Devon Hunter

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.

NOTE: Sean Cody revealed my legal name, and they may release yours too!

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This is a three-part blog entry that will give background information about adult video projects and how they operate, so that others will have candid information before they decide that videos are the choice for them or not. I will be honest, and this means it will not be possible for me to sound completely unbiased in some instances. It isn’t my intent necessarily to besmirch anyone, but rather to describe events, so that possibilities aren’t overlooked (e.g. if it happened to me, it’s possible it will happen in a similar manner to you). In part 1, I am going to go line by line and describe the ins and outs of my experience with Sean Cody. In part 2, I am going to compare and contrast my experiences at the four houses for which I have worked thus far. In part 3, I am going to give some practical advice and talk about the advantages of working through an agency.

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Recently there was a story written on Queer Porn Nation about a blog post I created. It has a rather sensationalist title, but it doesn’t go on to say anything untrue about what I had posted here. What is curious is that I have been holding off for a very long time on writing about my experience at Sean Cody. I wanted to get more screen credits first, so that I could have a basis for comparison. At any rate, I am now ready to give a very detailed account of how that year under the Sean Cody contract played itself out. I am sorry that my readiness happens to be timed right when this pingback has connected itself to what I was already going to say. But here we go…

Introduction & Phone Interview

If you have read my blog for a while, you will know that there was a start and stop process to my getting involved with my first video projects. I submitted pics on a whim, got a positive response, and I fell out of touch because of insecurity; then they contacted me quite a while later, we restarted the conversation, and they fell out of touch because of disorganization; and finally they contacted me through my profile on Model Mayhem, I explained how it was our third conversation, and we persisted in maintaining contact. I should mention that at this last juncture I was also being recruited by Randy Blue, and in retrospect I wish I had gone with them instead.

After the dates were set and the plane tickets purchased I then spoke on the phone with my recruiter at Sean Cody. He gave me tips and expectations concerning my appearance, and then asked me questions about myself, so as to create my “character.” He wanted me to be bisexual; however, “I have been out since I was 15, and I have been dancing in gay clubs since 1998. No one is going to buy that. I am gay. Period.” Okay, well, they could work with that. At that time I thought I was going to remain in the thirty-something closet (since I was still, at that time, dancing under the declared age of 24). Then the recruiter asked me about my career, and we had this conversation (or something to this effect):

“What do you do?”

“I’m a professional dancer and choreographer, and I am also a career exotic dancer.”

“Oh, wow. You can’t say that. Sean wouldn’t like that. Don’t tell anyone here that.”

“Why?”

“It’s too gay.”

“Oh. Well, I write for a gay newspaper, and I have taught writing at the college level. I’m an educator, and I’ve studied languages. I guess it wouldn’t be a lie to say I’m a linguist.”

“Okay, perfect. We’ll use that. What sports do you do?”

“I don’t. I’m a dancer.”

“Well, make something up.”

“I don’t want to do that. I was a gymnast before I was a dancer.”

“Perfect. You’re a linguist and gymnast. Don’t bring up the other stuff.”

“Okay. So, you guys don’t like gay guys then?”

“No! No, it’s not that. It’s just that straight guys sell better.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Travel & Accomodations

I will give Sean Cody this much: They absolutely go all out on travel, lodging, food, and general pampering off set. When I had some incredible airport drama they were right there helping me get the flights I needed. I was to be chauffeured in a limousine, and when my flight got redirected from San Diego to Orange County they sent the limousine 100 miles north to pick me up and drive me comfortably back to San Diego. I stayed at a gorgeous resort hotel for both trips, and the food before and after the shoots was awesome. They really didn’t scrimp at all on making sure I was comfortable. I really have to applaud them for being so generous in this regard. They also pay amazingly well – far, far better than other houses.

