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  1. The question, of why one should come out in the first place, is probably as old as the coming out as such itself. Similarly, the question of why LGBT* people still need their pride parades and other events. Sure, one could argue, that there are still here and their attacks on queer people in the US or people are killed because of their sexual orientation in other countries of the world. But my answer focuses more on the individual that makes the very decision: Sure, one could argue that coming out is not a necessity since straight people don't have to come out either, but that's comparing apples to oranges. There's an organization called "SpeakOUT", where volunteer speakers hold speeches about LGBT* topics at schools. They have an exercise where each student thinks about three traits that constitute them. Then, they start discussions in groups while avoiding mentioning these three traits. This exercise should emphasize how hard it is, to hide an important part of oneself. And this was one of the reasons for me to come out: I accepted my orientation once I was certain about being gay and even though, I hadn't encountered homophobia personally, I experienced heteronormativity in my everyday life. For instance, if I was asked if I had a girlfriend yet, there were a few possible ways to react: Denying it since having a female partner was simply ineligible Denying but translating "girlfriend" to "boyfriend" in my head since I was single anyway Coming out by correcting "girlfriend" to "boyfriend" verbally The problem with this is, that I were forced to react to this in one way or the other. If I didn't come out, I would hide a part of myself; if I did, someone else determined when I had to come out. That's why I decided to flight forward: I came out on my eighteenth birthday. — From: Ex gay husband, chapter 2 As privileged people, we often overlook it, but with small comments, we hurt marginalized fellow human beings in our everyday life. Social psychologists call that “microaggression”. There once was an interesting discussion on Twitter where somebody complained, that gays always have to rub their sexuality under everybody’s nose because his co-worker placed a picture of his boyfriend on his own desk. Straight people do that, too—with one difference, and that difference is attributable to society. Because of heteronormativity, we don’t question these pictures of straight co-workers. In the case of gay co-workers, two statements could be made in the heads of the beholders: "Oh! xyz is gay!" "Probably, he has sex with that other gay in the picture—possibly anal sex!" Meaning, the problem is not the picture but the triggers that are deeply rooted in our heads. These triggers can be reduced by more diversity.
  2. (This is part of a continuing series about how I tried to come out as gay in an Evangelical Christian environment. If you haven’t read my other essays in this series, please find them here, they will put this essay into context) Spring 1985 “I don’t believe you’re homosexual,” he said. “I believe you’re bisexual, mostly heterosexual, and this is a phase you are going through.” I just nodded my agreement, what else could I do? We were sat together in the tiny study of his house. He was the curate of the church I attended, in suburban Liverpool. It was an extremely Evangelical church, everything was right or wrong, no grey areas, from a very simplistic reading of the bible, but it was also the place I was desperately trying to belong to. I wanted to be accepted by this congregation, these people, because I believed they were my only chance at finding friendship. But there was a secret stain on my soul, I am gay, and back then Evangelical Christians saw it as a sin so bad it was only punishable by hell (I know many still believe that). I was eighteen then and so deeply closeted. I had locked that closet door and wasn’t letting in a spark of light. No one could know I was gay, if they did I could risk losing all of my friends, and I was lonely enough. The thought of being friendless was terrifying. But my secret was eating away inside of me. There was the fear of being found out but there was also the isolation. There was no one I could talk to and be my real self with, I had to constantly monitor what I said, again and again I had to pretend to be straight, again and again I had to hide so much of myself. I longed to be open with someone about my sexuality. (Deep down I longed for a boyfriend but that was too much to express. But I still believed that if I had gay sex, it would be a sin that would condemn me to hell forever). I was so deeply depressed, but back then I didn’t even recognise that, I found it was just my normal, melancholic personality. Several months before that day I hit a watershed moment. I saw an advert for an organisation called the True Freedom Trust (TFT), in the back of my Christian youth magazine, they claimed to have an alternative to the “homosexual lifestyle” through Christianity. I had been seeing its founder, HM, since then for counselling. He said his belief was just being