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We both shaved a little patch into our left eyebrow. Using just a few bobby pins and a teasing comb, Owen styled my hair into an awesome Bridgette Bardot beehive. And as two little queer babies, we were so excited to finally be old enough to experience gay nightlife, for real. The first time I got to experience the gay club legally was when I was 18. It became the driving force, the lifeline that carried me through those harrowing teen years. Because just knowing that the other side existed lifted me. Kittens, I had been introduced to the life beyond. I played the part and recited the lines I was supposed to recite, but it didn't kill my soul so much anymore because I now knew that high school was just one tiny scene in the amazing play of my life. Now, not only was there light, there were strobe lights, baby. I couldn't see the light at the other side. I knew that someday, when I could get the hell out of this small town, there would be an amazing, open, interesting, colorful world I could enter. I reluctantly went back to high school, but I waltzed through the halls with a newfound confidence I hadn't had before. It made me think, "Shit, maybe I can be a thriving queer one day." This was my kind of scene, my kind of jive. I inherently knew this beautiful, chaotic club was where I belonged.
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"I could get used to this," I smugly thought to myself, as I pretended to inhale a Marlboro Light (it took me years to learn how to properly inhale smoke). And the more authentically weird and outrageously individual you were, the cooler you were. At the gay club, everyone was totally different from each other. In school, everyone tried to mimic each other. I had never been anywhere that was so unapologetically self-expressive in my life. It was this incredible, overwhelming sensation of total acceptance, wild peacefulness, deep soulfulness and boundless creativity. It was 15 years ago, and I can't remember the faces, the decor or the music, but goddamn - I vividly remember the feeling. I might have been nothing but a teenage closet case, but the very moment my fresh eyes took in the twinkling lights of the club, I felt I belonged for the first time. And through her homo connections, I was somehow let into the club. She happens to be one of those rare straight girls who'sĀ been entirely taken in by a powerful crew of fierce gays. I had gone to visit my sister alone in Boston. To say I didn't fit in at school would be the understatement of the century.
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I was a scrawny, punked-out 15-year-old kid, and a total closet baby dyke.
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I will never forget sneaking into a gay club for the first time with my older sister Audra, when I was just a gangly teen full of acne and angst.
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And an outsider came in and destroyed that home with the ugliness of hatred and violence. Pulse was a home, a safe home where people grew up and found themselves. I feel like someone has stripped my entire beautiful community of a home. I had this unshakeable, broken feeling I haven't been able to identify until just a few minutes ago. Then came this overwhelming sadness that I couldn't quite place. But in the gay community, you don't need to personally know someone to grieve their loss. Some I knew from the scene, the rest I didn't. Our community is small, and I was a regular on the Florida gay scene for half a decade. My first reaction was of course, debilitating panic.
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I was at a pool party in Spain when I heard about the devastating massacre at Pulse. The gay club is where I met the eyes of my first love, it's where I kissed a girl in public for the first time, it's where I cultivated my personal style, forged life long friendships and most of all, found my people. I, like so many of my queer brothers and sisters, grew up in the thick of the glittering, gay nightlife culture.