Devon Hunter

I make no secret of the fact that I love Janet Jackson: OMFG ILOVEJANETDAMITAJOJACKSON! OMG!

I think she is one of the most amazing human beings. EVER. I know it’s excruciatingly melodramatic for some of you to bear it, but my eyes water up just typing about her. I admire her for her heart more than anything else, and I have never been a fan who liked her only when she was skinny. I continue to contend with my own eating and body issues (though they trouble me less than in years past, thankfully), so I have never been in a position to judge her on that front. In fact, her new book, “True You” (a self-help book about compassion-for-the-self and attaining-balance-through-setting-sensible-goals), makes me feel even more attuned to her as an artist: All this time when millions of people have thought her stunningly beautiful, she has seen only her “flaws.”

That blows my mind completely out of the water.

But it is EXACTLY the same conversation I’ve been having with myself and with many of the people closest to me over the years. How many times over the decades have I said, “I don’t like (insert perceived flaw),” only to have someone gasp or say incredulously, “But you’re amazing as you are?” It doesn’t matter what someone else tells you, if you don’t believe it. That’s why one of my meditations is: “I am so happy and grateful that I am maintaining or improving, as well as learning to see and appreciate, the beauty in me that so many others already exalt, and that I am humbly luxuriating in that Gift.”

Of all the many quotes I highlighted in Janet’s book, this is the one that sticks out the most for me: “Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. Comparisons are almost always harmful. Comparisons mean there’s a winner and loser – and you’re the one who winds up feeling like a loser.”

True.

I really can’t think of a single instance during my past struggles with Anorexia or Dysmorphia, or my current struggles with feelings of inadequacy in Adult Entertainment, that didn’t grow out of comparison. But I also have to pat myself on the back in retrospect: There have been many situations where I recognized that contests, auditions, competitions, and/or pageants would have done nothing but fuel a fire that was already burning hot enough, so I have mostly avoided them. I don’t win in those types of scenarios: My esteem doesn’t hold under that type of pressure. I am best when I do what I enjoy within its own context. I am most beautiful when I’m allowed to nurture my own sense of presence and style. I fail miserably almost every time I have to “win.” I hate winning. I love excelling. I flourish when I’m allowed to express my “true you,” and I generally get aggressive, defensive, belligerent, or pessimistic when I have to do something that will be judged against something or someone else. It’s one of the reasons that I have never played sports, despite being athletic. It’s the reason I detest gyms, despite being a trainer who works out with a trainer. It’s the reason I am quite content NOT to get nominated for video/escorting/blogging awards – God forbid I should “lose” publicly. I am very happy to leave awards to those with the audacity to sell themselves on Twitter for votes.

I loathe that type of activity. It doesn’t motivate me. It makes me feel inadequate, I cease to try, I don’t “win,” it reinforces why I didn’t want to do whatever it was in the first place, and then I’m left feeling bitter.

That’s why I have to remind myself from time to time, in various ways, that I don’t want or need to “win.” I get an incredible amount of satisfaction from a job well done (whatever I might be doing), and I prefer enjoying the intrinsic value of accomplishment (which cannot be taken), rather than getting accolades from others (which cannot be maintained).

I hope you have discovered, or on the path to discovering, your “true you.” I hope I’m getting closer to that, too. Thank you, Janet, for reminding me to continue growing. (See the response to this in Part 2 and Part 3).

This is connected to one of my Thanksgiving meditations: “I am maintaining or improving, as well as learning to see and appreciate, the beauty in me that so many others already exalt, and I am humbly luxuriating in that Gift.” We need inspiration to persevere consistently enough to attain our goals, and visualizing the desired result is proven to facilitate its realization.

I know it will sound completely hysterical or melodramatic, but Dylan Rosser‘s work makes my eyes glaze with tears. When you hear people say something akin to, “The human body is the most beautiful machine in the universe,” they must have something like his photography in mind when they say it. Perhaps I am too much of a Toreador (or perhaps it actually is a wonderful suffering that I should enjoy indulging), but agonizing over his images is making me want to concentrate deeply, sleep and eat regularly, and exercise intensely. And isn’t that an expression of something that goes far beyond the superficial motive of looking a certain way? To me it means that I yearn to take care of myself, and that reaching a high level of fitness is a fortunate byproduct of doing so.

Is male beauty only skin deep? The Classical Greeks thought the honing of the body through sport also improved the heart, mind, and soul of the boy in question. The work ethic and commitment needed to achieve prowess and skill, along with the humility youths were expected to express, married external and internal excellence into the ideal we still fantasize about 2,500 years later: The intelligent, kind, beautiful lover. Is it fair to be dismissive and to presume that athletic male beauty MUST equate to something simple, crude, or unrefined? I have often reviled athletes, because they bullied me severely from the time I was six until I was 24 (that is, 24 for the first time). I have often lumped athletic men into the “dumb jock” category, even though I know too many men whose external beauty grows out of a commitment to other forms of excellence for me to reasonably accept this mean cliché. I want to believe that Dylan Rosser’s models are the kindest, smartest, and most enlightened men on the planet. Yes. They must be (even if they’re not). But that is my privilege as the viewer: I can transform these “objects” into anything I want. And I don’t want them to be “just” sex machines. I want them to be artists/scientists and philosophers, too. I want their physical bodies to be the tangible expression of the hearts I am giving them, whether they have them or not.

