by Scotty Bowers
I suppose that when you buy a book written by a Hollywood male prostitute, you really shouldn’t be surprised when it turns out to be about a male prostitute in Hollywood. Bowers drops famous names and spares no ugly detail in this chronicle of his sexual exploits with everyone from Cary Grant to, possibly, your mother, during a “career” that spanned from World War II to the 1980s. It’s titillating stuff, certainly, but it’s also a great way to ruin your enjoyment of Turner Classic Movies. When I put down Full Service, I empathized with movie legend James Dean, whom Bowers quotes from a long-ago Hollywood party: “Ugh! Don’t like it,” he sneered. “Bring me something else.”
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