The Gayest Thing
an anthology
With each passing year, Pride changes, and so do my feelings towards it. This June, it’s impossible to summarize the way it feels to celebrate while atrocities are happening in the world. I’ve included a link at the end of this anthology for the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund, please consider donating if you can.
Holding many feelings simultaneously is something us queers are built for. The experience of queerness is expansive. It’s everything, or it’s the size of a freckle; it hurts, or it’s the greatest gift. Sometimes, it’s all of those things at once. That’s what I wanted to explore in this anthology.
I sent out a gay bat signal and got answers from friends, writers, all people whose work I love! The ask was simple: in 300 words, write the gayest thing about you. A silly prompt meant to let their creativity run free.
What trickled into my inbox were inspired words on identity, humanity, bottoming, the world. I’m in awe of these talents.
This anthology was a joy to put together, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Sharing the page with these writers is such a treat, please read, support, follow, and love them!
Happy Pride.
Calista Ginn
Calista Ginn (she/her) is a writer who lives with her ever-growing collection of houseplants and trinkets in Houston, Texas. When she’s not at her day job in public health, you can find her writing her newsletter youngest daughter or taking herself on whimsical solo dates to art museums. She’s on most socials @calistaginn.
if it were up to me, i think my dating profile would be a mile long:
femme4femme
femme4butch
femme4all/neither/both/secret third thing
femme4anything subversive and delicious, really
femme4unabashed whimsy (hot)
femme4anyone who kisses my knuckles and has good politics
femme4paul mescal, who i think could be charmed by me in the right circumstances
femme4lending my lip gloss to hotties in need at the bar
femme4healthy, mutual obsession
femme4lime topo chico served glossy and ice-cold from a familiar fridge
femme4a nice long cleansing cry, the kind that feels like a melodramatic music video in the shower
femme4being a little witchy even if you’re not sure if it’s working because the crystals are cute and like, what’s the harm in writing your wishes in your journal
femme4every cast member of ella enchanted (2004), especially minnie driver
femme4any cashier at a bookstore who is around my age and affirms my book choice, or says something like “you’ll have to come back and tell me if you liked it!”
femme4that time declan mckenna touched my shoulder
femme4all the shows i saw at the mercy lounge in nashville before it closed, one of those spaces that wasn’t explicitly queer but always radiated queer energy (RIP)
femme4sunday matinees at one of those theaters with tableside service, because all the best films are served with a margarita and truffle fries
femme4keeping the house at a crisp 67 degrees while we sleep
femme4knowing & being known
Gracie Jenkins
Gracie Jenkins (they/them) is a poet by craft and a lover of all words by heart. They published their first book at 16 and have continued to deepen their love for writing. Currently, they are working on their second full-length piece. Gracie shares their writing from their home state of Colorado, accompanied by their two literary cats, Scout and Atticus. When they’re not putting pen to paper, they can often be found baking gluten and dairy-free goodies and looking for whimsy around every corner.
everywhere i go,
everyone i’ve been and am,
everything i do.
the gayest thing about me
Billie Black
Billie Black (she/her) is a queer/trans photographer and writer based in Los Angeles. Their work consists of personal essays/prose and portraiture using film. Billie shares her writing on substack and other work on instagram.
If Now Was Then
If now was then, I would let the pillowcase secured with a headband hang off my shoulders forever. Or until the roots of my own hair grew strong, nurturing long heavenly strands of brown curls. My grandma eventually able to use those faded pink linen for her bed, once again.
If now was then, no razor would grace the side of my head cutting away the last remaining fragments of hope each growing follicle gave me. Separating me further and further away from flat irons, and bobby pins, and enough hairspray to threaten the ozone layer.
If now was then, there wouldn’t have been an argument when I was gifted a doll for my birthday. My friends wouldn't have had to watch as my father's face deepened in redness, spitting explosions of insecurity over why a boy shouldn’t have a doll, why a boy shouldn't do gymnastics, why a boy just shouldn't.
If now was then, I would dress that doll up as a pop star or an astronaut or a doctor and slip shoe after shoe onto her miraculously curved foot until landing on the perfect color. Her hair brushed meticulously and gently.
