Devon Hunter

Last night I had a fantastic party at my place. Friends, family, and neighbors all came over to see my apartment, and we did some early birthday celebrating. I really felt surrounded by happiness. It wasn’t a housewarming as much as it was a heartwarming. I know some pretty fucking awesome people, and I hope you do as well.

I am writing this specifically for the people (friends, family, clients, acquaintances, readers, etc.) who have been calling, emailing, and texting. I have tried to reply to each individual, because I don’t want people worrying about me; however, it’s hard to keep up with the outpouring of support. It’s amazing to have so many people express that. It really is. Thank you!

I want you all to know, if you ever doubted it, that I am made of pretty strong stuff. I apologize if my recent blogging has created a “conversation” in the broader blogosphere that has upset you or caused you worry. I am doing perfectly fine, and I embrace you (even if I haven’t been able to say it to you directly).

It will be in other parties’ interest to make me look as bad as possible (in the eventuality of further action), but my testament is still posted here without revisions. Hopefully THAT tells you what you need to know. I wish you well, and thank you for your encouragement.

NOTE:

If you care to pose alternative observations to those I state on my blog, you are welcome and invited to submit your comments ON THE CONDITION THAT YOU REMAIN CIVIL. I have heard through friends that I am being criticized for not allowing more contrary discussion here. Let me be frank: This is MY blog, and it has a purpose. That purpose is not to allow anonymous strangers to vomit acid all over me. If you care to join the discussion from a different perspective, please do so with intelligence and a calm voice. If you recontextualize your comments within a framework of dialogue, rather than hysterical ranting, I will be quite happy to approve your comments.

So, I went out last night (Tuesday Trivial Pursuit at Petra’s in Charlotte, NC) for the first time in quite a while. Every time I go out for fun I remember why I don’t. Over the course of about four hours I had umpteen random people come up to me (most of whom I had never seen before) and criticize something about the way I looked or the way I was dressed. I was on the receiving end of several cutting remarks about what I do, and I was called up on stage by the female impersonator hosting the event who said in front of about 150 people, “This is the only stripper I’ve ever known whom I would call an entertainer.” Mhm.

Here’s one exchange I had a few moments later: “You look very nice tonight.”

“Thank you. How are you?”

“I’m good. You’re that stripper, right?”

“Which stripper?”

“That guy that does all the flips and shit.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m probably that person, yes.”

“You look really hot. Can I take you home?”

“I came here with a friend. He’s my ride back.”

“Well, when you’re dressed like that it screams ‘Whore!’ I’m just saying.”

I was wearing jeans and a tank top with a baseball cap.

“Funny, I thought it was more of a whisper.”

I was pinched, poked, prodded, rubbed, humped, squeezed, and canoodled until I was just about done with being gracious. I finally settled into a nice conversation on the back patio, but before that happened I had to get ornery with someone: One boy came up to me randomly and said, “You are sooo fucking hot. But I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh? What have you heard?”

“That you’re a dancer.”

“I am a dancer.”

“Oh, well I don’t hold that against you. I’m cool with that.”

“Ah. Well, what do you do?”

“I work at Best Buy. I’m in retail.”

“Oh, well I don’t hold that against you. I’m cool with that.”

He went and sat down.

This could probably be alleviated by going out more. I am seen so seldom in my clothes that people just don’t know how to relate to me as a real person. I suppose I should start breaking down the social wall a little bit more, and letting people see me as I am. But that means I’ll have to contend with alot of sniping and mean bullshit along the way.

A total stranger walked up to me, and said, “So, did you tear the sleeves off that shirt?”

“No, it’s a tank top. I bought it like this.”

“Well, I’d like it better on a woman. I’m sure everyone else likes it just fine, but I’m straight.”

(Blink, blink… what the hell am I supposed to say to that?)

“Alright.” And then I turned away. What else is required here? I have no idea.

Part of me desperately wants to go out and be around people more (without it being in a work setting), but another part of me just rolls his eyes and thinks it’d be better to just stay at home with the cat. I like people, I truly do; however, there are times I just want to smack them. I have to admit that this is beginning to wear me out.

