

Logan came out of a scruffy blue-collar neighborhood in Philly—Catholic school, Sunday Mass, then he bailed the second confirmation hit. Ask if he was a prude or the wild kid and he’ll grin, tell you the street cred showed up the night he beat his buddies to a BJ and his V-card. Back then, he figured he’d chase screenplays instead of porn, so he hit the books, hunted up agencies, fired off a handful of emails. One answered, handed him a job, and suddenly the snowball was rolling downhill. His all-time flicks are pure comfort food: King of Comedy, Dazed and Confused, Boogie Nights, The Crow, Point Break, Taxi Driver, Heat, plus a horror shelf that could kill a night-light. Off set you’ll catch him scribbling notes, arguing movie endings over coffee, or dragging friends to whatever new hole-in-the-wall just opened. Pure Taboo, he says, let everyone wing it—no hand-holding, just room to color outside the lines. As for what that means to the world at large, he shrugs: porn’s already the villain for poking into the shadows, so expect Pure Taboo to leave a few folks clutching their pearls. Asked about getting busted in the act, he laughs—he once got walked in on clipping his toenails, mouth to foot, zero plausible deniability.

Logan came out of a scruffy blue-collar neighborhood in Philly—Catholic school, Sunday Mass, then he bailed the second confirmation hit. Ask if he was a prude or the wild kid and he’ll grin, tell you the street cred showed up the night he beat his buddies to a BJ and his V-card. Back then, he figured he’d chase screenplays instead of porn, so he hit the books, hunted up agencies, fired off a handful of emails. One answered, handed him a job, and suddenly the snowball was rolling downhill. His all-time flicks are pure comfort food: King of Comedy, Dazed and Confused, Boogie Nights, The Crow, Point Break, Taxi Driver, Heat, plus a horror shelf that could kill a night-light. Off set you’ll catch him scribbling notes, arguing movie endings over coffee, or dragging friends to whatever new hole-in-the-wall just opened. Pure Taboo, he says, let everyone wing it—no hand-holding, just room to color outside the lines. As for what that means to the world at large, he shrugs: porn’s already the villain for poking into the shadows, so expect Pure Taboo to leave a few folks clutching their pearls. Asked about getting busted in the act, he laughs—he once got walked in on clipping his toenails, mouth to foot, zero plausible deniability.