Dave Pounder is many things: a local boy who made a name for himself nationally; an entrepreneur who left the corporate world to follow his passion; a guy smart enough to stay one step ahead in arguably the dirtiest, riskiest end of the entertainment business.
Dave Pounder, see, is a pornographer. And no matter how you feel about porn, it's an astounding cultural and economic force. Pounder, who's already something of a porno Anderson Cooper, offers some well-reported stats: "Thirty percent of all Internet content is porn. YouPorn — which is basically people posting homemade stuff like YouTube — is the most popular website in the world right now." If anything, Pounder sees porn bringing a little truth to the human condition — at least the wanting-to-get-laid part.
Which means even if you or nobody you know is going to porn sites, someone is, and it's this ubiquitous Internet presence that makes porn an enormous business, routinely reported as raking in $10 billion to $13 billion a year. And this includes sources like Forbes, CNN, MSNBC and lastly, and perhaps most tellingly, familysafemedia.com, which actually puts the billions of dollars spent on porn in the United States in 2006 fourth behind China ($27 billion), Japan ($25 billion) and South Korea ($20 billion).
If those numbers are correct, the U.S. porn industry outperforms all the major TV networks combined. And while revenue from porn DVDs reportedly dropped from $4.28 billion to $3.62 billion in 2006, Internet porn rose from $2.5 billion to $2.84 billion (with a staggering 89 percent of all sites originating in this country), a fraction of a fraction of which keeps this guy Dave Pounder in business.
Pounder began appearing in porn movies nearly a decade ago in L.A.'s Porn Valley but now lives in Boca Raton, Fla. There he runs his own company, providing content that he produces and often stars in to websites like bikinibangers.com. He keeps his company purposely small, outsourcing his editing and building his schedule around long weekend kayaking trips, mostly to avoid the headaches — and costs and taxes — that come from having full-time employees and a bigger company.
"My life is absolutely stress-free," the 32-year-old beams. "If I had to wear a tie and show up at 9 a.m. to work the porn job, and another job where I could get up at 11 and wear shorts and sandals, I'd work the other job."
But he doesn't. He makes his living filming himself having sex with young women whom he acknowledges are "broken." He's not being callous or judgmental, he just speaks from what he's seen and heard in his experience of the business, a kind of takes-one-to-know-one vantage point Pounder enjoys, somewhat uneasily, as a guy with an MBA who's chosen to work instead within a part of the entertainment industry as titillating as it is oftentimes tragic.
He rationalizes it this way: "I think broken women come to porn, but I don't think working in porn further breaks a girl. [It's] a relatively safe environment in which a broken girl can act out her issues until she is ready to leave and return to a somewhat normal life," he says. "[It's] like prison. Prison
doesn't create criminals; rather, criminals end up in prison. Porn doesn't damage girls; rather, damaged girls come to porn. Getting rid of porn won't make these girls have normal lives any more than destroying prisons will turn these prisoners into law-abiding citizens."
It's his experience — and his pithy quotes based on it — that could one day make him the Dr. Phil of porn. It's part of his plan that includes retiring from porn next year, as he puts it, "to give back," first by finishing the Ph.D. in human sexuality he started almost a decade ago. He's also making a documentary examining the long-term affects of porn careers on its stars' lives after they leave the business. He's even writing a book to share his philosophy and worldview from his life as a "subject matter expert" on pornography and the adult entertainment industry, the horny, thorny business that's Pounder's calling card, even as it might just be his albatross.
Like a lot of young, gifted and white suburban Detroit young men, in his pre-Pounder days, Dave grew up anonymously enough in Farmington Hills, the youngest of three sons of a Ford executive and his younger wife. Like everyone contacted for this story, Pounder asks that his real name never be used, for one thing, he says, so every idiot he's ever known doesn't start trying to get ahold of him to ask about getting into porn.
"It's like Eminem says, when you're well-known everyone thinks they are just taking up a quick minute of your time, but do that over 1,000 people and 1,000 minutes racks up pretty quickly," Pounder says. "I'll use my real name when I apply for an accounting job, but while I am in the public space I prefer to use my stage name for security and privacy purposes."
But the anonymity also protects his family. His eldest brother works at General Motors.
"I don't want my brother to have any problems at work as a result of my involvement with the industry. I know a girl whose husband was fired from his firefighter job because she did porn movies."
