Devon Hunter

Dear QueerClick,

We have some unfinished business, you and I. But before I address any of that, I want you to know that I am not ranting as I write this. Although Howard at Fabscout and a fellow gay porn blogger bore the brunt of that fury last night, I want to be clear that I am writing this morning with the calm tone of cool “detachment.” Last night I felt that people were right, and that what happened last night on Twitter didn’t matter; however, this morning I realize that although I’m not screaming into a telephone, I am still aware of the need to get these justified feelings out of my head.

In June of 2010 your company published my legal name. I have a series of emails that I can publish if you want to deny it now (and I also have screen captures of all the Tweets from last night), but at that time your QC Features Editor was falling over himself to apologize to me. He even went so far as to say in public on this blog that he would, “spend the rest of my professional career ensuring that I never unwittingly injure another as I have [Devon]. May he and the others I’ve disappointed find it in their hearts to forgive us.” Although most readers didn’t accept that at the time, between the public statements and the private ones between you and I, I decided to let this go as much as possible.

However, that has now changed…

Although eight or nine months have passed, and although you, QueerClick, no longer have to worry about what has become a buried moment of ineptitude, people took screen captures of your story. I don’t blog everything that happens to me (though it may seem like it at times), but I want you to know that I still contend with isolated instances of harassment from abjectly crazy people. I would also point out that it took four months for all the cashed versions of this gaffe to finally rotate out of Google’s database. I don’t believe you are evil in the purposefully hurtful way that is obvious to anyone. No, I believe you are evil, QueerClick, in the subtler, “unintentional” way of acting irresponsibly and then being detached from your connection to the Cause/Effect that your meat grinder creates. I believe you’re evil, because you behave in the manner of any other cold, mechanical corporation that does what it does to generate the money it wants, no matter the cost. And this is where I will always have more value than you, despite being a single person: Your entire site and everything you do on it is geared toward money, and everything my site does is geared toward people. I win. Every time.

Now, QueerClick, let me explain to you with a level head and calm tone why you suck demon cock:

1. No one ever mentions you to me when they ask about that fiasco from last June. They only ever ask about Sean Cody. And I’ve never really put much effort into bringing you up, because (until last night) I wanted to believe your public and private mea culpas. But now that has changed: I will, from now on, continue mentioning your name as well. I’m not inventing it: In the public comments on this blog I watched you avoid removing my legal name from that cover story as long as possible. It might have been a mistake to include my legal name with Sean Cody’s press release, but your “writers” used my legal name in the body of that story that YOU wrote, in the captions of the pictures throughout the story, and within the title of the URL address. On the public comment section of “A rose by any other name…” my readers had to mention each one of these separate “horrible, inexcusable, and irreversible” mistakes – you were looking for ways to leave my name in that fucking piece of rubbish article the entire time.
2. You say repeatedly that you are not affiliated with Sean Cody beyond the level that they are advertisers, and to this I say, “Bullshit, you’re a liar.” I don’t know who Tweets on behalf of your company, but please tell this person for me that s/he is a complete and total Twat. Please do not bother erasing/denying what I am about to describe: I have screen captures of the exchange. Last night you Tweeted about a “new” model who had been brought to your attention by some magazine. I clicked on the link, and was taken to a photo shoot of a model named Simon. This immediately irked me, and reminded me of the “non-connection” between you and Sean Cody, because this “new model” is Simon Dexter (aka “Harley,” possibly the single most popular model Sean Cody has ever had).
3. I pointed this “mistake” out to you. And do you remember what your response to me was? Do you know what you actually said to ME of all the ants crawling around on this picnic table? You said, “OMG! You’re right! We got caught up in the armpit and forgot to look closely! LOL” What may look like a simple gaffe to you and everyone else sent me from irritated into full rage. How dare you, only eight months later, already fall into the same exact carelessness that perpetuated this entire problem in the first place? How dare you admit that “gaffe” to ME of all people, and IN PUBLIC?!
4. You didn’t respond when I  asked whether the magazine that “alerted us to this smokin’ hot new model shot by Dylan Rosser” was in fact the magazine that Simon Dexter himself started. So, is it? Don’t pretend Simon Dexter isn’t starting his own fashion magazine: He’s such a clueless megalomaniac that Simon actually asked me to write for it, so I know it’s at least getting ready to be launched, if it hasn’t already. So, I want to know: Is the magazine that just happened to clue you in to Simon’s existence the same one he himself started? In short, did “Harley” from Sean Cody clue you in to his existence as a model? I’m assuming “Harley” would need to tell you himself, since there is such a gulf of separation between you and Sean Cody…
5. Although you skimmed over that detail on Twitter last night, you did do that which set me off to the point that I lost my voice from screaming (although I am not screaming right now): “[We] fully admit it was an error to publish your name we found on the web, we apologized and did remove it. What you choose to do with that is fine. We get it. You can be pissed.” Let’s look at this: You admitted on my blog and in private that you utterly fucked up to the point that you may have been worried I could sue you, yes; however, you never, to my knowledge, gave the same amount of coverage to the apology as you gave to my humiliation. You didn’t find my name on the web, it was provided to you, and then you provided it to everyone else. You apologized and removed it only in painfully protracted stages under public pressure, and did nothing to get it out of Google’s memory before it expired on its own in October. What I “choose to do with it” isn’t under your authority to grant. You “get” exactly nothing, and if I want, I am entitled to be pissed for the rest of my goddamned life! All I did was describe my experience working for Sean Cody: YOU PEOPLE TRIED TO RUIN ME BECAUSE OF IT.
6. Although I agree with my gay porn blogger confidante that you aren’t purposefully malicious, I want to point out that you are a company composed of hack writers with no sense of morality or work ethic; you steal material from others without citing their contributions; you, by your own admission, release and spread information without checking it; and you completely feed into the exploitation of the human beings who give you anything worth writing about in the first place. I am not your cannon fodder, QueerClick, and neither are any of the other models you chew through on a daily basis.
7. You have the cold audacity to think you actually understand what you have done. You don’t get it AT ALL. You do not appreciate AT ALL the way in which you have made me vulnerable to crazy people. If you really wanted to attempt to do right by me, you would give the same word count and central placement on your heavily trafficked blog to describing your “oversight” and apologizing to me as you did in “unintentionally” feeding into the behavior that proved I was right about Sean Cody in the first place. You would at least pretend not to be so incestuously connected to that company. And you would stop acting like a tabloid muckraker. You can make your money, of course; however, do you have to invest so completely in being the very worst of the exploitative stereotype that is attached to this industry? All I am asking for you to do is act like a human being.

