Courting Disaster is Jackalope Ranch's weekly column of dating horror stories, observations, how-tos, and more by Katie Johnson. Names of ex-boyfriends, past hookups, and bad blind dates have been changed to protect the guilty.
My first kiss was with a porn star.
Let's back up.
He wasn't a porn star at the time. At the time, he was referred to as the Bob Marley of our high school. He played drums in band that I won't name specifically, but it was synonymous with, and equally douchey to, a name like Blaze.
Their logo was a psychedelic mushroom. Go ahead, judge me.
See also: The Old Man and the Sea Breeze
I should also note that "star" might also be an overstatement. Then again, other than having genitalia and some orifices, what does it really take to be a star in the porn industry?
Regardless, there's no getting around the fact that the first man I locked lips with is also the first man I ever saw in porn. The first anyone I saw in porn. Let's not forget that I was inherently square from day one.
I should also mention that it was gay porn. And before you begin wondering if it was I who "turned him gay," let me just start by saying that one: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. And two: I have it on good authority that I don't suck at kissing. And by good authority, I just mean other people with mouths but, hey, I'll take my compliments where I can get them.
Plus, having since caught up with my old flame, he's insists he is simply "gay for pay." An equal opportunity employer, if you will.
I won't give you his porn name, or his actual name, but I will give you his nickname, Jarhead. He was large, handsome in a Middle Eastern playboy sort of way, and his blood gravitated more toward his penis than it did his brain.
Despite having nothing in common other than an overwhelming influx of hormones, our paths crossed in the high school art room. It was right by the parking lot where he would ditch class and get stoned and coincidentally the only place where a nerd like myself felt safe eating lunch.
With some very awkward flirting on my part and a very unnecessary but deceptive push-up bra that I have since nicknamed "my A game," I was able to get his attention.
He bestowed on me the usual teen boy flattery of horn honking, cat calling, and comments like "Baby, you're so sexy. You could be a stripper. And I'm not just saying that."
On Valentine's Day, he left a card on my windshield with two cartoon frogs and a speech bubble that read "I want to jump you." There was no denying it, guys, this was love.
When I finally made my move to kiss him, I missed. Entirely. We were saying our good byes outside school, and just as he was turning away from me, I leaned in, closed my eyes, and grazed my mouth across his cheek like a drunk Francophile.
Fortunately, it takes a lot more than that to turn off an 18-year-old porn star in the making, and, while our high school romance was short, we both ended up in Los Angeles in the years that followed.
I was attending college and he was auditioning as a model, musician, actor, or whatever he could swing on just his good looks and subpar academics. During that time, we would occasionally meet up, make out, then remember that we really weren't meant for each other.
Although we had lost touch in recent years, an all too eager source revealed to me that since making the career change from aspiring pretty boy to kept man to waiter, Jarhead had ultimately found his calling in porn.
Because curiosity killed the cat (or "pussy," as Jarhead will no doubt be thinking if he reads this), I went to see what I could find out about his new life on the Internet. His stage name wasn't a far cry from his actual name, and when I clicked on the first video that popped up, I saw him, buried inside another man who was bent over an examination table in a staged doctor's office.
While I was caught off guard by the video, I was even more stunned by the image of my ex as a medical professional.
I suppose it's fitting that my first kiss would also bring me my first pornographic experience, though I really wish Judy Blume had written a book to prepare me for it first.
