Their eyes met with a singular directness of gaze. Between them a spark passed which was not afterwards to be distinguished, though neither of them knew the moment of its kindling…
Tagged: sailors, vintage gay photo
Their eyes met with a singular directness of gaze. Between them a spark passed which was not afterwards to be distinguished, though neither of them knew the moment of its kindling…
Tagged: sailors, vintage gay photo
Hand in glove, we can go wherever we please
And everything depends upon how near you stand to me
And if the people stare, then the people stare
Oh, I really don’t know and I really don’t care
Tagged: lyrics, military, vintage gay photo
Tagged: Molly Peacock, vintage
What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.
It was like being exhumed, I answered. And
brought to life in a flash of brilliance.
What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.
It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I
replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.
What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow.
There was a long pause before I responded:
It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to
me— said all at once.
Text: Three Questions, a poem by Lang Leav, ‘Love and Misadventure’
Image: photographer, subjects, unknown
Tagged: vintage gay photo, vintage male affection
Tagged: Ivan E. Coyote, vintage lesbian photo
Tagged: vintage gay photo, Walt Whitman
Tagged: car, vintage gay photo
After we retired and I was convinced by his poor attempt at snoring that he was not asleep, I gently placed by arm around his great manly form. This was enough. He turned toward me, placed his arms around my neck, pressed his lips against my own and — forgot to snore. For once I had met my match. We slept but little more, and the next morning when my brother asked him how he had rested, he glanced at me and said, “I never spent a more pleasant night.”
Image: photographer, sitters unknown
Text: Excerpt describing an encounter from 1895,
‘The Story of a Life,’ by Claude Hartland, the first known autobiography written in America by a self-described homosexual man.
Excerpted from ‘Love Stories: Sex Between Men Before Homosexuality’
by Jonathan Ned Katz
Tagged: bed, Claude Hartland
[Your] name seemed like a wonderful gift to me. It seems so still. I have carried it for a long time, the most precious thing I owned. I spoke it rarely, so that it would not become tainted by my surroundings. I kept it buried deep inside, and when I had nothing else to cling to, with a single whisper in the dark I would name you, careful not to be heard and in doing so, something of you would be restored to me, and something of myself would be saved.”
Image: Photographer, subjects unknown; courtesy of Osvaldo, Men Together
Text: Peter Hobbs, ‘In the Orchard, The Swallows’ excerpt
Tagged: Osvaldo, vintage gay photo, vintage male affection