Then the memories came flooding back-as did the questions. I was dating a racist and didn’t know it.
And he was clearly OK with that component. It wasn’t black and white-it was sex work.
I laughed so hard when he offered up this ridiculous ultimatum. If I wanted to keep dating him, I’d have to give up banging the black guys at work. I didn’t see the issue that was just another aspect of my job. His voyeuristic tendencies complemented my chosen profession.Īnd then: You do black guys?! It was more of an accusation than a question. Quite the opposite, actually: Just hearing about the scenes I filmed that day amped up his libido. For me, there was a sense of security in knowing that after a day’s work there would be no arguments about it later. Take me to work, let me watch you in action, he’d beg.įor him, my job was a turn-on. I went out on a few dates with a guy that was infatuated with me-only it wasn’t me he wanted it was my porn star alter ego. The men I met either resented my sexuality or became enamored with the idea of dating an adult performer. As an active porn star, dating outside the adult industry was difficult.
