Many, many moons ago, when the Yellow Pages served as the internet, I was staying a few nights for work at the Ritz-Carlton Laguna Niguel on the beach in Orange County CA, with a view of the ocean that I felt shouldn't go to waste. So I let my fingers do the walking, dropped a dime and placed my bet. Bingo. Who was that knocking at my door? I had no idea. Uh, oh, gulp...really!!!?? My late 90s porn crush? For real? Yup. It was Christina Angel, in all her small-town, blonde glory. Just for me. And there was no bank to break, just a normal everyday agency fee of around 300 or maybe even less. I never let on that I knew who she was, let alone that I had drooled for her ever since I had watched her first scenes.Was it a PSE experience? Not quite. But more than the actual mouth- and body-on mechanics, it's the idea of being with a visible in-the-flesh porn star that's the experience. So in that regard it was PSE, a variation of Grace Slick's prescription to "feed your head." Both of them.





