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An excerpt from my hottest e-newsletter: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a very well-known male porn star named T. T. Boy, a shorter, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a everlasting scowl who reminded me of a a lot less-brilliant Patrick Bateman. (“Within the organization, he is regarded as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia web site touts. “In a 2015 job interview, he mentioned that around the course of his profession, he has slept with over 10,000 women.”) I knew who T. T. Boy was before I arrived simply because I experienced read through about him in the webpages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi experienced published about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and in the course of her exploration in the San Fernando Valley, her path experienced crossed with that of T. T. Boy’s. In her tale, she’d quoted a former male porn star who’d observed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the guy is a everyday living-help system for a penis.” I identified this assessment to be about right. He was smaller than me, brooding, coiled as if hunting for an excuse to do something to an individual—it didn’t truly make any difference what or who, irrespective of whether it was fighting or fucking. Perhaps it was all the identical to him.
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