An excerpt from my newest publication: “The Hand Print”:

That scene would star Jenna and a effectively-recognized male porn star named T. T. Boy, a limited, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a permanent scowl who reminded me of a significantly less-vivid Patrick Bateman. (“Within the small business, he is regarded as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia webpage touts. “In a 2015 interview, he mentioned that around the class of his profession, he has slept with over 10,000 gals.”) I knew who T. T. Boy was ahead of I arrived simply because I experienced browse about him in the internet pages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi experienced composed about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and through her investigation 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 dude is a daily life-assistance procedure for a penis.” I found this evaluation to be about ideal. He was more compact than me, brooding, coiled as if looking for an excuse to do one thing to anyone—it didn’t really make a difference what or who, no matter whether it was battling or fucking. Possibly it was all the identical to him.

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