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An excerpt from my most up-to-date publication: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a perfectly-regarded male porn star named T. T. Boy, a quick, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a permanent scowl who reminded me of a fewer-vibrant Patrick Bateman. (“Within the company, he is regarded as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia web site touts. “In a 2015 job interview, he said that more than the course of his occupation, he has slept with in excess of 10,000 gals.”) I realized who T. T. Boy was before I arrived mainly because I experienced go through about him in the internet pages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi had published about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and through her study in the San Fernando Valley, her path had crossed with that of T. T. Boy’s. In her tale, she’d quoted a previous male porn star who’d observed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the man is a life-assist technique for a penis.” I identified this assessment to be about correct. He was scaled-down than me, brooding, coiled as if wanting for an excuse to do one thing to someone—it didn’t truly issue what or who, whether it was combating or fucking. Probably it was all the same to him.
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