Devon Hunter

Have you ever had a day that was just… perfect? I mean, everyone and everything about it was exactly as you would have wanted?? I totally had that type of day today, and it was SO appreciated… I know I can talk alot (I’m the Mouth of the South), but I’ve been trying to keep my entries to only 500 words. A brief recap?

• Got a great night’s sleep with my kitty cuddled under my arm all night
• Woke up in the mood to do something random and nice
• Lazed about in bed figuring out what to do, and for whom to do it
• Ordered flowers for the first time and had them delivered to someone’s place of business
• Put a chunk of cash on retainer with my mechanic, so that when/if I need more work on the car, I’m okay
• Paid off my John Hardy diamond pendant
• Put a down payment on a present to myself (remember in my video interview when I said I liked diamonds and chocolate?? Sheesh!)
• Got to spend nearly an hour with a thoroughly charming girl at the Aveda store while getting some product to remain 24 indefinitely (or, is it 23 next year?)
• Spoke briefly but happily with the recipient of the flowers
• Spoke briefly but happily with my lovely friend Jennifer
• Went to see “Avatar” in 3D, and it is one of the best pieces of film in cinematic history!
• Got a nice massage, and now my left side feels better (I am having trouble with my left triceps/shoulder/scapula, lower back, and left thigh/knee/calf)
• Will now go read myself to sleep

And now I am sharing it with you, hoping that you, too, have excellent days to come. I hope, going into the high celebration of the season, that you will be healthy, happy, safe, and secure. Please take good care of yourself while you are enjoying the celebrations, and remember to spread the joy you feel (or to accept the joy that others try to give you)!

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.

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…

Hello everyone! It’s absolutely gorgeous today in Washington, D.C.!! I love Dupont Circle on a pretty day (yes, I love the Fruit Loop). I hope this finds you well. Below is the link I promised for the story I wrote for Matt Comer’s blog at www.InterstateQ.com. The essay I wrote is part 5 of 5, but when you go to Matt’s page you will find the links for the first four installments at the bottom of the page.

Happy Memorial Day weekend!

My friend David, who often manages the door at Swinging Richards, made a comment this evening that made me pause for a moment. He’s attracted to one of the dancers on a romantic level, but said, “Rule #1: Don’t date strippers.”

“Why do you think I’ve been single so long? You say you shouldn’t date a stripper, but I don’t think strippers (in general) should date anyone. But why do you feel that?”

“Aside from the the obvious, I think dancers forget the value of a real relationship.”

“You think we don’t know how to accept anything from people anymore, not even compliments.”

“Exactly.”

And he has a valid point. I was at a birthday party last weekend, and I was being inundated with compliments from strangers. I wasn’t at work. I had literally just gotten off the plane from San Diego less than an hour prior. I was tired. I wasn’t thinking about being on my best behavior. And so I often just half-smiled and nodded as an overly-relaxed gesture of thanks.

One guy snapped me out of my stupor: “You’re an asshole.”

“What?!”

“I just paid you some major compliments, and all you can do is nod your head and look at me with pity?”

Wow. I’d not realized I was coming across that way. It definitely wasn’t intentional. Between that experience and David’s comments, I am realizing that there is a catch-22 going on here. Without compliments I have no external basis for feedback. But compliments individually are becoming more like white noise, especially the ones that seem like empty flattery. Sincere compliments I am still able to absorb some, but as awkward as it might sound, I’d really like it if people would talk TO me instead of AT me.

Some people, who will pointedly refuse to empathize with this “problem,” will say, “You get compliments at all. Stop complaining. There are people who get too few or none.” Yes. This is true, except I’m not complaining or bemoaning. I’m simply recognizing a side effect of this career (and I think all jobs jade us in ways particular to themselves): I have been suckled on compliments/flattery for so long that most of them fall flat. If a stranger forgoes introducing himself, jumps right to flirtation and flattery, and drops compliments overly easily… well… I’ve (without intending it) started giving them the priority I would give anyone at work who wants to talk but doesn’t commit to getting a dance/VIP: I smile, nod, and move quickly to other thoughts.

As much as I have enjoyed adult entertainment, it really can manifest some fucked up psychology.