Ryan McLane hits six foot one with abs you'd kill to have, born September '82 out in Indiana. He skipped Butler University basketball offers, big tuition scare, then dropped the ball entirely after a family trip to LA and switched to volleyball. Age 27, 2009, that's when he started filming.
He lost his virginity in a brothel. "Skip it," he says.
New to the game they threw him straight into a mass bukkake up in some sweaty Hollywood loft. Fifty dudes stroking, taking shots at one girl's face. "Dead last meant you kept dripping," he laughs.
He'd been properly head-over-heels once, swallowed every brain cell craving to make a girl happy, all pure, sweaty chest tight love. Looking back he thinks nothing ever wrecked him the same.
The nightmare is inching past ninety with a diaper on. Desert island gear he wants first? A damn boat and maybe meds, girls on rotation, and keep the fridge stocked after that. Company's honestly five stars.
Top of the nightstand: The Fountainhead, he calls himself an objectivist, plus Name of the Wind, lately swept La La Land as his reel of choice.
Wake up time runs to family calls, sketching new gear, and whatever athlete punishment the gym needs. Mom and Pop stay married thirty-plus, both thumb up when industry paychecks land at dinner.
Zero arrest mugshots on file. Boldest rule-break he pulled in public? Tweeting that Vin Scully is past his prime-faux pas memory dump around these parts.
Ryan McLane hits six foot one with abs you'd kill to have, born September '82 out in Indiana. He skipped Butler University basketball offers, big tuition scare, then dropped the ball entirely after a family trip to LA and switched to volleyball. Age 27, 2009, that's when he started filming.
He lost his virginity in a brothel. "Skip it," he says.
New to the game they threw him straight into a mass bukkake up in some sweaty Hollywood loft. Fifty dudes stroking, taking shots at one girl's face. "Dead last meant you kept dripping," he laughs.
He'd been properly head-over-heels once, swallowed every brain cell craving to make a girl happy, all pure, sweaty chest tight love. Looking back he thinks nothing ever wrecked him the same.
The nightmare is inching past ninety with a diaper on. Desert island gear he wants first? A damn boat and maybe meds, girls on rotation, and keep the fridge stocked after that. Company's honestly five stars.
Top of the nightstand: The Fountainhead, he calls himself an objectivist, plus Name of the Wind, lately swept La La Land as his reel of choice.
Wake up time runs to family calls, sketching new gear, and whatever athlete punishment the gym needs. Mom and Pop stay married thirty-plus, both thumb up when industry paychecks land at dinner.
Zero arrest mugshots on file. Boldest rule-break he pulled in public? Tweeting that Vin Scully is past his prime-faux pas memory dump around these parts.