Solo video

I did my paperwork, and the person signing the contracts with me noticed my age. He made a big deal out of it. The camera man heard him, and this became part of the conversation on film. I don’t remember now if talking about being in my thirties is on the film or only in the write up, but there it was: Sean Cody had, for whatever reason, outed me as a thirty-something. Perhaps this was to play up some sort of diversity concept? Look! We have guys who aren’t in their twenties! AND THIS ONE IS GAY! OOOOOOO!

I’m sorry (and this isn’t a jab at Landon, whom I have never met and who is very beautiful), but there isn’t really any true diversity at Sean Cody. Landon, as picture perfect as he is, reminds me of the court ordered black model in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. I felt like I was being made a particular spectacle for being so much older and gayer than “normal” on their site, and I have never felt like I was particularly well portrayed in either video.

If I seem quiet, shy, and/or tentative in the videos on Sean Cody it is because of the direction I was given by the crew moments before filming:

“Okay, don’t talk with your hands; don’t use any big words; and keep your voice kinda deep.”

“So, you want me to speak as I am right now?”

“YES! The way you just said ‘right now’ was totally perfect.”

“Okay.”

“So you understand?”

“Oh, yes. I understand perfectly.”

I felt compelled to move and speak as little as possible, because I was afraid I would ruin their film and not get paid. This became problematic during filming, because they then asked me to make noises, which is something I don’t do much of during sex. It felt unnatural, and the entire time I was terrified that I was overdoing the noise (which I don’t care for in general), and then on top of it I was scared the noises I did make would be ridiculous and over the top. But they liked it, so I did what they asked.

At one point they asked me if I would play with a toy. Normally I don’t use them, but I wanted to be gracious and cooperative, since my paperwork specifically stated that difficult models would not be asked back. And do you know what they gave me? A LIMP DICK DILDO.

What the fuck?

“This is a limp dick dildo.”

“Yeah, we teach the straight guys how to suck dick with it.”

“How am I supposed to get it inside?”

“Oh, just play with it and figure it out.”

So I ended up standing in an awkward position, corkscrewing a limp dick dildo into my ass, making noises that I feared were “too gay,” and hoping that I wouldn’t look completely ridiculous in the process. Have I mentioned yet that they fucked my hair up? OMG, maybe I’m too gay afterall, but don’t fuck with a bitch’s weave! GOD!

For the cum shot I was told to work the noise up to a climax. Great. I’d already made a bunch of noise. I have to get even louder? Oh, boy. So, I did. (I, personally, cannot watch my Sean Cody videos for a variety of reasons, but particularly because of all the hollering.) I offered to eat the cum, since that is rare on Sean Cody, and we finished up. It was a two-day shoot, each day lasting 2-3 hours. In the end they edited out anything I said that gave me any type of personality. The interviewers often ask questions in a degrading or creepy manner, so when the camera guy (who was VERY HOT, btw) told me I was attractive I said, “Thanks, you’re pretty, too!” It was a joke. I was just trying to undercut the weirdness of being talked to by an unseen person. Well, that didn’t make the cut. They almost always ask “Are you nervous?” I replied, “No. Are you?” That didn’t make it either. LOL

Let me say this: You cannot undo porn. I had just done a jerk-off scene. I was committed. There was no turning back. I went into Sean Cody to pay off my debt faster, and now I intended to go full steam ahead, no matter what, because I hadn’t made what I needed to wipe the debt out. It is for this reason that I tried to be as personable and cooperative as I could: Although I found some aspects of the solo problematic, I didn’t want to be left hanging with the debt AND a single porn project.

Duo video

I went out a few weeks later to do my duo. They told me a few moments before I met him that I was going to do my scene with Fuller. I looked him up, and I found pictures of a doll-faced boy. I thought, “Awww! What a sweetie pie!” That is not who I met.

I went outside to get the ride to the studio, and there was a blinged-out, rather ghetto, and intimidating man standing there smoking a cigarette and having a heated argument on the phone. I finally realized it was the same person when I saw the red cross tattoo. We got acquainted briefly, and he immediately began telling me about his girlfriend, who was angry that he was doing videos that weekend (he did the video with Martin a day or two after the scene with me).

