I Dated A Porn Star

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Triple X sign
And it was much sweeter and less salacious than you'd expect.

So, a male porn star walks into a bar. I'm going to call him PS for short, to keep things simple. I've seen PS around Chicago before; a couple years back, we ended up at the same karaoke event until 6 a.m. But we hadn't talked much until I ran into him at the aforementioned bar, attending a fundraiser for sex workers' rights. See, I write about sex with a focus on S&M and I do activism around it as well, so I end up coordinating with sex worker activists a lot. Plus, sex workers totally know how to put the 'fun' in 'fundraiser.' The Frisky: So This Is What It's Supposed To Feel Like

As we sipped on drinks, PS and I chatted about sex education, work/life distinctions, and that sex toy demonstration at Northwestern that landed a professor in the center of a controversy.

 

A woman over at the pool table took her shirt off and placed her breasts distractingly over one of the corner pockets. There was lots of affectionate kissing going on around the room by the time PS called it a night. But when he tried to kiss me on his way out, I pulled back.

"Why?" he asked, seeming confused.

I usually see it as a warning sign when a man questions my "no," but I had to admit that my behavior was unusual for the environment.

"Why not?" I responded.

"Fair enough," he said, grinning at me, and walking out. Oh, good, I thought; I liked him, but if he'd been pushy, I would have written him off.

A week later, when I ended up in his neighborhood on a Saturday afternoon, I sent him a text.

Now, I need to tell you about my previous two dates before I tell you how things went with PS. Thursday night, I'd had a dinner that, okay, wasn't an explicit date but was a catch-up session with tentative flirting. But it started to feel even less like a date when the guy explained how much he liked a blog I think is misogynist—in particular, he loved a post talking about how the American economy would be much better off if women couldn't vote.

He seemed surprised when I got upset. "I just thought it might be interesting to talk about," he said. I made a counter-suggestion: if only men weren't allowed to vote, America might get involved in a lot fewer mind-blowingly expensive wars. (I dislike bringing myself down to that level, but it seemed like the best way to make my point.) Hey, taking the vote from men: wouldn't that be just as interesting to talk about? Apparently not, as this guy changed the subject.

Friday night, I went out with a grad student. I'd think that a grad student would be able to handle me, but midway through the evening he asked me, "Could you please say something that's not analytical?" He later informed me that he had little interest in an emotional bond and was mostly interested in having sex with me. I'm a fan of explicit sexual communication, so I appreciated his honesty, and I hypothesized that he might be fun in bed, so I was willing to give it a try. Or at least, I was willing to try it until he pulled back from making out with me and said: "Kissing is too emotional." Really?

This article was originally published at . Reprinted with permission.