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dream traveler
chapter 2, nice girl like you
by dana harris

Nevada Nyle’s legs were in the air, her platinum head thrown back, eyes on the ceiling, knees bent so that her freshly pumiced heels rested on Jason Steele’s smooth back. Their bodies were becoming slippery under the hot lights and he was pumping faster now, his hoarse moans blending with her own. Their sounds drove all thoughts out of her head, except one:

Ow. Ouch. Owowowowowowowow. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Yikes. Ow.

It wasn’t Jason’s fault. No amount of Astroglide could keep her from being sore during the last scene of a week-long shoot. It was the most expensive she’d seen in her 10-year career: fireball special effects, 18th century costumes, five double-wide trailers. It must have cost $250,000.

Sinful Films hadn’t decided what to call it - probably either “Dreamers” or “Dream Travelers.” She was supposed to play a shy young lady who believed she’d gone back to a more romantic time, where gallant gentlemen went down on their lasses before giving them the nine-inch cocks they really craved.

One thing Nevada knew for sure, however, was she’d be on the box cover. Solo. Her contract promised it. That shoot would take a whole day - twice as long as this sex scene, even with its four positions, of which this was the fourth.

“Nevada! Look at the cock!” The director, Craig Palomino, was giving her acting tips offscreen, which meant they must be shooting without sound.

“I‘ve been looking at it for the last three hours!” Nevada said, turning her head toward Craig. “When do I get to stop looking at it?” This got a laugh from the crew, not to mention the guy from Playboy who had his little DV camera in her face. Whoops. That probably wasn’t the sort of behind-the-scenes footage Sinful had in mind.

“Goddammit, cut,” Craig said. Jason immediately ceased his pumping and pulled out of Nevada, backing away so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to disentangle herself. His right shoulder caught the edge of her shoe and the platform-heeled stiletto fell to the floor.

“Goddammit, Jennifer,” Jason said, his penis still sticking straight out. Nevada hated it when he used her real name. It reminded her of when they were engaged, which made it that much harder to get in the mood for the scene.

“Why is everyone cussing at me?” Nevada said. “And why did you call ‘cut’?” She sat up to face Craig, her legs dangling over the edge of the operating table. Jason was supposed to be a doctor who found a miraculous way to restore proper English ladies to life. “I thought you were shooting MOS.”

“We were, but the camera was on your face,” Craig said, flicking the monitor screen with a pop of his index finger. “That’s why I told you to look at Jason. You looked like you were off in space.”

“You didn’t tell me to look at Jason,” Nevada said, tucking her breasts - enormous and real, despite her tiny frame - back into the drawstring bustier. “You told me to look at his cawk.” She imitated Craig’s voice, which, after eight years, still retained the nasal tones of Canada. This got another laugh from the gaffers.

Nevada knew her audience. In fact, she knew it a little too well.

She’d lost count a long time ago, but she must have made more than 200 movies. The number was probably a lot higher, but she didn’t bother counting all the “Best Of” and vignette collections. After Jenna Jameson - and, face it, probably Nina Hartley and Traci Lords - she was the best-known porn star in the world.

And she was so over it.

Regular on the Howard Stern show? Check. Host of the E! Channel’s Wild On! series? Jamaica and Cancun, thank you very much. Featured on VH1’s latest threadbare excuse to find the nonexistent link between porn and rock music?

Well, she wasn’t sure on that one. The subject was rock stars and the porn stars who love them and she couldn’t see how they’d get the clearances. Even if they did, she probably wouldn’t make the edit; she’d dished on a band that treated Christianity like a marketing tool. She was more than happy to out them, especially after the lead singer told the music channel that he had nothing but pity for porn stars and their need for “spiritual guidance.” But if executives had to choose between the rock star and the sex star, she knew where their sympathies would lie. Besides, that was the whole point of these specials: feel good watching the slut take off her clothes, then feel even better that it isn’t you.

Nevada was ready to get out. Not for some kind of lame-ass “retirement,” but to do Jenna one better and make a real leap into the mainstream. She wouldn’t play strippers or worse, herself; she’d be an ordinary working actress. And with no apologies for her porno past or finger-pointing confessionals.