Actually, Pounder's brother wants him to get out of porn and get a real job with benefits. Pounder jokes that with GM stock at a 50-year-low, he may need to help his brother find another job.
Pounder went to Detroit Catholic Central in Novi, where the rigid, all-male environment gave him focus. He excelled in school and mountain biked with classmates in the neighborhood. Dating-wise, well, there were the priest-supervised dances (yawn) with the all-girl Mercy High. Girls stayed a mystery — but sex didn't. He discovered that from the porn tapes his buddies got ahold of from their older brothers.
"We had this one movie, John Doe is the Luckiest Man in the World," Pounder laughs. "It was basically this one guy who every woman he meets wants to have sex with him."
Pounder majored in finance at Michigan State University. He was always better with numbers than women. In fact, in an irony too rich to ignore, the future porn star was a virgin his freshman year. Until he met the woman he'd spend six years with — and whose heart he'd wind up breaking because he'd eventually want to know what it would be like to have sex with other women.
After graduating in 1998, Pounder navigated his way through the 10 interviews with General Electric it took to land him in its elite leadership program, which moved him to a different U.S. city every six months to work in another part of the company. His girlfriend moved with him. What brought them closest, he says, was when Pounder, who was born when his family lived briefly in England, decided to finally get circumcised in his early 20s. The intimacy involved in rehabbing a post-op penis was undeniable. "She helped me change the gauze," he says.
He had another revelation: "People at GE worked too hard." He quit to get his MBA at Arizona State University and moved to Phoenix — right after he broke up with his girlfriend.
"I told her I wanted to be able to see other people," he says, as sheepishly close to contrition as he gets. "I wanted to know what it would be like to sleep with other girls." (He used to call her "the love of his life for six years" on his davepounder.com bio; he says they still keep in touch).
In Phoenix, he trolled the bars, hooking up with "fuck buddies," one of whom, as he puts it, "liked sex as much as I did." She took him to a Phoenix swingers' club, as close to life as John Doe as he could imagine.
Still, even ass-deep in ass, he was the naive all-boys Catholic school kid. At his graduation party, he was bummed he'd be leaving what he thought was the one and only swing scene in the country.
"All my friends were like, 'No, there're swing clubs all over. Where're you moving?' And I was like, 'L.A.' And they were like, 'Dude, there's a huge swing scene there!'"
He had a job at what's now Wachovia Bank in Irvine Calif., where he bought a condo and settled in to life in the O.C. That included checking out the swing club in nearby Costa Mesa. Amid the free-range sex, Pounder stood out. For one, he didn't seem to mind having sex on the couch with everyone watching. And he looked like a guy that might work at a bank, not the usual cheesy Criss Angel/goth-perv swinger club type: 6-foot-3, blond hair, blue eyes, the guy next door. One guy suggested he talk to another guy who knew a guy who could put him, you know, if he was into it, into porn. "It's funny," he says now, "because I actually thought, moving to L.A., I'd wind up doing porn."
He still worked at the bank, making a respectable $65,000 a year or so, but in 2001 he started moonlighting weekends on porn sets, first as an extra (he hadn't had his industry-mandated health test yet). His debut turn as a performer came, so to speak, in director Jim Powers' Kelly and the Co-Ed for Heatwave Video, opposite a young starlet named Violet Blue.
"I failed miserably," he laughs. His first, uh, "shot," he blew, so to speak. "I was afraid I'd come too fast so I jacked-off right before the scene," Pounder says. That way, he reasoned, he wouldn't be too anxious and could last the hour or so he thought it'd take to film the full sex act. But by the time Powers was ready to shoot, Pounder was shot. The camera guy, incredulous that the first-timer had masturbated before his first scene, vouched for him to Powers, who took pity on Pounder and explained that if he did ejaculate, they could just start over again and cut the second take into the first.
Male performers in porn are basically life-support systems for their cocks and ejaculations, which must be summoned at will and maintained as a scene is shot from different angles and positions, which is why men in porn are a necessary, if more anonymous, presence. Men get into porn for sex, see, while women are there for the money, which is proportionate to the amount of effort each has to put in respectively, and the money each is paid. Women make at least double what their male counterparts are paid.
Powers gave Pounder a second chance in another film, this time with two girls; he had no trouble performing and his porn career was born. He soon became one of the 50 or so men working at any one time in porn, leaving his job at the bank to do porn full-time, which, as he's the first to tell you, is really part-time, amounting to a few days a week a few weeks a month. He says these days he makes more than $100,000 a year.
