True confessions: The secret I can’t tell mum

Brittany, 24, Melbourne, Vic.

I closed my eyes, letting the music take hold as I strutted around the pole.

Dressed only in a black lace bodice, undies and sky high red stilettos, I could feel the gazes of the male patrons as they ran their eyes up and down my body.

As the chorus of Ginuwine’s Pony played, I dropped down, gyrating on the floor before launching myself onto the pole, flipping, twisting and twirling around it.

As the song ended, I sauntered around to each of the men, letting them thread $20 notes beneath my intricate lace bodice. I forced my face into a bewitching smirk, trying not to show my distaste as their hands lingered on my body.

By the end of the four-minute song, I’d made $185 dollars. With three more dances to go before my shift ended, it looked to be a promising night. I’d earned far less for a lot more work in the past.

A month earlier, I’d been waitressing in a local cafe and pouring bevvies at the strip joint at night. I was a single mum struggling to make ends meet while I desperately saved for a hairdressing apprenticeship.

By the time I got home, I barely had enough energy to play with my daughter, Evie, seven, when she came home from school. Thankfully, my younger sister Natalie lived with us and was helping me hugely.

One day, I was pouring a beer for an old regular at the strip joint when he looked me up and down.

“When are you getting on stage, love?” he said with a wink.

“Oh, I’m not a dancer,” I replied, smiling.

“I’d pay big bucks to see you up there,” he leered.

My manager, Alf, must have overheard because later, he offered me the opportunity.

“You’ll make more in a day than you do pouring beers in a week!” he promised.

I knew then I had to give it a try. It could fast-track my ticket out of this dump, I reasoned.

I borrowed one of the girl’s skimpy nurse costumes and wandered up on stage. Awkwardly, I danced for the few men littered around the club. Although I felt like I did a rubbish job, the old man tipped me $500. I was stunned.

By the next week, I’d quit my day job and focused on dancing full-time.

When I told Natalie, she wasn’t impressed. We came from a very conservative background – raised to be modest and wear our skirts below the knee.

“What will Mum say?” she moaned. “She’ll try and take Evie off you!”

“She doesn’t need to know,” I insisted. “This is just a short-term gig.”

My new gig made it easier for me to spend time with Evie and gave me enough time and money for my hairdressing apprenticeship. I even started to enjoy it.

Two months later, I was studying by day and dancing by night.

One day, Mum came over to visit. I offered her tea and some store-bought cupcakes.

“I’ve got to say, Britt, I’m so impressed with you,” she began, “you’ve really turned your life around.

“Honestly, I was worried that you’d become a stripper one of these days!” she said with a laugh.

“That’s not so terrible, is it though?” I mumbled cautiously, “As long as they’re providing for their family…”

“It’s disgusting. Any woman who does that has no self-respect,” she replied curtly, before taking a sip of her Earl Grey. Just then, Evie came running into the room with a big smile.

I knew if I ever told Mum what I was doing, she’d never want to be a part of my life, and Evie would be left without her nanna. So I’m keeping it a secret. As long as my girl is happy, I’m not hurting anyone.

Taylor, 23, Bathurst, NSW.

I was only eight when I came home from netball practice early.

Wandering down the hallway, I could hear two people laughing loudly. One was my dad, Reg – I didn’t know who the woman was.

But the whole house soon went silent.

Eventually, Dad came out of the lounge room looking flustered.

“Can you go get some bread, love?” he asked, handing me a $10 note.

I barely had a chance to say anything before I was being pushed out the door. Back home, Dad took me into my room.

“Taylor, you mustn’t tell Mummy about today,” he trembled.

He explained how his workmate had come over to tell him some bad news, and if Mummy found out, she’d be very worried.

He looked so scared I didn’t think to question it.

That night I sat at the dinner table, watching Dad pick at his spaghetti as if he’d lost all interest in eating.

Is he sick too? I wondered.

Whenever Mum asked me a question, I looked at Dad first – worried I might say the wrong thing.

The next day, all was back to normal but as I grew up, I thought back to that strange afternoon. If Dad’s workmate was so sick, why had they both been laughing?

When I was 18, I couldn’t ignore the doubts niggling away at me anymore so I confronted Dad about it.

He blushed and looked away from me. Then he buried his head in his hands.

“That wasn’t a workmate,” he gulped. “I was having an affair.”

What?!

I wanted to hit him.

By now Mum was like my best friend – how could he do this to her?

