Hot Lesbians

Posted on Friday, 05.02.08 at 14:59 in Fiction~Humor

This might be a story about Shannon’s vacation to the Greek island of Lesbos, but it probably isn’t.

I live in a row of connected two-story town house apartments. It’s a brick building on a little hill, all the way at the very edge of town, nestled between the end of the street and hay fields. There is a big yard in the front and the back. It’s really quiet, really nice.

Or at least it was until the lesbians moved in.

I work at home. I sit in behind a big picture window and enjoy the sun and breeze all day long as I work. A few days ago I looked up and saw my new neighbors ? two women ? sunbathing and making out like teenagers after the prom.

And let me tell you, these lesbians were HOT! You could tell, because they both had rivers of sweat rolling down the folds of fat on their backs. I figure the smaller of the two weighs in around 250 or so, and that’s a conservative guess. They were very hot indeed, like two walruses bumping uglies on the beach.

Suddenly, the tuna sandwich I had been eating for lunch just didn’t taste so good anymore.

Now don’t get me wrong: I have no bias or problems with lesbians, and I have absolutely NOTHING against big women. I don’t even mind the occasional public display of affection, but there is a limit to what I will endure.

I mean, I’m not the thinnest guy that ever walked the earth, and when I have a lady over here, I don’t put her on her hands and knees in the front yard and eat a quart of ben&jerry’s off her back while I do her doggy style ? I figure no one wants to see that, and if they do, they can pay at the door like everyone else. I mean, I love me some Ben & Jerry’s, and that stuff is expensive.

So when one lesbian lifted her lover’s fat roll so she could get a hand in her shorts, I said “that’s enough.”

I tried to ignore it, but it was like watching a train wreck ? I just couldn’t look away.

So what to do?

I thought about yelling at them to stop; that would be the simplest solution, but I wanted to be more creative. I thought about putting on a peg leg and an eye patch and then going out on the porch with a harpoon gun and yelling “ARRR!!! PUT THEM SPEARS AWAY, BOYS! THEY DONE BEACHED THEMSELVES AND SAVED US THE TROUBLE!”

Or maybe “GAARR! THAR THEY BLOW – EACH OTHER!”

But I couldn’t find my eye patch (I thought it was in the shoe box with my Canadian nickel and belly-button lint collections, but I was wrong.) I thought about walking out there butt naked with a rolling pin and a bottle of vegetable oil and asking if they cared if I jumped in. I had my pants off and oil in hand when it occurred to me that they actually might not mind. I put my pants back on.

Finally, I put my camcorder on its tripod and put it in the window towards them. No, I didn’t turn it on. Then I put together a playlist of the Indigo Girls, Tracy Chapman, and Melissa Etheridge. I cranked it up until the speakers were screaming. When they looked over at me, I held up a piece of paper that had ?6.5? written on it with a picture of what I hoped looked like a flaccid penis. Then I acted like I was viewing through the camcorder.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead about seven times. They packed up and went into the house, and I haven’t seen them since.

*sigh*

The next time I find a genie in a bottle and decide to wish to see hot lesbians making out everyday, I’ll know to be more specific.