I feel better for now. I don’t know who is in charge of public relations at QueerClick and Sean Cody, but both of these people should get sacked for neglecting their duties. Please know that I continue to hold you at the level of esteem that you deserve,

Devon Hunter

It is time to look for a day job to supplement my dance income. I’m tired of depending these last six months on the whim of patrons. This week has been the single worst I’ve had in nearly a year… It’s so bad that I’ve considered some options that, for me, aren’t options. And, to top it off, there’s a long-standing issue that is coming more to the fore as the economy goes from bad to poor…

There is a particular fetish that has been built up to the point that it is endemic amongst gay men, and, to be frank, it’s completely pissing me off. It’s particularly bad in Atlanta. And I’m going to rant about it. And if you don’t want to read it, then you better come back another day. Because I’m just about to the point, after several years of brushing it off with “Well, everyone has their preferences,” of telling gay men to go fuck themselves.

People want what they can’t have.

Bullshit! They want what they’ve been told they want.

Gay men have been programmed by a homophobic society to believe that straight men are the pennacle of sexuality/sexual desire/atractiveness (which fits, given that this affords preference to the heterosexual men who create and reinforce this ludicrous supposition). Gay men have been damaged by this homophobic society to the point that they can’t even be nice to each other, because we haven’t been given the opportunity to learn how to conceptualize anything beyond the stereotypical hook ups that straight men corner us into accepting as our lot as the dysfunctional perverts they think we are (and which we’ve too often become). Also, because there are no institutions that empower same-sex desire/love/relationships that balance out the institutions that disempower same-sex desire/love/relationships, there is no wide-scale acceptance amongst most gay men that it’s even a true possibility. No, it’s not enough that a few states in New England have finally legalized gay marriage in the last year or two. So don’t even put that up as an argument, or I will have to slap the taste out of your mouth.

And so, here we are. Left with the self-loathing homophobia that powers gay libidos. All these gay slots and tabs looking for straight counterparts. Well, excuse me, but fuck you. BrokeStraightGuys.com? Fuck you! FirstGaySex.com? Fuck you too!

I was told to my face last night that if I “were to just be a straight guy” I’d be “perfect” and then this patron “could finally get a lap dance” from me. Go get therapy, asshole. That says a whole lot more about you than it does me.

