Devon Hunter

I drive around a great deal. And there are times when the faint business voice in my head clamors a bit louder than normal, or when my well of patience finally runs dry, and I get fed up enough to remove a club from my itinerary. And Secrets has teetered on that razor edge since the very first booking I had there a few months ago. But there are many factors to consider before going that route.

First, I need the variety. I get bored quickly. I like to think this is symptomatic of rampant intelligence, but I’d not be surprised to find it simply betrays a short attention span. At any rate, it’s good to move around and remain as new as possible to as many people as possible. And yet, if a club isn’t properly primed, the patrons may not know how to show appreciation to entertainers. Cutting a club from the list is limiting in ways that can be helpful or hurtful.

Next, for me to really completely write a venue off (especially after having frequented it), I have to be pretty near irreconcilably pissed off about something that truly matters: There’s a difference between taking a break and saying “never again.” There’s a club in Macon, GA that has this status: When Scotty and I walked in they asked us, “Are you going to be sucking cock over here or over there? We need to know where to set the screens up.” Ahem. That booking was okay as far as money, and they didn’t wrangle over the fee, but they’re impossible to coordinate with (because both owners send emails separately without conferring first). So. Never again, Macon. I needed an extended break from PT1109 in Columbia, but I’m almost ready to go again. Swinging Richards is its own little vortex, but I do admit that I’ve missed not being there for the past several weeks.

Lastly (for now), I have to consider the connections I’ve made in various places. True, I find Secrets to be incredibly mismanaged on many levels. True, the money has never justified the travel required to get there. True, I find it to be ridiculously exploitative to be required to walk around naked with an erection and no guarantee of income. However…

I have made some wonderful friends in D.C. Hopefully they know who they are, and I think they know what I mean when I use the word “friend.” I would like to think I’ve made it clear to them how much I like and appreciate them. I really enjoy D.C. as a city (except for the damn “roads” and “drivers”), at least the Northwest quadrant, anyway. And I would like them to know that if it weren’t for the anchor of my dance company, I would probably move to D.C. this fall, since my lease ends in September. But there are connections in Charlotte that I’m not willing to sever just yet.

And so, despite the frustration I contend with at Secrets, I will continue (no matter what I say) to book myself there. These amazing people add something to my trip that is worth more than the cash which I do or do not make at the club. They are more valuable to me than mere money. They are treasures unto themselves. And so then: How could I not include Secrets? Cutting Secrets would mean walking away from far more than I’m willing to sacrifice.

(Tu sais bien, Monsieur SS, que tu me manques déjà, et que je ne peux guère attendre à te revoir.)

On the way home from D.C. today I had an extended conversation with a very friendly, intelligent, handsome, and curious patron who was interested in knowing more about “the biz.” He expressed the concern that he was often shy of tipping dancers, because doing so would mean he was a “troll” (because only “trolls” tip). He thus often refrained from tipping, even when he wanted to, for fear that others would think him desperate or disgusting. The following is a re-cap of what I then explained to him:

There are many types of people in clubs. Some are very well-mannered and kind, regardless of their appearance. Others are not. I think the reason the “trolls” stand out in people’s minds so much is because of the way these types of people carry themselves: They are people (often older men, but not always) who make no effort to mask their aggressive sexual energy. This being the case, they draw attention to themselves. They tend to hover and lasciviously rake a dancer over the coals for a dollar. This, however, is the very smallest minority of people who tip. They are the most visible, but the least common.

All sorts of people tip. Last night alone I was tipped by three young women, an Asian twink, several upper middle class White men in their mid- to late-thirties, a reserved but kindly White gentleman who has generously offered to let me use some of his frequent flier miles, many Black men of various dispositions ranging in age from about 25 to about 50, at least five or so Latinos (one of whom was a “troll”), and also by two affluent Lebanese college students. Those are just the ones I can think of at a moment’s notice. Now that I remember it more clearly, last night there were also several older gentlemen who tipped me repeatedly; however, they were so polite, well-groomed, and gracious that they could hardly be categorized as trolls. Of that entire list of people, only ONE was a troll.

This particular Latino of about 40 years of age was a sloppy drunk who tried to finger me several times. He followed me around the bar harrassing me for my phone number. He said, “I’ve given you so much money. Why won’t you just come home with me?” He’d tipped me a dollar about four times. THIS is a troll, and it has little to do with his age/race/appearance, and far more to do with his attitude/behavior. He was scaring me.

