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An excerpt from my most recent publication: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a nicely-recognized male porn star named T. T. Boy, a limited, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a lasting scowl who reminded me of a a lot less-vivid Patrick Bateman. (“Within the business enterprise, he is acknowledged as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia web site touts. “In a 2015 interview, he mentioned that in excess of the training course of his career, he has slept with above 10,000 girls.”) I knew who T. T. Boy was before I arrived for the reason that I experienced go through about him in the webpages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi experienced written about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and all through her study in the San Fernando Valley, her route had 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 daily life-aid procedure for a penis.” I identified this evaluation to be about ideal. He was smaller than me, brooding, coiled as if looking for an justification to do a thing to anyone—it didn’t actually make a difference what or who, no matter whether it was battling or fucking. Probably it was all the very same to him.
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