My Breakup Letter to My Pornstar Girlfriend

The name of the girl in question has been changed. “Amelie” is neither her real name, nor her stage name, but actually the name of one of my favorite movies.

That having been said, here is the text of my breakup text to her, sent from an Uber at 9:46 pm, October 31st.


I don’t know what to say to you, Amelie. I’ve always been honest with you, so the honest thing for me to say is this.

It’s really all my fault.

You meant more to me than I ever told you. And this wasn’t a lie, but a true failure to disclose. The true thing I failed to disclose to you was how totally important to me you were.

I suppose that the best thing to do when you care deeply about someone is to tell them. Immediately. And I should have done that.

A beautiful girl who was fun and kinky and loved horror movies. In so many ways you personified an ideal for me. You won’t be replaced. I’ll miss you so so so much.

It’s been a while since my heart has been broken so thoroughly. A while.

But ultimately closure is a gift you give yourself. So that’s what I’m doing, I guess. Oh Amelie, I’ll always remember you as the girl who broke my heart on my favorite holiday.

Always sincere,

❤️  Dommie


Jesus, I was so fucking misguided. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First the backstory.

Amelie was also not a porn star when I met her—on the set of an orgiastic BDSM porn shoot at the San Francisco Armory. She had been one briefly, several years previous. But when I met her, she had left The Industry to go to school.

The night I met Amelie, I was fairly intoxicated and probably under the influence of 10 mgs of extended release Adderall that I’d bummed off My Wife. The alcohol was necessary for killing the social anxiety and self-consciousness I so often felt in a party atmosphere. Without the Adderall, I tended to over-drink and end up acting like a jackass, and (worst of all) I’d end up completely ignoring My Wife.

My Wife. She bummed me her ADHD medication, in part, because it helped me focus on continuing to pay attention to her, rather than getting overwhelmed and distracted by all the boobs and fucking.

My Wife and I were girl-watching and we spotted Amelie together. At the time, she had purple hair and was wearing a shiny patent-leather mini-skirt. We both agreed, she was one of the sexiest girls in the room. Much more sexy than any of the porn stars who were actually filming that night. Somehow, through a series of events that I’m not entirely certain of, I ended up with Amelie sitting in my lap while I stroked her leg and told her that her sitting in my lap was giving me an enormous erection.

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said. And laughed her cute little Amelie laugh.


Dommie Darko, when somewhat drunk and overly confident, is able to achieve great feats of seduction through careful and precise application of disarming honesty.

Amelie was not the first person in the sex/kink industry with whom I’d had an intimate relationship. One of my first college roommates had paid her way through school by being a professional dominatrix and amateur kink model. Several years later, I had shared a room with a girl who had been a dancer at the Lusty Lady, a strip club in the North Beach District of San Francisco, famous for being the first and only strip club in San Francisco to ever successfully unionize.

Amelie was kinky. The most reliable way to make her come was to fuck her hard with her legs behind her head, while choking her. Further, like most women I have known who have spent time in the sex industry, she loved sex. She masturbated daily. However, she wasn’t the most kinky or sex-driven girl I had ever dated. And sex wasn’t the primary reason I started falling for her. At least I hope it wasn’t.

Our relationship started with my careful application of disarming honesty. Our first few dates involved us talking about how we had survived very traumatic childhoods, and very dysfunctional families. But although we bonded over this, what really won over Amelie (enough for her to be willing to call herself my girlfriend) was horror movies and wordplay: puns, specifically. She loved making puns, and adored my quick-witted capacity for punditry and punishment. She went to see Troll 2 with me. Troll 2, widely considered to be one of the worst movies of all time.

Of course, she also enjoyed being tied to furniture and brutally fucked with my hands around her throat. And afterwards, we’d clean ourselves up, grab some falafel and a bottle of wine, and take her welsh corgi to the dog park so he could sheepishly avoid interacting with other dogs.

Was this love? Is turkey bacon a type of bacon? Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was something approximating it. At least, I thought.


After someone goes through a breakup, we often ask them, “What went wrong? Why did you guys breakup?”—as if there is one single identifiable cause that can be cited. This is pretty common on the show Seinfeld, where Jerry has broken up with a woman …

  • For having “man hands.”
  • For eating peas one pea at a time.
  • For wearing the same dress every day.
  • For being a “low talker.”

But more often than, not, in real life, this is a bunch of bullshit.

I mean, if there is one reason that is to blame for the demise of most relationships (both polyamorous, non-monogamous and monogamous), it’s just that NRE (see: “new relationship energy”) has faded. It’s easy to overlook various underlying issues when someone is shiny and new. And usually there are issue(s)—emphasis on the plural—rather than a single issue.

Stories about relationships generally have three parts: how you met, how you fell in love, and what broke you up. This is the third part, the breakup. The problem is, there is no story, or narrative behind why we broke up. She drifted off. She texted less. She stopped sending Snapchats. Then on Halloween, there was a fight—whose details shall not be disclosed to protect her privacy—and I knew that I was going to beat her to the punch.

This analysis provided here, is purely after the fact. First, one thing was clear: Amelie was always quite happy with the fact that I was married. Besides the fact that my marriage provided her with a third for some awesome threesomes, the fact that I was married meant (to her) that I would not make the same demands of her time or attention as a single dude might have.

I’m also gonna speculate that she erroneously assume that my being married meant that I did not run the risk of becoming deeply emotionally involved or forming substantial emotional attachments. But I did form emotional attachment. Right from the beginning.

I’m gonna speculate that that was the problem.

So although I did the breaking up, I was merely responding to Amelie’s intentional distancing of herself from me.

Rereading my breakup letter to Amelie, and what stands out to me is this: The reason I lost Amelie was not that I didn’t tell her how deeply I cared about her. The reason I lost her was that I made her into something she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to be my girlfriend. But that’s what I made her, against her wishes.

I hate colonizers and missionaries. I hate them because they try to bring their version of civilization or religion to places where they don’t belong. But that’s what I had been. She hadn’t wanted to be on one side of ampersand. That wasn’t the kind of attachment she wanted. So the lesson is this: don’t give people what they don’t want. That’s what I did.

Although she and I aren’t on speaking terms, I feel like I have to say: I’m sorry. I’m sorry Amelie, for being a colonizing, missionary of emotional attachment.

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