A male performer's consistency is his currency, and somewhere in his MBA-honed analytical thinking the perpetually horny Catholic schoolboy happened on a formula to hone his craft.
This is how Pounder gets ready to shoot a scene: "I always masturbate the night before. And then, right before I do the scene, I eat a candy bar." As far as actually performing, "It's like driving a manual transmission," he says. "You start going too fast you take your foot off the gas and start riding the clutch." Swinger or not, he needs a little fantasy to put some pep in his step. "If it's, like, a MILF ['Mom I'd Like to Fuck'] scene, I think of friends of my mom's; if it's a younger girl I think of girls I fantasized about in high school."
If Pounder talks about porn like a guy explaining his frozen keyboard to his company's IT guy, it's because he's been cornered at too many parties to talk by wide-eyed guys and occasionally their giggling girlfriends to answer all things porn.
"I actually don't go to too many parties," he says, adding that his social circle in Boca Raton is mostly young professional types he might have hung with back in his finance days. He doesn't have a girlfriend. But he did.
Within a year of leaving the bank gig, Pounder had amassed a body of porn work ("did scenes" as the industry terms it), with just about every company in the San Fernando Valley, your Vivids, your Wickeds, your Red Light Distribution companies. But then he met a girl. He was biking near his condo in Irvine and there she was, young, pretty, blond, athletic, just like him. She wanted to be a nurse.
He told her about his porn career with the promise he'd leave it to keep them together. She applied to nursing programs, and he found the Kinsey Institute for Sex Research at Indiana University. At first it seemed to make sense; he saw himself becoming the Dr. Phil of porn.
"I thought I could bring a certain credibility with me because I came from the adult movie world."
But once the couple — by then engaged — got settled in South Bend, Ind., life wasn't as carefree as bangin' on camera for a living. Or as uncomplicated.
"I realized I'd pretty much have to move to whatever college could give me a job," Pounder says. "I'd really have no say in it. And the money would never be that great. And sooner or later, the porn thing would actually limit my credibility. I could see where they'd have concerns about me working with women."
Pounder recalls these factors, as he does recalling all his major life decisions, with a bottom-line, brass-tacks rationale that's notably detached and emotion-free — which probably helps him in a career having sex with near-strangers for a living. If he had stayed at GE, he could have been another "Neutron Jack" Welch. In porn, he became something of a brainy Forrest Gump.
As former Adult Video News editor Acme Andersson puts it, "He wasn't a guy you'd see going out to clubs. I think a lot of the girls thought he was kind of a goof, actually."
Goof or not, he was different. Pounder didn't drink, smoke or do drugs, and he was smart enough to see that even though he was there for the sex, the girls he met weren't always getting what they bargained for.
"I could tell which ones were just doing it for the money, and I knew that they'd blow it all and be broke in six months."
In 2001, Juliana Kincaid was a 19-year-old single mom working as a stripper outside Sacramento. She got into porn "by accident," she says. "I was pretty promiscuous, and porn seemed like a way to get paid for being promiscuous." Plus, she says, "I wanted to get a boob job."
Kincaid didn't party either, which quickly made her a go-to girl for directors when other hard-partying girls flaked on them. She hadn't had anal sex until she did porn. "I was bullied into it," she says, now married and living outside Sacramento with her husband and 9-year-old daughter. "And once you do anal, you get typecast."
Pounder hired her in 2002 for his Fucking With Dave Pounder. "Dave actually tried to get me to quit the business the first time I met him," Kincaid remembers. "He said I was too smart for this."
And no matter how smart she was, Kincaid found it to be an unforgiving business as well. The turnover rate for new girls is alarmingly high in porn — they usually don't last more than six months, either because they burn out and blow the fast cash they do make, or because there is another group of wannabe starlets lining up behind them for their shot. Says Pounder, "If I have dinner with a girl [from porn], I always pay, because I know in six months she's not gonna have any money."
