Confessions logo

A Bitter Taste

by Bernadine Jarmon 5 months ago in Childhood
Report Story

The Club

I’m sitting there thinking when reality slaps me in the face. I’m really in a lesbian bar. My eyes stared out into the opened air. I always anything but flattered. All my thoughts were married to the lesbian bar that night. I heard wedding bells going off inside my head. My thoughts had been taken captive by Sodom and Gomorrah. I had waiting my whole life to meet the emblem of my dreams. I became inflamed in ecstasy towards females. A voice inside my head spoke, “Are you ready to put a ring around the bars of lesbianism?” This was going to be my big night marrying the women of my fantasy.

My thoughts were racing, this was uncharted territory I was about to slide into. I doted on all the beautiful women my sight could taste. My mind fell into a hypnotic state. I pleasured all my wishes of dancing in the arms of a delectable woman, that I had been hiding in the back of the closet, for so many years. But my friends saw me inside the closet before I even came out. My dirty laundry had been hanging in soot. They saw the smudge running from my aching heart. I was ready to tie the knot with the dust of Sodom and the live coals of Gomorrah.

I was engaged to Sodom but my oath was to Gomorrah. I signed a covenant with her, she could never take away my sanity, my intelligence, my jewel of wisdom, and my seed of love. I was so happy to lick the wounds of the club. I was able to find a place of misconduct and live in sin.

Here I am standing in fragments of hills that are made of salt. Her building is dilapidated with evilness. Her destruction has ruined her foundation. Her residue falls on the mouths of innocent children. Her debris clogs their hearts with the gunk of lesbianism. And yet I chose to lay her dead body on top of my life.

You see death is heavy, it weighs a ton. It’s like a ball and a chain around the ankle of your soul. My memoir will come back to haunt me, for playing in a dark, dirty closet with skeletons and taking them home as souvenirs. My heart had been wrecked by a vicious cycle of cancer that plagued every cartilage throughout my body.

As daylight approached I left the remains of the burning club and I went home with a kiss of Sodom on my bosom. As I slept I visualized myself walking through the doors of the club, watching the women dressed in seduction. I wanted her to prostitute her sins all over me. I wanted to exploit her and mistreat her with kindness. I wanted to abuse her with words of wisdom that confused her. I wanted her to ride through the art galleries of Sodom, and pick at every sore in the heart of Gomorrah.

Wow! How could I have fallen for a fallen angel and loved her. The next I couldn’t wait to get to the club. So I could hang upside down from the tree of death. I was a dead branch broken from a tree in a horrible storm of sin. I was attracted to my own skeletons that I had hidden in the closet of mind. My thoughts cradled my life.

All around me, were head turning women. Luscious, marvelous and magnificent came to mind. I proposed to my wife (lesbianism) that night, while standing in the sediments of the club. Our wedding was in a forest filled with flames of fire, that smoked our souls into ashes and dust.

My son’s father was no longer the man of my heart. I was in love with lesbianism. I wanted to feel her heart, with sexual trash, so that the garbage, could reek the foul odor of sin. Where the blood sucking maggots enjoyed every act I had placed in the soul of her mind. Don’t touch her she is full of consequences, and she is mine.

I was a lesbian carrying a child and I was in a great deal of pain. What will my baby think of me being a lesbian? How could I tell my child, his mother loves to play with fire, and enjoy the burning sensation of pain. What will my family think of me? Dam! Questions like that burned holes in my thoughts.

In my heart I was going to love this baby wholeheartedly. As far as his father is concerned, I would rather ride the hump of a camel, than the back of a man!

Childhood

About the author

Bernadine Jarmon

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.