Others - lots of them - had tried before her and failed, but they didn’t have a plan. She did. However, no one could know that.

For now, all they needed to know is Nevada Nyle was still the hottest fuck-film performer in the business.

“All right, where is my cawk?” she said, lying back on the cold metal table and scooting her ass to the edge for easy access.


more about dana harris


there's orgy rules
chapter 3, nice girl like you
by dana harris
topic: writing
published: 12.30.99

explain yourself
opening chapter of the novel nice girl like you
by dana harris
topic: writing
published: 12.30.99


matt morin
5.5.03 @ 11:06a

So do we want to know how you know so much about the porn industry?

That'd be a great excuse though - I've got to watch all this porn, it's research!

dana harris
5.5.03 @ 11:35a

I've been friends w/ people in the industry for the last four years or so. The whole thing started when my then-employer asked me to write about the porn industry at Cannes. (I write about film for Variety - then, I was at The Hollywood Reporter.) So I wrote the article and found out the business was a lot like the indie film/foreign sales business. I also found that I liked a lot of the people I met. There was one strange night where they tried to test me - to figure out if I was bi, a swinger, how far they could push me. I let them know that it wasn't for me (married and monogamous) and after that they left me alone. As strange as they may seem to the straight world, I'm just as strange to them: a straight who doesn't want them for sex or drugs and doesn't treat them as pariahs. Having said all that, I haven't met anyone in the business who isn't massively conflicted and/or deluded. But they also know that, or at least 50% of the time.

And if you know anyone interested in buying several dozen shrinkwrapped XXX DVDs, do let me know.

matt morin
5.5.03 @ 11:40a

And if you know anyone interested in buying several dozen shrinkwrapped XXX DVDs, do let me know.

Mike, Adam, put your hands down.

dana harris
5.7.03 @ 8:11p

Just wanted to post a huge THANK YOU for the critiques the piece has received - pro, con and all points in between. It's gold and platinum with diamond studs. Having feedback as I write the next chapter (which I look forward to posting) makes me feel far richer than I thought was permitted for ink-stained wretches.

matt morin
5.7.03 @ 8:15p

We're just here to fluff, I mean help.

dana harris
5.7.03 @ 8:47p

That's another challenge in writing this story: dodging bad porno puns. And you will be sad to learn that, outside of the odd gangbang, fluffers have gone the way of the Betamax. Budget cuts have hit us all.

robert melos
5.7.03 @ 11:12p

Damn. Another career option gone before I could apply for the position.

matt morin
5.8.03 @ 1:28a

I thought Viagra ran the fluffers out of town. Don't ask how I know that...

dana harris
5.8.03 @ 1:42a

It did. Only no one calls it Viagra - it's "Scooby Snacks."

However, fluffers were more of the time when porn took a lot longer to shoot - film is a lot more technically demanding than video.

jael mchenry
5.8.03 @ 11:00a

Didn't they have to shoot sequentially, too? None of that fancy editing with the video toaster and more recent digital magic.

Okay, I watched Boogie Nights. I know nothing firsthand.

matt morin
5.8.03 @ 11:01a

Well, other than how the sex happens...

dana harris
5.8.03 @ 11:04a

No, they didn't have to shoot sequentially, although I'm sure some did out of laziness and to keep costs down. They had flatbed editing and Steenbecks the same as anyone else.(I always wonder what happened to the flatbeds. I'd like to have one as a workbench for my garden.)

adam kraemer
5.9.03 @ 1:01p

Ummm... you and your friends planning to visit New York any time soon?

dana harris
5.11.03 @ 10:15p

Actually, I think Wicked Pictures just passed through town. I used to live in NYC, but haven't been back since summer 2000. And if I may remind you: I'm the boring one. Married, monogamous, hetero, don't swing, no silicon, Botox or peroxide. And to make matters worse, I've been the subject of exactly one nude photo. My first boyfriend was the photographer, it was a Polaroid and I was so mortified by the result I insisted we burn it immediately, which we did in a coffee can in the backyard. I threw out the ashes myself.

tracey kelley
5.12.03 @ 2:15a

That is so funny. You must be from the Midwest. :)

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