morgan writes:

i dont know how to find email addresses, but your blog lead me to believe you might be able to pass on this message. i was going through severe depression for many years and one of the ways it manifested was being really upset about the things i didn’t have, which made looking at porn particularly soul crushing. one day i stumbled across a shoot proxy did with mandy mitchell and her energy was so fantastically amazing that joy jumped from her brain into mine. it made me so happy to see such happy people. now im stoked for everyone having a great time. now im pumped when i can help people to have a blast and sexuality is a source of wonderment and hope. please let her know how rad she is and that her radiant energy has helped to transform my life. im sure you’re awesome too. i bet her pee was delightfully refreshing. thanks so much!!
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Dear Morgan:

I took this Proxy Paige picture a year or so ago at a movie night my friend Eric Kroll was hosting. My friend Eric Kroll is a magician. Kroll turns pornography into art.

And just like me, Kroll likes old, useless things. So when a box full of film reels discovered on a recent dumpster dive turned into Porno Gold, movie night was on! We put Proxie in charge.

Projectionist Proxy Paige.

Our Adult Entertainment that evening featured a door-to-door salesmen who peddled sex toys; a knocked-up milk maiden who sipped drinks poolside whilst pleasuring her man; and a sex scene with the door-to-door salesman and the lady of the house in a kitchen that had the best thing in the film — a calendar hanging on the wall. If the calendar was telling the truth, the kitchen scene was shot in January of 1972. This would make the actors in their mid-to-late 60’s (maybe even 70!), and I wonder how they would felt that night, sitting in Kroll’s room with us, about the dirty movie they made so long ago?

Your e-mail is super fun, Morgan, cause watching dirty movies can be a great thing, and I grow tired of all the right-wing Christian nut jobs who slam my biz whenever they can, and slam the girls whenever they can, and cite inaccurate statistics whenever they can…and beat off to what they condemn — whenever they can.

And you’re right: Proxy’s piss was delightfully refreshing; as I lay on the filthy bathroom floor — pants hastily pulled down around my ankles — beating off like a monkey in the zoo, Proxy hovering a few feet above my mouth as she relieved herself, I felt as though I was feasting on a fancy Easter brunch, served up at an expensive country club.

Something like that, anyways.