Late last month, Instagram scrubbed my account. Why? What were they wanting to achieve? A year of tip-toeing the line got me in trouble a couple of times—how much ass is too much? Why did visible dick print cross the line in one image and escape censorship in another? Why

For three more weeks, I’m staying at an artist’s residency in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It’s beautiful country here, roughly 7,000 feet up on a high desert at the tail end of the Rockies. Faceless and not, most men on the apps say I’m here for the best time of

#NSFW language ahead! My partner and I are nearing our eleventh anniversary. It impresses people across all sexualities to hear this. “Goals,” say my straight friends. “That’s an eternity for the Gays,” say other Gays. It works because he and I still like each other. We want to see each

It’s a sin when success complains. That’s how I feel as a gay man who moved to San Francisco from what Californians affectionately call “flyover country.” It’s pretty damn great, living here. So what if everything closes at 2am (#4) and there aren’t any bathhouses to go to (#5). Compared

I made a new friend recently. He just moved here from New York. Having tried to visit the Eagle but finding it closed, he texted me one evening. “Does SF close down at like, 11pm? I’m used to NYC where we don’t even start going out until then.”  Oh honey.

Cheers to the straight guys who have fooled around with me. I think of you from time to time, and I hope you’re well. You’re an integral part of my adolescence and early college years. I share our memories (anonymously, of course) with my gay friends to convivial laughter. They

COVID-19 vaccine eligibility is about to open up like mad, and the fabulous weather forecast right now means you will definitely be having Spring Fever soon. You are probably going to get your vaccination appointment in April, if you don’t have it already, which begs the question — when can

  My last day in the DF and, like so many mornings in this town, my eyes open to a criminal hangover. This cruda is beyond, and, suddenly, the cantina hopping and hanging in Toms Leather Bar until 4 am seem less legitimate without the strength of Ron Bacardi’s fortified