Devon Hunter

Hi again, Devon - just read your post ‘…in the end’. What a testament to vulnerablility and strength! In fact, just from reading your thoughts in this short time that I’ve discovered them, I am struck with the idea that your vulnerability is your strength! As difficult as I think it must be, you are able to experience that one moment of float, of balanced well-being, long enough and often enough to experience the vulnerary effect that brings healing and a renewed sense of purpose. I hope to enjoy your insights for a long time to come and to learn to be willing to exert the effort that brings that moment of float into my experience, even if only once in awhile…always hoping to go from good to better. All the best to one of the best!

Dear Tom,

You have no idea how much I needed to be reminded of that post. The last few weeks have been pretty rough. Honestly, they’ve sucked ass. Badly. With sandpaper. But I couldn’t remember which post you were replying to, so I went back and reread “…in the end” - and I made myself cry a little. Being a sextuple Cancer ain’t easy.

Life is full of rhythms, and those cycles, by their definition, have high and low points. May and June I was definitely cresting. July… well… not so much. It feels like a nadir, if I’ve ever had one. However, I wanted to thank you for reminding me that I already knew that everything will be okay in the long run.

Yesterday I said to Keith Bailey, the photographer with whom I’m collaborating on a new project, that I feel like I have never in my life been in the right place at the right time. What total nonsense. That statement leapt out of my head and mouth because of tension about money. Take money out of the equation and there is a very simple truth: I have always been exactly where I needed to be, exactly when I needed to be there. Over the last few weeks I’ve been wanting to throw my hands up in resignation about almost every single aspect of the various situations that blend together to make “my life.” But that’s not really a mature option, now is it?

Thanks again Tom - you brought me back to center. I feel a little better. I think. (Surrender is difficult - it is an act of humility, and humiliation is painful at times.)

The title of this entry comes from a song by Madonna about her (then) newly born daughter. It seems fitting for a number of reasons. Before I go into what’s on my mind, I should first apologize for not blogging sooner: I had promised some wonderful stories, and all you got was silence. Let me explain…

Perhaps you have noticed that two separate times now there has been a listing in my bookings for San Diego called “Career Exploration” or something equally cryptic. I should go ahead and explain, for those who didn’t click the link to see what it was all about, that I have done two videos for the Sean Cody site. One is a solo video, the other is a duo. I am getting fatigued of driving to far away clubs just to have to hope that there will be a crowd with people who like me and are willing to tip. This is a modality of adult entertainment that is new to me. And I had some adjusting to do in my head. I will continue doing it as long as they call me. But it muddied the waters for me at first.

After my solo video everything was fine. But there are multiple layers of complication associated with the duo, and it has taken me a week to come back into balance. At the base of my turmoil was not guilt or shame for having done the videos, because I’m actually quite proud to have been recruited by Sean Cody. Think of it as one of the highest compliments I could have been given in my career field. What has been gnawing at me is the real fear that I am going to look totally pathetic compared to my scene fellow.

He showed up looking like a tank. In his pics he was slender, toned, and boyish with a floppy haircut. He arrived with a cropped dome, muscles nearly bursting from under his skin, and a tan so dark that I felt very pale by comparison. How is it possible for a 20-year-old to put on at least 20, if not 30, pounds of compact lean muscle in less than a year??? I felt like a grub next to him. I felt like Gollum.

He was straight, and that (along with many other layers of complication) made it difficult after the first four hours to keep an erection. The last three hours in particular were almost botched by my near inability to maintain appearances. This is definitely work. It isn’t sexy to do, but the editing process will take the 120 minutes captured from the 7-hour shoot, and refine it down to a polished 15-minute fantasy. Good enough. I’ll be pleased just to not look like a wimp beside the super-sized Fuller.

All this was very upsetting. But I have a brilliant friend who feeds me some of the most beautiful imagery at the times I need it most. As frustrating as it must be to have to repeat the same conversation over and over, she still keeps on trying to help me understand that I’m a star, and that I shine pretty brightly. She also reminds me with what must be desensitizing frequency that I am also full of love.

The wonderful extended metaphor I got from this person went something like this: You are like Apollo. You go flying by like a blinding light! You glow so brightly. You are so hot. But you’ve completely removed yourself from this place, almost like a star surrounded by the cold vacuum of space. You are a huge ball of beautiful energy, but no one can touch you. That must be very lonely.

It can be. Another reason I took so long to blog is because of something that happened on Facebook. My first boyfriend - I mean THE VERY FIRST - found me. That needs a totally separate entry. It’s that complex…

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!

My friend David, who often manages the door at Swinging Richards, made a comment this evening that made me pause for a moment. He’s attracted to one of the dancers on a romantic level, but said, “Rule #1: Don’t date strippers.”

“Why do you think I’ve been single so long? You say you shouldn’t date a stripper, but I don’t think strippers (in general) should date anyone. But why do you feel that?”

“Aside from the the obvious, I think dancers forget the value of a real relationship.”

“You think we don’t know how to accept anything from people anymore, not even compliments.”

“Exactly.”

And he has a valid point. I was at a birthday party last weekend, and I was being inundated with compliments from strangers. I wasn’t at work. I had literally just gotten off the plane from San Diego less than an hour prior. I was tired. I wasn’t thinking about being on my best behavior. And so I often just half-smiled and nodded as an overly-relaxed gesture of thanks.

One guy snapped me out of my stupor: “You’re an asshole.”

“What?!”

“I just paid you some major compliments, and all you can do is nod your head and look at me with pity?”

Wow. I’d not realized I was coming across that way. It definitely wasn’t intentional. Between that experience and David’s comments, I am realizing that there is a catch-22 going on here. Without compliments I have no external basis for feedback. But compliments individually are becoming more like white noise, especially the ones that seem like empty flattery. Sincere compliments I am still able to absorb some, but as awkward as it might sound, I’d really like it if people would talk TO me instead of AT me.

Some people, who will pointedly refuse to empathize with this “problem,” will say, “You get compliments at all. Stop complaining. There are people who get too few or none.” Yes. This is true, except I’m not complaining or bemoaning. I’m simply recognizing a side effect of this career (and I think all jobs jade us in ways particular to themselves): I have been suckled on compliments/flattery for so long that most of them fall flat. If a stranger forgoes introducing himself, jumps right to flirtation and flattery, and drops compliments overly easily… well… I’ve (without intending it) started giving them the priority I would give anyone at work who wants to talk but doesn’t commit to getting a dance/VIP: I smile, nod, and move quickly to other thoughts.

As much as I have enjoyed adult entertainment, it really can manifest some fucked up psychology.

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.