I always thought that if I was a Disney Princess I would, naturally, be Ariel but the older I’m getting the more I realise I have in common with Pocahontas. Not only do we both have pet racoons but, just like my Native American counterpart, I am always waiting to see what’s “just around the riverbend” when it comes to men. I’m not really one for boyfriends and I’m not on a hunt for a husband – I’ve still got way too much I want to do before I have to start considering someone else’s feelings – which is probably a good thing as dating when you’re in or have been in the adult/sex industry is HARD.
I know people who’ve worked in the industry for years and hold down strong, committed relationships but I just never, ever find men who are serious and I have met a lot of men. A LOT. I’ve given up on finding my Ryan Gosling – “NOW SAY YOU’RE A BIRD TOO” – but I do always like to have at least one man on the go at any given time and to keep my hand in on the dating apps.
I won’t hear a bad word said about Tinder after it matched me with a member of one of my favourite boy groups from my teenage years. I won’t name the group but my mother did advise me to remind him of the time that they were due to turn on the Christmas lights and they never turned up and I was hysterical with grief but I decided that that was a bit much for a first date, even for me.
I always find that to most men I’m a novelty or better yet, a “stop gap”, an experience they could tell their friends about whilst telling me that they “weren’t looking for anything serious” before leaving me for someone serious. They assume that I’m going to be excellent in bed, which is correct, but can’t ever see past the fact that what I put out there isn’t all I am.
Some people would say “don’t tell them what you do for a living” but I am many things and a liar is not one of them. Besides, the adult industry is a legitimate way to make money. To lie about it and then get found out later just makes it seem seedy and like I’m suggesting that there is something wrong with it and I don’t think that at all. How awkward would it be to tell someone you’re an optician or something and then three dates in have to tell them “I was actually lying! I show people my fanny online!
I LOVE YOU DON’T LEAVE ME”. Pointless.
I was always upfront and honest with the men I met and found that this always divided them into two types. The first half would be falling over themselves to tell me how they would NEVER EVER watch any of my movies. “I wouldn’t even want to Google you! Even if someone came in now and held a gun to my head and demanded I google “Jade Rose” I wouldn’t even do it! I’d literally let him shoot me on the spot! See, I said “Jade” – I don’t even know what your stage name is! That’s how much I don’t care because I’m NOT LIKE OTHER MEN.”
The other half would go completely the other way and would almost always respond with “I’ve always wanted to get into porn”. No way! This is such an unusual thing for a man to say to me! Please, let’s spend the rest of our date with you telling me how many other women you want to stick your dick in because truly I think you may be the one I end up marrying.
Here is a perfect example from a date I went on while I was still in the webcam business:
“So what is it you do? You were a bit vague when we first met”.
“I work in the adult industry. I sometimes make adult movies but mainly I’m a webcam performer”.
There’s a pause while he digests this. I take a sip of my wine.
“I love going down on a woman for hours at a time”, he tells me, finally.
I take a large swig of my wine. “Great”.
“I’ve also got a really long tongue”, he says, flopping it out of his mouth and making lizard like movements with the end of it.
“Great”, I say again, downing what’s left in my glass.
Later, after he attempted to buy a bottle of champagne in a Weatherspoons, I made my excuses to leave. As Fate would have it he lived one stop from me on the Piccadilly line so him and his massive tongue may as well come with me. Great, I say for the 50th time that night. At Kings Cross, only two stops into our journey he asks when we’ll be seeing each other again and I politely tell him it might not work out. There’s a pause as he digests this. “I wish you’d waited to ask me this at Finsbury Park”, I try. He doesn’t find that funny and I, thankfully, never see that long tongue again.
I rarely if ever go out with anyone now I’m back in my hometown because everyone knows everyone and I’ve already been through all the semi decent men down here. Joking. A bit. I did actually meet a guy here recently who, based on the innocent coincidence of us knowing some of the same people from London, assumed that I too was really into swinging and, with great relief, told me how good it was to find someone as “open minded” as me. Oh for fucks sake.
Basically, I have come to the conclusion that love is just not on the cards for me and I am going to end up being one of those women who marries a guy on Death Row and will live out the rest of my days chainsmoking whilst penning long, erotic letters and practising how to spell “exoneration”.
P.S. I was joking about the racoon. Animals freak me the fuck out.