gay wasn’t a sin but any kind of gay sex was, the only “acceptable” lifestyle was that of celibacy. I jumped at that, when I first heard it, it was my fire escape from hell (Though as time passed, it proved nothing of the sort). HM said that I needed to confide in someone, at my church, about my sexuality. He suggested my church’s curate. I was unsure but was convinced by HM. HM said he had met the curate and he was the right man to support me. I wasn’t sure but HM said this was the right thing to do. The curate was a middle-aged man who had trained for the Anglican ministry after a life of low paid jobs and then a long time in adult education. He had deeply Evangelical beliefs, which he would talk about at any opportunity, especially his views on sex, which were just as Evangelical. He talked about masculine Christianity and for Christian leaders to be strong and real men. I screwed up what little courage I had, this would only be the second person I told about my sexuality, and asked the curate if I could see him. There was something I needed to talk to him about. On a weekday afternoon, I visited him, at his home, sat in his tiny study with him, and I told him I thought I was gay. I actually said I thought I was homosexual and that I’d been having homosexual feelings. That was when he told me he believed I wasn’t, that I was just a confused heterosexual. I was stunned, this wasn’t the reaction I had been expecting, or even fearing, and I had no answer for him but to agree with him. How could I have argued? What could I have said? I didn’t have the strength, back then, to tell him that I don’t have a heterosexual bone in my body, which is what I would do now. I just agreed with him, because that was what I was sure he wanted me to say, and in that I wasn’t wrong. Then he told me he’d had of vision of me, a vision given to him by God. He saw me dressed in a suit and tie, not wearing my glasses, with my hair short, neat and tidy, taking a girl out on a date to the cinema. If I followed this vision then I would truly find happiness and be the man God wanted me to be, he said. I felt a terrible kick of fear. How could this be a vision from God, it was so wrong. Without my glasses I am very short-sighted, which makes most activities difficult, at best. My hair is thick and curly and in any style that is short, it rebels against it, sticking out at odd angles, it is never neat when short. I hate wearing a suit and tie, even then I did. Suit jackets show off my round shoulders, I’m never comfortable with a tie pushed up to my neck, and shirts never stay tucked into my trousers. My mother always complained about how badly suits hung off me, but I am just genetically unsuited to them. But taking a girl on a date, that was the most confusing part of his vision. Was he telling me to stay and follow the TFT’s ex-gay counselling? I was begging God, each night, to turn me straight, but that prayer went unanswered, every time. Did the curate’s vision mean I was failing? His words felt like a command, telling me the way I should be living, but a goal I was falling so far short of. I didn’t argue with the curate, I didn’t tell him what he said was certainly a lie, when he called me heterosexual, but I couldn’t. I had such a negative view of myself, I hated so much of myself, that denying myself and agreeing with him was all I could think of to do. As I left his study, and his home, I again agreed with him, he said I wasn’t gay, only a confused heterosexual. He was so wrong. I felt so betrayed, after seeing him. I had gone to him for help and support but he’d denied me that by denying what I said to him. How could he have turned it into such a lie, something that was so untrue? (Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I realise that man was deeply homophobic. It was his homophobia that drove him to deny my sexuality and to come up with that ridiculous vision of me. But I didn’t know that, back then) After that afternoon, the curate behaved as if I had never told him I was gay, he just ignored it as if I had never said a word to him. He carried on talking to me about me finding a girlfriend and his preaching, at church, got increasingly homophobic. I got the message though, he didn’t want to hear any more about me being gay. The impression was made, did anyone at church want to know I’m gay? No they didn’t. I had to stay firmly closeted because being gay was something to be ashamed of. Not what I needed to hear at that moment. Drew
  3. This started out in late 2016 as my first attempt at a multi-part story. I remember pestering @Parker Owens for his agreement for me to start posting after I'd produced ... four chapters or thereabouts. His wise counsel prevailed, and I've spent a long time both completing this part, and refining the writing so it comes up to my current standards. The reception of the first two chapters has been such that I've ventured to start this story topic. Feel free to discuss or ask questions on any element of the story. I know there may be things which are distinctively English which may need further explanation. Let the open house begin.
