BRENT COR­RI­GAN

Meet the ac­tor, porn star and sex worker also known as Sean Paul Lock­hart. Pho­tog­ra­phy by An­thony Du­ran.

DNA Magazine - - CONTENT - More: Keep in touch with Sean Paul Lock­hart aka Brent Cor­ri­gan on his web­sites: Sean-PaulLock­hart.com and TheNewBren­tCor­ri­gan.com.

He wants to do what with a winged horse??? Oh, he’s still cute!

Do you pre­fer to be called Sean or Brent? Sean. You’ve gone a bit gin­ger – do red­heads have more fun? If get­ting more at­ten­tion is more fun, then yes! I’ve always been auburn: a closet, more de­mure ver­sion of a fire-crotch gin­ger. What TV show are you ob­sessed with right now? Penny Dread­ful. I’m dark and twisted in­side with an All-Amer­i­can ex­te­rior. The film most guar­an­teed to make you cry? The Horse Whis­perer. “Just be­cause a life is a lil ’ run­down doesn’t mean we should throw it away.” Your ul­ti­mate sum­mer va­ca­tion des­ti­na­tion? Italy. No, Mount Shasta, Cal­i­for­nia. No, the coastal Red­woods. Ugh. What could you do in your spare time and never get bored with? Take care of horses; lov­ing on them, rid­ing and train­ing them. Who’s your fa­vorite tweeter on Twit­ter? There are other peo­ple on Twit­ter? Which porn star do you most want to work with? Tony Buff. Do you have any sib­lings? One lit­tle sis­ter, one lit­tle brother and one older brother. We’re all three years apart. Do you want to get mar­ried one day? Yes, but it’ ll be for keeps and for the rest of our days. No chil­dren though! I’ll stick to twinks and horses. What do you most value in a friend? Loy­alty, cre­ativ­ity, and some­one who can help me re­mem­ber not to take my­self too se­ri­ously. Does size always mat­ter? No. Not un­less you plan on stick­ing it some­where. What do you think of the word Tranny? Bring it on. Own it! Stop hid­ing from the things that have hurt/been used against us in our past lives. Do you speak any for­eign lan­guages? Un poco Es­pañol. Where do you see your­self in ten years? Sixty head of horses, liv­ing in south­ern Ore­gon. Re­hab­bing horses, im­port­ing friends, and be­ing very, very still. Are you a Tru­vada whore? A pill can’t fix what’s wrong with my filthy mind. What is your worst habit? Time man­age­ment. No, triple book­ing my time with peo­ple. No, I’m too self-ob­sessed. What’s one law you just can’t help break­ing? The speed limit. What one thing would you change about your fam­ily? We’d all let sleep­ing dogs lay. We’d come to­gether to start fresh and new. When was the mo­ment you knew you’d lost your in­no­cence? Pulp Fic­tion. Age 14. That rape scene in the base­ment. It should not have turned me on… What’s one thing some­one has done that re­ally im­pressed you? Proved to me once and for all that if we’re happy, pos­i­tive and forth­right, the uni­verse will de­liver more love and light to us. What’s the most sur­pris­ing thing you’ve learned do­ing sex work? Peo­ple need to re­lax and let loose more. Be less judg­men­tal, ac­cept we’re all the same with small dif­fer­ences. What’s the dif­fer­ence between a sex worker and whore? Some­one who loves con­nect­ing with peo­ple and some­one who only wants the money. Will Hil­lary Clin­ton be the first fe­male US Pres­i­dent? Do I look psy­chic? Will the beard trend ever end? Please. One song guar­an­teed to get you on the dance floor? The Black Eyed Peas, Meet Me Half­way. Do you have a celebrity girl crush? Emma Stone. How would your best friends de­scribe you in three words? In­tense, pri­vate, gen­er­ous. Who or what do you want to come back as in the next life? A pe­ga­sus that no one knew ex­isted ex­cept for a few choice, sexy men who get to ride me. If you were on death row, what would you choose for your last meal? Fried chicken, waff les, gar­lic mashed pota­toes, choco­late mousse cake, moz­zarella sticks and buffalo wing sauce! If you could have din­ner with any­one alive or dead who would it be and why? Just one?! Leonardo Da Vinci or Sal­vador Dali – to gain a more unique per­spec­tive on life, love and the me­chan­ics of the nat­u­ral world. Who is your pick for sex­i­est man alive? Ja­son Statham. What’s the wis­est ad­vice you’ve been given? Just be the best you that you can muster – fuck the rest if they can’t han­dle it. Or some vari­a­tion of that sen­ti­ment… What is your proud­est achieve­ment? Pro­duc­ing and star­ring in the psy­cho­log­i­cal thriller, Truth. That film is about hid­den demons. Do you have a dark side? Oh god, yes. Ask my ex, Andy. I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about how I never got back to “me” af­ter that film wrapped. What is your is next big achieve­ment? Work­ing as a Fal­con Exclusive while still pro­duc­ing all new art-driven con­tent for my web­site www. TheNewBren­tCor­ri­gan.com. What three things do you most want a ro­man­tic part­ner to be? Ac­cept­ing, ad­ven­tur­ous and courageous. One thing you would never do? Sell my soul for crack. Oops, I meant hole. Some­thing very few peo­ple know about you? Mad­den­ingly in­tro­verted and pa­thet­i­cally dorky. Though if you fol­low me on twit­ter you know I have no friends and that, yes, I am in­deed a to­tal nerd. One act­ing role you’d love to play? Any­thing re-oc­cur­ring on Amer­i­can Hor­ror Story. One tal­ent you wish you had? I wish I could play the gui­tar and sing like Don Hen­ley. If you were a cock­tail, which one would you be? Vodka Gim­let: so­phis­ti­cated and oddly nostal­gic. Kinki­est fes­tish you’d love to in­dulge? Pony play. I don’t want to play the pony, though. A place you’d love to visit, but haven’t yet? Machu Pic­chu. What does your Grindr headline read? “I’m a real boy!” What are your tips for avoid­ing stalk­ers? When you see some­one try­ing way too