And since I’m being completely honest here:

1. Straight men ARE obtainable. Look around, you stupid fags! Seventy-five to ninety percent of the men in gay porn are STRAIGHT. The same proportion are straight in gay clubs with male dancers. Don’t delude yourself anymore. For being unobtainable, they sure look pretty obtainable to me with their legs up in the air. “I’d have to get alot of money to do anything gay.” Oh? What does this mean, breeder? That you think it contemptable, nasty, dirty, perverted? And so then, stupid fags, HOW IS IT DESIREABLE TO SEE A STRAIGHT GUY DO THAT WHICH HE HATES? How does this build up your gay identity to demean a straight man who is only tolerating your loathsome self because of money? And you think that’s hot? You think it’s hot to see a straight dude cringe with pain and disgust as he’s getting ram-fucked for $x??? You’re worse than the straight guy. Get out of my sight.
2. If all the straight men in gay adult entertainment were removed from it, the industry would be bereft of talent, because there wouldn’t be hardly anyone left doing it. And do you want to know why? Because YOU keep buying into the utterly fucked up notion that straight men are better than gay men.
3. Here’s a wake up call: Most of the breeders you give all your money to walk away from you, removing their smiling faces from your presence, and then go talk shit about you once you’re out of earshot. Period. End of discussion. I have held my tongue for a very long time, but I’m about to the point of calling them out when they talk shit in front of me about YOU. And if that doesn’t work I’m going to go to the patrons and tell them what is being said about them. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to put up with this anymore. I think it’s fair to level the playing field: I’m just an undesireable homo? Okay. Fine. Well the straight guys are dickheads who generally despise you, even though they’re the ones “lowering themselves” in the first place. Now who’s more desireable? Oh? It’s still the straight guy? You know what, I don’t want your money after all. Use it to get some Zyprexa. You need it.
4. To deny you are oppressed is to aid in your oppression, but to pay for your oppression with your own effort and resources renders you a slave. A fully neurotic slave. Get therapy. (Get that Zyprexa I just mentioned.) Get a life. Get out of my face.
5. “But I like men who act like men.” You’re going to say that to me?? Right into my motherfucking face?! Fuck you! How about I punch you in your goddamned mouth for saying that to me? Would that make me butch enough to get a lap dance out of your pansy ass? Nevermind, I don’t give lap dances to fags. Only straight guys. There, how’s that? How stupid does that sound? Now try hearing it from the other direction, and think about why I’m so pissed.
6. The straight entertainers will NEVER be yours. Not even sexually. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to touch them. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to suck their cocks. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to have sex with them. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay for anything. You are paying for their tricked-out rides, for their girlfriend’s boob job, for their steroids, for their babies, and for their contempt. You are wasting your time, money, and hope when you give them to straight men. I’ve been saying this throughout my entire blog, even going back to almost the very beginning with “Gay men fawning over straight dancers.”
7. You are far, far, far, far, far more likely to get your cock in a straight guy’s ass at Swinging Richards than a gay one’s. If you hear of someone getting bareback fucked in VIP, who is it? One of the gay dancers? No. Never. Not once in two years have I seen a gay dancer get fired/suspended from that club for having sex in VIP. So then, here’s where the logic loses its legs: If straight guys are so fucking unobtainable, why are they the only ones putting out? You think you can go to Blake’s and pick me up for free on a Wednesday night? Fuck you, you’d better save up your money to buy one of the unobtainable straight guys you like so much, because you’ll NEVER get this proudly flaming fag to do in VIP what those nasty straight tricks do as their default setting. Who’s unobtainable now, asshole?

This weekend I was at PT1109, and I guess it was time for my annual Spring nuclear meltdown. It’s my way of doing a thorough emotional Spring cleaning. I’m not proud of it, and I generally feel deep shame for about three-five days after it happens. I have had one every year in either April or May ever since I can remember. I’m normally very even-keeled (for a gay guy), but (over the course of a year) various tiny shreds of stress will pile up in a dry heap, and then someone will do or say something that causes a spark. And then… well…

I was going around the bartop, and I looked down to see three guys at the end of the circuit. I am familiar with the third person, having chatted with him numerous times. The other two (unbeknownst to me) were a couple. I thought one of these two was about to pull his penis out, since it looked like his button was unsnapped, looked like his hand was down the front of his pants, and it appeared he was pulling up, as if about to pull it right on out. This, of course, is against the rules. If I’d known then that this fairly innocuous situation was going to nosebomb out of control, I would have been curt in interrupting what I genuinely thought was about to be a “no no” moment and would have moved along.

