Tunis was great until I ran out of weed.
As long as I had something to smoke, I even wanted to stay and live there. But the minute I ran out, my desire to stick around went entirely in the opposite direction. I wanted to leave.
Because of my bipolar diagnosis, I’m supposedly not meant to consume it. But I do. I like it for sex, I’ve always said that, and for boredom. And Tunis is incredibly boring, even more so with a broken car.
Quitting the weed so suddenly led to withdrawal syndrome. I had distress, anxiety, and a knot in my stomach that barely let me eat. But three weeks later, I started noticing changes, and I have to admit, some of them were for the better. I don’t know exactly what it is, but you definitely feel better and different somehow.
After leaving my place in Castelldefels, I decided to stay in Tunis for three months. But between running out of weed, my mother having crippling sciatica that limited us to doctors and staying near the house, and the car troubles (which meant we had to avoid moving it too much), we decided to leave after a month and a half. Plus, I checked my mother’s medical appointments and saw she had one with the public healthcare sciatic specialist; losing that slot would mean months of delay. I checked ferries and planned our early return.
Without weed, I don’t feel like having sex; I barely feel like doing anything. I don’t enjoy video calls as much as before, and not only that—I don’t know how, this has never happened to me—but I didn’t bring the charger for my favourite sex toys, only for a few others, and I couldn’t get that incredible orgasm. Now I understand when my clients tell me about their low libido and lack of desire for sex.
A woman, without the help of some substance (be it a glass of wine or, in my case, marijuana) and sex toys, often doesn’t achieve that tremendous pleasure. This is something that also happens to most men when they start losing testosterone around 50, more or less; they need help boosting their orgasm.
And in Tunis, buying marijuana is a crime, and if they catch you with a joint, it’s a year in jail. I don’t understand why laws and cultures don’t let each individual decide for themselves what they want to consume, buy, or do. I find it unfair that the state decides for you, and depending on who’s in power, certain things can or cannot be done, even in democratic countries.
I’m glad I was born in Spain at this time because I recognise it’s a pretty liberal culture, despite the poor management in some other regions.
As a sex worker, it’s not legalised in Spain either, but from personal experience, they don’t bother you. However, there’s always some asshole neighbour or landlord who uses the profession as an excuse to kick you out.
I always said I wouldn’t work as a sex worker in a Muslim country because, based on experience, they are the type of client who is very polite. Some even ask you to marry them before they cum—absurd things due to the testosterone rush—but the minute they cum, it’s like they see you as a whore. And a sex worker, for many cultures, is an undesirable person because they have sex with anyone, and they don’t see their humanity. They think we are dirty and unworthy.
But look, I decided to change my location on the Eurogirls website and update my ad to Tunis, with a text-only ad available only to foreigners. I started getting quite a few calls and felt motivated to take some bookings. Of course, I didn’t tell anyone at the time, not even my mother, so she wouldn’t worry when I left.
I set daytime hours and a high rate. But the experience was disappointing. My work gains traction when I have a place to receive clients; otherwise, it relies on travel. And naturally, in Tunis, with my mother and in a place where people quickly judge my profession, I wasn’t going to receive at home, especially in a rented place. So I put up an ad saying I only did outcalls and didn’t go to hotels. I was making it complicated, but in a Muslim country, you have to be cautious.
I started getting quite a few calls and messages; they kept me entertained, honestly. The first client in Tunis rented a private apartment near mine, and we had a pleasant time. Then I had other contacts: some wanted to ‘charm’ you on the phone, talking about meeting, but they knew they’d never show, and two of them stood me up (a real hassle).
In Tunis, there’s no PayPal or any way to pay a deposit in advance, so you have to meet without one. One guy, who insisted several times, told me he’d pick me up 3 minutes walk from my house, but he never came. Another made me take a taxi, and when I arrived, he was gone. So I gave up and removed the ad.
Cultures and people who pull these shitty moves because, since you’re a sex worker, they think you deserve it! I hope their karma teaches them a lesson.
Another reason for leaving earlier, as I mentioned, is that my car broke down, and since it’s a model not sold in Tunis, they don’t have the necessary tools for the repair. Being stuck with a broken car means you can’t sightsee or move freely, especially since public transport here is third-world, like many other things.
In the middle of all this is the family situation. My parents were selling their house, and I wanted to keep them separated while it was on the market. We were returning to Spain, but we didn’t know where. My last flatmate wouldn’t accept my mother at the Castelldefels apartment, and renting something for both of us was complicated. So I suggested buying my father’s share instead of selling the house and moving in with my mother.
And that is my new project now: establishing myself in Torrejón de la Calzada, Madrid, making it my base. Since I want to spend the last months of my mother’s life with her, what better place than her house, a part of which is now mine as well. My father, for the moment, has left, he says forever, but you never know in this life, because the three of us cannot possibly live there. We’ll see what happens in the future.
My Sex Coach project, which I started a year ago, begins now that I’ve finally found its foundation. I hope this time, with the great effort I’m making, spending my savings on improving the situation and the house, no one comes along and throws it all down the drain.
To those voices, like my father’s, who call this project a ‘brothel’, I state clearly that I am building something necessary: a space for healing, learning, and conscious pleasure. Don’t insult me; this is vital work for human well-being and it demands respect.