“You very nearly busted us,” Dad said softly. “I thought it’d all going to come out that day, but you were so well-behaved and kept quiet.”

Tears pricked my eyes. Should I have done more? Was part of this my fault?

Dad explained how he and Mum were going through a “rough patch” back then and they’d sorted things out.

“Please trust me, Tay, I haven’t seen the other woman for at least 10 years,” he vowed.

Strange as it might sound, I believed him.

These days Dad and Mum are all lovey-dovey – the perfect couple, you might say. That’s why I’ve kept my silence.

Mum’s in her fifties and wouldn’t cope with the truth.

I’ll never know how Dad can live with himself for doing this, and part of me still resents him for swearing me to secrecy.

But I’ll take this to the grave, for Mum’s sake.

Kylie, 32, Adelaide, SA.

The street light filtered through the steamy car windows. It was late, and Robbo’s sedan was the only one left in pub car park.

Without a hotel room to slink back to, his little set of wheels was our only option to indulge in a night of passion.

“God, I haven’t done this in years!” said Robbo, 52, unbuttoning my blouse.

“I know,” I giggled, “I feel like a teenager again!”

We’d only met a few hours ago, and now, we were having sex in his car.

I’d been planning to arrive in Tassie from Adelaide at 3pm, and then catch a bus to my mum, Maggie’s, house. She’d just broken up with her fiancé, John, and was miserable.

Although I’d never met John, Mum had gushed about him during our phone calls.

But after a six-hour flight delay, the buses had stopped running. I’d been stranded near the airport and Mum wasn’t answering her phone.

I left her a message and went to the local pub, hoping to book a room.

“Sorry love, no vacancies this evening,” the bartender told me.

Disheartened, I took a seat. The pub didn’t close until 5am so I could nap in the pokie lounge.

“Southern Comfort and lemonade,” I said.

As I downed my first drink, a man plonked down next to me.

“Bottoms up!” he said, gulping his bourbon neat. “The lady and I will have another, on me.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, and we got to talking.

Four drinks in, Robbo started to seem like a solution to my problems. Although he was about 20 years older than me with a slight beer belly, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit attracted to him and his cheeky grin.

“I’ve had a rough week, ya see. My missus kicked me out,” he said, “but things are looking up now that I’m chatting to you.”

It was the perfect time to pounce. In minutes, we were in the back of his car.

Afterwards, he dropped me at a motel and even paid for my room.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he said, before kissing my hand and leaving.

I got to Mum’s early the next day. She wrapped me in a hug.

“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” she said.

As I walked into her house, I saw all of the photos were face down.

Over the next week, we had a great time talking and having fun. When it was time to go, she was in much better spirits.

“I’m ready to move on,” she declared, hoisting the photo frames back up. “I’ll cherish my memories with John but it’s time.”

I snatched up a picture and my mouth dropped open. Standing next to my mum was Robbo, his arm around her waist.

“Ah, Mum, what’s John’s last name?”

“Robinson,” she replied.

My heart dropped. I’d slept with her ex without realising it. I felt like pond scum. I couldn’t tell her, especially as she was finally in good spirits.

I regret that tryst with every cell in my body and will take this secret to my grave.

Courtney, 22, Geelong, Vic.

I looked at my phone, praying I’d have a text from one of my friends, but the screen was blank.

It was 7pm, and my mum, Tammy, had dragged me over to her friend Monica’s house for dinner. I’d wanted to stay home, but at 14 years old, Mum said I was too young.

Bored, I sat at the kitchen bench, listening to Mum and Tammy gossip about their hairdresser as they guzzled a bottle of moscato.

“God, turn that frown upside down, love!” Mum chided. “You’re making me depressed. Go play with James!”

She pointed towards the next room where Monica’s 16-year-old son was playing on his Xbox.

I sighed, walked into the loungeroom and plonked down next to James.

“Hey, wanna play?” he said, handing me the Xbox control. “So, the idea is to kill as many zombies as you can. Ready?”

I nodded, and started furiously pressing the buttons.

Some time later, I looked over a James. He’s kinda cute, I thought, before quickly looking back to the screen.

Despite the groans and shrieks from the zombies, we could hear our mums laughing hysterically in the kitchen.

“How drunk do you think they are by now?” James chuckled.

“It’s half past seven so they should be about two bottles in,” I smiled, rolling my eyes.

James paused the game, turning to look at me with his deep brown eyes. With the light on the screen illuminating his floppy dark hair, he looked like Hollywood heart-throb Zac Efron.

