Devon Hunter

“How are you?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“Where are you from?”

“Ft. Lauderdale. There are other bystanders here for you to victimize. You can go now.”

“I’m glad this will be the only time I ever have to interact with you.”

Honestly, why would you go to a club that showcases dancers, and then act like we’re there to “victimize” you? I’ve had a variety of insults thrown at me, but that one is particularly hateful if you look at the terms this “person” used. The cover charge is only $5 at PT1109. Even if this “person” hadn’t known there’d be dancers, because he’s an out-of-towner, it wouldn’t have been a huge loss to turn around and walk back out (if dancers are offensive). Hell, they probably would’ve refunded the entry fee, if you stay that briefly.

There are at least two clubs in Ft. Lauderdale with male dancers. I don’t know what this patron’s interaction with them has possibly been, but when I encounter that level of toxicity I feel zero obligation to continue playing nice. These are the moments when I make patrons wake up and realize that I’m a human being, and not some kind of voodoo doll that can be abused in the place of whatever is causing them angst. I was so pissed with this person that I walked away with him yelling something indecipherable to my palm.

I was in a bad, bad mood already from sheer exhaustion. Of course, this patron didn’t know that, but I was not the stripper to sass that night. I then went and told the other dancers about his attitude problem. Dude got no play that night. If you think dancers don’t talk to each other, you better recognize. If he weren’t attracted to me, that’s fine. I definitely wasn’t attracted to him.

But that’s not the issue. How difficult is it to simply be polite?

It occurred to me, after reflecting some about my experience, at that party from last week, that there is a Jekyll & Hyde phenomenon lurking in many club patrons, gay men in particular. It also occurred to me that there is a day & night phenomenon that I want to explore for a few moments. What follows isn’t researched or cited - it’s simply my dialogue with myself about the observations I have about the patrons who disturb me most (keeping in mind throughout that what I will be saying doesn’t apply to ALL people, but is presented as over-simplified generalizations).

People associate metaphoric values to light/dark and day/night, conflating them with good/bad. I have a hypothesis: People almost seem to have it coded into their socializing DNA traits to act rowdy, or to allow their “darker” sides to come out at night. It’s too easy to say that Night is Dark, and thus people let their destructive natures blossom under the moonlight (like lillies of death, I suppose), as if night/dark is the very source of this “bad.”

I think there is a practical connection that goes way back. Without electricity and artificial lighting, your work day effectively ends when the sun goes down. Ergo, your most productive (i.e. work related) activities happen in the light. Once it’s night and you can no longer really do much, it makes sense that people would socialize at night around fires and dance, mingle, or drink. Same with the winter in general: If it’s too dark and cold to farm your land or do any work, then it is an obvious time of year to pack full of festivals and holidays in order to pass the time: Hours not devoted to work or sleep end up becoming hours devoted to play or relaxation.

What if, over the course of thousands of years, we have simply been bred to associate day with respectability and night with scandal? If you follow that line of thought, then in a religious culture that values toil above pleasure (rather than in balance with it), everything done at night becomes frivilous (and therefore non-, un-, or anti-”good”) by comparison. Everything you wouldn’t want people to see you doing, you do at night, under the cloak of darkness where you can hope for some modicum of anonymity. Night becomes a place to hide your shame or guilt.

In this way, all around the world, good, productive people rise and shine to do their respectable work. For a good portion of them there is an attitude that anything of Night must be myseterious, evil, salacious, dangerous, or immoral, since it is the time when productive people are worn out and go to bed. Night is the time of the unseen/unseeable. It is the time when those with something to hide emerge, like monsters out of nightmares.

If you look at my description of that party, it was attended by “upstanding professionals” who mostly happened to be older white, gay gentlemen. This is where the Jekyll & Hyde amongst patrons comes in. Given the way they were acting like rutting pigs at a trough, and given the wild (in some instances dangerous) looks their eyes, and given their total abandonment of all social decorum, exactly what about them should have spoken to their being doctors, lawyers, architects, etc.? How would I, or anyone else who doesn’t know them, ever guess that these grasping, slobbering troglodytes were “upstanding professionals?” If someone is an “upstanding professional,” shouldn’t that define who they are away from work as well? (I can hear it now: “I’m not an upstanding professional, but I play one from 9-5.”)

I don’t understand this dichotomy. I am the same person at night that I am all day long. I am more polite at work than I would be at my house, but I don’t resemble Janus, looking in two directions with every passing moment. I don’t divorce my noctural self from my diurnal self. I am always me. I don’t understand the outright hypocrisy of wearing two diametrically opposed masks. Which is the real you? Do you even know? Are both of them you, or does one compensate for the other? Are neither of them you, and you simply have no idea who you even are? If you, like most people I know, attach part of your identity to your profession, then what does it say about you that this identity slides away so readily when the illumination dims?

Let me be frank: There are many wonderful patrons who act just as civil at the club as they do at the grocery strore. But there is also a sizeable lot who frighten me: When I bump into them during the day, they scurry from my presence, as if I am something toxic or tainted (when usually it is I who should be trying to get away from them). At night they come slinking back with flattering apologies and small tips, bribing me to forget they were espied pretending to be respectable in some other place and time. I might play along more completely, if the dollar earned so respectably wasn’t so disrespectably tucked under my perineum with a lingering grope and a lecherous wink. When Hyde grins at me with my privates in his palm, I simply laugh inside and wonder where the doctor/lawyer/ teacher/politician/engineer is hiding.

