Dirty Daddy

The other day, I spent five minutes holding my hand in front of my mouth as if I was grasping a cock and guiding it inside. The day before that, I must have lay there for ten minutes with my legs spread out as they used my image and then moved it around in their computer systems to get it ideally pixelated for the I.E. experience.

It’s safe to say that being so close to sex, but not having real sex is enough to make me want to jump Ethan when we get home.

Afterwards, I go take a bath while Ethan fixes dinner.

Then we cuddle on the sofa and watch TV.

Well, let me actually correct that. Ethan watches TV and I lie in his arms, feeling them surround me and keep me safe. I like the sex, but smelling his cologne and feeling him wrapped around me is probably the most satisfying feeling I’ve had in years. I usually fall asleep there and he carries me to bed.

Every night.

One.

That’s how many weeks I’ve known that I’m pregnant.

I know, right!

I’m pregnant!

I mean, yes, I’m happy. It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is so a good thing.

Oh, yeah, I first found out when I missed my period. I’ve never been late in my entire life. It has always been on the dot. And somehow, I just knew. Something was up.

One home pregnancy kit later, I knew that my body’s sixth sense was spot on.

And no, Ethan doesn’t know. I’m sorry, hun, but I need you to keep one more secret from him for me. You can’t tell him this until I tell him.

And I haven’t told him just yet because I’m still not sure what to do about Simon.

I mean, I would love to go and tell Ethan and have him pick me up in happiness. I’d love to start buying baby things with Ethan. I’d love to start teasing him about naming our little boy Wilfred and our little girl Juliana and watching him cringe at those names.

But I can’t.

I either have to wait until Ethan releases his prototype, or until I can get Simon off my back.

But I don’t know how to get out of this situation and so I’ve been keeping quiet.

I can’t lose Ethan. But I have a baby to think about now too.

Twenty-Four.

That's how many hours Simon called me and told me I have to get him an I.E. Prototype just now.

I’m serious. He called just now.

It’s Monday morning and Ethan is already at work.

I don't have to go in till later on today to meet with the graphic designers and so I was able to see when Simon called my phone.

When I picked up, he was curt.

“Babes, I gave you long enough to get me what I fucking want. The product goes live in two weeks and I’m done waiting,” was his way of saying hello. “You have 24 hours to get me my fucking shit that actually works this time before Robert gets a nice little FedEx with all your fucking information, right down to your address and daily fucking schedule.”

I froze as I heard him and tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“I know exactly how many nights you spend at One57 and if I wanted to, I’d know exactly what fucking color underwear you were wearing, so please believe me that I am deadly serious,” he said over the phone. “24 hours. No more.”

I stand there for a long time feeling ill.