The online diary of a gay courtesan.

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.

Devon,

What was it like when you first danced naked?

- C

Hello  C!

Well, there are different firsts. When I first danced in any state of undress at all (back in those innocent beginning days – HA!), I was standing backstage in a thong on the verge of throwing up. I heard them call my name, and for about three seconds I just stood there (remember: at that time I was still struggling with anorexia), fearing that people would boo, hiss, laugh, etc. After another short breath, I stepped out onto the stage, and got dizzy for about half a moment. But then it passed as I started moving: I fell into performance mode. And then it was fine.

Fast forward to Swinging Richards: That was my first experience with total nudity. Again, I was scared. But not to be naked. It was because the other dancers were so intimidating, not to mention that the manager is gruff. But again, I went into performance mode, and the cold sweat on my palms stopped distracting me. It was liberating, actually.

The next first was Secrets. Not only are you nude there, but you have to maintain an erection. I really had zero butterflies. By that point it was no longer a point of anxiety. Actually, I enjoy dancing at Secrets more than Swinging Richards. There’s something oddly satisfying about being able to play with yourself in front of people (which is absolutely not allowed on stage at Richards, at least not once your undies come off). By the end of the night I can’t stand touching my penis anymore. It’s numb.

Anyway, once you get past the initial trepidation, nudity is natural and has a healing effect (at least for me). Being completely “vulnerable” forces you to really know yourself (or to completely retreat behind walls… it’s a rather 50-50 chance you take). Beyond that, the only complaints I have about dancing nude at this point is when the damned clubs crank the A/C. It gets COLD!

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!

“The universe knows what it’s doing.”

“I have to trust that everything happens for a reason.”

“God gives us only what we can shoulder.”

“Everthing will turn out okay in the end.”

There is a particular grace required to truly be content, despite any particular dissapointments life throws at us. The question of issues surrounding race has come up, and I intend to address it; however, I was speaking with a friend last night, and it occurred to me that there was a topic I wanted to address first: The humility of acceptance.

The platitudes above are clichés. But a statement becomes cliché, because it is repeated. And it is repeated, hopefully, because it’s true. “Everything will turn out okay in the end” can be a very frustrating default response when you’re telling someone your worries or troubles. It can seem like a shallow response (and if there’s no thought behind it, then it is). However, that type of reassurance, when it’s invested with real faith, is actually a compliment to you and to Creation: The person who says it believes you are strong enough to get past the challenge, and that person also believes Life has a purpose that will include you.

I was supposed to be famous by the time I was 22. I was supposed to have my debt paid off by now. Of all the men I’ve cherished, at least one of them one supposed to be nice to me. I could go on and on. But to what end? Focusing on not getting what you think you wanted just encourages bitterness and disappointment. I’m trying to learn to accept that I really do believe that everything happens for a reason.

I’m bracing myself for the possibility that I won’t be accepted into the Physical Therapy program I applied for. I am hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. Do I want to get accepted? Definitely! Will I be disappointed if I’m not? Probably. But won’t life go on regardless? Indubitably!

If I’m not accepted into that program, well… then I’ll keep on as I am (which ain’t so bad, mind you!), and keep looking for other options. I know I eventually need to make a life/career transition, so I’ll just come up with other options. In the meantime, I do have a workable plan to get my debt paid off, and THAT takes a huge load off my mind. It’s feasible, and I am excited to start it into motion. There are lots of people who run to me, male and female, who are nice to me, who respect me, and who treat me with care; so worrying about persons of the XY persuasion who do not make me feel good is not a reasonable option. The fame… well, looking at Michael Jackson, Britney Spears, and other victims of rampant “success,” I think that being known and respected at the level I am is compliment enough (for now).

Coming back into the light half of the year, I’m re-remembering that balance is a dynamic, active breath between polarities, often at the halfway point (but not always). When dancing, true balance is when you are weightless and effortless in your body, but it cannot be achieved without exerting and maintaining great energy. There’s something zen about that fact: Without the proper tone, extension in all directions, and a sense of expansion (all which require a great deal of exertion), the moment of float cannot be. And it is just a moment.