"There’s a huge mir­ror be­side my bed be­cause I love to watch other men do dirty things to me…"

hard to make eye con­tact with you out of your pe­riph­eral line of sight, fur­row your brow and scowl like you have to shit re­ally badly. Who’s pic­ture is be­side your bed? There’s a huge mir­ror be­side my bed! Mostly be­cause I love to watch other men do dirty things to me… What do you con­sider the big­gest is­sue fac­ing our gay com­mu­nity? Queer af­fec­ta­tions and how me­dia, film and tele­vi­sion only per­pet­u­ate one view of queer life. Yes, we’re here, we’re queer and most peo­ple are pretty much over it. Mov­ing right along, and re­mem­ber­ing to be men while do­ing it. What is your most prized pos­ses­sion? I don’t con­sider my horse a pos­ses­sion. How­ever, he brings me more love, peace and sat­is­fac­tion than any­thing else I’ve had in my life. How do you want your epi­taph to read? “Buried face down so the whole world can kiss his ass.”

The Sex­i­est Man Alive. Who is he? Where is he? How did he get to be this way? And when we meet, what will he think of me? Those of you in the South­ern Hemi­sphere will be read­ing this just as the first glimpses of spring, with its ver­dant prom­ises, are mak­ing them­selves seen, heard and smelt. Hi­ber­na­tion time is over, so it’s time to get back out there be­cause love is in the air. Or maybe it’s just lust. All those pos­tur­ing birds. And f low­ers in se­duc­tive bloom. Those lus­cious leaves. It’s al­most time to strip down and tan up. Is that the echo of a mat­ing call I hear bounc­ing off those sun­lit rolling hills? Ac­com­pa­nied by that whiff of des­per­a­tion? I’d hate to ruin your il­lu­sions about the im­me­di­acy of any hard-copy ma­te­rial you read, so pay no at­ten­tion to the fact that I am writ­ing this in the arc­tic temperatures of a mid-win­ter Syd­ney. It’s a freez­ing Wed­nes­day night, and I’ve just schlepped home from David Jones with a fan heater and an ex­tra-weight king-sized doona in hand.

Christo­pher Meloni. Ja­son Statham. And, oh my God, I just had a vi­sion of them having sex! With each other…

