

Seth came up in Hollywood, Florida—spiritual house, ups and downs, the usual soup. By high-school he was already down for quick, risky hook-ups anywhere the chance popped up, nothing too specific except the thrill of “not supposed to be here.” He tried the college-for-business route, but the adult world yanked him off that track pretty fast. A Clockwork Orange sits at the top of his DVD pile because it nails that flip from dead-eyed numbness to somebody who suddenly wants better. Suspense? Seth eats it. The Shining keeps him up at night. His real routine’s boringly sane: five gym days, decent friends-and-family time, plus side-work helping addicts stay clean. On the Pure Taboo set he looked like the cat that found the cream. “Bree Mills and Craven Moorehead handed me meaty characters with a wicked edge,” he says, “and the stories actually twist. Felt good to stretch past the usual three-line scripts.” He thinks the whole thing will shove members straight past polite fantasy into the kind of taboo heat most studios tiptoe around—actual sex, real darkness, zero apologies. Ask him whether he’s ever been caught with his own hand in the taboo cookie jar and he just smirks. “Maybe.” Wink. That’s all you’re getting.

Seth came up in Hollywood, Florida—spiritual house, ups and downs, the usual soup. By high-school he was already down for quick, risky hook-ups anywhere the chance popped up, nothing too specific except the thrill of “not supposed to be here.” He tried the college-for-business route, but the adult world yanked him off that track pretty fast. A Clockwork Orange sits at the top of his DVD pile because it nails that flip from dead-eyed numbness to somebody who suddenly wants better. Suspense? Seth eats it. The Shining keeps him up at night. His real routine’s boringly sane: five gym days, decent friends-and-family time, plus side-work helping addicts stay clean. On the Pure Taboo set he looked like the cat that found the cream. “Bree Mills and Craven Moorehead handed me meaty characters with a wicked edge,” he says, “and the stories actually twist. Felt good to stretch past the usual three-line scripts.” He thinks the whole thing will shove members straight past polite fantasy into the kind of taboo heat most studios tiptoe around—actual sex, real darkness, zero apologies. Ask him whether he’s ever been caught with his own hand in the taboo cookie jar and he just smirks. “Maybe.” Wink. That’s all you’re getting.