L.A. Affairs: 15 LGBTQ love stories for Pride Month
In a nod to Pride Month, here’s a look back at some editor-curated, best-of, LGBTQ-themed, reader-submitted L.A. Affairs columns.
Listed here chronologically, they range from as far back as 2014 (a lesbian dating app mishap) to as recently as late March (a tale that starts with the author re-entering the dating scene in his 40s and ends with — spoiler alert — a baby). And all underscore, to crib from composer-actor-playwright Lin-Manuel Miranda’s 2016 Tony Award acceptance speech, that: “Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.”
My boyfriend was sweet. My boyfriend was hysterical. My boyfriend always told me how much he loved me. When we would have sex, my whole body felt worshipped, cared for — nurtured, even.
Karen and I had just bought a three-bedroom house and gone to our first WeHo “Maybe Baby” meeting — a sperm bank seminar for gay parents — when we broke up.
After the dissolution of my 21-year relationship, I found myself in a unique situation.
I’ve always had a thing for people who don’t like me. Men, especially.
I once read that there are about 590,000 gay people in Los Angeles.
When I met A. I wondered if it was too good to be true.
It was a figurative flip of a coin: My friend Rick and I were deciding on where to go for a weekend away.
I broke out in a cold sweat updating my Bumble proﬁle in my new Mid-City apartment.
Instagram was right: Keeping a relationship a secret can sometimes be just what that relationship needs.
Moving to L.A. was a chance to begin dating anew. No one seemed quite right. Well, there was this one woman I liked spending time with, but she’d firmly said she didn’t like to hike, and that’s something I love...
My path seeking love had been long and circuitous and took me through many L.A.-area neighborhoods. I kept looking for “The One” but kept getting stuck with “Not This One.”
A therapist explained that violent traumas can make all your inner emotions flare. All your conflicts, even those years old and long buried. And so I confessed it all. All my struggles. And this time, with the therapist’s help, I recognized that I was a woman.
I am the invisible “B” in LGBTQIA+ — and I deserve to be seen. “Bierasure” is one of the lesser known issues that plague the LGBTQIA+ community. It’s the tendency to ignore and falsify evidence of bisexuality and its existence, and it leads to painful reactions when someone comes out as bisexual.
I told my best friend that I wasn’t sure whether it was a date or just a casual meetup. When Andrew showed up at my house in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, I thought: ‘OK, not a date.’