The sun is going to rise soon… did you forget that? Or are you ignoring it on purpose? Who is the “upstanding professional” in this scenario? Is there one? The patrons I like and respect the most are not necessarily the ones who give me the most money, but the ones who give me the most hope that I am right in thinking that people, by and large, really are the ”upstanding professionals” they seem to be.

There is an art to giving a good lap dance, but there is also an art to receiving them. There are some people to whom I greatly enjoy giving dances, because they are so good at getting them. That might seem strange, but here are a few considerations while receiving your lap dance:

1. It may seem like a no-brainer, but please shower before you come to the club.
2. Brushing your teeth is good too.
3. The first few times you get a dance from an entertainer offer the cash up front. Once the dancer knows you, he’ll be more likely to be relaxed and let you pay afterwards.
4. Try to keep your knees closer together - it helps the dancer remain balanced while he’s standing over you.
5. Every person and place has different rules. Ask what type of touching is appropriate.
6. Wear khakis or some other soft material - denim hurts. (see strip club etiquette)
7. Avoid trying to put your fingers where they shouldn’t go. You may get an unexpected smack, or worse.
8. It’s usually offensive to negotiate - if you get quoted something you feel is truly ridiculous you can say something, but $20 for a song is pretty standard (yes, that’s $20 per song - expect to pay more per song if the dancer is wearing less). Don’t act like you’re in a Turkish market: This isn’t a rug you’re trying to dicker for.
9. A brief hug and some light chatting afterwards is acceptable, but avoid extending it into a conversation - the entertainer probably has to get situated or re-primped, and the club owners expect us to be walking around talking to people or on stage dancing. It’s not intended to be rude when we have to frolic off after your dance is completed.
10. Saying “thank you” is very endearing.

It’s natural, I think, to want to make as much money as possible, given that cash is the life’s blood of the economy we live in. I may not like it, but money is necessary. Sometimes I get so tired of chasing after a buck, but then I realized something today: I enjoy what I get paid to do, and that isn’t something to take lightly.

Often, entertainers (especially strippers, see differentiation here) will exaggerrate how much they make. We often claim to make a ridiculous sum of money, and some very well may; however, for the most part people say they make $x, when in fact it’s probably closer to $1/2 x, or even $1/3 x. Why the inflated claims? Because we don’t want to seem unattractive - if we admit to making only $1/3 x, then that must mean we’re ugly or unsuccessful. So, you end up with lots of bogus numbers when you try to get a feel for how well the night has been going (i.e. is everyone having a “good/bad/slow/busy” shift, or is it just me?).

I had been getting frustrated, because I know what I make, and I’m pretty candid about it if another entertainer asks. When I would try to check in with people, rather than simply saying, “I’m doing alright/good/bad tonight,” they’d said, “I’m already at $ridiculous!” I finally realized how much some people lie when a young stripper I know in Charlotte claimed to have made $1,500 one weekend at Chaser’s. <stifles laughter> Mhm, you better make that money, baby… (how do you draw an eye roll emoticon?)

Anyway, this is what I realized: The fact that I make any money at all, let alone more than I need, is a real reason to celebrate and be thankful. An entertainer I know from Swinging Richards, Carlos, brought that into my mind last weekend. He said, “If I make $200, I’m happy. If I make $400, I’m happy. Being greedy or attaching the amount you make to what you yourself are worth is only going to be a reason to be upset.”

He’s right. All the affirmations I receive from what I do have a whole new value now. When someone compliments me by saying something nice, or by giving me a tip, or by giving me a private dance, I have to simply accept that all these little niceties add up to a big truth (a truth that is sometimes difficult to accept): I am attractive. I am nice. I am doing a good job.

Whether anyone who gives me affirmations reads this or not, I want to send a thought out to them and to the Universe at large: THANK YOU. I am so grateful that I have the opportunity to do something that I enjoy, and I am sincere when I say that I am finally beginning to feel content with myself. Again, thank you.

How’s this for a little verbal exchange I had this weekend: “I don’t tip dancers.” “That’s why we don’t talk to you.” “Why do you degrade yourself this way?”

Wow. Let’s look at that scenario again… who do you think is feeling degraded by being in that club? It’s rather funny to me that so many people assume that being an entertainer is degrading. Hell, my mother even told me I should do it, so what’s a total stranger’s disapproval worth by comparison? How do you know I don’t derive satisfaction (and dare I say it?) pleasure or even pride from what I do?

Before you presume that all dancers must be pitiful, drug-addicted, broke, homeless miscreants, consider the following: I make in a night what many people make in one-three weeks; I drive a sweet convertible; I pay all my bills; I eat organic food; I have a personal trainer; I donate time/money to my community; I love my work; I have underwear that costs more than your outfit; and everyone in my family, all my friends, and my day-time job boss know what I do, and none of them have a problem with it. Sounds like I’m in a downward spiral. My life really sucks.

Hahahahahahahaha - I wish everyone loved their life as much as I love mine. If you think I’m degrading myself, maybe you should re-examine what it is you think you want from your own job and stop worrying about mine.