Gay sex, by definition, is transgressive. We fuck until we die, and if we’re lucky, the sex will be our protest, the one too loud to ignore.… more
Gay sex, by definition, is transgressive. We fuck until we die, and if we’re lucky, the sex will be our protest, the one too loud to ignore.… more
It isn’t about feeding lasers to all those invading aliens, dishing out smith-forged steel to those marauding goblins. It’s about being the woman behind the smoking barrel; the female that grips the rawhide hilt. When she puts down the laser pistol, the gleaming, blood-soaked blade, the adventure persists. The adventure is being the new me—her.… more
Maybe I was a little maníaco because I only thought about sex during our all-male camping trips in Puerto Peñasco every Easter vacation, beginning when I was twelve. Dad would load up his white work van with a bevy of motorcycles and minibikes and enough food, beer, and soda to last a bunch of fathers and sons an entire week.… more
For the briefest moment, absolute fear welled up in António and threatened to engulf him.… more
In Romania they had a word for this feeling of not quite belonging and feeling nostalgic for something maybe you ain’t really experienced and this great longing feeling—dor. We don’t have a word for that here in the Deep South. It’s just a lifestyle here.… more
I rotated my hips outward, pretending to be a dancer, and did a sloppy arabesque, showing my striped underwear to the mirror. I held myself there, distorted and wobbly, and noted how far my body could bend on its own. I stared and stared, and, like saying a word so many times it no longer sounds like a word, I became less and less human to myself.… more
William didn’t need keys to successfully steal his mother’s navy blue Camaro. He knew how to hotwire it in ten seconds flat and lived for the jolt of electricity that shot through his body every time the engine roared without a fuss.… more