Title: Assignment: Porn-star

Author: Snarlsnout

Email: Snarlsnout@yahoo.com

RATING: PG-15ish; language & -*implied sexual contact*-

PAIRING: Sam/Nicole--of course (& a few daliances enroute)

SUMMARY: Building off of the early Season 1 eps where Sam explores her developing love of both journalism and her journalism instructor/editor...

SPOILERS: Some minor April/Emory interaction from S2's "Coup" and some fine Mary Cherry moments from S2's "IKWYDLSB"...

DISCLAIMER: Ryan Murphy/Touchstone created a wonderous playground-The WB treated it like a toxic waste dump...I am merely perpetuating their memory

A/N: Mr Grant was portrayed by Chad Lowe; Wanda was portrayed by Clea Duvall which will explain the lame jokes at the expense of their relatives...Also, * * are thoughts; () are author asides.

Sam walked past the glass door of the coiled fire hose, then back-pedaling, briefly checked her reflection.

"Argh" she groaned softly, tugging at the unruly matted brown rat's nest sprouting from her scalp. *I should just shave my head, she thought, or better yet a Mohawk!*

Nervously biting her lower lip, she took a deep breath and lightly knocked on the door.

"Hi Sam," her editor, Mr. Grant greeted as he held the door for her to enter. He quickly glanced the hallway in both directions. Satisfied no-one had seen her arrive, he sneered inappropriately (for the sake of foreshadowing) and closed the door behind them...

Sam was always a little jittery in her present surroundings, even though the room was clean, nicely decorated open and airy; even some piped-in music, albeit not to her taste (in this case, some "pre-historic" Police ditty)

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasies.

She wants him so badly..."

As Sam searched her vast mental data-bank to "name that tune", she plopped down in the sole visitor chair. Stealthily moving up beside her--

"Sam, I have something that only you are in a position to help me with..."

Always eager to prove her worth as a journalist, Sam quickly turned, and came face-to-fly with his pre-requisite yuppie Dockers...

"I-I-I-" Sam babbled incoherently in a redundancy loop as her eyes glassed over; her face flushed...

"You might find this a little hard to swallow..."

"I-I-I-" *Oh. My. God!* Sam did swallow a "Freudian" gulp, as she squeezed her eyes closed tight...

"What I'd like to share with you will probably leave a bad taste in your mouth..."

"I-I-I-", she clutched the arms of the chair in white-knuckled terror as she heard what had to have been the longest, loudest zipper in history being undone...

"I-I-I-"...

"I know I nearly gagged on the first one I saw..." Mr Grant confessed *Damn! Mary Cherry was right! He ~is~ a little light in the loafers*. Hearing a slight distance to his voice now, Sam reluctantly cracked one eyelid enough to see her faculty advisor sitting across his desk from her pulling several video cassettes from his leather (Zippered!) valise... As Mr Grant positioned the TV/VCR combo closer to the desk; Sam realized her mistake and although somewhat embarrassed, managed to relax.

"Whew! You're talking about a video-tape?"

"Huh? No, actually I was talking about blow-jobs, but yeah, these tapes are the purpose of our meeting..."

He inserted the first cassette, they stared momentarily at a blank blue screen, that was suddenly replaced by a close-up of a couple copulating in what appeared to be a cheap motel room. The male looked extremely familiar and the female looked extremely young...

"Ooops, must've been one of my brother Rob's tapes..."

He quickly ejected it and inserted another--Sam was lulled by the panoramic sweep of a sun-drenched beach, until the scene switched to close-up after close-up of young muscular males displaying their bodies' complete lack of tan-lines. She stared in slack-jawed shock, oblivious to the utter lack of women in the scenery as Mr Grant sighed--

"Ooops, my vacation to the Greek isles...Just picture it Sam: blue sky, green sea, white sand, bronzed bodies..."

"M-M-Mr Grant", Sam sputtered, "Perhaps I'm being a tad prudish here, but do you honestly feel this is appropriate viewing material to be displaying to a minor of the opposite...s-s-sex?"

He shot her the look he reserved for people being a tad prudish here, and swapped out the tapes a third time--

Here it is--But I must warn you--It's extremely graphic."