"He seemed to actually want me to get something out of [being in porn]," Kincaid adds. Despite Pounder's best efforts, over the course of three years and 100 titles later making from $500 to $800 a scene, all she got was bankrupt — and the clap. "Had I known better, I would have been better off working at McDonald's," she says, "because I wound up losing everything anyway." Including, tragically, a baby. When she and her husband were married last November, she was pregnant with her second child. She had had gonorrhea, contracted from her days in the industry. "The health test only screened for HIV back then," she adds softly. "So right now I'm mad at porn." She's a full-time college student now, but still appears just a few times a year in bondage films working under the name Audrey Leigh. Despite her personal losses and anger at the industry, she remains as Pounder-positive as she is HIV-negative.
"He's about the only person from porn I still stay in touch with at all. He's funny, and he's quirky, but he's also smart and professional and he's really picky about what he'll do."
Which is why for a guy planning on leaving porn, he sure is good at the business side of it. He got out of trying to make and manage his own library of work years ago; the competition was just too great. He branded himself as the fun porn guy whose films (Entering the Student Body, Fucking With Dave Pounder) were well-reviewed and dorm-room couple friendly: each one promised in their respectively-worded ways to make a guy's girlfriend want to have sex with him. On top of that, they boasted being "100% Anal Free," which, for the low-budget, gonzo porn milieu Pounder finds himself in, makes him an anomaly as someone not into humiliating or degrading women. He says it's a matter of taste. "Having sex in the anus to me is like having sex in the ear or something, it just doesn't appeal to me at all," he offers, though you could just as easily surmise he's trying not to alienate, if not his current audience, the future one that might see him on Larry King or The Daily Show.
After Pounder and his fiancee ditched South Bend, they moved to Boca Raton, "Because the weather was nice and it wasn't L.A." Once there, however, the relationship got rocky. His girlfriend wanted children; he was adamant about not having them. He can list off a verbal PowerPoint presentation of Venn Diagrams outlining just why, ranging from degrees of happiness to the cost, stuff that probably traces back to some gray secret in his family, but he's, ahem, firm on the subject, like he is on all subjects.
Like many of us raised in the shadow of the ailing auto industry, Pounder counts among his quirks being financially anorexic. Even now, making six figures, he drives a late model Honda and lives in a tiny bachelor studio apartment, even though he made a killing selling his Irvine condo at the height of the real estate bubble and has invested wisely in the market and has handsome dividends to show for it.
The porn world can be as scintillating as it is sad. Talk to anybody male who's been in the business for any length of time, and they'll tell you it's a job like any other, where, yes, you can make a lot of money and get laid a lot but turnover is high and most people are a more than a little fucked-up.
One former L.A-based porn journalist, who asked that his name not be used, puts it like this: "The first nine times you visit a porn set, it's like, 'Oh my god, there's these incredibly hot people having sex five feet from me.' But that tenth time, you're like 'What am I doing here watching these two losers fuck?'"
"I'd never date anybody I met in porn," Pounder says, "because from what I've encountered, I'd say 99 percent of all the girls in porn are fucked-up, as in they've been abused or there's something else going on."
The Miami porn scene is small — about 12 companies as opposed to the Valley's 12 times that — and knows it can't compete with the glammy, higher-budget DVD sales business model back in Porn Valley, so it doesn't, sticking with a lower-budget, Web-based business model.
Pounder, in a stroke of luck or genius, is at the center of what may be one of the few bright spots in porn's future. Says Acme Andersson, "The Florida guys are five years ahead of California as far as the Internet and the future of industry."
Like the music biz, sales of major studio porn DVDs are going down like Monica Sweetheart with a car payment due, mostly owing to the ease, and now no-cost nature of Internet porn. Porn — like the recording industry — is becoming more democratic. Business-wise, this means file-sharing-like sites RedTube.com and YouPorn.com are becoming the most heavily trafficked sites on the Web, taking a substantial chunk out of DVD sales or even the pay-sites. The average porn consumer, let's face it, is the horny guy coming home alone from the bar who just wants a clip to masturbate to, not unlike how music fans sometimes just need a MySpace player version of a song instead of a whole album, or how a Jackass flick can make more money and reach more people than any Sundance winner.
Which makes it perfect for compressing into five-minute up-loadable clips, especially among the amateur set: YouPorn is made up predominantly of homemade videos (sample title: "my ex blowing me"), or, in an even more democratic trend, themed-compilations (ejaculation scenes mostly) compiled by amateurs like iPod playlists, porn mixtapes as it were.
