Had I grown up in Scott O’Hara’s town at the time he was growing up, I would have wanted him as my best friend, and that yearning would have never abated, even into adulthood. Yet our friendship would not have been rooted in what we had in common, but in the awe of understanding and exploring how opposite we were.
This book is a fascinating and extremely frank glimpse into the life of a man who was a porn star. Yet, the porn career itself fills only a couple of chapters in the book. The rest is his life story leading up to it, his life afterwards, and several well-versed opinions about some of his favorite subjects, such as penis size, relationships, the medical profession, death, and love. Amid all of this, most readers will find something to offend them, or at least to make them squirm in their seat. O’Hara’s writing flies in the face of what many people would call “common sense.” He considered his infection with HIV as his greatest blessing, for the freedom it gave him, and he admired those who chose to seroconvert. (“These men are the most inventive sex partners I’ve ever been with.”) He blamed the medical profession for killing trusting patients because it was too proud to admit that it didn’t have the answers. He inferred that relationships in general are unhealthy because there’s not enough extra-marital playing going on.
O’Hara was not out to blaze a trail of shock to the end, however. His life sprang from a bizarre family and was affected the loss of a sister he loved and countless friends as the AIDS crisis evolved. The book comes off occasionally as a loud rebellion against a cruel world. Yet among the lashes are little gems of wisdom, written with such frankness that the reader may pause to reflect upon his own life and beliefs and moral codes. An example: “A man who can’t stand his own company can hardly expect that others will wish it.” Another: “We don’t have innocent victims anymore. People know the risks. Those who are getting infected have chosen to get infected.” The poem at the end of the book is also a first-rate piece.
Overall, this is a good book that should be read for what it is, life as the late Scott O’Hara saw it. One gets the sense on the one hand that this was O’Hara’s swan song, written with nothing to lose; without thinking he might ever have to face those who would read it. On the other hand, he (perhaps unconsciously) presented himself as the consummate AIDS survivor, where the thought of death occurred only when the sexual scene for the evening called for it. I finished this book thinking that this was not a lifestyle that I would want for anyone, yet I then imagined Scott saying to me, “Yes, but at least I lived. What have you done with your life?” Having to examine this question makes this an interesting read.