What is it about dates that makes me so red with rage? Is it the small talk with strangers that makes my shoulders turn a bruised violet from the weight of carrying the conversation? Is it the fact that I feel the need to survey every person I meet and test them to see if they will fit the position of boyfriend?
After a party, when one is alone in bed, or sometimes in the middle of the day while writing for a nonfiction creative writing class––these are some of many instances where we receive a request to send nude pictures of ourselves to a suitor or a random person over the internet.
I recently had an experience hooking up with someone where the connection was unreal. Two bodies and two hearts intertwined with all the passion and buildup that one could ever hope for. My summer had been arguably dry, so I was thrilled to return to campus life in Boston to be around my contemporaries and to better my mind and spirit.
We all know about it, but so few of us know how to do it in a way that feels satisfying for all parties involved.
In this age of digital domination, how are we supposed to find our perfect matches?
Horrified but hellbent on seeking approval, I let the monster push my legs one by one into an Uber and message a nameless person until I was on the other side of Boston.
From the Stonewall Inn to Boston’s own Legacy nightclub, these walls have sheltered ostracized homosexual men and other queer folks for generations.