Mummy & Daddy’s Naughty Diary (Erotica)

“Oh, Mike, you’ve made my dream come true. Married to my best friend, flying out tomorrow for our honeymoon to Paris, coming back to start our careers. You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world!” She ended the comment by flourishing her ring finger letting the diamond sparkle in the light.

I just watched her, caught in the throes of happiness. My heart swelled as I counted my blessings that I had convinced this exquisite beautiful woman to become my wife.

“If you’re really that happy, then why don’t you give me a kiss?” I suggested.

“I can do that!” Lila reacted by sidling into my arms and gave me a kiss. She stopped and moved away; all I could see was the adoration on her face and it shook me to my core. I sighed and kissed her back. We continued to spend the morning engaged in lighthearted pillow talk.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“Just promise me that when we get to Paris, you’ll repeat your performance from last night. I don’t know who taught you those steps, but you damn near gave me a heart attack!” I laughed and gave her a quick peck on her lips.

“Oh that! That was just me improvising from my old dance routine from Fitzgerald’s. Of course, you inspired me to ramp it up to that level!” Lila chortled and hugged me.

“Dance routine? What dance routine?” I asked.

“My dance routine, silly!” Lila responded with a laugh.

“I don’t understand. What’s this about a dance routine?”

“The dance routine I used to do at Fitzgerald’s, Mike.” Lila said with a patient exasperation, as though explaining it to me as a child.

“What are you talking about, Lila? Fitzgerald’s doesn’t have dancers. They never have, as far as I know.” I furrowed my brow. Something wasn’t adding up. Something wasn’t adding up one damn bit.

“Just what kind of dancing were you doing, Lila?”

My questioning started shaking Lila up.

“My dancing, Mike. I told you a long time ago when we were in college. Remember? I told you that I worked at Fitzgerald’s when you asked me out, and I asked you if that was a problem. You said it wouldn’t be. Then after our first date, I told you that I had quit my job at Fitzgerald’s. Remember?”

“Why would I care that you were a waitress at Fitzgerald’s, Lila? You aren’t making any sense.”

“Mike, you do remember-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember you telling me that you worked at Fitzgerald’s, Lila. So, you worked in a bar? Big deal! What I don’t understand is what you’re saying about a dance routine. I can’t tell you the number of times I got dispatched to Fitzgerald’s whenever they or my dad’s bar was running low on supplies and trading out. But, I have never seen dancers there!” I insisted.

“Mike, when were you ever at Fitzgerald’s? They get all their supplies from their franchise warehouse!”

“Jesus Christ, Lila, I’ve been going up to that place on 10th Avenue practically my whole life. The owner is a friend of my dad, and I’m telling you, there has never been any kind of dancing at that place! Now tell me, what the hell you mean by dance routine?” I demanded.

Lila turned pale. She stammered, “Mike, I told you before you asked me out where I worked. I asked if you were okay with that. Remember how I insisted on that? Then right after our first date, you asked me out again. That’s when I gave my notice, Mike!”

“Why are you repeating yourself, Lila? Just tell me what I want to know,” I spoke with exasperation.

Tears began welling up on Lila’s deep green eyes, eyes that had held me in thrall ever since I first saw Lila, eyes that had expressed so many emotions. But now, for the first time, I witnessed them showing remorse and apprehension.

In a defensive mantra, Lila continued, “Mike, remember, we were in college. I was working my way through school. When I first agreed to go out with you, I told you where I worked! You said you didn’t care. When you asked me for our second date, I quit Fitzgerald’s and I told you that I had quit. You’ve never shown any problem about that until now, and I don’t understand now why you are picking this fight!”

“You don’t understand? Lila, you’re telling me that you learned some dance routine while you were a waitress at a bar that doesn’t have a dance floor. As I said, I used to go there all the time making liquor deliveries, and there haven’t ever been any dancers at Fitzgerald’s. Now, if you want, we’ll get a taxi and go over to 10th Avenue and I’ll show you!”

“Mike, what are you talking about, ’10th Avenue’? Everybody knows Fitzgerald’s is in the Riverfront District!”

That took a while to sink in. The Riverfront District was the city’s pride and joy. Millions of dollars had been invested to revamp and claim the entire area to becoming a booming commercial endeavor. There was no way the owner of Fitzgerald’s could ever afford the rent in that area.

