Devon Hunter

I don’t really know why I’m doing this, or why my first impulse is to come here and write it. I don’t know if it’s symptomatic of living in a Twitter/Facebook world, or if it’s because I think of my blog as a safe space where I can just get everything out of my head. Either way, it’s a mix of shame and shock I’m feeling for doing this here; however, I don’t know where or how else to contend with this.

I am one of the luckiest people on the planet: I knew all four of my grandparents. I didn’t lose my Grampa K until I was 12. I’ve had the other three ever since, and I’m 34. I’ve had them all with me my whole life. And it’s too fucking weird to understand how someone who is such a constant is now not. My Grampa V was a staggering genius. You have know idea. He was one of the top five engineers in the world in his field while he was working. He wrote the program to prevent a nuclear meltdown in GA/SC like the one that happened at Three Mile Island – the script for that program was given to President Carter as a present. He supported his wife and six kids, and he paid for my college education. He was one of the quietest, kindest men I have ever known. And I love him so much that I think my head is going to cave in now that he’s gone.

I was very calm with Mom just now. She’s already under enough pressure, and doesn’t need my crying. But the more I type the more I don’t feel good. I’m going to stop now. I just needed to get that out of my head. I don’t know anything about the way this is going to be arranged, so I don’t know if I will be going to Atlanta this weekend or not.

At any rate, Grampa V is not suffering anymore. Although I will miss him, I know that for the rest of my life I will have a firm memory of him as one of the nicest and most generous people I have ever known. He didn’t believe in any particular afterlife, given that his math and science were all he felt he needed to explain what he needed to know (and he was very satisfied in that, and expressed no fear); however, I know that… oh, shit. I don’t know what I know. I’m just glad he’s not sick anymore.

This weekend I was at PT1109, and I guess it was time for my annual Spring nuclear meltdown. It’s my way of doing a thorough emotional Spring cleaning. I’m not proud of it, and I generally feel deep shame for about three-five days after it happens. I have had one every year in either April or May ever since I can remember. I’m normally very even-keeled (for a gay guy), but (over the course of a year) various tiny shreds of stress will pile up in a dry heap, and then someone will do or say something that causes a spark. And then… well…

I was going around the bartop, and I looked down to see three guys at the end of the circuit. I am familiar with the third person, having chatted with him numerous times. The other two (unbeknownst to me) were a couple. I thought one of these two was about to pull his penis out, since it looked like his button was unsnapped, looked like his hand was down the front of his pants, and it appeared he was pulling up, as if about to pull it right on out. This, of course, is against the rules. If I’d known then that this fairly innocuous situation was going to nosebomb out of control, I would have been curt in interrupting what I genuinely thought was about to be a “no no” moment and would have moved along.

However, in trying to keep from offending people, I made a game of it. “Oh! You’re tired of looking at mine, so now I finally get to see yours?” The guy with his hand in his pants just smiled, took his hand out, and made light of it. The man next to him, however, got his feathers ruffled up. I thought it’d be a nice gesture to flirt with him too, so as not to seem like a kill-joy.

“Hello, what’s your name?”

“I’m S____, and he’s my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t ask who he is, I asked who you are,” I said with a teasing tone. ”What’s your name again?”

“S____.”

“Nice to meet you, S____.” (Insert hand shake) “And what’s your name?”

“M____.”

“Nice to meet you M____.” (Insert hand shake)

This is the moment where everything spiraled out of control. It has been made known to me (48 hours later) that “M” has evidently voiced a flattering appraisal of my appearance in the past, and that “S” is upset at me because of this. It should also be mentioned that the other three dancers that night not only flirted with “S” and “M,” but that they also hugged and squeezed on the couple as well (in addition to the third person who was sitting next to them). I do not know “S,” and I’d seen “M” only in passing for about a year. I’d never seen the two together that I can recall, didn’t know that they were a couple, and didn’t know that I was the only dancer not allowed to “flirt” with “S”‘s man. After I shook “M”‘s hand I stood up to leave when “S” made a disgusted face and gave me a “you’re dismissed” flick of the wrist. His utter disdain was the spark that lit me up.

“Do not dismiss me. Ever.”

“I just did.”

“You’re not in a position to dismiss me.”

From there it descended into a shouting match in front of the entire crowd. We exchanged angry threats and abusive names. I was going to walk away, but then “S” started yelling at the bartender about me. So I went back over. “No! We can have this conversation with me right here, bitch!”

“You were hitting on my boyfriend!”

“YOU’RE IN A FUCKING STRIP CLUB!” I roared so loudly that I could be heard clearly over the music. I was shaking with rage, and it was all I could do to pull my finger out of ”S”‘s face. At that I stormed away.