The point is this: Tipping doesn’t make you desparate. It doesn’t make you disgusting. Being an asshole makes you a troll. I asked this person on the phone if he’d noticed, out of the approximately 500 patrons last night, anyone he thought was normal, polite, and/or attractive. He said he definitely had. I then asked if he saw any of these people tipping dancers. He said yes. He went on to say that he didn’t think less of them for tipping. He answered his own questions.

Don’t be afraid to tip, but do approach it with some modicum of respect for the working boy who has fired up your fantasies.

It is time to look for a day job to supplement my dance income. I’m tired of depending these last six months on the whim of patrons. This week has been the single worst I’ve had in nearly a year… It’s so bad that I’ve considered some options that, for me, aren’t options. And, to top it off, there’s a long-standing issue that is coming more to the fore as the economy goes from bad to poor…

There is a particular fetish that has been built up to the point that it is endemic amongst gay men, and, to be frank, it’s completely pissing me off. It’s particularly bad in Atlanta. And I’m going to rant about it. And if you don’t want to read it, then you better come back another day. Because I’m just about to the point, after several years of brushing it off with “Well, everyone has their preferences,” of telling gay men to go fuck themselves.

People want what they can’t have.

Bullshit! They want what they’ve been told they want.

Gay men have been programmed by a homophobic society to believe that straight men are the pennacle of sexuality/sexual desire/atractiveness (which fits, given that this affords preference to the heterosexual men who create and reinforce this ludicrous supposition). Gay men have been damaged by this homophobic society to the point that they can’t even be nice to each other, because we haven’t been given the opportunity to learn how to conceptualize anything beyond the stereotypical hook ups that straight men corner us into accepting as our lot as the dysfunctional perverts they think we are (and which we’ve too often become). Also, because there are no institutions that empower same-sex desire/love/relationships that balance out the institutions that disempower same-sex desire/love/relationships, there is no wide-scale acceptance amongst most gay men that it’s even a true possibility. No, it’s not enough that a few states in New England have finally legalized gay marriage in the last year or two. So don’t even put that up as an argument, or I will have to slap the taste out of your mouth.

And so, here we are. Left with the self-loathing homophobia that powers gay libidos. All these gay slots and tabs looking for straight counterparts. Well, excuse me, but fuck you. BrokeStraightGuys.com? Fuck you! FirstGaySex.com? Fuck you too!

I was told to my face last night that if I “were to just be a straight guy” I’d be “perfect” and then this patron “could finally get a lap dance” from me. Go get therapy, asshole. That says a whole lot more about you than it does me.

And since I’m being completely honest here:

1. Straight men ARE obtainable. Look around, you stupid fags! Seventy-five to ninety percent of the men in gay porn are STRAIGHT. The same proportion are straight in gay clubs with male dancers. Don’t delude yourself anymore. For being unobtainable, they sure look pretty obtainable to me with their legs up in the air. “I’d have to get alot of money to do anything gay.” Oh? What does this mean, breeder? That you think it contemptable, nasty, dirty, perverted? And so then, stupid fags, HOW IS IT DESIREABLE TO SEE A STRAIGHT GUY DO THAT WHICH HE HATES? How does this build up your gay identity to demean a straight man who is only tolerating your loathsome self because of money? And you think that’s hot? You think it’s hot to see a straight dude cringe with pain and disgust as he’s getting ram-fucked for $x??? You’re worse than the straight guy. Get out of my sight.
2. If all the straight men in gay adult entertainment were removed from it, the industry would be bereft of talent, because there wouldn’t be hardly anyone left doing it. And do you want to know why? Because YOU keep buying into the utterly fucked up notion that straight men are better than gay men.
3. Here’s a wake up call: Most of the breeders you give all your money to walk away from you, removing their smiling faces from your presence, and then go talk shit about you once you’re out of earshot. Period. End of discussion. I have held my tongue for a very long time, but I’m about to the point of calling them out when they talk shit in front of me about YOU. And if that doesn’t work I’m going to go to the patrons and tell them what is being said about them. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to put up with this anymore. I think it’s fair to level the playing field: I’m just an undesireable homo? Okay. Fine. Well the straight guys are dickheads who generally despise you, even though they’re the ones “lowering themselves” in the first place. Now who’s more desireable? Oh? It’s still the straight guy? You know what, I don’t want your money after all. Use it to get some Zyprexa. You need it.
4. To deny you are oppressed is to aid in your oppression, but to pay for your oppression with your own effort and resources renders you a slave. A fully neurotic slave. Get therapy. (Get that Zyprexa I just mentioned.) Get a life. Get out of my face.
5. “But I like men who act like men.” You’re going to say that to me?? Right into my motherfucking face?! Fuck you! How about I punch you in your goddamned mouth for saying that to me? Would that make me butch enough to get a lap dance out of your pansy ass? Nevermind, I don’t give lap dances to fags. Only straight guys. There, how’s that? How stupid does that sound? Now try hearing it from the other direction, and think about why I’m so pissed.
6. The straight entertainers will NEVER be yours. Not even sexually. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to touch them. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to suck their cocks. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay to have sex with them. It doesn’t matter how many times you pay for anything. You are paying for their tricked-out rides, for their girlfriend’s boob job, for their steroids, for their babies, and for their contempt. You are wasting your time, money, and hope when you give them to straight men. I’ve been saying this throughout my entire blog, even going back to almost the very beginning with “Gay men fawning over straight dancers.”
7. You are far, far, far, far, far more likely to get your cock in a straight guy’s ass at Swinging Richards than a gay one’s. If you hear of someone getting bareback fucked in VIP, who is it? One of the gay dancers? No. Never. Not once in two years have I seen a gay dancer get fired/suspended from that club for having sex in VIP. So then, here’s where the logic loses its legs: If straight guys are so fucking unobtainable, why are they the only ones putting out? You think you can go to Blake’s and pick me up for free on a Wednesday night? Fuck you, you’d better save up your money to buy one of the unobtainable straight guys you like so much, because you’ll NEVER get this proudly flaming fag to do in VIP what those nasty straight tricks do as their default setting. Who’s unobtainable now, asshole?

Youths seeking to make gentlemen of themselves should take care to avoid dissipations, wasteful expenditures of time and resources; frivolty, which leads only to a limpid spirit; and trivial pursuits, as they are the height of selfish preoccupation with matters of no consequence. - Unknown

Okay, I admit it: That isn’t a “real” quote by some hardnose from the 19th century. I just made it up. But it exemplifies the attitude of a particular prude with a forced British accent who came into Swinging Richards last night.

“Would you like a private dance?”

“I don’t like to spend money on just anything. I have several trips planned. I part with money with difficulty, but you’re very sexy,” he said as he groped my chest and arm.

“So, you just told me that you have alot of money, that you spend alot of it, but only on yourself, and that you are, therefore, here for the free show.”

“No, that’s not true! I gave that stripper a dollar a little while ago.”

“I hope it’ll cover his rent while you’re in Majorca.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sound greedy, but money is valuable! I don’t like to be frivolous.”

“I think you just dug a hole that you have zero hope of getting yourself out of. I wrote a blog once entitled ‘Your dollar is worth about 88 cents to me.’ You should read it.”

Stupid.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“Where are you from?”

“Ft. Lauderdale. There are other bystanders here for you to victimize. You can go now.”

“I’m glad this will be the only time I ever have to interact with you.”

Honestly, why would you go to a club that showcases dancers, and then act like we’re there to “victimize” you? I’ve had a variety of insults thrown at me, but that one is particularly hateful if you look at the terms this “person” used. The cover charge is only $5 at PT1109. Even if this “person” hadn’t known there’d be dancers, because he’s an out-of-towner, it wouldn’t have been a huge loss to turn around and walk back out (if dancers are offensive). Hell, they probably would’ve refunded the entry fee, if you stay that briefly.

There are at least two clubs in Ft. Lauderdale with male dancers. I don’t know what this patron’s interaction with them has possibly been, but when I encounter that level of toxicity I feel zero obligation to continue playing nice. These are the moments when I make patrons wake up and realize that I’m a human being, and not some kind of voodoo doll that can be abused in the place of whatever is causing them angst. I was so pissed with this person that I walked away with him yelling something indecipherable to my palm.

I was in a bad, bad mood already from sheer exhaustion. Of course, this patron didn’t know that, but I was not the stripper to sass that night. I then went and told the other dancers about his attitude problem. Dude got no play that night. If you think dancers don’t talk to each other, you better recognize. If he weren’t attracted to me, that’s fine. I definitely wasn’t attracted to him.

But that’s not the issue. How difficult is it to simply be polite?