Devon Hunter

No real depth to this entry; however, there is something to be said for levity and brevity, n’est-ce pas? Although it was a sparse weekend in Atlanta, I had a really good time. Something made me feel really alive while I was dancing, and I think that this “something” was the realization that, come what may, I am doing what I enjoy.

Suddenly it didn’t matter that the crowds were thin. I let go of being tired. I was able to not feel sad that I was missing “my” bed/shower in D.C. There was my body, my sense of humor, and the music. And that was enough.

I had a great time, and I met my weekly goal. What else is there to demand of life? I got to see my friend Chris, and I enjoyed the company of (most of) the other dancers. I met a wonderful girl named Jen who comes to the club with her sweet gay roommate, and I got to do pushups and abs with Preston in the VIP lounge. I also found out I can get health insurance of some kind at a discounted rate through an arrangement between Swinging Richards and Afleck (sp?). So… there you have it.

I’m about to go get a massage.

I drive around a great deal. And there are times when the faint business voice in my head clamors a bit louder than normal, or when my well of patience finally runs dry, and I get fed up enough to remove a club from my itinerary. And Secrets has teetered on that razor edge since the very first booking I had there a few months ago. But there are many factors to consider before going that route.

First, I need the variety. I get bored quickly. I like to think this is symptomatic of rampant intelligence, but I’d not be surprised to find it simply betrays a short attention span. At any rate, it’s good to move around and remain as new as possible to as many people as possible. And yet, if a club isn’t properly primed, the patrons may not know how to show appreciation to entertainers. Cutting a club from the list is limiting in ways that can be helpful or hurtful.

Next, for me to really completely write a venue off (especially after having frequented it), I have to be pretty near irreconcilably pissed off about something that truly matters: There’s a difference between taking a break and saying “never again.” There’s a club in Macon, GA that has this status: When Scotty and I walked in they asked us, “Are you going to be sucking cock over here or over there? We need to know where to set the screens up.” Ahem. That booking was okay as far as money, and they didn’t wrangle over the fee, but they’re impossible to coordinate with (because both owners send emails separately without conferring first). So. Never again, Macon. I needed an extended break from PT1109 in Columbia, but I’m almost ready to go again. Swinging Richards is its own little vortex, but I do admit that I’ve missed not being there for the past several weeks.

Lastly (for now), I have to consider the connections I’ve made in various places. True, I find Secrets to be incredibly mismanaged on many levels. True, the money has never justified the travel required to get there. True, I find it to be ridiculously exploitative to be required to walk around naked with an erection and no guarantee of income. However…

I have made some wonderful friends in D.C. Hopefully they know who they are, and I think they know what I mean when I use the word “friend.” I would like to think I’ve made it clear to them how much I like and appreciate them. I really enjoy D.C. as a city (except for the damn “roads” and “drivers”), at least the Northwest quadrant, anyway. And I would like them to know that if it weren’t for the anchor of my dance company, I would probably move to D.C. this fall, since my lease ends in September. But there are connections in Charlotte that I’m not willing to sever just yet.

And so, despite the frustration I contend with at Secrets, I will continue (no matter what I say) to book myself there. These amazing people add something to my trip that is worth more than the cash which I do or do not make at the club. They are more valuable to me than mere money. They are treasures unto themselves. And so then: How could I not include Secrets? Cutting Secrets would mean walking away from far more than I’m willing to sacrifice.

(Tu sais bien, Monsieur SS, que tu me manques déjà, et que je ne peux guère attendre à te revoir.)

So, Secrets has a particularly annoying habit of projecting bareback porn on the walls (and sometimes they go so far as displaying fisting), which is replete with all sorts of philosophical and business model problems in my (not very) humble opinion. It’s made even more hypocritical by the fact that there is (finally) a FUK!T condom dispenser at the entrance (Thanks, Matt!!).

Sundays are “retro” night, and the DJ’s spin material from the 70′s, 80′s, and early 90′s (Lord, help me: “Escapade” by Janet Jackson is retro??? When the hell did that happen?). As a consequence, in “keeping with the theme,” the powers-that-be feel inclined to show pre-condom “classics.” As if the hair product and eyeliner aren’t bad enough, the videos are of poor quality and reinforce everything that is destructive about gay sexuality. It should be pointed out that there isn’t an RIP mention in the end credits for all the actors/models who have since died as a result of making the very videos that are being projected on the walls. Another question: Aside from the obvious problems with the video, and the fact that they distract from the dancers, does buying these videos include a license to use them in public spaces (regardless of whether D.C. law makes it illegal or not)?

