Devon Hunter

Back at Yule I wrote about a piece of jewelry that I was wanting to buy myself as a gift. I remember all the angst and inner turmoil (and guilt). It’s rather funny in retrospect, because as of yesterday I paid the balance in full. Those sapphires are mine, baby!

It feels so satisfying.

I’ve also paid a medical bill and a closed-out credit card to zero. There is light at the end of the tunnel, and (unlike Mariah Carey) I’m not worried that it might be a train. This means that the plan I put into place to pay off lower balanced accounts, piling up the minimum payments from them onto higher balanced accounts, and whittling those too down more quickly is working.

One setback: In keeping to my pay-off schedule, I’m defnintely feeling strapped for cash. However, it is worth it in the long run, despite feeling pinched in the short term. I’m a tad bedazzled by how quickly I may actually get out of this morass.

I need a good weekend though!! Wish me luck… I’ve got rent set aside, but the car, student loan, and a loan my last boyfriend screwed up are due by Monday!

(Oh, and now that Reginald is mine, I wear him with much more frequency.)

p.s.

Happy Beltane everyone! Spring is half over and the light has definitely returned to us!

Devon,

What was it like when you first danced naked?

- C

Hello  C!

Well, there are different firsts. When I first danced in any state of undress at all (back in those innocent beginning days – HA!), I was standing backstage in a thong on the verge of throwing up. I heard them call my name, and for about three seconds I just stood there (remember: at that time I was still struggling with anorexia), fearing that people would boo, hiss, laugh, etc. After another short breath, I stepped out onto the stage, and got dizzy for about half a moment. But then it passed as I started moving: I fell into performance mode. And then it was fine.

Fast forward to Swinging Richards: That was my first experience with total nudity. Again, I was scared. But not to be naked. It was because the other dancers were so intimidating, not to mention that the manager is gruff. But again, I went into performance mode, and the cold sweat on my palms stopped distracting me. It was liberating, actually.

The next first was Secrets. Not only are you nude there, but you have to maintain an erection. I really had zero butterflies. By that point it was no longer a point of anxiety. Actually, I enjoy dancing at Secrets more than Swinging Richards. There’s something oddly satisfying about being able to play with yourself in front of people (which is absolutely not allowed on stage at Richards, at least not once your undies come off). By the end of the night I can’t stand touching my penis anymore. It’s numb.

Anyway, once you get past the initial trepidation, nudity is natural and has a healing effect (at least for me). Being completely “vulnerable” forces you to really know yourself (or to completely retreat behind walls… it’s a rather 50-50 chance you take). Beyond that, the only complaints I have about dancing nude at this point is when the damned clubs crank the A/C. It gets COLD!

One of the questions I received boils down to this: Are dancers who travel or work together truly friends, or does competition prevent that?

That depends on a great number of issues. Scotty and I are definitely truly friends, regardless of the money we do or don’t make around each other. We help each other in many ways, other than splitting the cost of travel. We collaborate in various ways, talk to each other about problems or concerns, and look out for each other in general. Two other guys who travel together are Will and Johnny, two beautiful Latino dancers from Miami. They really are friends.

Is it always like that? No. Probably not. I’m sure that there are people who travel together out of convenience or to lower indiviudal costs. I know of two dancers from Charlotte who no longer travel together, because one was always creating problems and not covering his share of the gas/hotel. They had no other connection, so the other dancer now refuses to travel with the mooch. It’s the same as any other working scenario: There are people you bond with, and people you tolerate (and people you avoid as well).

As for behind the scenes, I have already blogged about the competition that exists there. But that entry deals with dancers in general, not travel companions. I would say that people who consistently go place to place together over a long term will develop some kind of tolerance for each other (at a minimum), and that others get quite close. But relationships are always evolving. A perceived or actual insult, attack, theft, or any other number of bad experiences can sour a travelling duo’s connection just as quickly as anyone else’s.

My suggestion is to know the person you travel with. This person, if you share a room, will have access to your belongings. You wouldn’t want to get hijacked in your own car. You also need to know that the cash you’ll be keeping on you until you can take it to the bank will be vulnerable. I didn’t invite Scotty to travel with me until we’d danced together consistently for several months. After staying with him several times, eating with him, getting to know more about him as a person, and sharing info about myself with him (to see how he would treat it), I finally knew I could take him on the road with me. I have never had even a moment’s cause to regret that (note: Remind me, please someone, to one day tell you about the first trip we took together down to Macon, GA… HAHAHAHAHA!). But I got to know him first. We became friends first.

So, simple answer: No, not all who travel together are friends, but it’d be a good idea for them to at least respect each other.

Wow, so now I’m writing a blog entry at 5 o’clock in the morning… HA! What a trend, right?

So, anyway… the weather here in God’s country is generally bipolar. And today was no exception. After intermittent rain all day (one particularly heavy shower even had thunder), it got warm enough for me to be comfortable leaving the house in a tight black tee and tight jeans. And no jacket. Remember that…

Four o’clock comes rolling around, and we’re all heading out of the club finally. The door opens and we’re all blasted in the face with some cold arctic breath. You’ve never heard 5 homos shriek in a perfect C Major Augmented chord before, I’d be willing to bet (yes, I sang the high E… and what?).

I felt like I was freezing very quickly from the door to my car. I sat down, closed the door, cranked the car, turned on the defroster, and got blasted by more cold air. The whole time I’m thinking to myself (well, yelling out loud at myself), “Why didn’t you just bring the damn jacket! No, you had to be sexy rolling up into the parking lot! Now look at you! That booty looks like Eskimo Pie now, doesn’t it?!”

I crash at my friend David’s house in Atlanta. He’s the door whore at Swinging Richards. Be nice to him. He’s fabulous. Anyway, we’re running from our cars to his apartment, and he says, “You’re running like Cookie Monster!”

“I’m cold!”

“Be sexy!”

“I feel like a fish stick!”

I don’t know why this was so funny or why I feel compelled to share it. I suppose I should find some moral for the story… Hmmmm… Uh… Ah! Don’t trust that Spring has truly arrived until you’ve gone a whole ten days in a row without wondering if you should take your jacket with you. Sleep tight!

I was obsessed with a piece of jewelry. I bought it, despite some trepidation and guilt. And I do not regret it at all, now that I can wear it whenever I want (though I generally reserve it for special occasions). I believe someone expressed the doubt that it looked like something a “grandmother” would wear (although, for personal reasons, I’m offended more that someone would use the term grandmother in such a way rather than for implying I’d look like an older woman).

At any rate, this isn’t a long, analytical post about the state of affairs of LGBTQ exotic dancers in Tibet. This is simply a light update, because I’m in need of some light. Heavy, heavy, heavy weekend. Not something I’m in a place to discuss just yet. Once I sort out my thoughts I’m sure it will generate some interesting material. Until then, I present you with Reginald, the homeless sapphires I adopted this past Yule. They have a nice weight, and the designed metal plate on the back warms up against my throat nicely. It’s almost like the enhancer nuzzles my neck. It’s a comforting sensation, and oddly enough I feel naked after I take it off, as if part of me is chopped off. Strange…