Bruce and James
By Héctor Vizoso
On Halloween night in 1991, the doorbell rang, and it was Bruce. He was excited and hurried in to tell me to get ready because he had enrolled us in a Halloween competition at the After Dark.
Browsing: Here’s My Story
Blog Posts
Selamlik and a Bouquet of Wildflowers on Jean Genet’s Grave
By Khaled Alesmael
“Genet wrote about Syria and Palestine!” says Naima, the cemetery caretaker, as she turns the key in the gate’s lock, leading me towards the grave of Jean Genet (1910–1986).
On Vanity
By Nastya Dzutstsati
The tragedy of a state-imposed closet is that the performance never ends—unless you find a way to escape, or the government finds you first.
My Impact Statement: Rod Stewart’s “The Killing of Georgie (Part I and II)”
By Gregory Walters
Here was Rod Stewart, unabashedly telling anyone who would listen he was friends with a gay man. It’s important that he describes George as “the kindest guy I ever knew.”
A Bolt from the Blue
By Elizabeth Costello
My heart, my gut, my cunt assumed positions of power. If that moment was a tarot card it was absolutely The Tower — the first time I spoke to her I felt hit by lightning. The rules of my gravity changed.
The Closet is My Country
By Damisola Sulaiman
How do you accept that your closet is a country, that the place that made you into the person you are, is where you can’t be yourself?
A Day in Hyderabad’s Flower Market
By Patruni Sastry
I had watched enough Bollywood movies to know that a good pair of sunglasses could shield both my identity and my makeup from prying eyes. I packed my carefully chosen outfit— flowers handcrafted by my partner, and a wig— into a bag, locked the door behind me, and called an Uber.
A Neon Rainbow in a Vietnamese Alleyway
By Akram Herrak
I don’t know what I expected from a gay bar—the closest I’ve ever gotten to being in one was when I went to a drag show in Beirut, Lebanon, and still, the place was filled with large groups of friends and a few straight couples…
Young and Gay in Montana
By Scott Terry
I was still rodeoing, but had given up bull riding. During hunting seasons, a hunting rifle was hanging in the gun rack in the back window of my truck. Being murdered didn’t seem likely, if I could successfully conceal that I was gay.
The Sum of My Parts
By Oliver Radclyffe
But even if I had still been closeted, I knew it would be almost impossible to form a cohesive narrative from the confusing evidence laid out in front of me. It had taken me over forty years to figure it out myself, and I was the main suspect.