Last night I woke up from a long and detailed dream about Asia Carrera. We were shopping.

Honest. I don’t remember exactly why she was shooting a nighttime scene in the woods near where I live but I happened to drive by, recognize her, and convince her I wasn’t a freak (or at least that I wasn’t a strange freak). The fact that anyone shooting a porn movie anywhere near where I live is about as likely as the Winter Olympics picking the local 7-11 as their 2008 location was besides the point, obviously. After she threatened to call the police I managed to remind her that we’d met before – “Oh, you’re that guy!” – and we talked. Turned out she was staying in the area another day and was somewhat disappointed in the accommodations. I, of course, offered my house.

In your average porn-star-related dream this would be when the thumpa-thumpa music started and we got horizontal, then vertical, then horizontal again. Instead my dream-self took her home and let her get a long hot shower while my wife and I ran around the house frantically cleaning up.

As I recall, and it was amazing how clear this dream was, we spent the rest of the day talking, web-surfing, and hitting the local malls. There was a great deal of nudity since she was topless whenever we were in the house – probably since those are the personal pics of her from her site that I like the most – but aside from my own quiet enjoyment it wasn’t particularly sexual.

This isn’t unusual for me. I’ve never really wanted to meet porn stars when they were porn starring, if you follow me. No reflections on those who do, of course, I realize I’m in the odd minority. I’m one of the ones who prefer the at-home pics to the glamour shots, the naked-playing-with-kittens poses to the naked-and-bent-over-a-BMW shots. The reason I like Asia so much is not because she can deep-throat a zucchini but because she personally is so cool.

It’s not just Asia, either. If I met Tera Patrick I’d want to see what she looked like in jeans and a t-shirt, without the mask of makeup. I’d love to meet Nina Hartley and talk about sexual awareness and her activism, or hang around with Jonathan Morgan and shoot hoops. While I enjoy watching them have sex, the idea of projecting myself into that scene just doesn’t work for me because I can’t make my stubbornly reasonable mind accept it.

Part of this is realism; if Serena Williams popped by the house for an afternoon I wouldn’t try playing a set against her, either, for many of the same reasons. I’d fare poorly, would sweat a lot, and would not be the one anyone would want to watch on the video afterwards. Part of it is that I’m more interested in whatever aspect of the porn star’s personality that caused me to notice them above and beyond the rest in the first place. They can all fuck magnificently, which but which ones can make me laugh when they’re not fucking?

Part of it is politeness towards a fellow professional. I don’t like talking about web page design or personal writing habits when I’m trying to relax. When I meet a doctor I try not to ask them about my sinus condition. When I pass the time with a mechanic I do my best to forget I even have a car. I figure they’ve gotta be tired of talking about the same thing day in and day out, and we’ll have more fun if I resist the impulse and talk about something else.

A big part, admittedly, is my own brain, which is constitutionally unable to envision me having sex with just anybody. The situation has to make sense. Even in high school, when I would fantasize about the lovelies in my class I’d spend as much or more time mentally working out the justification for our hot monkey love, which often involved late-night emergency rides, narrowly-thwarted muggings, or foiled kidnapping attempts. My mind had to believe that it was possible, or nothing would happen. Consequently by the time I had figured out how to get my mental lady ready and willing, I’d fall asleep from all the planning. Celebrities fantasies were even worse because I had to work out why they were in my town in the first place, without friends or their entourage, and then it just got silly.

What does this mean for the porn industry? Not a damn thing. People like me aren’t a large demographic, unfortunately, else there’s be more at-home videos and porn blooper DVDs. I just thought I’d share.

‘Cause it was a really weird dream.