  4. This was a really interesting year. Last year, just right before Christmas, I told my sister that she might not have a sister-in-law but a brother-in law... After Christmas I told my Mum as well. Since then the number of people I came out to expanded to nice round 10. These people form sort of my "inner circle", some gyrate closer to me, some further, but they are nevertheless my close friends. How was a year out? I tried to come with one adjective - the most appropriate would be "eye-opening". I slightly touched the local gay "pop-culture", the "meat market", I even spent a night in a hotel owned by gays and I saw their darkroom . I found out that there are many gays in the city, and I got to realize that they are all the same as "straight" people. Maybe more vain. But I can't be so negative. Everyone knows that I met here the love of my life, my SUPERLATIVE boyfriend about whom I tend to brag endlessly, so I have to control myself. Moreover, he's coming over tomorrow and he will be mine for almost two weeks! That's almost an eternity in a long-distance relationship. Apart of my personal life, I also found my first real job, considered quitting my Ph.D. and then reconsidered, met new people and expanded my horizons towards economy and accounting and I already have plans for future development... shortly it was not only one year out, but also one year in the middle of work, school, travel and LOVE I wish all of you who read this blog MERRY CHRISTMAS and a happy, successful, loving and placid new year 2011. Hopefully the new decade will bring us more happiness than the last one.
  5. ... even if the road is often long and painful. I may have shed a tear or ten while reading this article https://www.outsports.com/2017/6/20/15835374/ryan-ocallaghan-gay-nfl-new-england-patriots-kansas-city-chiefs
  6. Many of you will probably know that outside of my writing here and the small pile of pseudo-educational jobs I do, I'm also a political activist and one-time candidate. This is not a blog post to go on and on about my politics, but simply to set the context for everything else. Five years ago I helped pass an anti-homophobia and anti-transphobia school board policy, and since then I've had the distinct pleasure of watching people become less worried about anti-LGBTQ discrimination in my hometown's schools. Since then, other school board and countries have moved towards greater legal acceptance of LGBTQ rights and freedoms, but many youth still feel like they can't come out for fear of or familial rejection. I'm working with some of my activist friends in the real world to help create an anthology, based on the Chicken Soup books, that would showcase the lived experiences of ordinary LGBTQ people coming out in all aspects of their lives and showing that things do get better. I'm looking to eventually have 101 stories, just like the series I'm using as my template, and different sections where the stories could be found, such as coming out to parents, to siblings, at work, to friends and a few other sections that could possibly make sense. I'm the first to admit that my circle of friends is not terribly diverse, and that we also come from very similar backgrounds as activists (which I fully admit are not the same as normal humans. Our lives are much less joyful.) which may not resonate with everyone else. I'd be honoured to have people submit their stories, or if this is something the community wants to do together and publish, we can find a way to make that happen. I want this to happen, so it will happen; I'd like it to happen with the people I've met here, all the writers and the people who know how to spin a good yarn and help potentially use our writing gifts to help out kids. Thanks for reading, and hopefully thanks for your support.
