I went to college in Seattle and became active in the LGBT+ movement there.
I met a woman I became involved with and I moved with her to the Bay Area, Oakland.
She worked as a consultant with IT and I worked as a clerk in an art supply store.
One day I returned to the apartment and all my things were on the hall and the lock had been changed.
I returned home for various reasons, the biggest was financial.
On my wages I could not afford an apartment. Then the whole COVID thing happened.
My parents were both at home so was one of my brothers. It was stifling.
I didn't have any money and once in a while my parents were able to spare a few dollars.
My life was in the internet. That's where I chatted with this man.
I kept from him my past, I needed someone to talk to to keep me alive.
He offered to meet me, to sneak out of my house, and go to his apartment.
It was the first time I had sex with a man.
I am not proud of what I did, getting involved with a man, having sex with a man.
I got pregnant, I suppose I didn't care.
He put all the barriers around me, forced me really to get married.
I am a home wife with a toddler and fix dinner and keep house.
The work itself is easy, I can do the whole apartment in a couple of hours, if I clean the bathroom and the tub maybe three hours.
Laundry is the biggest chore because of the baby.
I have to sleep with him, pretend I'm straight, have sex, perform oral sex on him, allow him to take over and force his sex on me.
I don't complain to him, what for?
I have a digital friend, another lesbian woman who is in a marriage like mine, and we compare notes and feel sorry for each other.
She lives far away from me, we have exchanged pictures of each other and our kids.
We call our sessions 'sanity checks' and we spend a lot of time talking about our kids and our husbands, like two old ladies gossiping over the backyard fence.