“You’re funny,” he said softly.

A deep blush spread over my cheeks. He put down his controller, peered around to the kitchen to check Mum and Monica were distracted, then leaned in and kissed me.

It was my first pash, and I had no idea what to do. But soon, with James’s guidance, I was going at it like a pro.

Half an hour later, Monica called out to us. “You kids need anything?” she asked.

“No!” we both responded.

We paused, embarrassed, before James put his hand on my thigh. “Wanna come to my room?” he asked, nervously.

I nodded. I was a little bit scared, but excited, too. We sneaked down the hall, and closed the door behind us before collapsing onto his bed.

One thing soon lead to another and before I knew it, I’d lost my virginity between James’s dirty sheets.

“That was awesome,” he said. I wasn’t so sure. I was sore and slightly confused.

We put our clothes back on and crept back down the hall. Mum and Monica hadn’t noticed a thing.

Back at home, Mum kept commenting about how lovely James was to look after me.

These days, years later, Mum and I tell each other everything, but I’ve never told her about that night. If she realised I’d lost my virginity underage, while she was on the piss down the hall, she’d never forgive herself.

Jordyn, 39, Gold Coast, Qld

Tears of happiness trickled down my mum, Angela’s cheeks as she looked at me.

“That’s the one,” she gasped. “This is the dress you should get married in.”

The white lace bodice fitted snugly against my waist, flaring into a tulle skirt. With capped sleeves, it was still modest enough to get married in Mum’s church. She was a strict Christian and she’d brought me up with a love of God.

“You should be proud,” she beamed. “Unlike most girls, you deserve to wear white.”

I blushed crimson as the assistant within earshot tried to suppress a smirk.

Ever since I was old enough, Mum drilled into me the importance of staying ‘pure’ until marriage.

“You have a special gift,” she’d warned. “Don’t degrade yourself with men who won’t stick around.”

When I was 14, she took me to church and, in front of God, I promised to abstain from sex until marriage.

How hard could it be? I reasoned. My parents married at 21. Surely I wouldn’t have to wait long to find love.

When I got a boyfriend at 18, I kept my word. Michael was understanding but his chiselled jaw made me weak at the knees and when we kissed, it took all my willpower to keep from ripping his clothes off.

We’d sit in his car at night, pashing until the windows fogged up. One time I even straddled him, unable to resist.

“We should stop,” I blurted as his body pressed hard against mine.

I practically ran from the car into the cold night air. I’d come so close to giving in to my desires. Mum and God would never forgive me.

We were deeply in love for three years and I thought we’d get married. But we grew apart and Michael left me.

Being single at 21, I was frustrated. I had an itch that I wanted scratched. Could I really wait any longer?

Unfortunately, I went from heartbreak to heartbreak. A year later, I felt like a rabbit on heat.

Still determined to find a hubby, I dated a guy named Ben, who I’d met at church. Afterwards, we went back to his flat. When we started kissing, I warned him about my vow.

“God created our bodies,” Ben argued. “How could that pleasure be sinful?”

His piercing blue eyes looked so sincere and his words rang true. God had created this gorgeous man, and his strong, muscular arms were wrapped around me. How could I say no?

I pulled his head towards mine and released all those pent-up passions into one simmering kiss. He carried me to the bedroom. It was like I’d been transported to another dimension.

Screaming in delight, my whole world changed. This was what I’d been missing out on?

Ben was right – my body wasn’t sinful. And now I’d had experienced sex, I knew I couldn’t resist anymore.

I saw Ben for a few months but the relationship fizzled out. The sex had been amazing, but we just didn’t have much else in common.

From there, I kept dating and even had a few casual flings. It was all done in secret. I believed God would forgive me, but Mum wouldn’t.

By the time I met Simon, at 37 years old, I’d slept with 29 men. Simon wasn’t a virgin and he knew I wasn’t. But we kept up the act in front of Mum.

When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, we smooched, no longer worried what she’d think.

As the reception wound down, Mum pulled me aside. “I’m so proud of you for waiting,” she choked, fighting back tears. “Be patient with him. He might get too excited, but you have the rest of your lives to iron out the kinks.”

I felt slightly guilty as she hugged me, but I knew I’d done the right thing.

Having sex earlier made me appreciate the connection Simon and I had. And it had certainly taught me a thing or two!

I finally found the man of my dreams. I just had to kiss a few frogs first.