Lucy comes over to me after Presley takes Bernie, aka Ron Jeremy, outside. Forgive me for not being on the up-and-up of the popular male p**n stars of the moment. But Bernie couldn’t keep off poor Lola.
“I thought we weren’t going to be completely honest about last night, so they didn’t feel bad?” Lucy phrases it as a question, but what my wife is really saying is, “I told you not to say anything, so why did you?”
“If the roles were reversed, Cade would be telling us if Lola was lapping at Bernie’s d**k all night.”
“It was not that bad,” Lucy says, still whispering as if my family isn’t within earshot. They’re always within earshot.
“Tell that to poor Lola.” I pick her up and cradle her in my arms, kissing the top of her head. “She’s probably traumatized. Imagine if I was all up in Che
