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An excerpt from my hottest newsletter: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a nicely-regarded male porn star named T. T. Boy, a quick, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a long lasting scowl who reminded me of a significantly less-vivid Patrick Bateman. (“Within the small business, he is identified as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia website page touts. “In a 2015 interview, he stated that around the training course of his career, he has slept with more than 10,000 gals.”) I understood who T. T. Boy was before I arrived for the reason that I experienced study about him in the web pages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi had composed about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and for the duration of 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 former male porn star who’d noticed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the male is a daily life-support program for a penis.” I located this assessment to be about proper. He was smaller than me, brooding, coiled as if seeking for an excuse to do some thing to an individual—it didn’t seriously make any difference what or who, whether it was battling or fucking. It’s possible it was all the exact to him.
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