Devon Hunter

“Question devon:

What does it take to be a male prostitute? Is there a college degree needed? Do your parents know that their gay child sells his scummy body with receding hair or were your parents of the same venue? These are questions that you need to answer yourself. Hopefully you will connect with the HIV virus sooner than later to eliminate your ugly scummy body mass from this earth.

How does it feel not paying any taxes; NO contribution of any kind to society ? Knowing that your future is about to end sooner than later?

Ever wonder about these items or do you justify being a sociopath? From one of your fans!!

”

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Answer smiley face:

I do not recognize your email address, so I’m not certain that we know one another; however, if we are acquainted and I have wronged you in some way, I apologize for that. Generally, it isn’t my intention to hurt people, particularly not to the point that they would choose to write me a note like this. If, however, we are not acquainted, I want you to know that although I haven’t hurt you, I am sorry that someone else has. It isn’t my place to apologize on behalf of the mistakes of other people, but I want you to know that you haven’t affected me, and that I hope you are able to work through whatever has been done to you. Whatever that was, you didn’t deserve it, but the only way to stop cycles like these is to consciously choose to break them. For this reason I am not going to reply to you again, no matter how/if you choose to address me after this. I have specifically created a beautiful and happy life for myself, and I hope you will also choose happiness.

I wish you peace,
Devon

(In the spirit of providing useful information and a place for intelligent dialogue, www.DevonHunter.info accepts well written blog entries about topics of concern to adult entertainment. The views expressed in the following article are not necessarily shared by the operators of the hosting site. Archived guest writers’ articles will be listed under Interviews & Essays.)

The hammer shook in Jamie Duncan’s tiny hand. The job of putting it back on his father’s garage workbench was forestalled by confusion and fear. Eight years old, he did not have the frame of reference needed to process what he was seeing. The frayed and battered tennis shoes, the ones his brother Benjamin wore every single day, were suspended about a yard from Jamie’s frightened face. Surprised amusement had surrendered quickly to shocked disbelief as Jamie noticed the white socks still peeking out from below his brother’s jeans, just above those beloved red canvas shoes.

A strangled scream, drowned in his panic, erupted from him as nothing but a strained whimper. Reaching out, Jamie touched his big brother’s leg, alien in its stillness. The younger boy could not remember a time when Benjamin had ever been so still; it was almost worse than the silence. Staggering back several feet, Jamie continued to stare at the cherry colored sneakers, terrified to look any higher and see his brother’s face.

“Benji?” Jamie whispered, his voice small and scared, it was almost as if he were trying to wake his big brother, like he did after he’d had a bad dream. In his heart, the little boy wished as hard as he could. In fact, some may have even called it prayer. He wished that Benjamin would wake up and tell him that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“Benji, I’m scared.” He thought about how his brother would sigh and pretend to be mad when Jamie woke him in the middle of the night. In the end, the older boy would always pull his blankets back, inviting his little brother in so he could protect Jamie from the monsters.
Jamie looked up to see his brother’s staring, unseeing eyes and he knew that the monsters had finally gotten Benji.

Standing as high as his little feet would allow, Jamie stretched up and pulled at his big brother’s T-shirt. He wanted to make Benji mad, to make him yell – because even yelling would be better than the silent blank stare. A crumpled piece of notebook paper fell from his brother’s slackened grip and dropped to the grungy floor. Not taking his eyes from those red sneakers, Jamie bent and scooped up the note.
Slowly, he sounded out each word like Mrs. Martin had taught him. Reading the words around the damp smudges, he thought maybe his brother had been writing in the rain.

Their hatred burns like fire, scorching, consuming
The very air blisters my lungs
I can’t breathe
Acrid smoke blocks out the sun
I can’t see
Roaring Flames engulf my soul
Everything lies in ruins
There is nothing left

I’m just so tired. I can’t fight anymore.
They tell me I’m going to go to hell for being a fag and maybe I am, but it can’t be any worse than school.
I’m so sorry. Please tell Jamie that I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be there to protect him but how can I do that when I can’t even protect myself?

Clutching the note against his chest, Jamie sank to the floor and pulled his knees up trying to protect himself from the weight of his brother’s confession. He knew what it was like for kids at school to be mean. Joey Thompson had pushed him off the bars at recess a few days ago. In his child’s view, he couldn’t understand why Benji didn’t tell a teacher. They had to have teachers in the tenth grade, just like they did in third.
The reality of his brother’s death became more real for Jamie as he held the note in his hand. He wanted to run, he wanted to tell someone, but he just couldn’t leave his brother alone. In that note Benji sounded scared. Benji would never have left him if he were feeling scared.
Jamie continued to sit on the cold concrete floor below his brother’s body and waited for someone to come.

RIP Lance Lundsten. He was on the verge of graduating from Jefferson High School in Minnesota.

I just read that yet another gay teen has committed suicide because of bullying, this time in Minnesota. I very much applaud the “It Gets Better” campaign, and I am especially glad that attention is being focused (finally) on this ongoing crisis within the LGBT community; however, I am getting tired quickly of being patient with a matrix that empowers homophobic bullies at the expense of people’s lives. It really is completely unacceptable in a “civilized” nation that this is even tolerated. It’s ironic that I would say this just as Martin Luther King’s day is closing out, but at what point does Malcom Q stand up and start hitting back? I am not Christian, and I do not hold with “turning the other cheek.” Those words sound nice on paper, but part of me wishes gay kids would beat the shit out of breeder bullies with a lot more frequency.

“Zack and Peterson are pleased to welcome a special guest to today’s show. Beaming in from Charlotte, NC is Devon Hunter, who is an adult film actor, escort, and dancer. He’s also an avid writer and blogger who reaches out to educate about the adult entertainment industry and queer culture. Throughout the discussion, we discuss the morality of pornography, its role in queer culture, straight actors who are ‘gay for pay,’ the different ways that people touch each other, and Devon even shares one of his poems with us. Devon is a bright guy with lots of insights to share, and it’s likely this is not his last appearance on Queer and Queerer. Check out Devon’s blog and leave your thoughts and questions!”

- from www.ZackFordBlogs.com (click to hear the 45-minute conversation)

Hello, all!

Here’s the link to the interview I did recently with MOC Blog. If you have any thoughts or responses, feel free to comment either here or at MOC Blog. I am adding this blog to my list of friends, and this link will also be under the Interviews tab at the top of the screen.