*Excuse me, Sam thought, I just witnessed the object of my adolescent crush prancing around in his birthday suit like a flaming Cabanna boy--what could be more visually horrific than that?!?* (A/N: Tsk, tsk. Poor Sammy never learns...)

The initial blue screen gives way to what is obviously a hand-held movie cam; it sweeps first the floor, than an odd angle shot of the wall/ceiling. It fades in & out of focus as it attempts to zoom in on a blue & white blur. A narration in a strange and nasal voice becomes audible--

"Portuguese, overdubbed..." Mr Grant explains.

Finally the picture comes into a somewhat grainy focus. Sam gasps as she recognizes classmate April Tuna regaled (sp?) in a bizarre "Little Bo Peep" outfit. The bottom quarter of the screen is obscured partially by English subtitles; even though they are translations of off-screen directions as opposed to actual dialog...

"Remove your bonnet; You must do as I say," Sam reads aloud, "Excellent. Continue doing as I say..."

Mr. Grant immediately dives for the eject button, much to Sam's confusion--

"Believe me Sam, it gets even ~more~ explicit than that!"

"B-b-but, they really didn't show anything...good anyway..."

"This next one is even more vulgar," Mr Grant announced, all though more as a dare than a warning..."Total depravity, and I'm talking bestiality--with chickens!"

Her editor barely let this one play either, just enough for Sam to catch a glimpse of a blurry, terrified blonde being menaced by something looking like a San Diego sports mascot...

"Mr. Grant, um, why are showing me all this? Correction-why are you not showing me most of this?"

"Because Sam, I have developed a lead on the producers and exploiters of these venal atrocities. With my connections and your aggressive, involved reporting style, we can expose these sleaze-merchants as the vile, disgusting perverts they are!"

"Gotcha Chief--where do we start?"

"Samantha, I need you to infiltrate the seedy world of high school pornography!"

"Gulp," Sam gulped.

That afternoon, after school, Sam arrived at the designated location where she would contact their unidentified informant.

OK, it was actually the Novak and Novak resident Wanda Rickets...

"You Spam McPherson: Investigative Journalist?" Wanda asked between bubblegum-snaps...

"T-t-that's Sam, I am, er, that's me," Sam clarified (?) trying not to betray her repulsion as the stall-dweller circled her appraisingly.

"I'm Wanda Rickets: Teen Trash," Wanda said, stating the obvious, and much to close to Sam's face while doing so...

"Yea, I remember you from the "All About Adam" episode," Sam replied, in the hopes of jogging the reader's memory. "Weren't you in the episode with Mike's bachelor party as well? You, MC and Nicole all got busted for dancing in that strip club..."

"Right," Wanda reflected, "the "What Makes Sammy Run" ep."

"And I suppose that's why you're in a position to be familiar with the unsavory elements exploiting the innocent movie-career dreams of other naive, gullible teens?"

"Hey, it all pays S.A.G. scale...and the old man won't pull any strings for me, so waddaya gonna do?"

"OK then," Sam stated, desperate to get our story back on track. "Where do we start?"

"You got a car, Journalist?"

Sam nodded in the affirmative.

"Good then we're off to a casting call--and let's stop at the Qwiky-Mart on the way. I need to pick-up some beef jerky and some of that tidy-blue bowl-cleaner..."

Sam shuddered with revulsion as she followed her out the door.

30 Minutes later, Sam pulls her VW Beetle convertible up to a 8 foot chain-link fence. Stealthily switching on her pocket tape-recorder she turns to Wanda--

"Well, here we are at the corner of 175th and El Cajones; just off the I-5 at what appears to be a Self-storage facility of some sort..."

"Well...duh," Wanda replied assuming Sam had been addressing her.

"We're now walking to the third door from the south end, Unit 312, an orange overhead garage door..." Sam continued, hoping to appear conversational...

"I have picked up a small pebble in my left shoe; my underwear is starting to ride up my crack," Wanda contributed...

They enter a dimly lit room filled with lawn chairs and what could be the results of a "Wanda Rickets: Teen Trash" cloning experiment. The girls are all filling out the mandatory release forms age verifications etc. Sam and Wanda each grab a clipboard and find empty seats.

