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).

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!

Devon,

What was it like when you first danced naked?

- C

Hello  C!

Well, there are different firsts. When I first danced in any state of undress at all (back in those innocent beginning days – HA!), I was standing backstage in a thong on the verge of throwing up. I heard them call my name, and for about three seconds I just stood there (remember: at that time I was still struggling with anorexia), fearing that people would boo, hiss, laugh, etc. After another short breath, I stepped out onto the stage, and got dizzy for about half a moment. But then it passed as I started moving: I fell into performance mode. And then it was fine.

Fast forward to Swinging Richards: That was my first experience with total nudity. Again, I was scared. But not to be naked. It was because the other dancers were so intimidating, not to mention that the manager is gruff. But again, I went into performance mode, and the cold sweat on my palms stopped distracting me. It was liberating, actually.

The next first was Secrets. Not only are you nude there, but you have to maintain an erection. I really had zero butterflies. By that point it was no longer a point of anxiety. Actually, I enjoy dancing at Secrets more than Swinging Richards. There’s something oddly satisfying about being able to play with yourself in front of people (which is absolutely not allowed on stage at Richards, at least not once your undies come off). By the end of the night I can’t stand touching my penis anymore. It’s numb.

Anyway, once you get past the initial trepidation, nudity is natural and has a healing effect (at least for me). Being completely “vulnerable” forces you to really know yourself (or to completely retreat behind walls… it’s a rather 50-50 chance you take). Beyond that, the only complaints I have about dancing nude at this point is when the damned clubs crank the A/C. It gets COLD!

One of the questions I received boils down to this: Are dancers who travel or work together truly friends, or does competition prevent that?

That depends on a great number of issues. Scotty and I are definitely truly friends, regardless of the money we do or don’t make around each other. We help each other in many ways, other than splitting the cost of travel. We collaborate in various ways, talk to each other about problems or concerns, and look out for each other in general. Two other guys who travel together are Will and Johnny, two beautiful Latino dancers from Miami. They really are friends.

Is it always like that? No. Probably not. I’m sure that there are people who travel together out of convenience or to lower indiviudal costs. I know of two dancers from Charlotte who no longer travel together, because one was always creating problems and not covering his share of the gas/hotel. They had no other connection, so the other dancer now refuses to travel with the mooch. It’s the same as any other working scenario: There are people you bond with, and people you tolerate (and people you avoid as well).

As for behind the scenes, I have already blogged about the competition that exists there. But that entry deals with dancers in general, not travel companions. I would say that people who consistently go place to place together over a long term will develop some kind of tolerance for each other (at a minimum), and that others get quite close. But relationships are always evolving. A perceived or actual insult, attack, theft, or any other number of bad experiences can sour a travelling duo’s connection just as quickly as anyone else’s.

My suggestion is to know the person you travel with. This person, if you share a room, will have access to your belongings. You wouldn’t want to get hijacked in your own car. You also need to know that the cash you’ll be keeping on you until you can take it to the bank will be vulnerable. I didn’t invite Scotty to travel with me until we’d danced together consistently for several months. After staying with him several times, eating with him, getting to know more about him as a person, and sharing info about myself with him (to see how he would treat it), I finally knew I could take him on the road with me. I have never had even a moment’s cause to regret that (note: Remind me, please someone, to one day tell you about the first trip we took together down to Macon, GA… HAHAHAHAHA!). But I got to know him first. We became friends first.

So, simple answer: No, not all who travel together are friends, but it’d be a good idea for them to at least respect each other.

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!