Photographer Steve Prue and I have a professional relationship that has yielded many spreads for brand-name girlie mags, a number of photosets for nude websites and a plethora of behind-the- scenes shots. We even published a book together, called Stoya x Team Rockstar.
We’ve also been roommates for the better part of six years. When I briefly flirted with a return to Los Angeles and promptly noped back home to NYC’s public transit and concrete towers, Steve drove the moving truck containing my belongings, my cats and myself across the country.
I grew up in the southern United States, and road trips were very much a part of that life. In the South it was no big deal to hop in the car for a visit to a historical landmark three states over, or to see family.
Those of us who live in the coastal cities tend to forget that there’s a whole other America. When we reside in, for instance, Los Angeles or New York, we sometimes begin to refer to the rest of the country as “flyover,” or we cease to refer to it at all.
In the wake of the last Presidential election we’ve all been reminded of just how much political, religious and ideological diversity exists in our country. With all the rhetoric about making America great again, I’ve become nostalgic for the things that symbolize the, well, chiller and more relaxed America. And what’s more American than roadside tourist attractions and full-frontal nudity?
So I present, like a postcard from the pre-Trump era, the saga of our great cross-country road adventure…