Sam wished she'd have brought her pocket camera as well, to get a record of the forms, especially the one inquiring as to what types of acts she was willing to perform on screen--She had no idea what all the slang and abbreviations meant--but in effort to appear more qualified/eager for employment she decided to just check "yes" on all of them. Being a pure and chaste 16 year old had caused her only minor awkward social moments up til now, however she could see how it could severely hamper one's career in the adult film industry...

Actually, "since it reads like her resume, anyway"; Sam inwardly giggled as she changed the "name" blank to that of her favorite blonde cheerleader...

"Brooke McQueen?" came the voice, from the same general direction as the bald head peering into the waiting room. "Next up..."

"Hey, that looks like Godfrey," Wanda observed, then as Sam responded with a confused shrug, she clarified. "You know, the Mr. Cluck's manager? Bobbi Glass' old bondage buddy? The priest impostor? The clinique proprietor?" With Sam still drawing a blank, all Wanda could do was mutter something about "abysmal ratings" that unfortunately Sam's recorder failed to fully capture...

Sam's attention turned immediately to the fur-draped, sun-glass-bespectacled blonde who rose in response to Godfrey's page. She approached him with an arrogant stride, extending a bejewelled hand (her own...*g*) in formal greeting...

"Ms. McQueen! Lovely to see you again! Looking forward to another stellar performance from you; perhaps even rivalling our epic "Booze Cock Monster" a cinematic tour-de-force..." Director Godfrey babbled.

"Like mah mama alwaze sez, Herr Di-wreck-tor, get the money ~before~ y'all get the money-shot!" the ersatz Brooke twanged...

"Wait a second...!" Sam deduced what most of us already have...but before our girl could "spring into action" Godfrey continued--

"Let's see...you'll be auditioning with...Nicole Julian. Is there a Nicole Julian here?"

"Present..." Sam sighed.

Busted! Of course neither girl would back down so--

"Heya Nicole" Mary Cherry drawled sachrinally (sp?)

"Brookie..." Sam acknowledged.

"You two have worked together before? Great, we can cut the preliminaries then... Go ahead & strip; we'll start with a number 47 with an Traci Lords dismount..."

"I-I-I..." Nicole/Sam stammered.

Sensing that our girl Sammy has gotten herself in over her head (again), Wanda rushes to her aid. We assume this action is motivated more by greed than chivalry...

"I'm sorry," Godfrey informs her, "we're just shooting some girl-on-girl action today--Come back tomorrow and we'll work you into the orgy finale, Ms. Umm--"

"Wanda Rickets: Teen-uh, Talent Agent! I'm Saa-Nicole's manager. I have final approval on all her projects..."

"Look Rhonda, the sign specifically states "All Pimps Remain in Lobby"," Godfrey reminds her.

"These two will be perfect!" comes a sinister voice from the darkest corner of the windowless studio.

Godfrey closes the Lobby door and leads the 3 girls further in to the "soundstage of ill-repute".

"The contrast is perfect!" the voice continues, "Blonde/Brunette; Light/Darkness; Pleasure/PAIN!"

"Ladies, allow me to introduce to you world-renowned Dutch "nouveu genre" director Jos Wotan! He has graciously offered to assist on this project! Now, instead of going directly into the bargain bin at the local smut-shops, our film will play for years at avant garde coffee-houses and liberal arts colleges!"

"Oh my gawd!" Brooke/MC chirped instantly aligning her brown-nosing abilities to the newly defined power-structure, "I jest luuve y'all's work! "Needing the Pain" made Gwenyth the mega-star she is today!"

"And you are---?" Jos inquired of Sam...

"Just leaving!" Wanda stepped in. "C'mon Saa-Nicole. You don't want anything to do with this...sick freak!"

Our girl Sammy, already in a highly confused/bundle of nerves state of mind adds to her mental melay the images of both her father and Mr. Grant telling her that "a real reporter would be willing to suffer for their story...". (This of course, was probably related to the drugs and post-hypnotic suggestions Mr. Grant has been plying on Sam since her freshman year in journalism class, but that's another story).

"I-I-I'm Saa-Nicole...let's make a movie!"

Wanda, realizing she's lost, salvages what she can of the situation by taking Sam's wallet and car keys as she leaves.