If now was then, there would be no shame.
Just joy. Euphoria. Girlhood.
If now was then, there would be photographic proof of that girlhood. Photo albums filled with memories of princess cosplay, vibrant pink face-staining birthday cakes, attempts at filling the gaps in my mom’s heels, getting caught in the makeup drawer with red lipstick displayed across my cheeks.
If now was then, I would be called Billie instead of faggot or pussy or (dead name retracted). There would be language for my queerness and tolerance for the deep rooted feminine I possess. I'd bloom like a flower, roots nurtured and intricate.
If now was then, I would stand firm in my body. No longer floating in the shell of a person I don’t recognize. Constantly underwhelmed by the choices of clothes presented and how my flat body looked in them. Unnerving jealousy of girls in crop tops and snug fitting jeans. Soft skin, widening hips. Always longing for the same attention from boys; the ones that named me faggot.
Catherine Merritt
Catherine Merritt is a lesbian writer and bookseller in Denver, Colorado. She’s a big fan of lavender oat milk lattes, her black cat, and a good bookmark. Her previous work has been published by Beyond the Veil Press and Dyke Diaries. You can follow Catherine on Instagram @catherineinwords and on Substack at To Be Tender.
Lesbian femininity is its own kind of art form
Not a performance but a signal so she knows we play for the same team. Somehow we all smell of the same lavender and violet. Linked by our shared histories and secret symbols. I add the shimmer of French body oil rubbed across exposed skin so she knows where to look. Lace underneath that’s just as much for me as it is for her. A wash of black cherry swiped across my lips, kiss-stained before our mouths even meet. I keep my nails short so she knows I’m good with my hands. She eyes the interlocking Venus on my wrist and when she tells me she likes the gold chain clasped around it I resist the urge to tell her it used to match my ex-girlfriend’s. I am trying not to bring ghosts into a rebirth. The universe is never too subtle in its signals and neither is she. A lean across the table, a glance, a smirk. So much unspoken but we both know where this is going and it’s back to her place. A woman’s touch is always tender even when it’s rough. Press until it hurts but soothe the bruise in lipstick kisses. I promise I won’t wash them off just yet.
Jeanne Cassiers
Jeanne Cassiers (she/her) is a passionate writer and artist based in Europe. She finds inspiration in the ordinary, from the beauty in the mundane to the intricacies of family dynamics. Her love for music and spontaneous singing, though not always appreciated by her friends, fuels her creative spirit. She shares her musings and graphic art on her instagram @janeinafewwords.
common bisexual misunderstanding
No, mom, that girl is not my girlfriend. Yes, she is single. No, no, I know, she’s in every one of my stories. Yes, yes, I know, she’s attractive. Yes she is “cool”. Yes she is an artist. Yes, every guy would turn absolutely filthy disgusting if we made out in front of them. To be fair, it doesn’t take them much. Yes, mom, I’m going to the south of France with her. No, we're sharing a bed. No, mom, we will not be dating at any time in the future. What about what guy? The guy who cooks for me? Yes, I was at his place again. Yes, late at night. Yes, he is single, too. Yes, he is indeed funny. Yes, we will be going to Paris together. No, I do not want to date him. Why? I don’t know, mom, why did you never date Adrien? WHAT?? Mom! I don’t want to know that! You’re telling me that if you had spent ONE weekend alone with him you’re not sure you could have kept your hands to yourself? Oh, for fuck’s sake. Sorry, sorry. Well, that’s just… great, mom. I am so very thankful to have this information. Yes, I am still sure that I don’t want to date either of them. Yes, if that changes you will be the first to know. Do not hold your breath. Yes, I love you too. Say hi to dad for me. And the dog.
Zach Sailor
Zach Sailor (he/him) is a queer writer and bookish content creator based in Seattle. He’s hilarious… and humble. Zach is currently working on his first novel and writes the EGGZACHLY newsletter. When he isn’t reading or writing, you can find him on TikTok and Instagram or in the mountains of the PNW.
The List
There is a list in my Notes App that contains every man I’ve slept with.
