We were all in a bit of a malaise after the attacks. We knew much of what we'd be writing about over the next few years would change. But for the time, the whole world seemed to be in a holding pattern, as powerful people studied the board and planned their next move. I was given an editor title next to my contributor title, which meant I had to help other writers at times. I was tasked with helping shape up a deep dive into the career of a popular young actress who had jumped from commercials to sitcoms in no time, and now she was doing serious drama. And I think she was just 20 or so. Could be a future star. We'd written her up before, but now we were going into much more detail, and the rookies on the case needed some handholding. I watched her performance.

 

 

I mean, what can I say? It was really good. I just didn't care. Of course, now we know that TV was starting to enter it's new "Golden Age" or whatever, but at the time, I just thought it was some show that didn't mean much.

 

But I helped with the background, and met the actress, Erin Emerald, and she was a great interview. We really hit it off. She wasn't just some ditzy actress. She clearly had a head on her, and knew what she was doing.

 

 

I was mostly getting background, no quotes, so we talked about her upbringing, her education.

 

 

What she thought of life and work in Del Sol.

 

 

And I found out she was actually a reader, and a huge fan of subversive fiction. We shared some of our favorite authors and books. 

 

 

So we spent some time talking about Simster in the Rye and Malcolm's Room.

 

 

I was also working on my winemaking. I wasn't good at it yet.

 

 

I was also working on my next big story, which I decided was going to be about amateur porn. I'd sent a press inquiry to my new favorite naked person, BustyGrace (as she called herself), and I was surprised to hear back from her. I quickly planned a meeting.

 

 

I asked her how it was to publicize her sex life.

 

"It's exciting," she told me. "I've always been a bit of a show-off."

 

 

And I noted to her that I'd noticed she and her partner Chad had started doing only couples' porn, but had recently begun to involve others, and weren't always both in the picture sets.

 

 

"Oh, we still work together very closely," she said. "If you only see me, that means he's behind the camera, and vice versa. We've stopped using a tripod and a timer. We need someone in control to get the best shots. Plus, we have an open relationship, so I know everyone he fucks, and he knows everyone I fuck."

 

 

"He knows I'm here, of course," she said. I was stopped cold.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

 

"I mean, I've read your writing. I know what kind of style of journalism you do. If you want to get this story, eventually, you're going to have to get naked yourself."

 

So I did.

 

 

And suggested she should get naked, too.

 

 

Which she did.

 

 

And then she said she would give me one session and one only without a camera, just for background, but if I wanted the story, I'd eventually have to agree to a photo session. I couldn't bring myself to disagree. She pulled off my boxers, and whispered, "Let me show you what I can do. I'm in charge now."

 

 

When we were done, she asked what I'd thought.

 

 

If this is what the research looks like, I said, please let me do this story.

 

 

"The story's yours," she promised, "with more research to come."

 

 

She went back home, I poured a stiff drink, and asked myself, did I really just fuck my favorite porn star? Yes, I answered. Yes, I did. Life is wonderful.