Pregnant Lesbian, on Same Sex Marriage

Karma is like making fun of someone for having two flat tires and then while riding to an important occasion acquiring two flats of your own; the first from a nail on Lyndale, the second from broken glass left over from the Zombie Pub Crawl near Cedar.  Fuck zombies, yeah, I said it.  Fuck them and all their brain eating, sure doesn’t make them any smarter.  The same is true for me.  I have still not learned a goddamn thing.


Yesterday it hit me like a ton of bricks, an event which took place at least 3 years ago came back to haunt me.  Fortunately, the conversation put me to sleep.  It was about time for a nap.  I took advantage of the out, and turned over to my stomach, face to pillow, and then surreal visions and black bubbles.


Now that I think of the whole situation, how could I have blanked on it?  Nothing like hearing someone tell you a great sex story about yourself, one that you had only forgotten.   Well, I had almost forgotten, and it wasn’t that great of a sex story.


But then again, how could I have forgotten one of my favorite things of all times:  Hooking up with lesbians.


The first rendition of the event, and admission was easy; this guy loves food and sleep.  Yes it happened, and I have to sleep.


Me:  I have to get off the phone I am tired.

D:  Okay, bye.


I then dreamt of people being shot to death in a salon in Wisconsin, probably because of the horrible story I had seen on the news.


My situation pales in significance to that tragedy, but it comes close when I start to have feelings about it.


I was single living with 4, then 3, then 2 women, or rather girls, 1 of the worst mistakes of my life.  Never live with the opposite sex unless you are married to them.  As a matter of fact, never live with someone until you are married, or they are part of your family.  This ties into the same-sex marriage discussion, but whatever.  Just don’t do it.


(I mean, I say this in respect to the idea that when the same-sex marriage amendment gets rejected in November, my roommates and I are all getting gay married for tax purposes.)


So the sex story goes:


I came home from my shit job at the grocery store (Rainbow Foods), wearing my monkey suit and a frown.  Looking beaten and tired.  I received a tongue lashing at the store from my boss because of his lack of pussy.  I felt bad, but he felt worse and took it out on me.  I was young and had a future.  He could see this and hated the idea.  Therefore I always got bitched out for trivial things like leaving the tomatoes in the cooler, or not bringing enough produce out on my cart, or for standing around talking, or for coming off break late.  I was in a worker’s union I should have been getting prizes for my actions.  Yet, it was stupid shit as such, which kept me in traction and always getting punished.


So here I sat, at home all alone waiting for something to happen.  Maybe my ex would come home and change her mind…


My newly appointed ex gf was out on the town with a few of her friends, one of which was, and is a lesbian; the kind of lesbian that is truly in charge of situations by self-appointed authority (a real genius), she also didn’t exude the general feministic hatred towards men, however, she loved to be acknowledged as a butch-type lesbian, and openly talked about her relations.  She was the dominant type and most likely the girl in the relationship to play the male part.  Miley, was very cool, she had been in town for a few days relaxing and conversing as girls do, with my ex gf.  They were hometown friends, best friends apparently.  And they were out on the town for the night with some people, partying at bars and where ever, apparently.


I was feeling under the weather that night, as I had just returned home from an employer that most likely hated me, if he even knew I existed, but hey, corporations are people too.  So maybe he did, and I was of existing.


I sat down about to cry, the idea of being single at 23 was saddening.  I thought I lost the love of my life.  I should be getting married, or having kids.  I should be buying a house and paying for life insurance.  I was doing nothing of the sort at this time, except feeling sad for myself.


Surprisingly, the only person to console me was Miley.  We drank for a few hours.  Numerous beers and finally I realized my ex gf was not coming home.


Me:  Was she downtown?

M:  Yeah, I don’t think she is coming back, but she didn’t want us to say anything.


I knew this professional hipster fuck that she hung out with lived downtown, I knew she was there.  Met him a few times back, knew something was up.  I realized that it was inevitable.  Like keeping secrets made it feel less painful.  Or like being 23 and jealous was relevant at all, like I said, never live with a girl.  I learned a lot that night.


So, I sat.  Jealous, thinking on life and relations; I was doing myself more harm than good.  I had nothing positive to say about someone I did no know.  I could not escape the thought of what was going on.  It was none of my business.  You know, like you are young, and in love, and this is the end.  Thank god I got away from fatalism.  Heads up, that sort of thinking goes out the window when you turn 25, its kind of crazy, but it’s the truth.


Her other friends passed out and Miley and I remained in conversation over mostly anything and everything.  It was past midnight.  Music was top quality, and finally I retired to my bedroom.  A room of solitude, which was adjacent my ex’s room, and I began to think.  More negative thought is all.


At that moment, when thought was lowest, and my spirits were just as low, a voice came from the doorway.  It was Miley.  She stood in pink skinny jeans with 2 Coronas and an idea that we listen to more music and drink some beers.  She said she wasn’t tired and wanted to be entertained.  I sat on my makeshift desk chair, which was actually a footstool, confused at the proposal, but open to chitchat.  She came in and sat on my bed.


I kept noticing things, tiny things at first. This girl was obviously not into men and she was sitting in my bed.  Her eyes were lit up and her lips seemed to beg for something.  I noticed her conversation and voice was different.  I questioned the idea of lesbianism, I thought, was it just an act; was it a social idea, was it just what labels and representations had ordered for acceptance in our society?  I didn’t think past that, in order to remain neutral.  I didn’t care.


(I am certain my ex gf had been in this same situation.  I knew for fact that she had experimented.  I thought how ridiculous it was that someone so obviously not into the male persuasion was sitting in my bed looking as though she invited this interaction.  The irony.)