“Great, I get to spend the day fucking some chic’s smoker, thug boyfriend.” I was very disheartened at the sight of him, because he was SO MUCH BIGGER than me. I thought they’d paired me with someone similar to compliment us both, but now I was suddenly suspicious that I was being paired with him, so that I could be “the lucky gay guy” to bottom for such a hot, straight stud.

Fuller, as it turns out, is very nice. He’s very business minded, and he is very direct. I admire that. I also admire his discipline and dedication to fitness. So my complaints about the duo are not really directed at him, so much as the situation. He and I have stayed in touch from time to time, and I do not wish him any ill whatsoever. I need to state that clearly up front. After my initial negative impression I was greatly endeared to him when he expressed disbelief at my age and said, “I hope I look half as good when I’m your age!” Okay… we like this one… He can stay. LOL

Then the filming began (after more paper work and more drama about my age).

Some people, especially some of the readers on the site SeanCodyReviews.com, have been particularly unfriendly toward me in general, and I am going to now explain why they are deluded about a great many things. I do not apologize for undermining their fascination with gay-for-pay porn, because they shouldn’t be feeding such dysfunctional desire in the first damn place.

Once again I was instructed to not speak in a gay manner. This in front of Fuller. It reinforced my fear of being “too gay,” and I didn’t quite close my mouth in time and said, “I get it. You don’t like gay guys.”

“No, it’s not like that!”

“It’s exactly like that. I understand. Can we just do this?”

And so began the “cuddling” and interview. We were put into some kind of uncomfortable jigsaw shape in which to begin. They started by asking Fuller about his girlfriend (while he’s intertwined with me? WTF??), and I was struggling to not show annoyance on my face. I think it translated more into a “oh, you so craaaazy!” kinda face. When they started asking me questions I tried to remember to say and do nothing much, but accidentally slipped and said something quippish before I remembered to shut up and sit still.

Then the kissing. Wow. Minty ash tray. That’s hot. And then we had to cut recording, because I was supposed to be the submissive bottom, and I was leading too much. So, I just held way back, fearful that I was showing too much interest in kissing a man. One wouldn’t want to accidentally inject any homosexuality into this film, right? So, I’m sure Fuller kisses girls better than he does boys, and that’s understandable: He’s totally straight.

Next the oral sex. Okay, before Fuller puts my dick in his mouth, he looks up at me and says, “Sorry, dude. I suck lousy dick.”

Yep. All teeth. It hurt. Alot. But that’s to be expected with someone who doesn’t fellate with any passion for it. At least he warned me. Anyone who thinks porn models are incapable of acting is naïve at best.

Yay!! The fucking! YAY!

THIS. This is where my nerves start to get shot on set. The penetration is extremely problematic, and is made worse by a third man on crew who had never shot porn before, was totally straight, and had no concept of butt sex. More on him later.

I don’t remember the order in which the positions happen in the video, but, while we were shooting, the assistant camera homo got more and more creative as we went. As we got more and more tired he came up with more and more challenging shapes. And this is something you need to know about working with straight models: They can stay hard for about 30 seconds to a minute. By the time they get it up, they’re already going down. Editing makes everything look sequential and immediate, but that is an abject fallacy. “How can they be straight if they can fuck/be fucked for a 20 minute video?” Because each take is so short that what you are seeing is them being portrayed as gay-for-pay, when in fact they are gay-for-thirty-seconds.

So, what does all this start and stop mean? It means that Sean Cody videos are exciting, because the camera angles always change. It looks like a music video or car commercial, because the visuals are constantly moving around. What else does it mean? It means that if you follow the Sean Cody formula of 4-6 shapes shot from 3 angles (and 4-5 takes of each angle) that you have 12-15 short takes of each shape (ergo over 50-70 takes, easily, for the anal alone). And what does that mean? That you have to get hard over 50 times, and (in my case) get penetrated ALOT. We went through over 40 condoms in seven hours. I thought I was going to pass out a few times. You would think Fuller would be a tad more compassionate, given his bottoming scene.

