By Lucas Hilderbrand
Early on, strangers also often teased me, amused by the idea that going to gay bars was “research.” Almost imperceptibly, as the years went by, this shifted; people no longer thought historicizing gay bars seemed like a joke.
By Dan Glass
As a teenager my gay shame and toxic shame took each other hand-in-hand, got married and waltzed into the cauldron of fire.
By Francesca Capossela
But, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, living with my then-boyfriend, I began to feel that I had lost my bisexuality, like a favorite sweater forgotten on some subway train.
By Scott Alexander Hess
But what really inspired the idea and emotional heart of A Season in Delhi was how I felt being in Delhi as a recently-married gay man.
By David R. Slayton
Genre fiction, and adult fantasy especially, has long been the territory of straight, white cisgender men. There are cracks in that wall now. It no longer seems an unassailable tower, but growing up how and when I did, I could not find myself there, in a genre I loved.
By Risa Denenberg
Minnie Bruce Pratt—cherished poet, teacher, and activist in the LGBTQ+ community—died on July 2. I learned about it on Facebook, and found it devastating. I owe a lot to this courageous woman. She was important to so many, and will be tremendously missed.
By Leslie Absher
I knew intuitively not to talk about the fact that I preferred girls to boys. But when I was called a “lezzie” by a boy on the school bus, it was really clear: it was bad to be the way I was.
By Ben Haynes
Nick and I were on friendly terms, but we never took the time to get to know each other. I dated an ex-girlfriend of his immediately after the two of them broke up, and within a month or so, I too pulled the plug. Neither of us ever mentioned it to the other, but we knew our attraction to each other was lurking somewhere under the surface.
By Karen Raines
I was watching TV the other day someone in the show I was watching asked, “If you met your eighteen-year-old self and could only say three words, what would they be?” Immediately, I knew mine: “Yes, you are.”
By Geoff Holter
After the first tea dance, and probably too many cocktails, I wandered down the boardwalk to the famous—or infamous, if you like—hook-up space, the “meat-rack.”