Godfrey leads first Brooke/MC, then Nicole/Sam to their blanket-partitioned "dressing rooms"...

"We'll start you out with the red vinyl cat-suit," he instructs Nicole/Sam. Pointing to an array of hand-cuffs, chains whips & gags, "Pick out 3 or 4 things that interest you, and we'll see if you fare better as the top or bottom."

Godfrey had barely closed the door-flap when Sam fainted...

One of the great things about writing a fiction such as this (other than having Mary Cherry kissing my ass...) is the power to bend all things--even time!--to my every whim or will. I choose to do this now by having time slow to an imperceptible crawl in Sam's world, and escalating it to a fever pitch in the Wanda Ricket realm. Sam has barely taken her first unconscious breath back at the studio, while in comparison, Wanda has put several thousand miles on Sam's car and maxed out her credit cards. Even as you are reading this, she is already returning to her stall in the Novak. However it is here that she has the misfortune to bump into the real Nicole Julian. Nic had been heading to her car, after a late Glamazon rehearsal (and an even later tryst...but that's another story) when she noticed the Spam-mobile being the only other car left in the lot. She follows a trail of Slim Jim wrappers and empty Mr. Fresh-bowl packages which lead her directly to the Novak. Nic arrives just in time to see Wanda's legs disappearing under the stall door (assumingly following the rest of her...) Our girl Nicole drags out--

a) Wanda by her ankles, and
b) the whole, sordid story...

"So you just ~left~ her there!?!" Nic screams indignantly.

"Well why do you care, Nicole?" Wanda asks innocently.

"Huh? I-I-I don't care!" Nic denied vehemently, at least to Wanda; she sounded a little uncertain about that in her own mind. Can our girl be having an epiphany? And if so, did she really a need a person of such lowly station witnessing her vulnerability? I think not...Nic spotted Sam's recorder, hit the play button--

"Well here we are on the corner of 175th and El Cajones..."

"Damn it Rickets, if they hurt her in any way, I'll be back - you'll be joining your beloved Mr. Fresh-bowl piece by piece!"

As Nicole storms out, a shaken Wanda grabs a fresh cake of the blue-bleach bowl-product and huffs it till she passes out...

Mr. Grant (who's also having a late afternoon tryst) turns out his office light, cracks open the door and scans the hallway. He barely clears the doorway when Nic slams him against the wall and begins her first degree verbal assault--

"What in the hell were you thinking!?!? Or were you? Even--Thinking, that is...?!? You sent Spam out there like a lamb to the slaughter!" (A/N: Spam, Lamb-I feel a love poem coming on...)

"Well what do you care, Nicole?"

"Damn it! I don't care!" *And even if I did, I wouldn't be wearing my heart on my sleeve for lowlifes like you to ridicule!*

"I don't care. But you know how naive she is. You'd just better hope nothing's happened to her--" then executing a quick slam of the door, "--and that goes for you too Harrison!" she threatened, satisfied the door had made adequate enough contact w/ his head to enunciate her point...

Sensing that our girl Sammy has gotten herself in over her head (again) our other girl Nicole rushes to her aid. We assume this action is motivated more by lust than chivalry...As Nicole reaches the parking lot, she encounters one final obstacle-- Brooke scanning the Spam-mobile and surrounds nervously looking for any sign of her wayward step-sibling.

"God Nic, have you seen Sam? She's like 6 hours late--nobody's seen her--Dad and Jane are wigging out on me..."

"Don't worry B, I'm on it! I can't explain right now, but I promise you I will set things right!"

"You? Why would you care Nicole?"

"God! Why won't people stop asking me that! I. Don't. Care! I don't give a rat's sorry ass about Spam, OK?!? This is not at all about her--it's about me, ok? Look without going into a ton of details, she's in a very vulnerable position right now which could drastically alter the course of her life. A position I was once in...No one tried to help me...I made a vow if I ever got out of it I would do my best to keep the next naive, gullible young girl from suffering what I've been thru--"

"Nicole. You talk like Sammy's some little kid; you're like what...a month older than she is?"