Then there’s the issue of fluffing yourself. Sean Cody provides 20-30 modern porn videos for their straight models to choose from between takes. They work with so few gay models that (when I was there) they had three. One was from 1986 and had more hair product and eyeliner than lube in the scenes. Another was a video of out-of-shape bondage guys dunking each other’s heads in toilets and pretending to rape each other. The last one was Bel Ami (which would be perfect, if I liked that type of guy). I went with the Bel Ami, and hoped for the best. But another problem was that I was stuck with the DVD player that didn’t work well, so when Fuller would holler out that he was ready with a boner, I hadn’t even gotten my video to play yet (and then everyone would get impatient with me for holding up the process). When I finally did coordinate a hard-on with Fuller I had to then run down the hall, flop back into the last position, and he would ram his softening cock into me and start fucking as if we’d not stopped for several minutes. His comfort and his erection mattered, not mine. I was expected to maintain a raging erection (despite the run from the other room and repeated ass ramming), because my dick was always visible, but I ended up flapping in the breeze like a surrender flag for many of the takes.

There was the constant threat of not getting paid. “If you cum too fast everyone goes home with no money.” Great, I get it. How many times do you have to say that? Fuller said, “Dude, if you fuck up my money we’re going to fight.” My gay eyebrow went up really fast. He stood down, and tried to go back into encouraging me. But it got worse every time Fuller would say, “Man, you are doing awesome!” or “Dude, think of the money.” I know he meant to help me, but everyone on the staff was getting shorter and curter with me as getting a hard-on got more difficult (and painful). I kept up fine for the first 4 hours, but going into hour 5 I started having severe issues from going numb. At hour 6 I doubted I could finish at all, and at hour 7 I was contemplating calling it all off and giving up completely. Fuller then said, “Dude, can we move this along? I wanna get to the bank before it closes.”

OMG.

WHAT?!

I made it known I needed a break. I took twenty minutes, and I was able to restart. I then told Fuller, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you will be able to cash your check today.” I really felt bad for holding him up.

For a moment I want to talk about the breeder on set. I heard him complain, “What’s up with him? Why can’t he just hurry the fuck up?” To his credit, assistant camera homo replied, “This always happens. The bottoms get worn out. You have to be patient.” This straight guy had offered me some of his odoriferous fish in clam sauce a couple hours earlier.

“Hey, man: You hungry? You want some?”

“Thank you, but I can’t eat right now.”

“Why?”

OMG! WHAT?!

“Where do you think that food is going to end up in about two hours?” (Insert several seconds of pause.)

“Ohhhhhhhh.” Really? THIS is the person who is being trained to film gay porn?

Anyway, time for the cum shots. I had been praying for this for hours, because I was starting to have trouble walking. Now that the time had come, assistant camera homo came up with the most ridiculous position of them all. He somehow thought I would be able to cum on my right side (thus pinning my j/o hand to the bed) with my legs in some kind of Kama Sutra bullshit. I didn’t use any particular tone in my voice. I simply said, “I can’t cum like that.”

“Well,” he said with a thoroughly bitchy voice, “how CAN you cum?”

“At this point? On my back,” I replied neutrally.

“Not everyone can cum on their back! It’s boring.”

“Well, I can’t cum like that.”

“Oh, GOD! Is it really that difficult?!” Oh, no she didn’t. The gay eyebrow shot up again, my hand went to my hip, and Funquita Jackson came roaring into view before I could stop myself.

“Yes. Actually. It is.”

Suddenly I was the most important person in the room. Suddenly they were about to have their bottom walk off set. Suddenly they’d better figure out a way to make the gay guy happy. Everything changed from that moment on.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “We’re all just tired. It’s been a long day.”

So, I finally got to do my cum shot, and I (horror of horrors) I couldn’t. I looked at Fuller and said, “I don’t care who you have to pretend I am, you have to keep your dick hard and fuck me until I cum or this will never happen.” So, I finally came. I wonder who he pretended I was?