Anyway, somehow in all that what I’m trying to say is that you can’t be happy without actively creating it. If it seems like the world is denying you what you want, or if you feel blocked repeatedly, consider whether what you want is even feasible/possible/productive/heathful/positive and whether the way you’re going about trying to get it is even a means to that end. And if, despite all your rethinking and reordering, you still do not achieve something particular, then, so long as you aren’t compromising your safety or health (or that of others), consider being content without. Letting go of one desire frees your hands to grasp something even better.

William Forsythe, one of the most brilliant choreographers of the last 50 years, said to us repeatedly at UCLA: “No hope. No fear.” He meant that every moment can be beautiful, if you let it be exactly what it is, without trying to force your hopes (which can be dashed) upon anything. He is a master of improvisation, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he were investing set expectations on everything. There is nothing you can’t do, so long as you keep all your options open at all times. If you go in “knowing” what you want, there is a much greater chance you will not get it. Having a more generalized sense of what would be nice, and being open to different paths of approaching it, means you have almost no chance for failing.

Do not say “Everything will be okay in the end,” unless you really mean it. Wasting the thought waters it down. Thou shalt not speak clichés in vain. Use this phrase as a mantra to encourage you, not as a bored statement of defeat. Let your surrender be the means to your advantage, and your defeat will become a victory.

I wasn’t going to write this post. Despite all the ways in which I let people into my world, there are some topics that just seem off-limits; however, I need to begin the healing process, so I am going to blog about this. Even though it makes me feel naked and vulnerable (odd that being naked and vulnerable doesn’t make me feel naked and vulnerable, but that this issue does).

I blogged about two weeks ago that I’d finally forgiven my ex. Within hours of doing that the universe put someone in my path. I thought it was a sign that the world had been desperate for me to meet someone, and that since I’d put it off so long that there was an immediate blip on the radar. I’m trying very hard right now not to be angry, but what I feel is rage mingled with grief. I have been given a very distinct reminder about why I normally do not make myself available beyond friendship.

Allen streaked into my life like some kind of meteor: Brilliant and inspiring, but trailing destruction in his wake. Without realizing it, I had resolved to do everything on his terms, because he is so damaged and hurt that I wanted to make him as comfortable and happy as his ex’s made him miserable. What I realize now is that I made too many concessions, and that I lost sight of my own priorities in a bid to satisfy him and keep him around. When he asked for time and patience, I gave it. When he asked for more intimacy (despite having just asked for time to get to know me), I gave it – on the condition that he not lose interest afterward. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. So, I gave him what he said he was ready for. I am empathetic to the point of being psychic – I knew something was wrong immediately afterwards. When I finally let my cold walls down, I tend to incinerate people with my intensity. People should thank me for keeping myself boxed in – they generally can’t withstand the shock of seeing me in my fullness. It never takes long for me to burn someone out.

Eighteen hours later he is telling me about an ex for whom he still has feelings, and says he is overwhelmed and needs to slow everything down. Mhm. How’s this for slow enough: When he was online last night, he didn’t even say hello to me, let alone give me the promised response to an email (his preferred form of communication). He simply logged off. I sent him a good-bye text, deleted him from my phone, deleted and blocked him as best I could from other portals, and have decided to go back to my stance of “I don’t date.”

Let me explain that the reason I was completely ready to trust Allen is because we have so much in common: Movement/athletics/physical therapy, exotic dance background, legal adoption by cruel step fathers, extreme abuse by significant others, and a highly developed sense of empathy for others (despite an internal conflict between the need for love and the fear of it). The first night we met, he tipped me a $10 bill with a kind note on it. I have kept that tip for the last couple weeks, because it was special to me. I am depositing it in the bank today, so that I can buy some cat litter with my debit card.

What I have been reminded of is that when a gay guy says “I want a smart, kind, attractive, attentive man to love me,” what he means is “I want several douche nozzles to use me badly. Alot.” This blog takes on a bitter tone that I normally do not vent here; however, it is what I am experiencing right now, and if I am going to assert that adult entertainers have feelings too, then I have to occasionally let you see the darker moods too. I am not well.

This will take some time. But I mend quickly. If the damage isn’t too great. I am fucking fabulous. I want to lay down and die, I am so embarrassed. “I like you so much!” Not enough, it seems. The bad thing about meteors is that even small ones leave large craters.