Mexican Lesbians

In my early twenties I was introduced to La Perla, a Mexican neighborhood dance hall and bar. One night a week it was ladies' night, where the marimachas took their novias, and single girls could meet a girl, to dance, hold, hands, kiss, and get a hand under a blouse. No men were allowed, not even a bartender, the bouncers outside had a good eye and kept out the crossdressers.

I met Lucia one ladies' night, we danced and kissed, and went back to her apartment. She had a man who paid her bills, but ladies' night she was free to date and have fun overnight. At my work I was dealing with Jessica who was fucking her boss and had gotten pregnant. His wife sued him for divorce and he wanted to marry her. Lesbian Mexican girls were just as expected as straight girls to get married and have children. Marry him, I told her, and have more children.

My mother and grandmother prayed to La Virgen, that I would meet a man who had 'los huevos' to bring me to my knees and marry me. Lucia put me next to that man, a friend of her lover. He had a thing for younger women, and he had a way to break my resistance. Unprepared for sex with a man I got pregnant. He and his wife went to speak with my mother, to make sure I stayed pregnant.

Lucia, who turned 27, told her lover to get her pregnant. That Christmas three pregnant Mexican lesbians went to midnight mass to ask for the blessings for their unborn children.

Thirty years later, and several more children, Lucia is my wife, and I am hers. My grandmother is not with us, my mother asking why I would do that. A man who is married, as old as my father, is not a husband, I tell her. She answers, but he is the father of my children. He is. But I'm a lesbian.

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