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I didn't think it would take off enough for me to be able to make a second issue, but 9 issues and 3 calendars later, hundreds of models, and hundreds of thousands of followers on social media, Coitus seems to be a favourite for many and I'm excited to see where it can go."Ĭheck out the magazine, blog, Instagram, Pantelis's Instagram, and calendar. It was to be an escapism and a fantasy land for everyone who would follow my work and the magazine through the years. The magazine is a celebration of youth and male sexuality featuring some of the most beautiful boys in the world. In a sense its a 'zine made from my bedroom, but I knew I needed it to look and feel like much more than just a 'zine. As someone who moved away from home and got to London some years before, I needed a reason to be here, as the pressure of any artist to create was getting to me. The video surfaces at a time when tensions between police and citizens are at an all time high. AFRICANGLOBE A deeply disturbing video has surfaced online that appears to show a white police officer beating and raping a young Black girl. "In 2009 I had the idea of starting something. The sick bastard can be seen assaulting and grinding on the unconscious 15-year-old. Pantelis, the photographer and creator tells us: No models were harmed in the creation of these images. There is a juicy Calendar and loads of online content to make your eyes scream with delight. It has the most streamlined of formats: simply an introduction to new talent in the male modeling pool. And maybe, like the song says, that does sanctify our sex lives and makes us just a little bit holy.Coitus magazine founder and photographer Pantelis created the magazine a few years ago. Bursting through that shame is our badge of honor, our beautifully united experience. 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. 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.
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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. Worst of all, though, the shame attached to the memories of those first times marred how I would approach sex for years. 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. 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 think, when I look back now and occasionally find myself tumbling through his Facebook page, that he wasn’t. I never learned whether the boy I lost my virginity to was struggling with his sexuality. 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. 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. 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. 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.įor the next year, we’d hook-up on and off, usually at 3 a.m. All I know is that one moment we were talking and the next minute, well. 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. He was clearly intoxicated, but it was a party after all and who was I, quite drunk myself, to judge. 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. 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. 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 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.
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I was 19 when I first had full-on sex with another man.