Devon Hunter

Just a few days ago I blogged about a worry concerning telling someone about my career, and how that might completely end our friendship/budding relationship. I ate, Sunday (the day before yesterday), at the restaurant he manages. I had a glass of wine. I told him everything.

And he didn’t run away.

“I’m not a judgmental person,” is all he said.

In fact, he’d already figured it out. I just gogged at him a bit. This was completely unexpected, given the conversations we’d had about monogamy. “I kinda put it together on my own a while back. I’m not stupid.” I was worried over nothing. He had pieced it together two weeks before I told him. In the time since he understood why I had avoided his questions I’d already seen him a few more times. And then I spent the evening with him after I told him as well! We haven’t watched “Dangerous Beauty” yet, but he wants to see it.

I really do get rewarded from time to time for retaining my belief in hope.

See part 3 of this story…

I have been blogging consistently now for almost two years - next month will be my “cotton” anniversary… Somehow that seems a bit underwhelming, but what can you do? But third years are evidently celebrated with leather, so here’s hoping I get that far with this site.

In all this time I have been very open about the challenges, pleasures, obstacles, advantages, and other facets of doing what I do. And I don’t have any regrets about that at all. I wouldn’t change any of it (and I don’t, even when I write something that I later feel embarrassed about on some level). It’s all right here. That is part and parcel with the whole reason I blog.

I have generally embraced wholeheartedly the scenario that is being single. I love it. I do. Tremendously! I even plan to marry myself on my birthday in 2012. I have the ring from Tiffany’s picked out, I will have a tux tailor made, and I will have a ceremony with friends and family present. I truly enjoy singledom. In all of 2008 I think my only lapse was Kenny. In 2009 I met Allen and Steve. But I have grown to appreciate them as people, even though they weren’t what I thought they were supposed to be. They are their own men, and they have to be accepted as they are (just as I ask people to do of me). But both of them were easy to discount as potential partners, because they live far from me.

But what to do… There’s the potential to know someone better right here where I live. This is a first in three years. Since I left my last boyfriend I have not run into the possibility of a partner right in my own back yard. He has very reasonable expectations about a standard relationship. He desires monogamy, and doesn’t understand how a person cheats if he’s in love.

Sigh.

But that template works in a world that doesn’t exist!! I would just leave him as a fuckbuddy who could’ve been more, but I get the distinct impression that this is a scenario that won’t stay as it is (because he won’t let it). In the interest of preserving friendship if the potential romance sours, of defining boundaries in case a relationship develops despite my career, and of being upfront about the various pitfalls that may be waiting… I have to tell him what I do.

I’m not ashamed of my life or of my career. I do fear that he won’t understand. And there is some nervousness on my part that he will reject me out of hand (but then that won’t be a bad situation if I get out of a relationship with someone who won’t accept all of me). However, he will eventually find out, and I would much prefer to be the one to tell him. I think I will watch “Dangerous Beauty” with him, and then ask him his thoughts about this achingly beautiful movie.

I just want to be left in peace with my cat, my blog, and my short-lived trysts. Oh hell… I’m actually hoping he can handle the truth. People say they want honesty, but it seems that relationships last based on what you DON’T tell people.

EDIT: See part 2 of this story… See part 3 of this story…

This may at first come across as a vulgar and gratuitously sexual entry; however, if you will bear with me, I will tell you why I have chosen to write it…

Yesterday I was drowning in one of my pools of emotion. I have climbed out of it much quicker than I normally do when I am mired in whatever mud my rivers churn up within me. I am not apologizing, because my emotions are part of who I am.

I spoke for an hour with my friend Jen, and we realized that I’m getting better at reining in my stallions, but that I need to focus on matching the level of my response to that which is appropriate. That isn’t to say that I am wrong to unleash the cavalry, but that I need to be more careful about when and to what degree I rattle the sabers. Almost a year ago Allen taught me to avoid scorched earth, and now I’m realizing the value of a gradated scale of alert at the airport.

Be that as it may, I then went into the normal tailspin of shame afterward for not having better control over myself; however, this time I did something special to make me feel better. I have commented on the types of touch I perceive, and after a bad day, I realized that I needed some sexual healing. (continues below video)

I went to Matt’s house almost too drained to even want to go, despite the fact that if there were ever someone I have met who should be in porn but isn’t… it is this boy. He is a fuck machine. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, a super lean body with compact and defined muscles, a cute face, an exquisite ass, and a huge dick. This 23-year-old boy was made for fucking, and he can do it for for hours. He can’t get enough! Just what the doctor ordered.

I always enjoy watching our sex in the mirror, because he is so responsive to small flicks here and deep kisses there. He writhes and moans, and is generally exceedingly flattering to my ego. But I was still just a tad distracted…

Until I caught my own eyes in the mirror and saw that I had finally connected to the moment. Between trying to suck my cock right off my body (and then trying to rip it off with his butt) I had no choice but to take the plunge… My survival was at stake! LOL

After a very long time he finally exploded into the most beautiful orgasm. His fair skin blushed red and he simpered like a little puppy. He is precious. So it was my turn, and I requested that he sit on my face while I masturbated to finish.

And then, in that precise moment, it finally occurred to me. While the mean-spirited cellar gnomes who had upset me so badly were in their little huts, groveling away over their computer screens about my latest controversy, I had a beautiful boy’s asshole in my mouth while I was jetting cum everywhere. And suddenly… those horrible people didn’t matter. They don’t matter. At all. They. Don’t. Matter.