It turns out that “S” is a friend of the owner of the bar. I really am completely non-plussed by this fact. There are other issues here that are more important: Aside from the various dysfunctions that have been accumulating in the background in this club, the couple in question were possibly already drunk when they came in, the bartenders gave them more alcohol (perhaps because they were scared to “cut off” friends of the owner?), and I got involved with them only because I thought ”M” was about to commit a major faux pas. I am not going to apologize to anyone for anything. The only mistake I feel I made was allowing the dismissal from someone I don’t even know to burn me so badly.

It seems that “S” is a person of some importance in the local gay community. That, too, is irrelevant in my mind. I don’t recall ever seeing him before in the two years that I’ve danced at PT1109, didn’t know he had a problem with me, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to interact with the person who happens to be his boyfriend, and didn’t know that ”S” had any special privileges because of his connection to the owner. If people expect me to know this fucking bullshit, then they should let me in on these facts.

The bottom line is this: I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re Barack Obama himself. In the dark with a drink in your hand, if you’re crunk and hollaring in a bar, you’re just another inebriated asshole to me. I don’t care who you think you are - I am not the one to dismiss because you have the mistaken notion that I want anything but a dollar from your boyfriend.

In the meantime my pride is healing slowly. These yearly explosions embarrass me completely. They make me feel like I’m out of control of myself. And they make me feel stupid. I’m not sorry that I yelled at “S,” I’m sorry that someone of so little importance to me became far too important in such a short time. Although I am ashamed of the outburst, I don’t feel obliged to apologize for it. Maybe that seems complicated or ridiculous, but if anyone owes anyone anything, “S” owes me a dollar for shaking his hand without vomiting on him.

I just got back from Secrets. I’m exhausted. The last month has been road trip after road trip, and I am going to try to take this coming weekend off completely. I have so much blogging to catch up on, and I want to thank everyone who emailed me questions/topics. I fully intend to catch up with all of this in the coming days as I rest and recover.

But there is something grave I need to address first.

I have spoken already about the potentially abusive relationship that can exist between patrons and entertainers, especially when patrons become obsessive. This is stalking. I am not going to address this again here. This weekend I witnessed an entertainer who is being abused by another entertainer. They are boyfriends. The problem with abusive boyfriends is that they can be so beguiling and charming at first…

Having survived abuse, I already know most of the excuses, apologies, and lies that abused people use to defend the people who hurt them. When you encounter someone who is being victimized by his/her partner, it is difficult to know how much to intrude. I personally wouldn’t want to accidentally escalate a situation (which as bad as it might be in front of others could become much worse in private); however, I also cannot turn a blind eye.

Adult entertainment attracts all types of people. Some of them are unsavory and/or dysfuntional. These people may be club owners, booking agents, film directors, patrons… or the entertainers themselves. Given the reputation lumped upon most entertainers in general, it goes without saying that there must be a reason for this: There are some horrible people who dance in clubs. Definitely not all, or even most, but entertainers need to pay attention to other entertainers.

I was very excited the last time I almost dated, because the person in question had worked as a go-go dancer, and didn’t judge me because of my work. It is common for adult entertainers to pair off with each other – we understand each other. And yet, that means that there is the potential for you as an entertainer to connect with one of those unsavory people I just mentioned, thinking that it will be a good match. But you must always pay attention.

I got pretty forceful with one of the dancers. I think I probably put him on the spot (in private) unexpectedly. He is, in my opinion, at the stage of the abusive relationship where he is not willing to accept that he is being abused. But when I consistently see his partner treat him like a servant, start physical brawls over nothing, insult him with names, degrade him by calling him female slurs, make forceful attempts to kick/punch/slap him, and discuss with other entertainers the best way to “be the man in the relationship” by limiting the person in question’s ability to function by cutting off access to the car, then my conscience forces me to act. If his abusive partner is going to make this public, where I have to see it, then it’s an invitation to become involved.

I told this beautiful, sweet-natured, warm, friendly man that when he was ready to accept that he needed to get away that he can call or email me. If he needs a few days to figure out how to get home to his family, and needs a safe place to get far away from the verbal and physical blows, he can use my home as a sanctuary. I cannot pretend to not know what is plain before my own eyes. Even though he is still at the point where he says, “Oh, he’s just aggressive. It’s the steroids. You can’t take him too seriously. He’s actually a really nice guy,” he will eventually (I hope) come to recognize the lie in this. How many times do you have to tell me someone isn’t a douche bag? Shouldn’t I be able to see that on my own?

If you are an entertainer, there are going to be times when you are very lonely. You will want to connect with someone. You might be tempted to look for love within the career. And that’s totally fine; however, make certain that you practice the same vetting process on the private side of the velvet rope as you do on the public side. Make certain that you pay attention, regardless of the career of the person you cling to. But, without trying to feed into a stereotype, recognize that the odds of picking a bad apple may be worse if you pick from this particular barrel.