I’m wear­ing slip­pers, track pants, a cardi­gan and a pash­mina, hud­dled over an old raw tim­ber ta­ble in the cold cav­ernous kitchen of the drafty 19th Cen­tury ter­race house I’ve been rent­ing for the past year. I’m typ­ing in mit­tens. Din­ner was toast. Dessert is quince paste. Eaten on its own. With a spoon. Straight from the con­tainer. I’m on to my sec­ond bot­tle of mer­lot. Drunk at room tem­per­a­ture. Which means chilled on this par­tic­u­lar even­ing. My thoughts are very far away from sexy. So far, in fact, that when told I was run­ning late with my sub­mis­sion for the Septem­ber is­sue, all I could think of was that movie with Anna Win­tour. All about Vogue. What kind of gay man am I? I mean, of course only a gay man (or a pub­lisher) would ever think of Anna Win­tour and Vogue when hear­ing the word Septem­ber. But the fact that I could over­look Sexy Men for Dragon Lady puts me in a very spe­cial cat­e­gory of gay. And that would be sur­vival mode gay who seems to come with no li­bido. Par­tially at­trib­ut­able to my huge over­feed­ing at the hands of over en­thu­si­as­tic friends and fam­ily on my re­cent Royal Tour of the UK. Which, al­though un­der­taken in their sum­mer, was cold enough to per­mit the wear­ing of a Bar­bour jacket at all times, which does won­der­ful things for an overfed bod. Nor was my li­bido helped by my re­cent trau­matic stint in re­hab. Yes re­hab. Which I won’t re­visit. No re­hash­ing re­hab. Al­though it could also be due to the fact that I find my­self in what used be termed mid­dle age. But I di­gress. So if they didn’t want Anna Win­tour, what did they want? Sexy men. And how am I sup­posed to know what that means? I don’t any­more. So I had to put the ques­tion out there to my friends. Via Face­book and a group SMS. And let me tell you what I got back. For there were some quite telling sur­prises. Of course there were the usual Chan­ning Ta­tums, Zac Efrons and Ryan Goslings. My niece even em­bar­rass­ingly gave me Justin Bieber. Al­though thank God there were no 1D’ers on any­body’s list. Per­son­ally I can never get past Den­zel Wash­ing­ton and Stan­ley Tucci. But I know they’re not for ev­ery­one. Al­though I was sur­prised by the va­ri­ety. There was Daniel Craig. Who needs no in­tro­duc­tion. And Raphael Alen­car. Who I had to google. It’s never been about the name of the porno ac­tor for me. But then there was Javier Bar­dem. Who I most cer­tainly did not have to google. Idris Elba. No, I didn’t know who he was ei­ther. But was so glad when I found out. There were a num­ber of votes for the were­wolf from True Blood. And, yes, I did know his name. Joe Man­ganiello. Al­though I’m not sure I spelt it right. Nor that I agree. I mean, I get it, but it’s kinda ob­vi­ous. And those unattain­able hot­ties kinda leave me cold. Well, not all of them. Of course there’s Tom Ford. Who no­body men­tioned. Who I ac­tu­ally can’t de­cide if want to be or I want to date. But who should def­i­nitely be high on that list. There’s one I cer­tainly don’t want to be and would be too scared to date but God I’d love him to fuck me. Christo­pher Meloni. Hubba hubba. Along­side Ja­son Statham. And, oh my God, I just had a vi­sion of them having sex. With each other, just to be clear. And I have to ex­cuse my­self for a minute. Or two. So then I look at all th­ese men. And I think what it is that they all have. I mean, of course, much of it is ob­vi­ous. Killer looks. Ban­gin’ bods. Made even more de­sir­able by the fact that they’re fa­mous. And more fa­mous by the fact that they’re so de­sir­able. The pres­sure of fame en­sur­ing they keep them­selves as de­sir­able as pos­si­ble. But be­yond that what is it? Some of them have style. Some of them have tal­ent. Some even have mul­ti­ple tal­ents. Some have ac­cents. Some at­tract scan­dal. Some are spot­less. Some are per­fectly some­where in between. So if I could take a lit­tle bit of this and a lit­tle bit of that. And cast a spell. Hope­fully avoid­ing Franken­stein’s mon­ster. And any­thing too Patch­work Girl from Oz. Maybe some­thing a lit­tle Rocky Hor­ror. But with­out the drama. And the lurex hot­pants. Re­ally what I’d like to end up with, my ideal poof from a puff of smoke, al­ready ex­ists. And what’s more, he’s gay. And, from what I hear, also avail­able. And in Syd­ney. Yep, you guessed it. Ac­tu­ally, I don’t know, maybe you didn’t. But the over­whelm­ing con­sen­sus among my friends. Young and old. Male and fe­male. Gay and straight. Is that the Sex­i­est Man Alive is… (drum­roll)… Ricky Martin. And I must say I con­cur. So I’m head­ing out to meet him. Right now. Dressed like I am. Coz I can tell he’s a re­ally nice guy. And he won’t mind. He’ll like me for who I am. Just as long as he doesn’t read my col­umn.

Ja­son Statham is Brent's Sex­i­est Man Alive.

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