Believe it or not, I once dated a porn star. Okay…a "male adult model." He wasn't a top-tier or well-known by any means. He didn't do any films (that I know of), and only appeared in one issue of Advocate Men, but from the moment I first saw him on the cover of that magazine in June 1986, I knew our paths would eventually cross—even though at the time I had no idea where or when that might happen. The bio in the magazine said "Justin Banks" was a landscape architect who lived in San Francisco. I was still living in Tucson, and while the cogs were definitely in motion for my eventual relation to SF, nothing was yet firmly in place.
Of course all that changed in the blink of an eye and I found myself a resident of The City two months later…and not six weeks after that "Justin" and I passed on the street as he and some friends were leaving the Midnight Sun. Our eyes locked. I smiled. He smiled back. I stopped and glanced back over my shoulder, but he kept walking down the street with his buddies. And that was the end of it.
Or so I thought.
The following February a friend and I were at a toy store in Corta Madera called The Imaginarium, where we spotted "Justin" working behind the counter. So much for being a landscape architect…
His eyes lit up when he saw me and immeidately came over. He definitely remembered our two-ships-passing moment, telling me that after he'd dropped his friends at their car that night he came back to try and find me, but I'd already disappeared into the night. He introduced himself with his real name (Michael Rose) and gave me his phone number. "Call me."
The rest is now ancient history, but we ended up dating for a few months. And all I can say about that is Michael taught me a valuable life lesson: NEVER date porn stars—excuse me, "male adult models"—not even the B-Listers.