I shut my eyes before I asked my next question. “Lila, who is the owner of Fitzgerald’s?”

“I never met him, but I was told it was a Mr. Hunter, who lived in Dallas. The manager when I worked there was James Allen.”

I winced at her response, as it confirmed she didn’t know the Fitzgerald’s I was familiar with. I certainly never met Mr. Hunter or James Allen.

I started grasping the horrible possibility that we had mistakenly assumed only the existence of our perceptions. In as neutral tone as I could muster, I said, “Lila, you worked at Fitzgerald’s Gentlemen Club for how long?”

“I worked there for three years; I stopped when we started dating, Mike!” She cried.

Fitzgerald’s Gentlemen Club: a nirvana of hedonistic excess. During a drunken romp in the city my freshman year, my college buddies and I tried to gain access to this swanky place, only to be stopped by the bouncers. We could only watch as wealthy business execs drove up in their BMWs and Porsches and tossed their keys to valets.

A club only afforded to those with a black American Express Card. A club that welcomed its patrons with open arms… and legs. A club that guaranteed satisfied customers walking out with the most exquisite arm-candy beside them. A club that only employed the creme de la creme of exotic beautiful ladies, like Lila. My Lila. I opened my eyes and saw that the tears that had welled in her eyes were now free flowing down her cheeks.

“So, you were a stripper?” My voice sounded incredibly small and far off.

“I was a dancer,” Lila sobbed. I really couldn’t grasp the sematic Lila insisted on using, but the confirmation was enough.

“So, for three years before I met you, you let all those creeps ogle you, and touch you-”

“They never touched me!” Lila cried, interrupting me.

“… And fuck you…” I finished.

“They never fucked me!” she protested vehemently.

“For Christ sakes, Lila, you expect me to believe that you dated those entitled assholes for three years and you didn’t fuck a single one of them?” I yelled in exasperation.

“I never dated a single one, Mike! They were only a means to pay for my education!”

“What the fuck heading did your business transactions fall under, Lila? You’re going to sit there and tell me none of those guys didn’t stuff your G-string with dollar bills? That you didn’t give those guys lap dances? That you didn’t engage with some steamy action in the VIP Lounge?” I spat out in frustrated angst.

“So, you used Clinton’s definition and decided giving a blowjob isn’t sex? Or maybe a handjob? Or, if you just laid there and took it, it was nothing more than a biological function?”

My comments were serving to upset and piss off my new bride. I could see the warning signs of her furrowing her brow and rubbing her palms hard against her thighs.

“Mike,” her voice quivered in anger as she spoke softly and quietly in an attempt to defuse this situation. “The girls… the dancers set the ground rules for any customer’s interactions. While, it is true that many did those things, I never did. I had plenty of offers and opportunities but I never participated. All I ever did was dance and yes, they touched me giving their tips but that was the extent of it. I never socialized or fraternized with any of the customers, even though management strongly urged me to do so.”

She paused. “If you’d like, I’ll call up all of the girls I worked with. You can ask them anything. They’ll tell you the same thing. I. Just. Danced!”

The emphasis on her last paused comment gave me something to consider. Given our history, given that she never lied to me, given that I so desperately wanted to believe her.

And yet…

I got off the bed, rummaged for my clothes and began dressing. Lila watched in silence as I began walking to the door.

“Where are you going, Mike?” she asked, as I stopped in the threshold of the doorway I had gleefully carried her across last night.

“I have to go think about this, Lila, and I honestly don’t know how I want to handle this.”

The implication of my statement staggered her. She blinked rapidly, gulping air, and hanging her head down, her hair shading her face from my view. I began to turn to walk out.

“Mike,” her soft raspy whisper caught me before I left. “There’s one last thing I need to disclose since that seems to be all you’re interested in.”

“What is it Lila?” I thought I was prepared as I braced for her last blow.

“I’m pregnant.”

**************

That, sport fans, is how I wound up at the family bar trying to decide how the hell I was ever going to manage getting out from under this. God, this was going to kill my Mom and Dad. Ever since I brought Lila home to meet them, it was like they adopted her as a long awaited daughter.