On the video it looks like Fuller’s orgasm happened only moments after mine. No. That is editing. The time between my orgasm and his was about 10 minutes. I couldn’t get up off the bed, or my cum would go everywhere, and they wanted the continuity of the shot. So, this time, Fuller had to get it up in front of me. He looked down at me and said, “Don’t look at me, or you’ll fuck me up.”

“Remember,” the camera man said to me, “if the cum hits your face your can’t make weird faces or we can’t use the footage and you won’t get paid.” Right. Because I’ve never had a guy’s cum hit my face before. Thanks for the extra pressure!!

I turned my head, breathing as shallowly as possible, and tried not to exist long enough for Fuller to cum all over me. The end.

A few weeks later they asked me to come back and do a third scene, but I turned it down. At the time I was still talking to Steve, and I thought we were building a relationship. I’d already prepaid for the trip we took to the mountains, which happened to be the same dates as the filming for the third video. Ironically, I broke up with Steve two weeks later, and could have used the money to ward off the problems with my car that had come up at that time. But what can you do?

Contract exclusivity

But wait, there’s more. I knew that I had signed an exclusive contract that did not include a guarantee for further work; however, I had felt compelled to sign it when I did the solo, because it seemed I would definitely NOT get more work without signing it. It was a catch-22 in many ways. I do not believe the contact could be upheld in a court of law, but I didn’t feel like testing it (or paying for the litigation/arbitration to test the theory). I also did not want to develop a reputation for getting out of contracts. So, I said nothing, in the hopes that they would want to work with me more.

The solo came out on my 33rd birthday (exactly two weeks shy of a year before I wrote this). The duo came out on Labor Day 2009. Weeks turned to months, and every time I called to check on work, I was told that they had shot so much material in advance that they were back logged for a while. They asked that I check in on the first of every month, which I did in July and August, but then everything quickly turned to shit in September.

Adult Entertainment & Aftermath

I went into porn as a form of advertising for escorting. My recruiter made no mention of my exotic dancing to his managers, and I didn’t realize Sean Cody had a problem with escorts, so I never mentioned it. It didn’t occur to me that a web site that coerces straight men to have gay sex on camera would have a sense of moral indignation. Also, many porn models are escorts, so it didn’t occur to me that it would shock the people at Sean Cody.

At any rate they discovered I was using my Sean Cody stills from the solo on my RentBoy ads. They asked me to take them down, which I did within minutes. I hadn’t asked permission to use them, and I understand completely that they have a right to control their copyrighted material. I also removed all mention of Sean Cody from my ads, since that too is their trademarked name. But I had the following conversation via text:

“I understand you want to control your material, but what am I supposed to say at the clubs where I dance when people ask if it’s me? Am I supposed to say, ‘No,’ when it’s obviously me?”

“What do you mean? What clubs?”

“I’m an exotic dancer, and I have been for 12 years.”

“I never knew about this.”

“I told my recruiter all this before I came out for the solo video.”

“We don’t want to be associated with adult entertainers and escorts.”

“I don’t understand. There are multiple ads linking to Sean Cody all over the page where my RentBoy ad is. It is hypocritical at best for you to say you don’t want to be associated with adult entertainers when you recruit them and advertise on RentBoy.”

I never heard from them again, except to inquire about my tax forms (which they sent immediately). After that I had no desire to talk to them again.

I wished I had gone with Randy Blue. I chose Sean Cody, because their product seemed more highly polished and their pay scale was a bit higher. But Sean Cody expects his models to have no life before or during their tenures on his site. He also presumes to sit in judgment over me when he uses money to induce straight men to do that which they wouldn’t do otherwise? And it is ME who is shameful?

