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An excerpt from my most recent publication: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a properly-known male porn star named T. T. Boy, a brief, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a permanent scowl who reminded me of a significantly less-bright Patrick Bateman. (“Within the business, he is regarded as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia web site touts. “In a 2015 interview, he stated that about the course of his vocation, he has slept with above 10,000 women of all ages.”) I realized who T. T. Boy was in advance of I arrived for the reason that I had read about him in the internet pages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi had written about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and through her analysis in the San Fernando Valley, her path experienced 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 dude is a lifestyle-help technique for a penis.” I discovered this assessment to be about ideal. He was more compact than me, brooding, coiled as if searching for an excuse to do one thing to another person—it didn’t actually matter what or who, no matter whether it was fighting or fucking. Maybe it was all the exact same to him.
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