Gay Porn Memories: Hunter Scott, Dark Horse Ready To Mount

If a young and hunky Bruce Campbell circa Evil Dead 2 decided to forgo cult movie star status for a different path leading into fuck films, then ready-to-spread Hunter Scott is the closest approximation I can think of for that dream being realized.

Still, there’s hitch that results in one porn star receiving the mantle of immortality while another fades into obscurity:

Timing.

You can achieve greatness, but if someone else has already beaten you to the punch and set the gold standard, then you unfortunately end up suffering by comparison. As good as becomes your albatross.

Relegated. Demoted. Downgraded.

Hunter Scott had everything you could want in a pantingly submissive porn studlet — everything that should have him fondly enshrined as one of the most gleeful, tongue-wagging bottoms gay porn has ever featured.

His bad luck? Hitting the scene after Joey Stefano, a twist of fate that unfairly left him in the shadow of a legendary ghost.

The truth is that there were several sultry brunet receivers who followed in the wake of Stefano’s untimely end, though none bore the same mix of sex appeal and encroaching doom that Joey did, this despite their own scorching charms. Joey was in his last year of life when Hunter debuted in 1993, and had Hunter arrived just a few years earlier at the tail end of the ’80s, I have a feeling he’d be less the also-ran he is today and more a superstar in his own right.

I remember thinking what an unusual physical mix he was the first time I saw him in an otherwise mediocre 1994 entry called Bike Bang — his torrid, up-for-anything hotness led around on a chain and practically biting the sheets with ecstasy as he succeeded in making the flick so much more than it had any right to be. Depending on his expression and how he was photographed, he could look like either a smoldering greaser from a ’50s Youth-Gone-Wild exploitation movie or the raven-tressed evil twin of Dudly Do-Right with his big ol’ lantern jaw and goofy smile.

His body was super-toned without being overdone, and without his perfect pelt of dark hair on his torso, he might almost have passed for a compact muscle-twink. Reciting lines, he was a bright-eyed, beaming ingenue, but yowsa, once a dick was up that ass, his face transformed into a horned-out, grimacing sex sneer (in action, left) as he goaded and begged for more.

It’s a testament as to how far he’s slipped into obscurity that I can’t find any notable biographical info on him, this on top of very little in the way of fan nostalgia and only a smattering of pics, odd given what a recognizable fixture he was after his career took off in 1994. He was so consistently able on screen that there isn’t even a single signature film that defined him, and many of his appearances have been chopped down for inclusion in those cut-rate cheapo compilations, an ignoble fate for such a gifted player.

He’s deservedly on the cover for Dreaming In Blue, which pairs him up with Matt Gunther, while The Fluffer provides him with the opportunity to offer himself up to Rob Cryston. He’s in very fine form in Blow Me Down, entices chicks-only Rod Garetto into the hay in Just Men, and gets plowed atop a motorcycle in Manticipation. He’s quite the hoot in Jawbreaker, cast as a jeering rural deputy, who, displeased with the way fugitive Tony Idol services sheriff Vince Rockland’s cock, shoves him aside and shows him how it’s done right, son.

Power Driver is also a home-run, trespassin’ trouble-maker Hunter handled mighty good by big Joe Magnum on top of a truck hood and in the back of the cab, allowing him to deliver the immortal line “Get your dick out of my ass, man!” My guess is that he was something of a kinko in real life, as evidenced by his interview in Just Men, along with the harder-edged look — slicked-back hair, evil goatee, right pierced nip — he adopted late in his career. He turns up as well in the 1997 gay porn documentary Shooting Porn, remembered especially for his willingness to douche on camera.

Where is he now? Well cared for by a satisfied master? Still on the take? Reinvented as a buttoned-down stock broker? Biographically, the man’s a total enigma, so anyone’s guess is as good as mine. Porn sleuths, it’s on you: commit this face to memory, don your best fedora and trench coat ensemble, and keep your eyes peeled for this man. The question haunts my reverie:

Will success spoil hard-as-a-rock Hunter?