  7. Autumn 1985 At nineteen, my main mission in life was to “fit in” with the world around me. If I kept my head down and didn’t draw attention to myself then people would not guess my secret and not hate me for it, as I feared. It was a simple but very flawed plan, though at the time it was all I could see to do. At that time, most of my world revolved around being a member of my church and being a good Christian because that was what was expected of me with my membership there. It was an Evangelical Anglican church, and being Evangelical they preached that the church had to be all of your life, and I happily agreed with that because I so wanted to fit in somewhere. Up until then I had been an outsider in my life; I didn’t like the things other kids were passionate about, I didn’t follow all the different trends that consumed the other kids around me, I was plainly unpopular, but fitting in was the most important thing where I grew up and I failed at it. Church gave me the chance of a place where I could belong, of a place where I could be wanted, and I grabbed at it with both hands. At nineteen, church offered me a full social life and happily I jumped into it, I was wanted. There was the church service on a Sunday morning and the Young People’s Fellowship on a Sunday evening, plus the Bible study group, prayer meetings, worship practice, drama group rehearsals, and other meetings all throughout the week, but the most important of all was the Sunday morning Communion (Eucharist) Service, and everyone was expected to attend that. After this service the congregation would always move into the church hall to have a cup of tea and split off into our different cliques. This social element seemed almost as important as the service itself, or at least we had the chance to discuss the service and then discuss other people’s lives and actions. I so enjoyed this part of the morning, I belonged somewhere and there were people I could talk with. It was an extra forty-five minutes to an hour before I had to return home. The clique I belonged to was the Young People’s Fellowship, the church’s spiritual youth group. For me it was a safe clique to hide away in. We all sat together in church, went to the same church activities together, and when the Young People’s Fellowship met, we’d all agree on the same things, the things we were told we needed to believe and agree on. That Sunday morning, the church service had been noticeably different. Our regular organist, Nicholas, wasn’t there. Instead, an elderly man, with a bald and domed head, had slowly and awkwardly played the church’s organ, all the hymns at the same painfully slow pace. Now, after the service, it was all anyone could talk about. Where was Nicholas and how terrible the hymns were, some people were even calling the organ playing a disgrace, talking about how we hadn’t fully worshipped God’s glory. Suddenly I felt like an outsider again; I didn’t know what was happening, no one had thought to include me, again I had to find out for myself. I did what I had always learnt to do, I stayed quiet and listened to the conversations around me. If I listened carefully I would always learn something. Each Sunday morning, during the Communion Service, Nicholas had sat at the church’s organ, playing the hymns with gusto and energy, while his friend, Robin, sat in the pew next to him. Those two men had fascinated me. Nicholas was ten or more years older than Robin and yet they were still friends, almost constant companions at church. People from different ages didn’t mix at church, it was very much divided along age lines. People from the Young People’s Fellowship didn’t mix with the members of the Mothers Union, who didn’t mix with Full Gospel Businessmen’s Luncheon group; everyone was in awe of the church’s council members, and we all looked up to the clergy. But here were Nicholas and Robin, open with their friendship. Nicholas had always been conservatively dressed at church, he wore neat and dark suits, his grey hair cut into a short and neat style. Robin was far more stylish, obviously aware of his clothes and appearance. His hair was always neatly styled, brushed in a careful way and always parted at the side. He wore a suit too, but his suits were always sharply coloured, rich browns, bright blues and greens, neat charcoal, they were always worn over a matching waistcoat and a coordinated tie tied in a large and prominent knot under his collar. He wore several rings on his fingers back when men didn’t wear rings, even married men didn’t wear a wedding ring. The most prominent one was a gold signet ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand and he would absentmindedly turn it around on his finger when he seemed preoccupied. I was fascinated by these two men, but my fascination was always from afar. I would watch them from my pew in church. I could never speak