As much as Sean Cody doesn’t wish to be associated with me, I can say only that the feeling is entirely mutual. As my Filmography expands I will remove them from the list. I would like nothing better than for them to take me off their site, as if the videos had never existed. I am not going to ask them to do that. I have no basis upon which to do so, but I wouldn’t be upset if they did. I would never have worked with them, if I had realized the extent to which their attitudes are contrary to my entire existence.

Well, where to begin??? As always, too much to do in too little time; however, I prefer being overwhelmed to being bored ANY DAY. I have to say it: I entertain myself pretty well. What with all my projects and drama, there’s never a dull moment, eh?

Okay, so it’s time to start getting ready for the summer. This is going to be a time of change for me. Literal physical change. My exclusive contract with Sean Cody will run out at the end of May, 2010, and my friends at Fabscout (whom I don’t believe I’ve mentioned until now) are is hopefully going to be keeping me pretty busy with a variety of gay video projects. One of the many aspects I have enjoyed with Fabscout so far is their unrelenting expectation that their models use condoms. I wouldn’t continue on with the porn if I thought I’d be expected to do bareback scenes.

What does this mean in terms of going to the next level? Well, I am going to workout with my trainer an extra day each week during the next few months, and I have restarted a system of very clean and high quality supplements by Cellucor (I will be doing the Lean Muscle Growth system). I know some of you will see some red flags in this, because of what I have said in the past about anorexia and Dysmorphia; however, there are videos on Cellucor that explain how the supplements work. I also want you to know that I am approaching this from the perspective of healthy, sustainable gains, not obsessive or exaggerated notions about my shape. Also, I am keeping the word “supplement” firmly in my mind: I am definitely eating (I just polished off a whole box of couscous with two chicken breasts, 1/8 yellow bell pepper, a cup of fresh spinach, and a handful of cherry tomatoes… and I’m still hungry. My baby gotta eat!).

Don’t worry: I AM EATING. I’m just getting polished up. Always remember, my little ones: Pain is temporary… Video is forever!!

I am not so worried about getting help with body fat – I have been trying to monitor refined carbs (CHOCOLATE!!!! xoxoxo I love you, and I miss you dearly… we shall meet again soon one day…), and I’m confident I can manage that on my own. But what I am preparing for right now is to do some photoshoots in the coming weeks and video shoots beginning at some point in June. I gotta get my sexy on in a hurry!

OMG… I have to hang with the Big Fellas again… I really do hope this isn’t Swinging Richards all over again. I’m not feeling (in terms of social mores) any conflict about this, and once I get some fine tuning done on the chassis I think my confidence will be just fine. I am excited at the idea of working with models who are gay. No matter what, that has got to make filming easier than what I did last summer: I really don’t dig working with Paysexual dudes. They’re pretty to look at sometimes, but the ladies can have them, thanks very much.

One of the reasons I wanted to wait to respond to the question posed on March 17, 2009′s entry concerning race is because I wanted to view the situation in a club outside of the South. Before I continue, I would like to add that I welcome comments and constructive discussions here; however, if I do say something that is insensitive or irresponsible, I invite anyone to point it out.

To paraphrase a concept articulated by Obama during his campaign: We can’t talk about race until we talk about race.

In the the Carolinas and Georgia, where most of my experience in clubs has occurred, there is a residual tendency to treat Black men as un-/non-/anti-sexual Others who are tolerated for “diversity’s” sake. I do not notice this overtly generalized and dismissive treatment towards Latinos, nor towards Asians; however, it does seem that White dancers with red/orange hair and fair skin fill a niche as equally narrow as Blacks seem to do.

I am sensitive about race and other parameters for identity, but I am not afraid of discussing them in simple terms.

So, as an experiment, when the dancers at Secrets in Washington, D.C. asked me last night what it’s like at Swinging Richards in Atlanta, GA and PT1109 in Columbia, SC, I said candidly, “You can do well, depending on the night. I’ve noticed that Black dancers struggle there, even if they work three times harder. That’s not the case for Latinos and Asians. Although overt racism in the traditional Southern mode is mostly gone, Black men are still mostly invisible as sexual entities to gay white men where I live.”