What matters is the connection you make with people who hold you dear, and that this connection is one that nurtures you. I do not regret defending my friend. I do not regret being upset for what is happening to him. But my friend is the one who matters, not the dickhead who is bothering him. That boy last night who thinks I’m the sexiest man he’s ever met: He matters. The clients who experience joy, because they have spent quality time with me: They matter. My family matters. My cat matters.

Assholes don’t matter (unless they’re attached to the beautiful boy sitting on your face).

Oh great Goddess, it has been a crazy day. But a very empowering one, nonetheless. Lemme break some knowledge down for my peeps…

So, I was flirting online with a total freaking hottie. Oh. My. God. Becky. What? Anyway, he turns out to be a veteran of gay adult video, and thinks I’m stunning. I’m not going to disuade him, not by a long shot. LOL If he wants to flatter me right into bed, that’s totally fine with me.

Later, instead of getting food (like I intended), I ended up at Cobalt at 17th and R in D.C. I don’t know how the hell this happened, but I started dancing with this one girl who was playing with the light beams in the air. It was sweet. We had fun. I guess, somehow (in a totally heterosexual way… the way only straight men can play with lights in the air at a gay bar while singing along to Lady GaGa’s “Paparazzi?”) this totally hot woman thought it was her turn to dance with me. “I’m gay you know,” I said. She didn’t care. At first I was going to avoid her, but then I thought, “I want to do an experiment.”

I walked around the club, trying to make eye contact. I turned some heads, but nothing out of the ordinary. I went back to her, and asked, “Do you want to make these gay guys go crazy?” She said “Hell, yes!” so I let her do all sorts of sexual stuff to me (we were making out hard, she was pressing my hands into all her naughty places, and wrapped one leg around me while we were grinding - titties are soft!), and when she reached down my pants to grope my ass and dick I took my shirt off. I played the part: I was the straight dude getting nasty with the hottest chick in the club. And I got exactly the result I expected: Suddenly I was umpteen times hotter. Why? Because all those stupid gay assholes thought I was straight. What a bunch of turds. I then had to sneak away when she went to the bathroom, because she thought she was taking me home. She was stunning. So beautiful that I momentarily considered the possibility of maybe getting an erection (but the moment passed).

What did we learn from this? Beautiful straight women are even better babe magnets than sports cars, dogs, and money. I could have fucked any dude in the place. Ridiculous. No. Ri-DICK-ulous. NO! Ri-COCK-ulous. (Credit to Gunn for that lovely term.)

Anyway, something about feeling really sexual (because she did turn me on, in a hormone way, even if I wasn’t sporting wood) makes me go in slow motion. I completely go into a musical retardando… I move as though the video were being played back at only 75% normal speed, and I somehow swim/float/glide through space-time. And my gaze gets very heavy, very penetrating. I left the club feeling like a predator. And even though she was no longer with me… I could have fucked any dude on the way back to the hotel.

Dear Devon,

So I was interested in getting to know a little more about you. I was an entertainer as well (ie: a dancer), but never did porn… was offered..  (thoughtfully)…as well as a musician…

I wondered: Is it hard for you to have relationships, because you’re a Sean Cody boy? And, when you do, having sex with so many guys that don’t mean anything, how is different with the person you ARE in a relationship with? Does it affect that person? Do they wind up having issues with it?

Would be cool to know you…

- luis.

Hi Luis,

First, thanks for taking the time to write a thoughtful note. I appreciate it when people talk to me, rather than at me. So, that was very nice.

It’s hard for me to have relationships, regardless of the Sean Cody videos, escorting, and exotic dancing. I have never had a good one, so I essentially made a pretty firm commitment to not bothering with them anymore. Relationships have always cost me far more than they give back. The decision to be an adult entertainer was made after I asked myself (with tears in my eyes), “But how will I find someone after this?” And my response, “If it’s the right person it won’t matter, and none of the others from before my adult entertaining were worth the hassle.” What that effectively means: I have always been better when I’m by myself, and doing Sean Cody was my way of sealing off myself from dating. Now… you want to date me? Really?? Do you REALLY want to date me??? If someone can know all this and still love me, then he is the one I want. I did this not only to make it harder for me, but harder for the “right one(s)” as well. Trial by fire, baby. I want the real thing or nothing at all. I’m intense like that.

So, to address your next question about the difference between sex with clients and sex with someone who “matters.” First: Everyone I have sex with matters. But I understand what you mean. How is it different when I’m emotionally invested? WAY WAY WAY better. I can make someone cum. That isn’t any real big skill. I pride myself on making people feel beautiful, whether I’m “invested” or not. But when I am connected deeply, the sex transforms itself. It’s nothing I “do.” It’s got more to do with what I become. But yes, there’s an emmense difference between the two. And it usually breaks my heart, and is the reason I don’t go there. I’ve made the mistake twice this year of letting people get beyond the velvet rope, and it won’t happen again for a while (person A, person B and the fallout of person B). It’s not that I don’t love. It’s that I love too much. That’s what I need protecting from. Not from others, but from myself.

As far as my career affecting others: I think it affected the two I accidentally bonded with, in that they used me as a trophy fuck. I mean, it’s fine. (No, it’s not fine at all.) But it says more about them than it does me. I slipped. My bad. I didn’t mean to actually like you…

But there you have it: No one wants what they can have. Psychologically speaking, we attach more value to what we have to earn. We attach no value to what is taken for granted. It may seem that I have created an emptiness around me, but (in fact) I have made myself all the more desireable for the right one(s), because he/they can’t have me. I’m a nice person. He/They should deserve me, and he/they should make me deserve him/them.