to them because they were in such a different social circle to me. If I had spoken to them, what would I have said to them? I could never have asked them that question that nagged away at the back of my mind, were they like me? But how could I ask it when I could not even ask it of myself? I wasn’t like that, it was just a mistake, just a phase my life was stuck in, something I could deny and push down as far as I could. The Young People’s Fellowship was run by two married couples, the clean-cut Richard and Elizabeth, and their growing number of children, and the round and comical Iain and Sadie, who always had the latest electronic gadget. That morning, Iain almost bounded up to our group as we stood together in the church hall, exclaiming, “Have you lot heard? Nicholas the organist has had to leave the church because he went and married his husband!” “What?” Elizabeth replied. “Robin, that friend of his, was his homosexual lover and they went through a mock marriage,” Iain gleefully added. “That’s disgusting!” Elizabeth said, her whole face twisting up with distaste. Suddenly the whole group was alive with the subject, talking hurriedly and excitedly about it; this was true gossip that everyone could condemn and they were all condemning it. Homosexuality was disgusting, immoral, a perversion, sin made flesh. No Christian could be a homosexual, they said and they were certain that God condemned it, simply look at AIDS and all the other failings they attributed to being homosexual. And they knew they were right because they were certain they were. Elizabeth and Richard were strong in their condemnation, certain they were right in the way they were always certain their beliefs were always right. I withdrew to the edge of the group, my hands pushed into the pockets of my duffle coat, and just listened to the words bouncing around me. I knew I failed so often as a Christian, I could not live up to the high moral standards required of me. I struggled to believe all the things required of me because of the inner doubts that plagued my mind, telling me I wasn’t good enough and that I failed at every attempt. The biggest doubt that rang in my mind was that I was already going to hell just for being who I was. I am gay, but at nineteen I couldn’t begin to admit it to myself, it was my dark secret that I dreaded anyone else finding out. The only expression of my sexuality I dared to make were quick and very furtive glances at handsome men when I though no one else was watching me. In the next moment I would be flooded with guilt. I was disgusting and going straight to hell, the guilt told me. Hearing what those around me were saying, the force of their condemnation of Nicholas and Robin, again I knew I was right to be afraid. These people around me, they were the people who called me their friend, who told me they were my Christian family, and they were now pouring out the most terrible prejudice and hatred towards homosexuals. Would they turn that onto me if they knew the truth? I couldn’t take the risk so I pulled myself further within myself. Friendships were a risk; I couldn’t let people into my life, but how could I avoid hell? I was lost. That moment was chilling, I saw all my friends and my faith in a new light, this church wasn’t the safe place I’d always hoped it would be. But in the next breath, I wanted these people to like me and I wanted to be part of this group. If they found out I was gay would they treat me the same way? Would they pour out their prejudice on me and force me to leave this church? I couldn’t take that risk. I had to increase my efforts; I had to ensure I fitted in, even though I couldn’t take the biggest step, I couldn’t change my stripes. Eighteen months later, I was outed at church and they did behave exactly as they had done towards Nicholas and Robin. I was left with no choice but to leave. I should have known it would happen, I had watched it play out with their treatment of Nicholas and Robin, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. (All the names here have been changed. I am no longer in contact with anyone mentioned here so I do not know what their beliefs and views are now. People do change) (The photograph illustrating this essay is not a picture of the church where this took place) Drew
  8. Trials and Tribulations Chapter 3 is now posted. A story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Trials and Tribulations
  9. I just published the first chapter of my first story ever. It's a coming out, coming of age story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. I would love for you to give it a read and let me know if you liked the chapter and would like for me to continue the story. I know I will make mistakes,but hopefully I will learn from them and not repeat the same ones If you liked it, please remember to click on the "like it" on the bottom right of the chapter. Consider it like buying me a drink for a job well done or a pat on the back. I will also offer a poll for your use if you if you're into polls Below is a link to the story. Trials and Tribulations