But I’m a greedy bitch like that.

Click this link to see Dylan Rosser’s website.

OMG! OMG OMG OMG

So… who knew that 48 hours in the mountains could fix almost everything in the world? It was just spectacular. I’d not been there in a full calendar year (since the July 2009 trip to Biltmore with Steve), and it was amazing. The weather was dynamic, going from calming showers to dramatic thunderstorms to bright sunshine all in the space of hours each day.

I went out on the lake at least four times, and got to go swimming (something I haven’t enjoyed in about 20 years). And I got to see so much wildlife, right there in my friend’s backyard! From smallest to largest, I saw a walking stick, a bossy humming bird, several funny ducks, a flock RAFTER of about 30 – 40 turkeys playing leap frog (is a group of turkeys a flock?? No, it’s called a RAFTER – thanks, Joe!), a blue heron, and deer all over the place.

What was particular impressive about the deer on the first evening: I got up to take pictures of the sunset, which was hot pink, purple, and peach, and the cicadas were really loud. The scent of rain and tree resin was on the air, and then, under the two apple trees under the balcony, I notice a doe. The moment she stepped into the glade hundreds of fireflies started sparkling all over the yard. It couldn’t have been any better choreographed. Utterly fabulous.

We grilled most of our meals, and it was a very relaxing and cleansing experience. Next time we go, my friend suggested taking my car, so that we could drive with the top down under the trees. If you have never seen the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the forests near Elizabethon, TN around Watauga Lake, you really should make the trip.

So, I just made an observation while having a beautiful dinner with a delightful client: Many people are transitioning into adult entertainment (even if temporarily), because they cannot find other work. I noted after our dinner that many of the servers in the restaurant should put ads on RentBoy. My client then observed that it would create quite a bit of competition, and I observed that this career isn’t for everyone, which is forturnate since “I am already a lesser cherub amongst greater angels, and I don’t need any more competition.” LOL

So, I don’t know why I felt compelled to share this, but the wine was singing in my brain, and these were the lyrics that danced out of my head. At any rate, I’m going to go enjoy this wine buzz, taste some nice new chocolates, and enjoy the rest of what will sure to be a very pleasant evening.

I hope you are all drinking wine at least as good as what I had with dinner… Muah!

Okay, so women do Kegels to keep their hoohaws tight after giving birth… they gotta keep the menzes interested… and now you rampantly receptive gay boiz/boys/men/guys/dudes/bros can see the same benefits of tightening your ninny stamp, even after shoving fists, traffic cones, and other sizable fetish objects inside your bums.

This is what I do to keep up appearance downstairs (though I have to say I’m too shy to try any of the more exotic toys and techniques during playtime)… Too many trips up and down into the cellar will eventually knock the door right off the hinges. You have to make sure you maintain your entryway properly. And it never hurts to have a cute little button of a doorbell right at the center of the portal.

At any random time, but particularly after intercourse, you will need to rapidly squeeze your punani. We will be doing 100 repetitions in a short time. Follow this regimen of repetitions at first, but experiment with various patterns and rhythms to keep it interesting (e.g. music, songs, Morse code, etc.). If I have my Morse card and enough time to remember it, I like to learn to do the squeeze-rhythms required to press a man’s own name into the shaft of his penis.

Anyway, here are Devon’s Basic 100 Gay Kegels:

1 – 90 tiny, shallow repetitions as fast as you can flutter them without interruption or rest: ENDURANCE, FAST TWITCH, LIGHT TEXTURE

91 – 99 firmer presses that also allow for wider opening between squeezes, but not squeezing shut or clamping down. Think of these as a middle note in the chord, neither the top nor the bottom. These should be held longer and longer as you go (e.g. 91 = hold for 1 second, 92 = hold for 2 seconds, 93 = hold for 3 seconds, etc): ENDURANCE, RESILIENCE, FIRM TEXTURE

100 is a single repetition with 10 parts. At the end of 99 you have held the tone for 9 seconds. When you relax and your o-ring expands, you then clamp down a moment later as hard as you can, squeezing harder and harder, without releasing, for each second for a count of 10. Around 5 you should feel it up into your lower bowels, and with each accumulated crushing squeeze after that you should feel the need to almost coil your torso into a ball. Keep breathing. Pulling your anus shut shouldn’t necessarily force you to stop breathing, but it may feel like it could. Resist that. Breathe. ENDURANCE, GRIPPING, MILKING TEXTURE.

When you are done, allow for light breathing through the nostrils and fluttering in the o-ring. Listen to some Mozart, drink a short glass of sparkling wine, and enjoy a bite of marzipan almond. Eh voila: My technique for keeping your tender button shiny and polished, even if it feels like it may be getting dented from time to time.