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An excerpt from my most recent publication: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a perfectly-recognized male porn star named T. T. Boy, a shorter, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a permanent scowl who reminded me of a considerably less-vibrant Patrick Bateman. (“Within the enterprise, he is acknowledged as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia website page touts. “In a 2015 job interview, he said that about the training course of his career, he has slept with in excess of 10,000 women of all ages.”) I realized who T. T. Boy was in advance of I arrived since I experienced go through about him in the webpages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi had penned about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and throughout her investigate in the San Fernando Valley, her path had crossed with that of T. T. Boy’s. In her story, she’d quoted a previous male porn star who’d observed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the male is a lifestyle-aid system for a penis.” I identified this evaluation to be about ideal. He was smaller sized than me, brooding, coiled as if seeking for an excuse to do some thing to a person—it didn’t truly subject what or who, regardless of whether it was fighting or fucking. Maybe it was all the same to him.
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