"Biologically maybe B, but in experiences--and most of them bad--*sniffle* I feel like I'm 16 going on 40, ya know? All those things I told you during our little "therapy sessions with Mr. Cuervo"? (Brooke nods...) Just the tip of the iceberg...Look we'll talk about it later, I promise...Right now I really have to go. Just go home, OK? I promise I'll have Lois Lame there and raking muck in no time..."

Brooke finally acquiesced; She made 2 calls from her cell phone; the first to the Palace to reassure the 'rents, the second to the American Heart Assoc. asking that Nicole Julian's name be removed from the "waiting for a donor" list. (Awww!)

Nic hit the highway, driving and crying (she seemed destined to do that a lot...). Fumbling out her cell phone she dials 911.

"Wonder if she bought any of that?" Nic mused, "not bad for thinking on your feet..."

As Nicole finally pulls into the parking lot of the Self-Storage facility, I readjust both time-lines to again run simultaneously. Nic, apparently using some kind of unbeknownst super-power immediately locates Sam's whereabouts within the windowless structure. I turn away from the keyboard for a second, and she's somehow on the roof, preparing to drop down a vent that's conveniently located above Sam's "dressing room". She lands stealthy, just as Godfrey announces that she is wanted on the set. She tries to revive Sam to no avail. Her only option now is to stall for time...

She strips and slips into the skin-tight red vinyl cat-suit, complete with hood. She checked the mirror--not her particular taste but, "hell yeah, I make this look hot..." She was momentarily lost in thought, when a loud, irritating, utterly unique and instantly recognizable voice bellowed--

"Y'all come on out now Lil Nicky--Mama needs her dis-see-plin!"

Finally a fitting target for our girl's wrath! Nicole hesitated only briefly at the rack to pick up a few accoutrements.

Brooke/MC was still under the illusion that she would be performing with Nicole/Sam and since the costume was rather concealing she was none the wiser. She on the other hand was clad only in stiff leather cuffs around ankles, wrists and neck and a pair of leopard print knee-high boots. (Godfrey mumbling something about her feet being "un-photogenic"...) Nic kept her face averted as she chained Brooke/MC tightly spread-eagled to a large wooden X-beam. Brooke/MC wasn't the least bit worried--she knew Nicole/Sam didn't have the fortitude to follow through--the directors would soon realize this as well, and she would be given the plum part of disciplinarian.

Godfrey wheeled the camera dolly into place as Jos yelled for "action". Nic just turned slowly and winked. One almost wishes one had a stop-watch to time the moments it took for realization to dawn on the bound girl; her face trembling, ultimately leading up to one of those infamous blood-curdling "Oh Mah Gawd!" yells... A yell which Nicole was quick to squelch with a large ball gag...One would almost think she was enjoying herself too much as she paced slowly back and forth in front of the terrified Texan, sampling the feel, the reflex action of first one riding crop, then another, before finally selecting a stiff one that sings in the air like a car's radio antenna. Although I think tickling Brooke/MC under the nose with 9 steel-tipped leather tails at the end of it was a little unprofessional...

OK, since I promised my readers that I wouldn't delve into a bunch of graphic, descriptive smut...allow me at this point to just state that "a lot of other stuff happens". The cumulative results find Sam and Nicole safely watching from Nic's Jaguar, as across the street the Santa Monica (?) Vice Squad is herding Jos, Godfrey, Brooke/Mary Cherry and assorted Wanda Rickets wannabes into a large paddy wagon.

As the bru-ha-ha dies down Sam turns shyly to Nicole--

"Nic...I, you, I...just wanted to say... I mean, I've got something to tell you--"

"No need to thank me, kiddo," Nic declared nonchalantly *well, not with words anyway! heh-heh...*

"Nic--I have got like this ~major~ crush on Mr. Grant!"

And so it was Nic's turn to faint...

Hey Gang! Be sure to join Sam and the rest of the gang in the next instalment of "Sam McPherson: Investigative Journalist!"

"Almost Lamest" in which everyone's favorite cub reporter joins rock band Josie & the Pussycats on the road with their "Heavy Petting Zoo" tour! We're talkin' Tara Ried!...Silky Fur!...Simulated Kitty-Kat ears!...Reebok and Heinekin Product Placement!...Mmmmm--Tara Reid! (dissolves into Homer Simpsonesque drool mode...) Mmmm--Heinekin...