  10. Life's curves I don't know, I get so confused sometimes. I listen to people talk, read stories (fiction, i know) and like all stories there's usually a grain of truth in them. They do came from someone's experiences. Like it's been said, there's nothing new under the sun. Years ago I admitted to a friend that being gay scared me not because of what other people thought, since I had been through so much already by the age of 27 to worry with opinions not my own. It scared me because I never saw any older gay couples and I didn't want to die alone. I think the fear of dying alone made me reach out through the internet to feel close to more people since I was limited at home. Through all the chemo, radiation, and other crap I had to deal with, I was always scared of dying alone. I mean I knew my parents would always be there for me, but I mean that someone, that special someone. Yet the more I learn about life, the more I feel alone. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I'm not in remission yet, but I should be soon. So, I guess I'm getting better. There's still the bone marrow transplant donor to find and do. But, things are looking better again. Yet, I also see now that I missed out on so much as a teenager. I think I would trade my life today to have had a normal life as a teenager. Making all the mistakes and finding the new experiences. I guess I'm making a fool of myself. Tonight I set up most of the night reading a long story on nifty and envied the characters, even the sad ones. At least they got to experience life. I guess after so many years of battling my battles, I'm starting to become a little bitter over it. I do treasure my online friends, even some of the old guys that pretended to be teens before they either literally died from old age or disappeared. Life isn't always fair, in fact, it rarely is. But, I have to have the hope and belief that if you pour yourself into life, in the long run, it's all worth it. I am however real enough to know that's not always true. And it saddens me to see people have to deal with the worst life can throw at you. I wish the world wasn't like that. And like I said earlier, I dunno why I'm writing this, but here it is, raw, unedited me. Please, if you feel you can't take anymore, it will get better. There's nothing life can throw at us that we can't over come or find a way around it, it will get better. Nothing last forever, including the bad times, it will get better. Reach out to someone, talk to someone, share your feelings, it will get better. Never ever give up, it will get better. There are organizations that are there to help us through the bad times, it will get better. The Trevor Project is just one of those, reach out to them, support their work, it will get better. The Trevor Project
  11. Working on a short story about a couple of college football jocks. Anyone interested in reading it?
  12. (mom, or someone else) " I speed-dialled 'DADDY' from your phone - but it wasn't your father that answered!"
  13. Comicality has been posting a series of Gay short films recently and I for one have thoroughly enjoyed them. In my meandering around You-tube I came across this one I thought I'd share. I hope you enjoy it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60yDIrGvQog Let me know what you think! True/Lenny
  14. You know, we write stories about this kind of stuff all the time, but we never seem to share our thoughts and reactions within the lounge. I know the teens have their posts and threads on their challenges coming out, but as adults we also have stories as well on how we deal with coming out. I came out to all my co-workers in the last 2 days, prompted by Orlando and a deep desire to seek solidarity, it is like a high with no limit or restriction to finally be out to the people you know every day. Most people were supportive, others just shrugged and said "whatever". One fun thing I did learn is one of my colleagues and superiors was bi, which is awesome (She has a boyfriend, so I never knew that side of her). At the moment, it's huge high to have the truth out in the open. I am not sure if this is true for other people as well when you came out as adults to friends and co-workers. Of course, I know there are probably some tragic stories out there about friendships broken, jobs lost, and other problems over what comes out, when you come out.
  15. [sharedmedia=stories:stories:5578] So Marty and Hrishi should be keeping y'all entertained for the next 13 weeks. General warning: they both swear, a lot, and they're not exactly nice to each other most of the time, and they're kinky as hell. But they're fun! Enjoy my darlings.