Even while plotting his exit, Pounder sees an opportunity. He's launching a fetish site; just which fetish he won't say. "Once there's competition, it's not a fetish, because you'll be able to get it for free," he explains. "People into a particular fetish will pay to see that fetish, because it's the only place they can get it." The key, he says, is to keep it secret, noting that once MILFhunter.com came out, copycat sites swamped it.
Porn is now more than ever a man's game. Women are higher-paid, they have the name recognition, but men have their own equity. Especially in gonzo porn, where the franchise titles (MILF Hunters, Cum-Stained Casting Couch) are largely controlled by male producers and directors, which can build more of a brand-name, than, say, the four or five girls who'll be in his movies, and who'll change with every installment.
"A girl may do like 40 scenes in three months, but then there are a new crop of girls and you never see them again," Pounder says.
There are breakout female stars in the gonzo world. Belladonna is a single mother who, despite a career that has included having baseball bats put up her butt and having her nose pinched off while gagging on a penis, "calls her own shots," Andersson says. But it's ironic that a business based on male staying power falls short with men actually making a "name" for themselves.
Says Wayne Hentai, PR man to porn stars like Lexington Steele, "There are only about 10-20 males in the industry that have any kind of name recognition." Pounder is pretty much one of them, if only by default, not quite a long-term legend like Peter North, but he's made sure the industry — and the porn-consuming public — knows who he is.
"Most people in this business don't even know where to start when it comes to self-promotion," Andersson says.
Pounder has made it an art. Search "Dave Pounder" on YouTube and you'll see him on Jimmy Kimmel Live spoofing porn, as a contestant on Blind Date and The Fifth Wheel. After the Florida primaries last spring, he was featured on NPR's Marketplace Report commenting on economic issues affecting voters. He identified himself as "an MBA grad." "I know the producers," Pounder says. "They call me when they need me." He's a SAG member, a rarity for a porn star, and showing up in the Los Angeles Times (he didn't let its writer use his real name either) and NPR might seem suspiciously ubiquitous, but it's all part of his exit strategy.
"Some days I'm like, 'Dude, this is amazing! I wanna do porn forever!' and some days it's like 'What am I doing? I gotta get out of this,'" he sighs.
Pounder knows the porn stigma is as much his key to a multimedia future as it could be a broken key stuck in the door to mainstream acceptance. Remember, he left his Ph.D. program over concerns about being able to work with women because of his background. He's written articles (sometimes in the form of letters to the editor) about civic-minded porn topics (the "eWhore pass" — a real-time health-test tracker for porn stars is Pounder at his porn-Ralph Nader best) for the Los Angeles Times, AVN and the like, and even had a radio show. That is, until the powers that be became nervous about giving a porn star, however educated, a forum. And as male ex-porn stars now making a living with their pants on go, Ron Jeremy was even the subject of a documentary that showed him an embittered hedgehog stopped on the street for autographs, but relegated to C-list celebrity status somewhere between the Erik Estradas and Steve-Os of the world.
As he plots his porn exit thoroughly and variously, Pounder may be the one left with egg on his face. He cites porn siren Jenna Jameson, who famously signed an exclusive deal with a single studio, not unlike the old Hollywood contract stars, and has ridden that to her own degree of success, as an example of life after porn. "She hasn't done that many scenes, but she's crossed over," he says.
To which a former AVN editor who asked that his name not be used responds dismissively, "So she was in a Howard Stern movie for five minutes and that's about it."
The male world has Adam "Seymour Butts" Glasser, who has turned being a single father from a nice Jewish family and a porn director into the cable reality show Family Business. Then Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm featured an episode where Bob "Mr. Show" Odenkirk played an ex-porn star wowing his dinner party with stories of life as a stunt-cock.
But what exactly is it to crossover? What exactly can't you bring with you?
With the ability to see thousands of clips on RedTube is the ability to see porn stripped of its salacious, cheap-thrill setting and to see it instead for its rote and numbing sameness. One clip on RedTube is Jenna Jameson's first scene as an amateur in the '80s. It's made by Ed Powers, a pockmarked, balding auteur who made a career turning the camera on porn's casting couch. In the clip, Jameson, with her frizzy hair, thick unplucked brow and pre-plastic-surgery-budget boobs, giggles along with the awkward small talk as she has sex with Randy West, an '80s porn-dude staple who looks like Glenn Close with a mullet. Powers comments clumsily from behind the camera and West, "probably without warning or permission," a porn expert offers, ejaculates inside Jameson. Afterwards, she endures the forced-giggly patter half-smilingly and her porn career is born.
