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An excerpt from my most up-to-date publication: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a nicely-identified male porn star named T. T. Boy, a limited, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a long term scowl who reminded me of a less-dazzling Patrick Bateman. (“Within the business enterprise, he is recognised as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia web page touts. “In a 2015 interview, he mentioned that around the program of his occupation, he has slept with more than 10,000 females.”) I knew 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 published about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and during her exploration in the San Fernando Valley, her path had crossed with that of T. T. Boy’s. In her story, she’d quoted a former male porn star who’d observed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the male is a daily life-support procedure for a penis.” I observed this assessment to be about right. He was smaller than me, brooding, coiled as if looking for an excuse to do one thing to a person—it did not seriously make any difference what or who, regardless of whether it was preventing or fucking. It’s possible it was all the exact to him.
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