Some of these men have names,
some of them do not.
It starts with the man I lost my virginity to,
in a frat house,
while Frozen played in the background.
Bottoming to Let It Go is just as humiliating as it sounds,
but it was also camp in its highest form.
And thus The List was born,
a place to document when gay sex gets gayer.
I scroll
(yes, scroll)
through The List from time to time:
A massage therapist who relieved tension in my upper back,
then blew out my lower back.
The guy who does my mom’s eyebrows,
from the beauty parlor to a booty farmer.
That man who picked me up on my lunch breaks,
he’d fill me up, but I always came back to work hungry.
The coach who wanted to roleplay,
I hate sports but I was an athlete for him.
Bi Top Dad,
he was a bi top dad.
I like reminiscing about the best of them,
like I’m standing in a graveyard of Tops–
a widowed Bottom.
I wonder…
Do they ever think about me?
Do they have lists like mine?
Do they remember my name?
If I am in their phones,
I hope I have a peach emoji next to my name.
Allison Billmeyer
Allison Billmeyer (she/her) is a writer, occasional actor, and serious home cook from Idaho currently based in Chicago. You can primarily find her writing on Substack at good salt and on Instagram @allison.billmeyer.
The gayest thing about me is something that I don’t quite know yet. I didn’t come into my queerness, my bisexuality until I was older and it still lies quiet within me, often resting but still there. The truth I am learning about myself is that my bisexuality is often going to come with questions. Questions of whether I am living how I am meant to be living and loving who I am meant to be loving. I am learning to embrace that I am often too earnest and too hopeful. I think these things can be gifts, and I am still waiting for the person who will receive them with care. I think the gayest thing about me is that I truly believe that I could fall in love with almost anyone. I don’t mean this to sound selfish or greedy but more like a strength that I can hold such softness for so many people. That I can recognize their innate humanness and choose to celebrate it and hold it closely. To be queer is to be more fully human, more fully myself, and more fully in love.
Carly Croman
Carly Croman (she/her) is a writer, facilitator, and professor living and working in the Sonoran Desert. She teaches creative problem-solving at the University of Arizona, seeking to design a future that centers humans. Carly is the founder of Sonoran Sapphics, an organization that champions queer joy through inclusive events. She writes a substack called All Learning that explores all the ways we’re learning, even when we don’t call it that, and is currently working on her debut novel.
What is late if I am always arriving?
I’m singing in the third pew
heirloom bells, the ones we carry
into easter mass, playing
a sonata on my cells
her lips, her hands, her eyes
not me not me not me–
disbelief declared at the antique table
of my youth. I knew the answer
before wonder rearranged
possible paths forward.
a silhouette comes
first, a sketch of a thing,
a single lyric: I want so much,
sometimes I feel infinite.
the rhythm of time
slows, a new arrangement
of a familiar song, certainty
punctuated with what if, maybe
not enough, not enough–a goodbye
kiss at departures, a death sentence:
suffocating secret only half-believed
pick a side, no you’re not, it’s a phase
but her hands, His eyes, their lips:
home.
Catie Davis
Catie Davis (she/they) is a queer transracial adoptee in Oakland, California. She writes about queerness, race, chronic illness and sometimes funny, mostly unfortunate things. You can follow their writing on ig at @catiefuckingdavis and substack at spiraling with catie davis.
How I met your mother.
“Oh, so they’re a Dyke About Town?” you tuck a strand of dark hair behind your ear, smiling coyly into your glass of champagne. I recognize you in passing at the DuPont farmers market and again at the Queers In Media event. You were one of the panelists and spoke about directing your debut film. With those striking green eyes and jawline it was impossible to look away. I hung onto every word. Now, at Cessily’s dinner party we meet again and I notice your freckles and dimples when you smile. The room is buzzing, a cozy embrace and holiday lights dance around the room.
My mind wanders to all the places we have yet to go.