Bands play crap gigs in front of single-digit crowds; the porn Spinal Tap isn't as funny because, no matter how you feel about porn as a moralist, humanist, cultural critic or just old-fashioned masturbator needing to squeeze one out, sex is the most powerful motivator in history, which is why seeing it like this, however casually, perverted away from love, intimacy and passionate expression into a bumpin'-ugly sideshow for money can ask the bigger question: What's the real cost of fucking on camera for money? Chris Rock once said it's his life's work as a father of a daughter to keep her off the stripper pole. What happened to keep so many people on it?
Dave Pounder could have just as easily hit the eject button and followed another of his passions to start a kayak adventure travel company. And sure, having sex for a living might seem amazing to even the most adolescent fantasy-resistant of us. But really if you could, would you?
"Sex is like pizza, it's always good, but when you have pizza every day it gets rather monotonous, although monotonous pizza is better than monotonous rice," Pounder admits. "It's like living in south Florida or southern California. Sure the weather's monotonous, but take me anywhere else in the country and I'm begging to be back in the warmth."
Why then does Pounder seem so cold? The answer may be that he's been a part of an industry, however profitable, taboo-shatteringly important and inevitable, that's perhaps the most easily pegged as built exclusively on exploiting histories of sexual abuse. Pounder doesn't disagree.
There's something up with his family. Dad was a lot older than his overbearing mom and has since passed away. Mom still visits Dave down in Florida; Pounder says she is more worried about him being alone than she is about him being in porn, though she's hardly a fan of "the 'P' business" as she terms it. "Love the sinner not the sin," she says in a quote Pounder, in lieu of an MT request to speak with his mother, provided. "I wish David would get out of the 'P' business so he can meet a nice girl and settle down. I just want him to be happy and have a normal life, and people can't do that working in the 'P' business."
Of his two older brothers, one has never had a girlfriend (Pounder thinks he's gay) and is real close to being a 40-year-old virgin. His other brother is the one that he doesn't talk to.
"He never touched or did anything to me 'down there,' but oftentimes he would touch me in a sexual manner (soft, stroking my arm and stuff) that would make me very uncomfortable," Pounder remembers in an e-mail. Sexual abuse, and, more specifically, if he was abused, is a sensitive enough subject that he follows up in another e-mail.
"I don't believe I was sexually abused growing up. ... Think of it like a car. What my brother did to me is like a scratch on the car, while girls who do porn have been in major car accidents. I would attribute more of my involvement in porn with the sustained emotional abuse from my friend Sean, who continually put me down for having bad breath at the time, a receding hairline, and telling me that girls would never want to be with me. This would be more in line with the data that suggests why people do porn, in addition to my mom being overly intrusive in my life, always wanting to know where I was as a child and over-smothering me with affection."
So that said, even if porn is pervasive, is it just a compost pile of victimization, smoldering into, like music or art, a language of expression with its bruised and tragic lexicon?
"I don't think it's bad that girls working in porn come from abused background[s]," Pounder says. "Porn is just an outlet for those abused people to act out their issues in a relatively safe environment.
"I would argue that adult males working at McDonald's likely have criminal pasts, but I don't think that makes McDonald's or the fast-food industry bad as a result. McDonald's is merely an outlet. Once enough time passes, perhaps someone else will hire them and they will move on."
When asked if he ever regrets getting into porn, and, more to the point, what its long-term effects on his personal life will be, he has this to offer: "I do not have any regrets doing porn. I know it will be harder to find regular employment and I may have a more difficult time in the dating pool down the road, but I was fully aware of the implications of doing porn and I fully accept them. Regarding love, I miss my ex-fiancee every single day. My past in porn wasn't what kept us from being together, it was my unwillingness to have children ... if I have any regret in life that may be it."
He still doesn't want kids — he had a vasectomy in his 20s — but a major agenda item of pulling out of porn is to re-enter the world of loving, caring and, yes, monogamous relationships.
"Jan. 1, 2010," he says when asked just when he's going to be with this woman of his dreams. "This year I'm writing the book and making the documentary, 2009 is marketing, and 2010 is relationship."
How will he stay monogamous?
"Jerkin' off to porn," he laughs.Hobey Echlin is a freelance writer. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org
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