The podcast invitation was simple.
"We'd like to interview you about your decision to leave the foreplay industry."
Paul almost declined.
But Celestine just placed a hand on his chest and said,
"If you're ready to stop whispering and start speaking... say it the way only you can."
He sat across from the mic.
No script. No notes.
Just a man with a story.
And a voice—once used for control—now used for confession.
"I built a brand on how to touch bodies.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGk7zAB07Qi
But I fell in love with the first woman who didn't ask for that.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPDyXa819os
She asked me to show up.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlF8Vaqsm4u
Fully. Without a performance.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGw1mkLQxnM
And when I did... she didn't look away.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsmXt9RmPM8
Even when the world did."
The host leaned forward. "Do you regret walking away from the King of Foreplay image?"
Paul smiled.
"I don't even miss him."
"What do you miss, then?"
There was a pause. A breath.
"I miss the days I used to believe love was a reward. Now I know—it's a responsibility.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiQCw0DaUnx
And she—Celestine—is the reason I finally understood the difference."
The episode aired at midnight.
By sunrise, it had over a million plays.
But that wasn't what mattered.
What mattered was what waited for him when he came home:
Celestine.
Barefoot. Mug in hand. Eyes glowing.
"You told the world."
He walked straight to her.
"No," he said, kissing her palm.
"I told them."
Then he touched her face.
"And I saved the real voice for you."
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcKIoSpBcAb
