausage, bread, pork rillettes, potato chips — while watching music videos. We call this “gay guy music-video night,” and it is a cherished pastime.
Midnight Leave for the club. Raidd is a lowest-common denominator: free entry; conveniently in the Marais, Paris’s gay district; plays Anglophone pop. It’s fairly touristy, but nothing else super-interesting is happening tonight.
12:30 a.m. The club isn’t as crowded as normal, and the music also isn’t as good — weird remixes! We all do poppers. Kevin and I make out and grind, but I feel like we’re going through the motions.
1:45 a.m. Alex leaves to make the last train. I stay longer — it’s plausible Kevin and I will go home together or go to another club.
2:45 a.m. Fatigue wears on us. I invite Kevin home, but he declines, saying we’ll do it another night. I have doubts. Take the night bus home.
DAY SIX
1 p.m. I sleep in. Frozen paella for lunch. No concrete plans today, but I’ve received a reply on Grindr from Paul, who I messaged on Friday while perusing the grid at the brasserie. He’s super-cute — tall, toned, bearded. He’s heading into the Marais to hang out. I don’t know anything about him, but he agrees to meet for coffee! This is Grindr at its best — it’s often much more torturous.
3 p.m. Arrive at the café. Paul is very cute. The conversation flows easily. He says he rarely uses Grindr because he doesn’t like to just hook up and wants something serious. I like this! Though I’m guilty of using apps to hook up, I am looking for a relationship.
Paul pays for my coffee. (This happens more often in France than the U.S.) He told me on Grindr that he’s stopping by a nearby underwear store that has a sale, since he has a fetish for sexy underwear. I suggest teasingly that we go together, since I need to buy a new Speedo. He agrees and proposes that we walk around first. It’s cold but sunny — rare in Paris this time of year. We walk across the Seine to Île-Saint-Louis, stand in a bright spot on the embankment, and kiss. Not all French men like PDA, so this is reassuring.
5 p.m. The underwear store is two stories and has lots of options. Paul accompanies me to the changing room and surveys me watchfully as I present myself in different pairs of Speedos. I feel exposed, but it’s very hot, especially when he reaches to tug them down over my ass.
Paul picks out some thongs and we switch roles. When I stick my head in the changing cabin, I’m speechless: He looks so hot in the thong, especially his ass. I can’t resist brushing my fingers across him briefly. We make purchases, and he asks me if I would like to get a cocktail at a nearby bar, his treat.
5:30 p.m. The bar is dark and pretty, and I have an amazing apple-Amaretto drink. We kiss in the corner.
7 p.m. Paul asks me to dinner. We go to a Sichuan restaurant where I like the spicy soup with dumplings and roast duck. He asks what I’m doing tomorrow. I tell him I have no plans, and he suggests we go to the gym and have dinner and then I sleep over. I’m tempted, but hesitant — feels a little fast to do something so relationship-y? But I say yes because it sounds really nice. We kiss good night.
9 p.m. Home. Start The Marriage Portrait, by Maggie O’Farrell.
DAY SEVEN
9:30 a.m. Yogurt, gym.
11 a.m. Shower. Take the tram to the nearest university restaurant. Pork in tomato sauce with couscous. I’ve texted Paul to make sure we’re still on for tonight, but he hasn’t replied, even though Instagram says “active now.” I tell myself that feature probably isn’t reliable (though I’m not sure that’s true).
1 p.m. Tram home. Read. Study. Try not to think about why Paul isn’t replying.
3 p.m. Fuck, I’m being ghosted. I sob for a few minutes. (Yes, really!) I deserve some sort of “fell for it again” award. Briefly consider if it’s time to stop actively dating men. It seems like there are always new terrors.
4 p.m. I don’t want to be in my apartment anymore, so take the Métro into central Paris to walk around, even though the sun is setting. I listen to Lana Del Rey.
5 p.m. My friend Henri texts asking me if I want to go to the gay sauna tonight. I am now free, apparently, and I’ve been wanting to see him. Henri and I met in a different gay sauna in D.C. shortly before I moved to Paris. We’re friends with benefits. I’m not far from the sauna, so I go to a library that’s open until 7 to read.
7 p.m. Meet Henri at the sauna. He’s sexy — Syrian, tall, bearded. He pays for my entrance (when he proposed going last week, I told him I wasn’t in the mood to pay 15 euros, so he said he would cover it). I wasn’t successful on my last couple of sauna visits, so I haven’t been in a while, but it’ll be nice with Henri as a default partner to play with.
8 p.m. Henri and I are only wearing towels, we start slow: kissing, fondling, stroking. I suck him off in the steam room, and a handsome man with long hair sitting nearby starts touching my dick, so the three of us play together. We get too sweaty after a bit, so we exit for the pool and chat with our new long-haired friend, Jean-Paul. The three of us spend the rest of our time bopping around the different sauna areas together, kissing and jerking and sucking. It’s very sensual. I’m not thinking about Paul.
10 p.m. I’m the first to leave. I haven’t had dinner, and I want to go to a nearby pizza place before it closes.
10:30 p.m. Wolf down a medium veggie pizza with white sauce and spicy oil (€5.90) before the Métro home. The upcoming week is a blank slate in terms of men, so I wonder if it’s a good time to take a little step back … or not!
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