What’s your favorite thing about yourself and how do you like your eggs in the morning? Do you believe in ghosts? What’s something you wish more people knew more about you? Do you want kids and if so how many and oh gosh, I don’t know if I want them either and do you call your parents often and how old were you when you had your first kiss and do you like ice cream– god i hope so– and are you an early bird or night owl, me too me too, i hope you’re a dog lover and where’s the coolest place you’ve ever hiked and do you ever dream about van life or retiring on a farm or by the ocean side– by the way i love your pant suit– and what picks you up when you’re feeling down and what’s the last book you read that took your breath away and how old were you when you came out? and isn’t it crazy how gender is just a performance and we’re all just out here just trying to be seen and loved? and and and --
“Yes, I’m Catie,” I grin.
Callan O’Neill
Callan O’Neill (she/her) has bangs. She currently lives in New York City with her black pug named Stanley and last months’ dirty laundry. She walks into every room with her stellium in Leo and leaves with an embarrassing story to share with her mom. When she’s not working her day job in communications & events, she’s writing her newsletter Junk Drawer. She can be found on most social media platforms @callanoneill.
*Cries in Bisexual*
Does anyone have a psychotherapist or a mother
in New York City?
I’m looking for someone to tell me what to do
with my hands.
***
I am seventeen and in love with a bad poet.
He wants to teach me about culture,
so he fucks me in the Art Building.
I want to give him something to write about,
so I let him turn my bare belly into his canvas.
Can three strokes make a masterpiece?
***
I have suspicions that I am attractive. Apparently
I came out of the womb with the long, curled fingers
of a piano-player and lips stained red as if already kissed.
I don’t know if I’ve ever really seen myself, but
she calls me beautiful and I am so named.
***
I am almost twenty-six and reaching
for something to do with all this time.
There are so many things I don’t know.
***
The first time I fuck her before she brushes her teeth
I know she will let me do it again. It’s a Tuesday morning
in Brooklyn and there’s a word for what her laughter tastes like.
It’s a Thursday morning in Manhattan and there’s a word for
the opposite of shame. She slips her fingers in my mouth
and language is on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps
I have been writing towards her all this time.
Nic Marna
Nic Marna (he/him), also known as @bookbinch, is a writer, reader and fast-walker based in Montreal. He is dedicated to championing queer literature and finding the perfect coffee order. Nic writes a bi-weekly newsletter and is currently finishing his debut novel, a queer coming-of-age that explores how sometimes gay does not mean happy.
Balance
The unscratchable itch of my hand wanting to be held in public
The chunk of molar missing, clenched away over time
The kink in my neck from turning it to rubber
The fissure above my eyebrows, forged from years of frowning my way to nonchalance
The gash in my held tongue, bitten down to rubble
The pit in my stomach calloused from contracting at every loud noise, raised voice, dark corner
The back pain from shifting between making myself bigger, smaller, depending
The way time bends when I sync my steps to a Robyn song
The rush of defiance from holding my chin above the clouds
The delicate swing of an impractically small bag hanging off my wrist, limp
The full-body quench from chugging a 7$ iced americano with macadamia nut milk
The satisfaction of having known about Chappell Roan before
The mouthfeel of the word faggot leaving my lips, not just fag, fag–IT
The family, chosen
The list doesn’t end, it gets longer by the day, but it’s never been a fair fight. How could it be? The scales are tipped.
Balance means an equal distribution, but in this case balance means to move without falling, to not let the cons become a reason you don’t go on.
Thank you for reading!
I hope you enjoyed, and I encourage you to share your favourite piece, a line that made you gasp or giggle, and most importantly let the writer know!!
xoxo,
Nic
Writers on Substack are coming together to generate support for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund. The goal is to tap into our creative community and readership to bring aid to the most vulnerable members of the population in Gaza. Thank you for helping us.
Cannot believe my name is in the same anthology as these other Writers. Like, the talent is clocked in honey! It’s perfection, no skips, jaw on the floor, gagatronda! Thank you for putting this together and thank you for inviting me to be a part of it 🩷🌈
as gwyneth paltrow once said: i laughed, i cried a number of times, i sweat, i danced, i got a shot, i ate, and i had many epiphanies
i loved every single piece in this, so honored to be a part of it 😭😭😭🌈🌈🌈 same time next year?? 💜