Probably the most hurtful non-interaction was with someone with whom I’ve hooked up several times. He kept walking by me with his head down, refusing to look at me. I finally approached him and said hello. He acted surprised to see me, and we had a very uncomfortable 30-second chat. About an hour later I left to go home. Immediately he texted me, “Sorry we couldn’t talk more. Let’s fuck again soon.” I think not.

I went to a very large party today for the first time in I don’t know how long. There must have been almost 100 gay men there, nearly all of whom were upstanding professionals in their 40′s – 60′s. Essentially it looked like I was walking into a gay bar frequented by older gentlemen, and that the club just happened to be at someone’s house.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. As soon as I saw how busy it was I started to feel panicky. I’ve gotten so used to relating to people in a flirtatious or sexualized and nearly anonymous manner at the clubs where I work that I was nervous about seeing people in the daylight with all my clothes on. I don’t think I realized how much I’d disconnected from daytime living. The first place I went was to the kitchen for a glass of wine (which is odd, since I rarely drink).

I went there with a delightful friend, Dave Haywards of Touching Up Our Roots, Inc.: Georgia’s LGBT History Project, who is interested in helping me with finding performance opportunities for my artistic projects. We both agreed we’d leave out the exotic dancer part, since the wealthy gay guys at this party would be likely to discount me as an artist if they knew about it. Yeah, well, we thought that would work.

It didn’t take a full 30 minutes to remember why I avoid these types of scenarios anymore. Someone came up and interrupted my conversation with a guest, making it known that he recognized me from Swinging Richards. I then watched him go around the room whispering this to everyone, and saw each individual pair of eyes cut across to me in scandalized glee.

Great.

Well, I’m not ashamed, so I didn’t avoid the conversations that followed. However, there was a distinct and sudden change in the way I was being treated. For the first few minutes I was simply mingling shyly and having light conversation. A few men had begun flirting with me (as gay men normally do with each other), and I was engaging in some intelligent discussions for a brief time.

Gradually, I was becoming the focus of everyone’s attention. I drank my second glass of wine too fast and had to sit down. Within a few moments I was blocked into a corner by a wall of crotches and people were feeling on my head, hair, shoulders, and arms. I started to get nervous actually. I was buzzed, didn’t know a single person there (except Dave, who was mingling elsewhere), didn’t know really where I even was (since I don’t live in Atlanta), and have a couple stories in my past that I’ve not shared yet concerning sexual assault. No one wanted to talk to me anymore, they wanted only to hurl their fantasies at me from every direction at once. A few proceded to tell me how far they could stick various objects inside themselves or other people. One went into great detail about how he knew how to fist someone deep enough to cradle a person’s heart in his hand and feel it beating. (It brings tears to my eyes and bit of a gag reflex in my thoat just thinking about the relish with which he describes this – it’s fine if you’re into fisting, but I’m very squeamish about some stuff).

I’m sorry, I don’t normally vent or curse here, but this is fucking ridiculous. I went there to talk about art, which was going just fine at first, but then I was suddenly transformed from a person into a rubber doll. I don’t tolerate this well at all, so I have to say that I’m proud of how diplomatically I diverted all this. I’m not sure anyone even knew I was offended, let alone a tad scared. As it became clear that I wasn’t going to perform any freakish circus acts on the spot, some lost interest and wandered away. From there I was able to manage and redirect the remaining conversations before excusing myself.

The kicker is that only at the end did I finally get to speak with the person whom I was brought there to meet. He was very excited about my projects. Just as I opened the door to leave he blurted out, “I’m so glad you’re a real dancer. Now I can have some respect for you.”

Well, fuck you too…

This party brought to roaring life all the many reasons I write this blog. When you interact with adult entertainers outside of where we work, please try to avoid reducing us to a pile of mechanized anatomical parts. I know it might be hard to believe, but we really do have feelings… Promise… Not making it up.