I started this conversation specifically because there was a Black dancer in the room, and I wanted to see what his response would be, in terms of being in D.C. (which for some reason people presume isn’t connected culturally to the South just because there are some embassies there and a few people who can read and write in French).

This was his response: “He’s right. White dudes in the club normally look past me. I do well at private parties where I have been booked specifically.”

“Why is that?” one of the White dancers asked.

“Well,” the Black dancer said, “look at magazines. What do you see?”

“White faces,” I replied. “There still aren’t anywhere near enough non-White models representing beauty. We are taught what is beautiful by what is implied, not simply by what is said.”

“For a long time I made most of my money off women,” the Black dancer added.

“Women don’t tip,” another dancer immediately chimed in.

“Yeah, they do,” the Black dancer shot back. “That was my whole career for years. But it’s not just the South – Black dudes don’t usually do well in New York City either.”

“It seems to me,” I said, “that women are often more sexually adventurous in their tastes, and that men often define their preferences more rigidly. And,” I added, just so that the Black dancer wouldn’t think that Devon “White Boy” Hunter has it made in the shade, “it’s not enough to be White. I’m completely invisible next to Brad. He’s the default setting for gay white male desire.”

“Yeah,” one of the Latino dancers added thoughtfully. “He’s blond haired, blue eyed, fair skin, perfect complexion, and built like a Greek god.”

“Mhm,” I added. “I’ll never be tall. White isn’t good enough: I’m short. I’m not hating on Brad: He’s perfect. He really is exquisite. But next to him, I might as well be Black.” (To which the Black dancer nodded in agreement and understanding.)

This is such a complicated, convoluted conversation in American culture. On the one hand I felt as if my thoughts had mostly been confirmed by this dialogue; however, there was the nagging part about Black guys not doing well in New York City. If what he says is true, then racism isn’t a Southern tradition (as so many presumptuous Yankees like to assume), but an American tradition (which definitely doesn’t make it any less awful just because racism ain’t a Suthren thang).

So, to more pointedly address the question of what my experience has been, in terms of interpreting how race affects gay male entertainers: White is the default preference for the manufacturer’s setting; Latino, Asian, Indian, and Native American are all exotic enough to be sexually alluring, despite their ethnic features; and Black is invisible. What I have seen is that White and Latino entertainers make the most money, that Asian dancers are often watched with some degree of skepticism at first, and that Black dancers (when they aren’t discouraged) are forced to work far too hard. And yet all of this can change, depending on issues surrounding personal style, attitude, stature, body type, and exotic features (e.g. an Asian dancer with blue eyes). And yet those individual nuances are lost if a patron completely marks the Black body in his mind only enough to avoid walking into ”it” like any chair.

I personally feel that there is a specific gap in the training of gay desire. There are simply not enough Afro-centric (or other minorities’) faces in the “All-American” homoerotic publications. People want what they see: So long as Black men aren’t held up as objects of beauty unto themselves on par with men of other races, Black entertainers will be relegated to Blacksploitative sexual imagery. I have met very few Black male adult entertainers who did not actively seek to align themselves with the clichés perpetrated by MTV and BET. What’s worse, the few Black dancers I’ve known who weren’t “ghetto” made even less money than their “hard” counterparts.

Is there not a space or two in one of Abercrombie’s group-shots of 13 nubile honkies for a little more realistic portrayal of our cultural landscape? What’s even more problematic is that I often sense that Black men who aren’t thugs are even more displaced outside of gay desire than their bruiser counterparts. Where do Black men in general (and non-Gangsta Black men specifically) fit within the framework of gay masturbation material?

Hear, hear for equal opportunity exploitation!

