The online diary of a gay courtesan.

Last night I danced at Club 621 in Greenville, SC, and I had a really good time. OMG!! They have the perfect poles to dance on there: They’re very small, so I can wrap my dainty fingers around them; they’re not slicked with oil or polished to a bright shine, so I could use tension/friction to maintain shapes with my upper body more easily; and they were totally anchored in place, so they felt nice and stable. I had a good time dancing there, I really did!

But there was one small “Uh, oh” moment. It’s one of those little tiny comments that you may or may not pick up on until it’s too late, and by then you’ve already undermined yourself. An enthusiastic patron who definitely meant it as a compliment said, “It’s about goddamned time they had a real man dance in here who doesn’t look like a nelly fucking faggot.” And my response? “Thank you!”

Wait a minute. Hold the phone. As soon as he said it I was offended, yet I smiled and “thank you” is what fell out of my mouth out of rote habit. And yet part of me was actually glad he thought I didn’t look like a nelly fucking faggot. But then immediately after that I felt pangs of “oh my god, am I a homophobic asshole or what?” Then I went back to the dressing room for a moment to sort it all out in my head. I AM A NELLY FUCKING FAGGOT, so why would I be (even momentarily) flattered that someone thinks I don’t look like exacty what I am?

All of this is so conflated and destructive. I’m ready for the day when LGBT people start acting more like a community again, and less like mean-spirited heterosexuals with queer tendencies. Now, where’s my tweezers? My eyebrows are looking ragged…

It was brought to my attention that there are sites that do nothing but discuss the material that is generated at places like Sean Cody, Corbin Fisher, and Randy Blue. What’s more, it was brought to my attention that people can respond to those critiques/discussions. There are so many opinions out there… It’s pretty amazing how much they can differ from person to person or site to site. It’s also amazing the extent to which some people try to invade the privacy of others.

What I have read essentially brings me to balance: There are at least 15 sites I have found that have discussed and/or reviewed my solo at Sean Cody. This was not something I’d thought to consider before I did it. It never occurred to me that there were full-time movie critics and peanut galleries for Sean Cody; however, these not only exist, they proliferate in large numbers. And that is what is interesting: I am only one person, and yet some of the responses I elicited from people were as divergent as you could possibly imagine.

Some people were revolted at the thought of me being gay and 32 years old. Others liked me specifically because of it. There were as many comments that I was fugly as there were that I was gorgeous. All of the reviews themselves were glowing, but it was the conversations that followed that could be startling. And yet, after all that reading, what I have finally accepted is that I am who I am, and that’s going to just have to be good enough.

So, although some people have called me a pasty grub and others have called me a creamy boystud; and although some have called me a nelly gay-faced homo, while others refer to me as a hot gay jock; and whereas there are people who think me ancient and/or decrepit, there are others who applaud me for admitting my age (which makes me seem, to them, even more youthful); and since in the same conversation there are people who think I am nothing arguing along side of people who think I am everything… What all this essentially means is that all the negatives are cancelled out by positives, and I’m left right where I was before: Me.

And that’s not such a bad scenario.

Dear Devon,

By the time you read this I will be gone. We’ve been together so long, that it hurts me to leave you. I want you to know that I’ll always be there waiting. Even if it’s only in your memories. You don’t need me anymore, so I have to say goodbye.

You turned 33 yesterday (excuse me, 24 for the ninth time). It was an amazingly beautiful day in Charlotte, NC. The sun was bright, but not scalding. The sky was such a dark blue. That delicious breeze was warm and soft. Just perfect. The Goddess couldn’t have sent better weather to celebreate the most important day of your year. And what a great start you had: The mechanics fixed the car for free, you spent time with some good friends, and then you ate some nice food. I enjoyed sitting there watching you, my hand on your shoulder. I have enjoyed touching you so deeply. I was sure that we’d be together forever. But yesterday something changed.

Last night your solo video for Sean Cody was debuted. On your birthday no less! How the fates do it… I just don’t know. But that video clip, and the stills from it, have ruined any chance we have of being together. What is even more shocking to me is how easily you let me just slip away. As if I’d never been a part of your life. That hurt. To be dismissed so suddenly. So absolutely. So definitively. And for what? Porn!

You were so overjoyed with the images. I admit: There’s not much fault I can find in them (and you know I can find fault in just about anything: I like to think it makes me practical, and I’m sorry you’ve never seemed to agree). And that’s when I realized that everything I was saying to you was bypassing your hearing and thinking. I was completely erased for about 30 minutes. It was as if I were speaking Farsi to a total stranger. You didn’t even give me a glance.

That is unacceptable.

I cannot tolerate being looked over every time you find success. You have always listened to me, and I have always been there, whenever you were downcast or alone. Whenever you felt like you couldn’t go on anymore, who was it that was standing there? Me. It was me. I deserve better. Each time you are happy you immeditaely put me aside. I am so sick of it.

So now you will have to continue on without me. It has been a long road. But I am not willing to sit idly by while you zoom down the highway of your life. There are others out there who will be glad to give me a ride. They will embrace me. They will never let go of me. These are the potential hosts who will let me into their homes, hearts, and minds. They will make me feel welcome. They will look at you as if you were a fool to let me go. But I am leaving for now. Whenever you feel lonely, just rememeber that I will always be happy to come back to you.

Love,

Doubt

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!