However, in trying to keep from offending people, I made a game of it. “Oh! You’re tired of looking at mine, so now I finally get to see yours?” The guy with his hand in his pants just smiled, took his hand out, and made light of it. The man next to him, however, got his feathers ruffled up. I thought it’d be a nice gesture to flirt with him too, so as not to seem like a kill-joy.

“Hello, what’s your name?”

“I’m S____, and he’s my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t ask who he is, I asked who you are,” I said with a teasing tone. ”What’s your name again?”

“S____.”

“Nice to meet you, S____.” (Insert hand shake) “And what’s your name?”

“M____.”

“Nice to meet you M____.” (Insert hand shake)

This is the moment where everything spiraled out of control. It has been made known to me (48 hours later) that “M” has evidently voiced a flattering appraisal of my appearance in the past, and that “S” is upset at me because of this. It should also be mentioned that the other three dancers that night not only flirted with “S” and “M,” but that they also hugged and squeezed on the couple as well (in addition to the third person who was sitting next to them). I do not know “S,” and I’d seen “M” only in passing for about a year. I’d never seen the two together that I can recall, didn’t know that they were a couple, and didn’t know that I was the only dancer not allowed to “flirt” with “S”‘s man. After I shook “M”‘s hand I stood up to leave when “S” made a disgusted face and gave me a “you’re dismissed” flick of the wrist. His utter disdain was the spark that lit me up.

“Do not dismiss me. Ever.”

“I just did.”

“You’re not in a position to dismiss me.”

From there it descended into a shouting match in front of the entire crowd. We exchanged angry threats and abusive names. I was going to walk away, but then “S” started yelling at the bartender about me. So I went back over. “No! We can have this conversation with me right here, bitch!”

“You were hitting on my boyfriend!”

“YOU’RE IN A FUCKING STRIP CLUB!” I roared so loudly that I could be heard clearly over the music. I was shaking with rage, and it was all I could do to pull my finger out of ”S”‘s face. At that I stormed away.

It turns out that “S” is a friend of the owner of the bar. I really am completely non-plussed by this fact. There are other issues here that are more important: Aside from the various dysfunctions that have been accumulating in the background in this club, the couple in question were possibly already drunk when they came in, the bartenders gave them more alcohol (perhaps because they were scared to “cut off” friends of the owner?), and I got involved with them only because I thought ”M” was about to commit a major faux pas. I am not going to apologize to anyone for anything. The only mistake I feel I made was allowing the dismissal from someone I don’t even know to burn me so badly.

It seems that “S” is a person of some importance in the local gay community. That, too, is irrelevant in my mind. I don’t recall ever seeing him before in the two years that I’ve danced at PT1109, didn’t know he had a problem with me, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to interact with the person who happens to be his boyfriend, and didn’t know that ”S” had any special privileges because of his connection to the owner. If people expect me to know this fucking bullshit, then they should let me in on these facts.

The bottom line is this: I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re Barack Obama himself. In the dark with a drink in your hand, if you’re crunk and hollaring in a bar, you’re just another inebriated asshole to me. I don’t care who you think you are - I am not the one to dismiss because you have the mistaken notion that I want anything but a dollar from your boyfriend.

In the meantime my pride is healing slowly. These yearly explosions embarrass me completely. They make me feel like I’m out of control of myself. And they make me feel stupid. I’m not sorry that I yelled at “S,” I’m sorry that someone of so little importance to me became far too important in such a short time. Although I am ashamed of the outburst, I don’t feel obliged to apologize for it. Maybe that seems complicated or ridiculous, but if anyone owes anyone anything, “S” owes me a dollar for shaking his hand without vomiting on him.

Dear Devon,

I was wondering… Is there anyone who should absolutely not dance? I mean, other than looks wise, is there something about a person that should be a red flag to not get into it? My sister is interested in dancing, but I think she lives too dangerously to be good at it.

- Big Brother

Dear Big Brother,

I can definitely appreciate why you would have trepidation. Aside from the fact that there are negative temptations, potentials for danger, and sharks in the dark waters, this is also your little sister. Perhaps she isn’t all that innocent, but you can’t help but be protective of her, right? It’s natural.

I am not going to dismiss your concerns (because of all the many reasons that should alarm you); however, more than the external influences, the primary fear I have is the part where you say your sister “lives too dangerously.” What does that mean? She rides bicycles without a helmet? Or, if that is the least of your worries, does she have a history of making choices that have put her in with people or practices that are beyond wreckless/careless and bordering/converging on self-destructive?

