By Rafaelito V. Sy

I READ MY FIRST NOVEL at age fourteen. If my high school English teacher had not assigned a report on a book written for adults, then I would never have picked up Jeffrey Archer’s Kane and Abel.

By Aila Boyd

I’m only 25, but I’ve been a high school theater and chorus teacher, a general assignment reporter, a college English instructor, and an editor of a small weekly newspaper. Luckily I have done quite well in both arenas. Perhaps that’s because I have a good work ethic and am resourceful.

By Brad Graber

Am I having trouble breathing? Is that cough an allergy or something more serious? These are the thoughts racing through my mind as I socially distance from everyone except my husband, Jeff. Am I afraid of coronavirus? You bet.

By Julia Wendell

His name was Stefan. No one called him my older brother’s lover. John hadn’t come out yet, even to me. The two men could have just been friends. I was twenty. It was 1977. I hadn’t been in love yet, but I had been wanted.

By E.M. Birmingham

My lesbian twin sister died in May of 2019 from Stage IV bone cancer, having delayed going to a doctor for almost a year as she limped around from the pain in her left hip. By the time Eleanor was diagnosed in May 2018, the cancer had spread throughout her body.

By George DeStefano

In July 2000, my partner Rob and I spent several weeks in Italy, beginning in Rome. We came to the Eternal City for World Pride Roma, a week of gay cultural and political activities culminating in a march.

By Tobias Maxwell

I’ve always wondered about bisexuality. Mine, primarily. Navigating any orientation as a prepubescent is not easy. When I was growing up in the sixties, being gay was generally more complicated. But, imagine raging hormones while having to handle the double-edged sword where every body you saw appealed to you.

By Jason Armstrong

I came of age at the advent of the AIDS crisis. To me, sex and death were intertwined, even as HIV medications turned a terminal illness into a chronic condition. Sex felt like playing a game of Russian Roulette.

By Natascha Graham

A few months ago, someone in a Facebook group for highly sensitive people wrote a post asking for movie suggestions. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve commented on group posts, but for some reason that morning, while I was in my sitting room, drinking tea, I decided to reply, and I posted my list.