Devon Hunter

Quite some time back, I did an interview with former Titan Man, Josh O’Hara. Since that time he and I have become good friends, and I enjoy seeing him every visit to San Francisco. He’s a beautiful man, but I think we as a community should start distinguishing what we mean by that. When I say Josh is beautiful, it is because he is as kind, good, and intelligent as he is handsome. Here is a poem he wrote (some of the imagery of which reminds me of my Valentine haiku from February, 2010). I love it, and I hope you do, too.

“In Winter”
by Josh O’Hara

In winter,
there will be no children passing from my door
to play in the hinterland of the summer stricken fields.

The dandelions will continue-

as they have for centuries,

to slumber on hilltops

while

winds rage through a cold,

and wild Nantucket.

Summer is a fable here.

While calmly,

I contemplate the rising heat from your skin
that swirls into the glacial sky.

I am struck by the beauty that is you

and

I can begin to imagine
what it would be like:

To hold your hand through an Indian Summer.

Bending low. Leaning low.
Though not breaking-

Yet, falling still-

my petals

scatter with the wind

Casting me into the wilderness

Of you.

Dear Matt,

When I wrote this I wanted to make you into heaven-angel/landscape-garden, because of your blue eyes (sky), light hair (sun), fair skin (clouds/marble), and intoxicating sex (flowers/nectar). Do you see how beautiful you are to me?

The structure of the poem is this: I created three haiku. I don’t know if you know what a haiku is, but it is a strictly set form from Japan. The poem must have three lines, the first line having exactly five syllables, the second having exactly seven, and the third exactly five again. That’s hard to do, especially when you also have to say something metaphorical within those parameters!!

Anyway, I used the first haiku to make connections between you and heaven, the second to make you an angel (fitting for Valentine’s Day, since cupid is a winged god), and the third to connect you to flowers and their scents.

Something else to notice: The vowel patterns. Azure/hallowed/hand/dazzling/man/happy all have the same “a” sound in them, and they are all penultimate (next to the last) words on the first and second lines of each haiku. There is also a true rhyme with gates/radiates/opiates, and a false rhyme (same sound, difference spelling of sound) with rays/haze/bouquets. There is another true rhyme on the first word of the third line of each haiku with baring/daring/flaring.

Finally, and this was important, given that the other poem you said was written about you didn’t make sense, the three haiku can be read as one sentence that says exactly what I mean: You are a beautifully intoxicating man.

Heaven’s azure gates
open under hallowed rays,
baring an angel

whose hand radiates
prisms of dazzling haze,
daring me to hope

his man-opiates
will be, like happy bouquets,
flaring into bloom.

Thus:
Heaven’s azure gates open under hallowed rays, baring an angel whose hand radiates prisms of dazzling haze, daring me to hope his man-opiates will be, like happy bouquets, flaring into bloom.

PS

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I’ve given thousands of lap dances, spreading joy and wonder throughout the world. HA! At any rate, there’s no way I can remember every dance I’ve done, but there are dances that stand out in my memory as amongst those I’ve enjoyed. It’s completely and utterly inaccurate to think that only unattractive men pay for lap dances. One of the perks of this job is that on a fairly regular basis I get paid to rub on hot guys. Let me also say that my enjoying a dance doesn’t necessarily imply that I was sexually aroused or attracted to the person I was dancing for (although that happens quite a bit).

Last night I gave another dance to one of the most charming men-of-a-certain-age I’ve ever met. Dale: He embodies Lap Dance Etiquette. It’s just amazing. If he isn’t a poet, he should be. He is completely enamoured of sensuality (not sex itself, but the whisper of its potential), and he genuinely enjoys every nuance of touch, sight, sound, smell (and dare I say taste?). With him I find myself moving in slow motion, not because he intoxicates me but because his intoxication is beguiling. He falls into a dream-like haze, and his utter joy is registered all over his face and body. I was wearing a spicey fragrance last night, and I honestly worried for a moment that he might pass out when I enveloped my arms tightly around his head and neck. I feed off the energy of others, and his transparent ecstacy isn’t simply flattering, it’s also infectious.

There are many, many occasions when I give a dance to someone who is so attractive that I almost feel obliged to tip them. Something else that is common is for me to get an erection while giving a dance. What is not as common is for a dance to turn me on so much that I forget I’m working and fall into the fantasy that they have created for me (quite a nice change of pace). That has happened three times, but I’m only going to tell you about two of them…

James came in for a birthday dance, but I have to say I didn’t do very much. He picked me up off the chair, holding me such that we were face to face with my arms and legs wrapped around his neck and torso. He pressed my back against the wall and proceded to show me a thing or three. LOL I mean… WOW. He. Werk’d. Me. Out. For about four songs. That dance fueled some fantasies for almost six months, so when I bumped into him randomly at a park nine months after his birthday I made it clear that I wanted a naked repeat. Whew!

One dance I did recently involved an acquaintance from a site where I chat with athletic gay guys. He lives in Atlanta and is easily one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen (click to, ahem… enlarge). He said he was going to come see me at Swinging Richards on Thanksgiving. Not only did he actually show up, he had a beautiful friend with him, and they wanted a dance… OMGOMGOMG… LOL I want to say that this ended up being the hottest dance I’ve done so far. So erotic, in fact, that everyone in VIP stopped and watched. Nothing like a Devon sandwich to fill you up. No, we never had sex, but my knees still buckle at the memory.