Yesterday was absolutely amazing…

I know that I am the type of person who has to experience and explore all the minutiae in a situation, even the really, really, really unpleasant ones. I have to run my fingers mentally along every sharp edge, and I have to get cut every way possible in order to grasp whatever stone it is I’m holding at the time. And I don’t just grasp it, I squeeze it hard, holding it deep inside myself and using the intensity of my emotions to superheat it. I take the lumps of coal in my life, and in my own slow, painstaking process, I turn them into diamonds. It cannot be rushed. It cannot be abbreviated. The process is as important as, if not more precious than, the product. It can take years.

About a month ago I began an excrutiating journey, looking at the way I form bonds with people and the ways in which I process interactions with them. I was given a tiny piece of information Saturday night at PT1109 by someone who didn’t even know how valuable his gift to me was: Based on how I now know he jumps from person to person in a desparate bid to find someone who can get him to feel something, I now know and totally embrace the fact that I didn’t do anything wrong with/to Allen. I was right to say good-bye and walk away.

With that one little keystone in place, my arches were suddenly completely solid and sure. They will stand for thousands of years. All the doubt that was making my walls unsteady is gone: I know that my instinct is a true foundation, and now I am completely comfortable building on the truth that I am responsible only for my own actions and feelings. And if that means that I judge someone or some situation to be incompatible with me for whatever reason, I do not have to justify it or apologize for it. I cannot doubt it. It is enough to realize that my instinct has spoken. Of course it’s easy for anyone to simply say these altruisms, but how intimately do people in general resonate with the truth of them? I no longer simply feel the truth in it, I know it. I have faith in it. This truth is as much a part of me now as my identity is.

With this diamond coming out of the mine, others began coming forth as well: If Allen’s emotional situation isn’t my fault, then it isn’t my fault that Scott or Michael abused me. I now don’t even feel as I need to offer the weak apology, “It takes two to tango – I tolerated it.” Fuck that. They intimidated, manipulated, and abused me, and the reason I “tolerated” it is because I didn’t have the time and space I needed to process it quicker. It’s hard enough to be responsible for me, so I refuse to do it for them. So, now that also means that Randy isn’t my fault either. Neither is my Dad. Neither are the homophobes who tried to grind me into dust. These people have to carry the responsibility for their own actions, I cannot do it for them anymore.

With that truth then comes this one: I love people, but I do not have to sacrifice everything in myself for them. If I give until my wings are tattered, that’s my choice, but I can choose more carefully to whom I give. Also, I will give because it feels good to me to do so, not because I am trying to fix the recipient. I feel the need to reiterate Devon’s Platinum Rule: Do unto yourself as you would have others do unto you.

I have been happiest in my life when I have been on my own. If you are in a relationship, and if you are happy, that’s great. BUT PLEASE DON’T PUSH YOUR RELATIONSHIP STATUS ON OTHERS. “Aw, but you’re so great – why are you alone?” Because… I FUCKING LIKE IT! I cannot say it enough: Being alone and being lonely are not necessarily the same. Not everyone is wired for long term situations: I do not need a man, I want a man. There is a huge gulf of difference between the two. I am so freaking pleased with being totally and utterly me, without having to make silly compromises about how I fold my socks or whether I load the dishwasher “properly.” I can lay a huge portion of my past challenges in this life at the feet of my relationships (e.g. anorexia, dysmorphia, inability to accept compliments, fear of vulnerability, etc.).

Whoever I meet as a perspective partner from this point forward had better be strong enough to be my man. He’d better have a fetish for big fellas too: My body might be only 5’7″ and 150 pounds, but my soul is at least 6′ and 180 pounds. He’d better be mature enough to mean it when he says, “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking and feeling.”

I would encourage anyone who has (or wants to develop) the emotional fortitude to stand it, to not push the grains of sand away immediately. When appropriate for you personally (actually, that is a misnomer, since irritation generally doesn’t feel appropriate), take those tiny spurs and embrace them. Lacquer them with your meditation, and turn them into pearls. I do not mean to say that you should look for agony, but there can be an exquisite type of beauty born of suffering. Do you think the earth felt nothing in forming its many staggering landscapes? Without becoming a martyr or masochistic about it, find the strength to surround your pain with wisdom.