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.

There are thousands of types of touch. But, for me, they break down into three overarching categories: Subtractive, Neutral, and Additive. If you are going to be an entertainer, you have to be okay with being touched. It’s simply part of the job (unless you’re in one of those bizarre U.S. states where the dancer performs in the middle of a cage/stage with an enclosement of chicken wire that stands as a barracade five feet between the dancer and the patons – in those places the tips are passed through the spaces of the chicken wire, and the dancer can’t collect them until the patron steps back away from the barrier). However, it’s wise to understand that you’re going to need to find balance in being touched. The highest priority: Make sure that your personal boundaries and the laws for your area are both being respected. It’s important to note that your perception of the same touch will be different from moment to moment, depending on a host of circumstances.

Subtractive Touch

When you are touched in such a manner that it costs you more than the tip you are gaining, you are losing something within yourself. You will know Subtractive Touch almost immediately. It makes you feel uncomfortable, ashamed, distressed, or humiliated. Perhaps it causes you pain as well. Possibly worse: It makes you feel absolutely “nothing” (but not in a neutral manner). When all is said and done, Subtractive Touch makes you feel less than. I would guess that approximately 10 percent of the touching I experience in an average night is Subtractive. Some nights are better, others are worse. Generally, these touches get temporarily balanced out by the preponderance of Neutral Touch and the covalent Additive Touch. Real problems can come up pretty fast on the nights when this isn’t the case.

Neutral Touch

In a rough estimate, I would say 80 percent of the touches in an evening are Neutral: They do not please or offend me. They require only as much time and attention as the value of the tip they entail. And they are completed without any regret or celebration. They simply are what they are: A transaction. Here are your onion rings, that will be $1.79. The problem with Neutral Touch is that it is repetitive. It is connected to the largest part of your earnings, which is good, but it is also numbing, which is bad.

It is important to find ways to rejeuvenate your senses throughout your shift, so that you do not become zombie-like. Once at Swinging Richards a patron had his hand cupping my testicles for a good 60 seconds or more while we were talking about politics before I realized it was happening: “Your hand is on my balls.” “Yep.” “How long has it been there?” “Oh, nearing a minute, I suppose.” “Wow… You are going to tip me eventually, right?” (One of the stupidest dollars I ever earned. LOL… click dont-touch-those for a funny wav file: NOT SAFE FOR WORK) That’s a good example of what not to allow Neutral Touch to become. In most all instances, however, Neutral Touch is polite, discreet, respectful, and superficially flattering. It can teeter over into Negative if not properly managed.

Additive Touch

This is absolutely essential. You really must experience enough Additive Touch to completely balance the Subtractive and to enliven the Neutral. As with Subtractive, about 10 percent of the touch I experience in a shift makes me feel attractive, strong, genuinely appreciated, and complemented beyond simple flattery. It is important to note, however, that if you do not get enough restoration while at work, you really must find a means to get it from some other source.

I will admit it candidly: My feelings get hurt very easily. I am not thick-skinned. I need more than 10 percent Additive Touch to renew me. I also workout 2-4 times each week for 45-75 minutes/session. I don’t exercise alot, but I exercise intensely. These two issues together mean that I can reasonably “justify” a particular “splurge” that I am nearly absolutely committed to: I get a 60/120-minute massage once a week from my friend Ron, who has one of the most gifted healing touches I’ve ever experienced.

There are other types of Additive Touch. If you have a lover or someone whom you trust, let that person put hands on you in a non-sexual but intimate manner. Perhaps they will let you lay back, and will simply stroke your face with the backs of their fingers while you listen to soft music? Or maybe they put one hand over your heart and another over your navel with essential oils? It is important to allow yourself to experience this type of healing, so that your body/mind/heart/soul does not connect all physical contact to something sexual (which is completely inaccurate/inapproptiate in most instances outside of your shift).

Additive Touch puts gas in your tank, so to speak. It airs out your house. Think of whatever Additive Touch you get beyond work as a vitamin that nourishes you. If the hundreds or thousands of touches you experience in a week/weekend are the repetitions and sets you do at the gym, then the massage/friendly hand holding/hugs from Mom that you take in during the off hours is the supplement that feeds your system.

A final suggestion, for your Additive Touch therapy: When you do have sex, try to make it as organic (but safe), passionate, and emotionally invested (even if only temporarily) as possible. You don’t want to hurt someone else in the process of healing yourself, so if necessary make it clear that although the sex you are about to have may rupture the time-space continuum, it isn’t anything that it isn’t. You don’t want to lead someone down the wrong path if you aren’t feeling residually more than you are momentarily, but you also do not want your entire sexuality to devolve into a series of automatic, mechical actions. Live succulently!