I put on some music and joined her in my single bed.  She moved closer to me as I moved under the blankets.  And for a moment we sat talking, and then we kissed.


It wasn’t a big deal, it was more of what I expected, but I was completely baffled.  Did I just break this girl’s identity?  Did I change someone’s mind?  We embraced and things became heavier.  At some point she touched me and related to me how it was different than what she was used to.  I explained to her how I was a guy.  I thought it was moderately obvious.  After a bit she requested protection and we began having sex.


This was different for both of us, in that I had never been with a lesbian before, well sort of, and she had not been with a guy before, well sort of.


The discussion before the act was it (the act) was really just an experiment.  I agreed.  The sex wasn’t anything exceptional on both parts, it was like a high-five of understanding and open-mindedness; I finished, she explained that it was different, but in a good way.  I was moderately confused after I realized what had happened.


Unfortunately, this happened with my ex gf’s best friend.  Fortunately, we can all moan and move on, she was well kept, and we must understand that most things are learning experiences.


Since then I have realized that I love lesbians.  I also love the idea that the human mind is malleable.


After coitus she got up and said she was going to sleep in the living room as to avoid suspicion.  I woke and found the pink skinny jeans rested on the floor of my room near the doorway.  My ex was not back, I could hardly care, and karma had dealt me a redemption hand.  I carried the jeans to the living room and began my oppressive breakfast regiment.


I felt no better and no worse, just more open to change.  More open to the idea that even as convicted as we are in our ways, there is possibility of change.  And also that we are the only ones who truly own ourselves; labels, lovers, and other’s intentions do no own us, only we own ourselves.



I thought of all this before a nap, a single phone call.  Stirring the coals of the past’s flames.  Then dreams of mass violence.


I had nothing to say, I just kept it honest.


Me:  Yeah, it happened…  It was more of an experiment, or a joke, but really it was trying something new.

D:  It isn’t funny.  I want to forget about it.

Me:  I have to get off the phone I am tired.


I went to sleep and woke up dazed.  When I woke, I needed a grapefruit immediately.  I jumped on my bike and headed to the co-op.  The co-op was moderately busy, well lit, and everyone looked pretentious.


Great, I bought some chocolate with a coupon I received from my boss, two bananas, and two grapefruit.  These items cost me the rest of the coins in my pocket.


I walked toward the exit and locked eyes with some braless female entering the store; from the looks of things it must be cold outside.


I unlocked and straddled my bike, rode the sidewalk, and then into the street.  Just up Lyndale, past Rudolph’s I heard a pop and then a hissing sound, I felt my back tire lower to the ground and deflate, I felt my heart sink into my stomach.  I pulled my back tire near my face, found a nail head and removed it.  I thought of Steve Irwin; I thought, maybe if I had left it in the tire would have stayed inflated, but in my haste, I pulled it out.  No great success.  However, I was satisfied, the evil was out, but I was fucked.  I could not walk to the bike shop by MCTC and get a new tire in time to get my free drink (my SHIFTY) from work and make it to the Orchestra with Babe.  I had to though.  I ran to the Alley Cat bike Shop, only to find it was closed.  I also discovered at this point that my bike was digging into my shoulder, and I had at least a fifteen blocks up hill walk to the nearest bike shop.  I started back in the direction I came from.  It was getting dark.  I sucked it up, turned the volume up on my headphones and trekked it up to Flander’s.  I thought of Lance Armstrong.  I thought of having his life’s works revoked.  I thought the bananas tasted good and laughed about my situation.  The truth comes out.  No drink and no grapefruit (yet), but I did have what I needed.  The man behind the counter finished the tire work and charged me $12, not bad.


I grabbed my bike and began home to take a piss and see what the boys were up to.  They were bullshitting and drinking, I was on my way out again.  They all had dates, of which they spoke, and things of importance to do.  I told Hammer of my situation with my ex, the story and all.  He asked why I cared, and I told him I didn’t know…  I had to go.  I pissed, zipped, strapped up, and rolled out.  I rode down Nicollet into the breeze.  The night was very pleasant, relatively dark for the time of year, but well lit by the businesses and traffic.  I came to Washington and took a right.  Around Town Hall Brewery I took a left and felt my back tire give out again.  You know, that mushy feeling of riding on a flattened tire, rim about to hit asphalt after it slices through rubber tire and tube?  I pulled to the curb and examined the rear wheel again.  Fucking deflated.  I called Babe and told her I would try to make it for intermission.  I was not making the orchestra from the beginning.  My day was made for me already.

I went to the nearest bike shop, Freewheel, and they took it in.  A piece of glass had lodged in the very same hole of which the nail had created earlier.  Double fucked, karma.  After 20 minutes the guys fixed it up and I rode out again on the second new bike tube of the day.  I made the intermission and the rest of the orchestra.  I thought damn, karmas a bitch.


While there I saw naked beauties playing the sweetest sounds on violins and other various instruments.  I heard a crescendo that gave me a benign heart attack, it was a sound rollercoaster and I was locked in, a divine massaging of the ears for free, coming from all angles.


We walked out to the dark street where my bike sat locked to a pole, and I told her my story.  She said she was tired and that she was heading back to her place.  She asked if I cared to join, I said sure.  I went over and unlocked my bike, picked it off the curb, and set it down in the street.  My tire was completely flat.








Just kidding…

My back tire was inflated to the proper p.s.i. for whatever lay head of me.  I biked into the distance.


Everything in its place, all exposed and all is well.



About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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One Response to Pregnant Lesbian, on Same Sex Marriage

  1. laurastir says:

    There is no mention of a pregnant lesbian in the body of the text… abstract pregnant lesbian?

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