IT HAPPENED TO ME: I Had A Crush On A Porn Star, So I Had Sex With Him

What could have been just a one night stand turned out to be so much more.
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Imogene Lee
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What could have been just a one night stand turned out to be so much more.
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Several years ago, during a spate of underemployment in 2009, I turned to Internet pornography for entertainment. 

I had a lot of time to kill; why not feel good about myself momentarily in between job interviews and food deliveries? It was during this period that I discovered the oeuvre of a rather fetching performer: not only was he particularly attractive with eyes like the Bering Sea, but he had a commanding presence. 

His ability to dominate a woman with equal strokes of brutality and tenderness had me swooning. Also, he could auto-fellate. Inspired, I looked him up on social media and wrote an email informing him of his appeal to me. I never expected to hear back from him -- what kind of porn star writes back to fans -- but I received a response. 

“How nice to hear from you,” Stefan replied. “If I am ever in your area, I will be sure to look you up and fuck you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I thought. Still, I blushed. We added each other on Facebook and I promptly forgot all about him when my life veered back to reality and gainful employment.

Fast forward to now, or a recent approximation of current times. I had moved from New York City to Los Angeles and was a year out of a semi-serious relationship. I was convinced that I was doomed to a life of one night stands fueled by Tinder and OKCupid, and I, for the most part, was fine with it. Love seemed like a difficult and unattainable goal, so why bother? 

After two boring Saturday dates (yes, I double booked), I picked up my phone and scrolled through Facebook. A cursory glance yielded nothing exciting until I saw an update from Stefan: He was visiting Los Angeles from Europe, and at a friend’s place near my home. 

Before I could convince myself it was a bad idea, I wrote him a message letting him know that he was not even a mile from me, and that we should hang out. I added, “haha,” the universal out from any potential embarrassment should he reject my offer. 

But no, Stefan responded again, this time with his phone number and the suggestion to text him a photograph of my bare ass.

I am not the sort of woman who freely sends out nudes.

I sent Stefan a photograph of my bare ass anyway.

After a volley of racy texts, he offered to visit the next day. I spent much of that afternoon fretting over how I should present myself (no pun intended), as he was no doubt used to being with beautiful women. 

I showered, shaved my pussy and then stood in front of my closet, debating what to wear; eventually I settled on something I would wear to the gym. Not spaghetti stained sweatpants and an oversized tee, but a cropped muscle tank and hot pants. I put on very little makeup. I didn’t want to look like I was trying.

When he texted me that he was en route, I began to panic. I couldn't imagine how we would get along -- would we sit on my couch and watch a movie and chat about politics? But when I went to retrieve him downstairs, all of that anxiety went away. He was standing at the front door, clad in a green polo, brightly colored Madras shorts, and flip flops. He grinned at me, and thrust a dozen red roses into my hand when I opened the door.

"Hello, and thank you," I managed to blurt out before he kissed me. He was chewing gum.

I brought him upstairs upstairs and offered him water but he was still kissing me and I don't think he needed a beverage. We went into my room. He performed for me; the man I had watched on screen was now in my home, face first between my thighs. 

I had a flashing thought, "Is this all an act?" but I relaxed and enjoyed the moment instead of talking myself out of it. I have a tendency to be too cerebral, especially during sex.

Every tender and brutal moment he has exacted in his movies, the very ones I fantasized about -- I watched him as he did them to me. I felt them. I enjoyed them. I had to remind myself to look at him because here was my sexual fantasy, this gorgeous man with bright blue eyes and a photogenic penis. 

He told me I was "so pretty" before he slapped me. He peppered his romantic kisses in between hard ass spanks. He choked me, he bit me, he twisted my nipples and smiled. I came beneath him, shuddering, screaming things that are probably illegal in Utah.

Afterward, we went to a nearby cafe and had dinner. Stefan reached for my hands from across the table and held them while grinning sweetly at me. He told me about his family -- his wife and college-aged son -- and showed me photographs of them. Stefan divulged that he and his wife were swingers, meaning that while they were married legally, they both had sex with other people, sometimes together.We shared a dessert. 

Then he took me back to my apartment and fucked me again, muttering guttural things in my ear. We both came again. 

“This was an unexpected and lovely surprise,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you were who you said you were. You could have been a man.”

“You mean this doesn’t happen to you all the time?” I sputtered.

“No, but this is wonderful,” he replied, kissing me again.

He got dressed and left, not abruptly, but a perfectly timed departure.

For the rest of Stefan’s stay in Los Angeles, we saw each other fairly frequently, about twice a week. He took me to see a documentary about John Wojtowicz, the person who inspired the film Dog Day Afternoon, starring Al Pacino as the man who robbed a bank to fund his lover’s transgender reassignment surgery. 

I went to a filming of a corporal punishment movie he was shooting in the Valley, and landed a brief speaking role (fully-clothed). We went to a Hollywood nightclub with some of his porn star friends for a birthday party where I drank too much and took off my underwear in a room full of people (nobody noticed). 

I brought him as my date to a friend’s birthday dinner where he ordered a bottle of champagne to toast her, charming everyone. There were nights he would come over after I got home from work and I would lie with my head in his lap, telling about the events of my day. We talked about art and cinema. Nights like those, I almost confused him for a boyfriend.

I knew that it was unrealistic to fall in love with a married porn star with two children. Our coupling had a built in sex-piration date; Stefan was in Los Angeles for a little over a month. I enjoyed our interlude, accepting him for who he was, and appreciating the joy he brought to my life. 

Sure, he left my ass mottled with bruises, but Stefan treated me with kindness and respect. I had forgotten what it was like to be cherished and adored, but now, I was blossoming. Stefan the person, not Stefan the porn star, showed me what I was missing from my casual encounters, what I truly wanted from a partner, sexual or otherwise -- a genuine human connection. 

My time with Stefan taught me that I was not a deplorable person with gross and perverted predilections; I was plenty great being me and I should not be ashamed of or hate myself. 

Armed with that newfound self-confidence, I reassessed what I was seeking. One afternoon, while surrounded by my friends, their partners and their children, I admitted to myself that what I truly desired was love -- the act of giving and accepting it freely, and that it was perfectly OK to want that. 

Once that admission was free, I was able to find what and who I truly needed instead of telling myself that I should settle because that I was not worthy. I deserved self-honesty and love -- everyone in this world does.

What Stefan provided for me was not just an island of amazing sex and intimacy, but a bridge back to humanity where, two months later, I met the man I fell in love with, an extraordinary man who knows all about my past and still adores me. 

Maybe he can’t auto fellate, but he is kind, considerate and loving. Our relationship is strong and healthy; I am entirely fulfilled and happy with him. Without my experience with Stefan, I would have never been able to appreciate what I have now: love and monogamy.