Devon Hunter

At the end of June, 2010 I gave a substantial interview to Jayson for his podcast. He interviews a variety of people, and I just happen to be one of the porn models he has interviewed. Jayson has a wide variety of conversations with many interesting people, and I would definitely encourage you to visit his site and peruse the archived conversations. I particularly enjoy the way Jayson injects witty, gay humor into EVERYTHING. He really is wonderful to talk to.

If you have 30 minutes (and the requisite interest in anything I would blab about), I suggest you listen to our conversation. We discussed so many different topics (in no particular order): Stripping, male and female poles, and the economy; DC FUK!T and safe sex; sexual objectification vs. dehumanization; spirituality and guilt; desperation; dating; pricing yourself as an escort; instinct vs. advice; and the list goes on and on. (Which reminds me: One of the very first blog entries I ever wrote came up in this conversation: Your Dollar is Worth About 88 Cents to Me)

I was speaking without a microphone close to my mouth, so I apologize if there are a few moments when Skype had trouble picking up my voice. Other than that, however, I feel that Jayson did a great job of asking a variety of pertinent questions. I welcome any responses here, and I’m sure Jayson wouldn’t mind if you stalked him.

Click here: Cock-2-Go Interview with Devon Hunter

It’s funny how certain conversations seem to happen in batches. This weekend I am visiting friends and seeing clients in DC. Last weekend I was dancing in Greenville, SC and Asheville, NC. I was booked for the latter first, which was a fundraiser, and since it interrupted my weekend I decided to book the former to have something to do. My good friend Roxy C. Morecox is a widely celebrated female illusionist, and we talk pretty candidly about the escorting. She asked me which I preferred, escorting or exotic dancing. Oddly enough, I have had three clients ask me that question recently too.

I have to say it: Unequivocally, I prefer escorting. The bookings at the clubs this weekend drew everything into sharp focus. I don’t do the clubs hardly ever anymore, so when I do I keep having the same reaction: I used to put up with this abject bullshit? Really?? For TWELVE YEARS???

First, my clients are ALWAYS sober, clean, polite, and respectful. The place where I meet them is comfortable, and I am very relaxed and happy with the time I spend with my clients. I walked into the doors at the clubs and already felt out of place. My asshole even puckered tightly shut when I first walked into one of the clubs. Really? I mean really?? Why does this place have to be so gross?

Let me start by comparing the two. Whether I escort or perform I have to be conscious of my body, appearance, hygiene, and manners. Regardless of which I am doing I also have to be very sensitive to others. Also, whether I dance or date I have to be on top of my business.

However…

When I escort my clients are ALWAYS gentlemen. When I dance, gentlemen are almost nowhere to be found. When I escort my clients compliment my appearance. When I dance I get told any number of insulting comments about whatever feature is most offensive in that particular moment. When I escort the men are interested in talking to me and knowing something about me. When I dance they are far more likely to do or say anthing possible to embarrass or humiliate me. When I escort I can pay my bills. When I dance I am commanded to do any number of ridiculously inappropriate sexual circus tricks for a dollar. When I escort I stay in comfortable hotels. When I dance, the club owners stick me in places that I would be ashamed for clients to see. When I escort there are never requests for barebacking. When I dance I have this thrown at me in the dressing room: “Can I fuck you raw? I am into felching. I like to wipe it on my face – it’s good for the skin.”

Are you kidding me with this? I even had one loathsome individual try to tip me with my own money. He was so high that he thought the tips I’d handed to a friend to count was the cash he’d brought in to tip me with. Ummmmmmm… no. Not so much.

I had a very good time laughing and dancing with Roxy, and I would love to travel with her some more; however, I made in an entire weekend what I can make in two hours without the sleepless nights, smoke, drug addicts, alcohol, wanton groping, and strained muscles/sore back.

I definitely prefer escorting.

I so wish my iPhone would allow me to transfer this voicemail onto my computer, so that I could share it with you… I have said many times in the past that my family knows what I do, but I’ve always mentioned it in reference to Mom and Gramma…

Well… lol hahahaha

When Dad calls me, it’s almost always a sing-song voicemail that he leaves for me. Today I woke up and got the following sung into my in-box:

“Oooo!  Oo, oo… yeah! Baby!

Shake that booty! We be callin’ you from Beautiful Booties, Inc.!

Is you shakin’ yo’ booty? It’s betta to shake than be shook! So… shake yo’ booty!

Is you makin’ yo’ money? Shake, shake… Shake yo’ booty!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO-TAAAAAAAY!

This has been a Beautiful Booties, Inc. production…”

I thought I was going to throw up, I was laughing so hard. I am keeping this voicemail, on the chance that I can ever figure out how to put it here on the blog. Honestly, if Dad could sing it would have ruined the whole effect. But the fact that he exaggerrates his tone-deafness just makes it that much more priceless. I hope you had a good weekend… and remember it’s better to shake than be shook. LOL

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!

I’m excited to announce that Scotty and I will be going to a location that is not only new to us, but new in general. An old favorite in Washington, D.C. called Ziegfeld’s/Secrets was closed down about three years ago and demolished, so that the baseball stadium could be built. After a long wait, the club reopened about a month ago, and the management there invited us to come up at our earliest convenience…

Well, that is this weekend!

If you live in the D.C. metro area, and you would like to come out and say hello, the new Ziegfeld’s/Secrets is located at:

1824 Half Street SW
Washington, D.C. 20024
http://www.secretsdc.com/

As with Swinging Richards in Atlanta, GA, this is a nude bar, so don’t be actin’ all shy when you walk in, and there’s buck nekkid peeps on all the bartops. Hope you are all well, and that some of y’all out in cyberland will come see me and say hello. I have been told that at this club there is no touching, lap dancing, or VIP giving. So, if you come out, be prepared to tip “only in the socks or armbands.” Evidently there’s a strict rule (as in Atlanta) about touching below the waist and above the knee.