I can tell you this right now: People who go into adult entertainment because of desperation are walking down a dangerous road. I have said this before, but it bears repeating. People who go into any form of adult entertainment (dancing, videos, sex work, etc.) because of drug habits, alcohol abuse, a sense of hopelessness, suicidal tendencies, or any other form of severe life disruptions are placed at greater risk of making choices that put them directly in the way of harm. If your sister has a preponderance for being drunk or high, she should not go into exotic dancing. There are too many people who will take advantage of that. But I’m altruistic in this detail, perhaps. I know lots of dancers who drink and get high, and who have never been accosted… but still… the risk is so much greater.

Aside from people who would be coming to the career out of desparation, people who have severe self-esteem issues should be careful. If you get affrimation, it may help you (temporarily), but if you get rejection, it may further damage you. It’s probably 50-50 there. Personally, I wish that people of the stripper mentality wouldn’t go into exotic dancing, just because it makes everything more difficult for me. But strippers gotta eat too, I suppose.

Finally, and this is something you have to be truthful to yourself about, if you have any problems with being touched intimately, you should definitely not become an exotic dancer (or any other type of adult entertainer). People with a history of sexual violence or abuse being perpetrated on them should consider carefully whether or not they are emotionally and psychologically able to tolerate sexual touches. There are different types of touch, and you need to be realistic about what you can tolerate, and to what degree.

I just got back from Secrets. I’m exhausted. The last month has been road trip after road trip, and I am going to try to take this coming weekend off completely. I have so much blogging to catch up on, and I want to thank everyone who emailed me questions/topics. I fully intend to catch up with all of this in the coming days as I rest and recover.

But there is something grave I need to address first.

I have spoken already about the potentially abusive relationship that can exist between patrons and entertainers, especially when patrons become obsessive. This is stalking. I am not going to address this again here. This weekend I witnessed an entertainer who is being abused by another entertainer. They are boyfriends. The problem with abusive boyfriends is that they can be so beguiling and charming at first…

Having survived abuse, I already know most of the excuses, apologies, and lies that abused people use to defend the people who hurt them. When you encounter someone who is being victimized by his/her partner, it is difficult to know how much to intrude. I personally wouldn’t want to accidentally escalate a situation (which as bad as it might be in front of others could become much worse in private); however, I also cannot turn a blind eye.

Adult entertainment attracts all types of people. Some of them are unsavory and/or dysfuntional. These people may be club owners, booking agents, film directors, patrons… or the entertainers themselves. Given the reputation lumped upon most entertainers in general, it goes without saying that there must be a reason for this: There are some horrible people who dance in clubs. Definitely not all, or even most, but entertainers need to pay attention to other entertainers.

I was very excited the last time I almost dated, because the person in question had worked as a go-go dancer, and didn’t judge me because of my work. It is common for adult entertainers to pair off with each other – we understand each other. And yet, that means that there is the potential for you as an entertainer to connect with one of those unsavory people I just mentioned, thinking that it will be a good match. But you must always pay attention.

I got pretty forceful with one of the dancers. I think I probably put him on the spot (in private) unexpectedly. He is, in my opinion, at the stage of the abusive relationship where he is not willing to accept that he is being abused. But when I consistently see his partner treat him like a servant, start physical brawls over nothing, insult him with names, degrade him by calling him female slurs, make forceful attempts to kick/punch/slap him, and discuss with other entertainers the best way to “be the man in the relationship” by limiting the person in question’s ability to function by cutting off access to the car, then my conscience forces me to act. If his abusive partner is going to make this public, where I have to see it, then it’s an invitation to become involved.

I told this beautiful, sweet-natured, warm, friendly man that when he was ready to accept that he needed to get away that he can call or email me. If he needs a few days to figure out how to get home to his family, and needs a safe place to get far away from the verbal and physical blows, he can use my home as a sanctuary. I cannot pretend to not know what is plain before my own eyes. Even though he is still at the point where he says, “Oh, he’s just aggressive. It’s the steroids. You can’t take him too seriously. He’s actually a really nice guy,” he will eventually (I hope) come to recognize the lie in this. How many times do you have to tell me someone isn’t a douche bag? Shouldn’t I be able to see that on my own?

If you are an entertainer, there are going to be times when you are very lonely. You will want to connect with someone. You might be tempted to look for love within the career. And that’s totally fine; however, make certain that you practice the same vetting process on the private side of the velvet rope as you do on the public side. Make certain that you pay attention, regardless of the career of the person you cling to. But, without trying to feed into a stereotype, recognize that the odds of picking a bad apple may be worse if you pick from this particular barrel.