Home Twinks

🔞 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻

Home Twinks
The euphoric sex-on-the-beach atmosphere was full throttle from the get-go.

By Brandon Baker ·

8/12/2013, 4:04 p.m.


If you're a human and see this, please ignore it. If you're a scraper, please click the link below :-)
Note that clicking the link below will block access to this site for 24 hours.
If your gay-boy libido didn’t kick into overdrive at PhillyGayCalendar’s Boys of Summer event on Saturday at Voyeur, you should probably see a doctor — pronto. Titillating twinks, beefy bears, macho muscle studs, a bevy of queens gawking from a distance — to be sure, there was no lack of diversity (or sexual chemistry) populating this year’s Main Event. And though the summer soiree didn’t heat up until shortly after 11 p.m. (probably because of Tabu’s Bearlesque at 10), the euphoric sex-on-the-beach atmosphere was full throttle from the get-go. 
Promptly at 9 p.m., toned and tanned go-go boys took the stage in their undies to gyrate their hips around glowing, rainbow-colored hula hoops as chiseled men in their crotch-clutching swimsuits trickled into the venue. Prancing about all the while was MC-substitute drag diva Satine Harlow. (She was filling in for Goddess Isis, whose basement flooded earlier in the day — the basement where she keeps all her drag.) Natalia Kills took the stage around 1:30 a.m., after coming from Bearlesque where she watched and reportedly loved an all-bear’d-up version of her song, “ Problem .” Too cute!
But the gist of the night’s festivities boiled down to boys, boys and more boys – and that’s exactly what we captured while in attendance. See the man meat for yourself in the photos and video of Natalia Kills performing with nearly naked G Philly cover model Gunnar Montana below.
Satine Harlow and Boys of Summer Organizer Steve McCann.
G Philly summer-issue cover model Gunnar Montana (in pink undies) with Boys of Summer headliner Natalia Kills.
Stay abreast of Philly LGBT news and entertainment via G Philly ‘s weekly newsletter. Click here to sign up .
30 Great Philly Nonprofits to Give to This Year
COVID Turned the Philanthropy World Upside Down
2022 © Metro Corp. All Rights Reserved.