But the “Oh, snap!” moment comes when Scott, the photographer for the FUK!T campaign, said something to a staff person about the porn not having condoms. “It’s retro night!” the individual gayly exclaimed. “Oh,” Scott quipped, “maybe you guys should hand out the retro meds from the 80′s that didn’t work against this retro virus.” PWNED.

This week I’m in Washington, D.C. helping with various Pride activities to which I committed myself. Last night was an event I’d not originally planned on being part of, but I’m really excited I got to be here nonetheless. Last night Dr. Terry, the man behind the FUK!T campaign, hosted a fundraiser here at The Artists’ Inn Residence for an organization that is planning to open a permenant museum for LGBTQ history that will be opening in the capital soon. The guest of honor was Frank Kameny, one of the single most important figures in the Gay Rights movement of the United States.

Dr. Frank Kameny is one of those people about whom not enough is said, especially by younger LGBTQ people who (through little fault of their own) know almost nothing about their community’s history. Kameny is one of the first, if not THE first, full time Gay Liberation activists. He holds a doctorate in astronomy from Harvard, and was fired in the 1950′s from his federal job for being homosexual. Kameny immediately began writing letters and protested his dismissal to the Supreme Court. He began picketing and protesting in front of the White House and Pentagon years prior to the Stonewall Riots of 1969 in New York City. When you see 1960′s era black and white footage of people marching on the sidewalks in D.C. in support of LGBTQ rights, that is film of Kameny and his friends/allies.

And I got to meet him! IN PERSON! OMG! It’s the equivalent of meeting Rosa Parks or Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s like meeting Susan B. Anthony or César Chávez. This is a big deal! I can’t believe it… I was punch crazy all night – I’d not been drinking, but I was excited, giggly, energetic… And then I realized something: This is what Pride feels like. HAPPY PRIDE!

The title of this entry comes from a song by Madonna about her (then) newly born daughter. It seems fitting for a number of reasons. Before I go into what’s on my mind, I should first apologize for not blogging sooner: I had promised some wonderful stories, and all you got was silence. Let me explain…

Perhaps you have noticed that two separate times now there has been a listing in my bookings for San Diego called “Career Exploration” or something equally cryptic. I should go ahead and explain, for those who didn’t click the link to see what it was all about, that I have done two videos for the Sean Cody site. One is a solo video, the other is a duo. I am getting fatigued of driving to far away clubs just to have to hope that there will be a crowd with people who like me and are willing to tip. This is a modality of adult entertainment that is new to me. And I had some adjusting to do in my head. I will continue doing it as long as they call me. But it muddied the waters for me at first.

After my solo video everything was fine. But there are multiple layers of complication associated with the duo, and it has taken me a week to come back into balance. At the base of my turmoil was not guilt or shame for having done the videos, because I’m actually quite proud to have been recruited by Sean Cody. Think of it as one of the highest compliments I could have been given in my career field. What has been gnawing at me is the real fear that I am going to look totally pathetic compared to my scene fellow.

He showed up looking like a tank. In his pics he was slender, toned, and boyish with a floppy haircut. He arrived with a cropped dome, muscles nearly bursting from under his skin, and a tan so dark that I felt very pale by comparison. How is it possible for a 20-year-old to put on at least 20, if not 30, pounds of compact lean muscle in less than a year??? I felt like a grub next to him. I felt like Gollum.

He was straight, and that (along with many other layers of complication) made it difficult after the first four hours to keep an erection. The last three hours in particular were almost botched by my near inability to maintain appearances. This is definitely work. It isn’t sexy to do, but the editing process will take the 120 minutes captured from the 7-hour shoot, and refine it down to a polished 15-minute fantasy. Good enough. I’ll be pleased just to not look like a wimp beside the super-sized Fuller.

All this was very upsetting. But I have a brilliant friend who feeds me some of the most beautiful imagery at the times I need it most. As frustrating as it must be to have to repeat the same conversation over and over, she still keeps on trying to help me understand that I’m a star, and that I shine pretty brightly. She also reminds me with what must be desensitizing frequency that I am also full of love.

The wonderful extended metaphor I got from this person went something like this: You are like Apollo. You go flying by like a blinding light! You glow so brightly. You are so hot. But you’ve completely removed yourself from this place, almost like a star surrounded by the cold vacuum of space. You are a huge ball of beautiful energy, but no one can touch you. That must be very lonely.

It can be. Another reason I took so long to blog is because of something that happened on Facebook. My first boyfriend – I mean THE VERY FIRST – found me. That needs a totally separate entry. It’s that complex…