  16. OK, it's been a long time since I used this forum, but here goes. This is the first little bit of something I've been mulling over, and which the lovely Reader1810 has also been mulling over with me (with infinitely more editing skill than I, it must be said). Are we intrigued? I have: 1) no idea where this is going 2) no name the for the main character, and I’m not totally sure he's ever going to get one 3) no planning of any sort 4) no clue where this idea came from, or when my brain thinks I'll have the spare time to write it. _____________________________________________________________________________________________ BAD The realisation that Kai Fischer isn’t the good golden boy everyone else thinks he is hits me one Thursday afternoon as I’m taking a piss. I’m just finishing up in a cubicle when I hear the door bang open, trainers squeak on the floor, and half of a very tense conversation. “Yes… yes I know. Of course I’m trying!” Whoever it is sounds like someone trying very hard not to punch the wall. “Sorry Father, I’ll work harder. Yes. Yes OK. But-!” Another pause, this one silent. “Yes Sir. Goodbye.” Just as I’m about to zip up and flush, the near silence is broken again. “FUCK!” There is the sound of something I guess is a rather expensive mobile phone being hurled across the room, smashing against the tiles. “FUCK! AHHH! Useless fucking shitting hell!” I turn, tuck myself into my jeans and open the door to see Kai Fischer. Everyone’s favourite everything is standing in what he clearly thought was an empty bathroom, glaring at the remnants of a brand new iPhone. I could never afford one, even on credit; but already, I know he’ll have a replacement by the morning. His whole body snaps towards me as I appear, lounging against the doorjamb with a small grin. Kai Fischer is always the model of control and poise, elegance, grace, maturity, and consideration. But apparently, not always…. “Well, well, so you do have a shadow after all.” His blue eyes are hard and narrow, lips pressed tightly firm. I doubt he’s going to say anything to me. “I wonder what your fan club will say when they find out you’re not actually a demi-god, and you have a temper like us mere mortals.” “It’s none of your business.” His voice is terse and sharp, not at all like the smiling, laughing, uber-polite young man I sometimes see across the quad. I cross to the sinks silently, still watching him as I wash my hands before running damp fingers through my fringe. My hair isn’t what you’d call ‘styled’ but as long as it doesn’t get in the way when I’m working, I don’t care. Good hair doesn’t make up for never having any money, and getting dates with hot girls isn’t really high up on my list of priorities. I’d rather make rent and get my rocks off after a fight with whoever happens to be there. Kai is still watching me watching him, his eyes flashing with bottled in fury, one hand clenched around the porcelain sink. His knuckles are white. “Will you stop fucking looking at me?” “Nope.” I stand, and turn towards him, hooking my thumbs into my pockets. “After all, once you leave here, you’ll probably go back to being the perfect golden boy everyone else thinks you are.” Kai shoots me a look, which might make a lesser man wither in his boots. “And what’s wrong with being seen as nice to everyone?” he snaps. I take a step closer to him, our bodies inches away from each other. Suddenly I can smell him, a clean smooth scent like I’d imagine fresh laundry to be; like the sort you see in adverts where everything is super white and a pretty woman wafts a bed-sheet in the summer shine. The scent makes me dizzy in the back of my mind, and I want to move away, but I refuse to appear weak in front of him. “Because it’s a lie.” “Oh, because you’re so well known for being honourable?” Kai arches a perfectly maintained eyebrow at me. “What is it you do exactly besides skip classes and get wasted?” I’m not sure what makes me do it; maybe it’s his body heat radiating against me, or how neat and perfectly put together he looks, or the hard anger in his eyes which looks so out of place; whatever it is, I don’t think about it, I just grab the front of his shirt, yank him forwards so our chests meet with a dull thud and kiss him. I’m taller, fractionally, but he still had to have angled his face up to meet mine, our lips landing on each other so perfectly. I’ve never wanted to kiss another guy before, never been tempted to experiment, but Kai’s lips are soft as he opens up for my tongue, his body firm, and when his hand presses tight over my crotch, I can feel that he’s strong. He’s a man after all, and I try to move away, but Kai squeezes me and my body responds. Whatever else Kai Fischer is famous for, it should be his dexterity. Before I can even form a thought, he’s got my fly open, his hand in my boxers, and his fingers wrapped around my cock. I gasp sharply into his mouth, and Kai gives a little purr of satisfaction as he touches me. I break the kiss, and find Kai’s blue eyes inches away still watching me as he jacks me off. His gaze is possessive, powerful, complicated, and all consuming. I can’t look away and I don’t want to. I find my fingers running through his perfectly coiffed hair, he almost snarls as I grip the silky strands tightly. The fact that I didn’t jerk off this morning has nothing to do with it: Kai is as gifted at the art of hand jobs as he is at pretending to be Mr. Perfect in front of the rest of the world. His fan-girls would faint if they had any idea what he was doing to me in a third floor bathroom. “Are you close?” Kai’s voice is barely above a whisper, his lips brushing mine as he speaks. “Do you want to come?” “Unghh….” I don’t ever remember feeling so warm, so close to ecstasy, not even whilst fucking, not even during a fight. Kai is pressing every single button I didn’t even know I had.