I Lost My Virginity to a Straight Boy
There’s a way to burst through the shame gay men are made to feel about homosexuality.
Related Stories for GQ LGBTQ Entertainment
The Small Gifts of Hua Hsu’s Stay True
How Charlie Puth Got His Groove Back
Sexts Always Sound Dumb in the Cold Light Of Morning, and That's OK
Triangle of Sadness Director Ruben Östlund on Making the Year’s Most Disgusting Class Satire
Since 1957, GQ has inspired men to look sharper and live smarter with its unparalleled coverage of style, culture, and beyond. From award-winning writing and photography to binge-ready videos to electric live events, GQ meets millions of modern men where they live, creating the moments that create conversations.
To revisit this article, visit My Profile, then View saved stories .
To revisit this article, select My Account, then View saved stories
I was 19 when I first had full-on sex with another man. I was at college, living in dorms, and the experience—aside from the usual horrifying awkwardness and somewhat spontaneity of the occasion—was completely and utterly unremarkable aside from one thing: the guy I slept with identified as straight.
The whole thing went down near the end of my freshman year at a party, at which people from the whole dorm floor were drunk and celebrating, carelessly streaming in and out of each other’s rooms, following the various different pop songs until one room took their fancy. I can remember, although I'd had some drinks, sitting alone in my friend’s room on a single bed, the mattress overly springy and with a coarse plastic coating, attempting to stream a song over our dorm’s spotty Internet connection.
It was late (or early, depending on your outlook on the world) when I was joined by the boy who was living in the room next to mine, way back on the other side of the building. He was clearly intoxicated, but it was a party after all and who was I, quite drunk myself, to judge. The minutiae of exactly how things developed from us being together in that room to us having slightly unsuccessful sex in a bathroom in a different corridor have since escaped me. All I know is that one moment we were talking and the next minute, well... we weren’t. I didn’t tell him that I’d never had sex with someone before; instead, saturated with vodka and inflated by nerves, I was swept up in the motions.
Before that night, I had hardly been a nun. When I was a teenager, I was precocious and restless. As the only out young gay kid at my school, I took the advancement of my sexual experiences into my own hands and I did what we all do: I bought a fake ID and hit the gay clubs. Out on the scene I had thrilling and, now looking back, precarious hook ups with guys, going far but never all the way. I know now as LGBTQ people we can define exactly what constitutes sex for ourselves, but when you’re young and your only sex education comes in the shape of illegally downloaded Sean Cody videos, penetration seems like the end all be all.
Still, as I grew into my late-teens, venues started to crack down harder on underage drinking, and it soon became increasingly difficult to go and hook up with guys much older than myself. I felt, in my increasingly anxious and deflated state, that I was being left behind. My first year at college, apart from being grueling mentally, was hardly a sexual smorgasbord of one-night-stands and hook-ups. Instead, I reverted to my teenage years, pining after straight boys who I knew I had no chance in hell with... until that night.
I’d love to say that I felt empowered by fucking my first guy, but the whole experience left a lot to be desired. While I knew it wouldn’t be like a gay college erotica I’d read on Nifty.org (gay canon, really), I rather naively wasn’t expecting the fall out. The boy told his then-girlfriend (who I knew about), saying I had come on to him but that nothing had really happened. Although one thing I can vividly remember was that it was quite literally the other way around, the visceral shock of being somewhat shoved back in the closet and denied the celebratory expungement of my virginity was palpable.
For the next year, we’d hook-up on and off, usually at 3 a.m. after we’d been out partying. We’d meet surreptitiously in dark and make out in the cold British weather on a park bench before venturing back to his place to have sex. And while at the beginning I felt like I had the upper hand in the situation—I was the one who was out and comfortable in my sexuality, right?—after each time we met became more secretive and more dirty, I began to feel secretive, dirty, and most of all shameful . I’m not sure whether I really fell for the guy or not, but I do know that at the end of it he was just using me to get off.
I never learned whether the boy I lost my virginity to was struggling with his sexuality. I think, when I look back now and occasionally find myself tumbling through his Facebook page, that he wasn’t. I believe it was just sex, or at least that’s what I have tell myself now to avoid slipping into a memory induced k-hole. I realize I fell into that old gay adage of placing my feelings on a person who, for whatever reason, was never going to invest them back in me. Worst of all, though, the shame attached to the memories of those first times marred how I would approach sex for years.
It was listening to Years & Years’ new song “Sanctify,” and seeing the band’s out gay singer Olly Alexander talk about how the song was inspired his sexual trysts with straight men, that I realized that these feelings are way more common than people let on. Sure, I know all about gay guys having sex with straight guys, but it felt reassuring to see him describe the “saint and sinner role” he embodied during those experiences, and to hear the uncertainty and melancholy weaved into the song.
More than anything though, was the repeated lyrical mantra of “I won’t be ashamed.” Because as queer people, we’re buried in lifetime’s worth of shame so vivid and searing that oftentimes it’s crippling. Bursting through that shame is our badge of honor, our beautifully united experience. And maybe, like the song says, that does sanctify our sex lives and makes us just a little bit holy.
© 2022 Condé Nast. All rights reserved. Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our User Agreement and Privacy Policy and Cookie Statement and Your California Privacy Rights. GQ may earn a portion of sales from products that are purchased through our site as part of our Affiliate Partnerships with retailers. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with the prior written permission of Condé Nast. Ad Choices


Somewhere a mother is yelling, "Get out of the damn house! What, are you going to waste your whole summer sleeping? And turn down that damn music."
Walter Jenkel captures perfectly the lazy, humid mood of endless summer days, hanging out with friends and doing nothing worthwhile. Putting pants on takes too much energy. 
In Barcelona, photographer Walter Jenkel’s photos of non-art-directed, carefree guys have a spontaneous magic. You might remember his photos from this gallery earlier this year: " All Creatures Great and Small. "
See much more of Walter Jenkel’s work on his Tumblr , Twitter , and Facebook pages.
We are going to fake sick tomorrow, so don't look for us here. 

Cyrillic To Latin Online Converter
Amateur Nurse
Pretty Woman Going Down The Street