  17. Better late than never might be the motto hanging over the entrance ... Oh well ... As the story continues to progress, maybe there'll be things you'd like to chat about, complain, moan. Whatever. First though, I've an announcement about Tony and Geoff, and the next few months. As a serial which is written as it's being posted, T&G needs discipline as well as enjoyment on my part. Over the past couple of episodes, that discipline has felt more like a constraint, something that holds me back from writing other things. So the next chapter, 17, about the meal, will be the last for a short while. It will finish Part 1 of Soul Music. I love the characters and I have plenty left to do with them, but I need a break. Both to do other things, and to recharge that part of my creative battery. I expect Geoff to be having that conversation with his mother sometime in July, probably as the opening chapter of Part 2. Sorry to keep you hanging on that one, but the meal seemed the only point at which I could call a temporary halt. @Parker Owens as my editor, and the person with the most invested in the story after me, has agreed with my decision. So, there it is. It will allow me to write more for GA - about Eric, amongst others, and another longish entry for the next anthology. In the meantime, there is one more chapter to write (and it may well turn out to be long one ). I hope you've enjoyed it so far and that you'll rejoin me when I announce the start of Part 2 in this thread.
  18. Just gonna leave tissues on the side table for people who need it. This is why coming out is so important and that we live our authentic truths. https://www.outsports.com/2017/6/21/15851730/gay-pride-fathers-day-son-micah-porter
  19. Chapter 2 is now posted of my first story ever and I'm not sure if I have what it takes to write. It's a story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Please read and let me know what you think about the first chapter of the first story I've written. Trials and Tribulations
  20. This my first story ever and I'm not sure if I have what it takes to write. It's a story about the trials and tribulations of Andy Collins and friends as he confronts his sexual orientation in a small mining town of Pine Hills nestled away in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. Please read and let me know what you think about the first chapter of the first story I've written. Trials and Tribulations
  21. Dear all GA members, Now that Prince George has been born we now know that we will have another king after William, Prince George is very young at the moment but when he reaches his teens how do you think the royal family would react if he turned out to be gay. I know that it is much easier for gay people to come out of the closet in this generation and more in the future, but what if a member of the royal family came out and said he was gay. please send feedback and comment, yours, scotty 94
  22. This is a really very moving coming out video... Not that Troye Sivan didn't ping on my gaydar from the moment I first watched one of his videos, but all the same. Well done, Troye!
  23. So this seems a little bit self-serving... I have began to post my first made-for-GA story on the site and thought people might like to talk about it. Who knows. Bad Stereotypes is about a young man named Bay, who after having his friends and family assume that just because he's come out of the closet he wants to be camp now, runs away to the city on the sea where his Godfather owns a rock and metal bar and club. The story is told is short chapters with numerous flashbacks of Bay's past and history, which help to explain why an out gay guy "hates queers". How Bay gets from his repressed but out point of view to being happy involves a cast of interesting work-mates and one very special man. Four chapters currently available with a new one posted each day. Current length is 13k, and i would project anywhere between 20 and 30k when it's finished. Also, quite randomly, disability themed undertones. Though i'm not quite sure why that is. so, let me know what you think. and yes, some of the chapters are very short. i'm sorry.
  24. What if you could go back in time, and change that one day when you decided to come out? The Portal deals with that question, a flash fiction story just about 1500 words long. Let me know what you think! Read it here: The Portal by Albert Nothlit https://www.gayauthors.org/story/albertnothlit/theportal_2015
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