Chapter 13

The party was supposed to be a welcome respite from their daily cares. Granted, their cares were not crushing. Kendra's might have been, except she no longer worried about how she and the baby would be supported. True, her academic career was on a bumpy road at present, but according to Bob there was no reason at all why she couldn't finish the next term and graduate just like normal.

Well ... other than the fact that, at the end of the term, she wouldn't look like most of the other graduating senior women. But her due date wasn't until September, so she wouldn't have to worry about that interfering with anything. And, to be honest, Kendra had never looked like most of the other women in her class. That's not an indictment on them. It's just that she'd always stood out among them. And now she'd stand out in another way.

As for Bob, he really didn't have any crushing concerns. As far as he was concerned, life was wonderful. He wished Kendra would decide to marry him, but she obviously wasn't going anywhere, so he still felt secure in the relationship.

He should have known better. A lowly Doctor of English Literature doesn't get a social invite from the president of a prestigious university for no reason, such as it's his turn on the rotation.

The purpose for that invitation was not immediately made known when Bob and Kendra arrived. Rather, the normal social conventions were in full swing, with people already well lubricated in anticipation of the clock striking twelve. Perception is based on experience, which is why, to Bob, the party sounded a bit clamorous, and to Kendra it seemed only like she was in a library, where the librarian was absent and the readers were taking advantage of it to make some noise.

Their arrival created a stir. The first evidence of this was the look on Mrs. Bellingham's face when she answered the door and let them in. The professional false smile that was a product of her secret experience as a Miss Watermelon Festival contestant, decades ago, wilted and "turned upside down," as many a kindergarten teacher might put it. She recognized instantly, in Kendra, the kind of competition that had caused her to come in last at that festival, so many years ago.

Basically, she hated Kendra on sight.

That effect continued as the couple shed their coats and made their way deeper into the rarified quality in the sumptuously appointed house. This was by virtue of the simple fact that every other couple there was married, and had been married for quite a while. They were much closer to Bob in age than Kendra. While Kendra was pregnant for the first time, most of the wives in attendance had been in that condition several times, those times being in the distant past.

The husbands were ... well ... men. Age doesn't seem to reduce what happens in a man when he sees a beautiful, young, nubile, walking wet dream.

As it turned out, the only thing she had to wear that she felt like might be appropriate for a party like this was what is commonly called "a little black number." It did not show excessive cleavage, but it hugged her body ... her curves ... as if it was afraid they might disappear and never return. Three inch heels showed off her calves. Her hair was down, in a loose French braid, rather than pinned up, because, after all, this was just a party, not a night at the opera. She didn't need much makeup, but she had applied a few brush strokes to enhance her naturally high cheekbones. She'd also worn some eye shadow that had glitter in it. That was just for fun.

Erections sprouted all over the place.

President Bellingham approached at almost a run. He welcomed Bob, but his eyes were on Kendra.

"Bob! So glad you could make it," he gushed. "And this is... ?" His eyes devoured Kendra.

"Thank you," said Bob, feeling like the cock of the walk, and then feeling silly about that. "This is Kendra Bradford, my research assistant. I thought she might enjoy seeing what the top crust lives like, so I asked her if she wanted to come along. I hope that's all right."

"It's fine," said Bellingham, a little too loudly. "Though I'm frankly astonished that she would want to spend this night in the company of a bunch of old fuddy-duddies, instead of the alternative."

Two other men approached, and stood by Bellingham's elbow. Bob knew them both. One was his immediate supervisor, Dr Ronald Charles, Dean of the Language Arts program at Compton, and the other was his chess buddy, Lindsey Parks. Both of them looked at Kendra rather than Bob.

"Bob's not a fuddy-duddy," said Kendra. It was a natural and unplanned response to "her man" being disparaged.

"Oh?" Bellingham replied, his voice rising. "What is he, then?" A blind man could have heard that the man's mind was in the gutter. Actually, come to think of it, a blind man probably would have been even better attuned to the nuances in his voice. In fact, though, every man present, including Bob, heard the innuendo in the president's question.

"He's my boss," said Kendra, smoothly. She might be out of her element, in terms of the age and experience of the people around her, but she'd become an expert at navigating social mine fields. Back in control of herself again, she dropped into the role of demure, innocent, diffident coed. She could make that role fit her like her dress did, if she wanted to. "He's pretty smart, too. I learn new words every day when I go to work."

She gave the assembled admirers a brilliant smile. Then, to suggest she had no interest in Bob whatsoever, she turned to him and asked, "Can I go find something to drink? I'm parched."

"Sure," said Bob, suddenly feeling out of his element. "Have fun."

"See you later," she said, airily. "Bye, bye, gentlemen." She nodded towards Bellingham and her other admirers, all of whom watched her hips sway as she walked away from the group.

Other eyes followed her progress too. In some cases, it was the eyes of women in the room, most of whom were frowning. In other cases it was the eyes of men, most of whom were being watched by their wives, who kept track of who the men were looking at. This activity, in fact, had already been going on before Bob and Kendra arrived. It was a game many of the wives played in any given social situation that was coed. The women watched to see where the men's eyes spent the most time and then that woman - it was invariably a woman - was examined in detail. If the examination was being done by one of the younger wives, it was to identify anything that might be useful for trying to keep her husband's attention on her. If it was being done by one of the older wives, it was just so they could find fault as they frowned and hated the bitch.

In Kendra's case, most of the women just hated her. The wives were long past being anywhere near capable of emulating Kendra's looks, and the only thing anyone could find fault about was that they couldn't compete at all.

There was one exception, and that was the girl who was serving drinks at the punch table. She was delighted Kendra was there. That's because, up to that point, she'd been the only woman in the room younger than 45, and all the men had been hitting on her as they got their drinks. She smiled widely as Kendra stopped in front of her.

"Welcome, sister," she said. "Prepare to be bombarded with indecent proposals."

"I can tell," said Kendra frankly, looking around. "If it were up to them, we'd both be stark naked."

The girl smiled and lowered her voice. "Stark naked and spread out on the pool table."

"Indeed. The lust in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife."

"What can I get you?" asked the girl, who saw Mrs. Bellingham frowning her way, and assumed it was because she wasn't pumping out drinks faster. "I'm not even going to ask for any ID. How about some champagne?" She grinned.

"No. Whisky, I think," said Kendra. "Two fingers and two ice cubes."

"A girl after my own heart," said the bartender. "What on Earth brought you to this party?"

Kendra accepted the drink and sipped it. She turned and pointed toward Bob, who was still standing with Randolph Bellingham, Ronald Charles and Lindsey Parks.

"See that bunch over there? The one with the university president in it?"

"Yeah."

"The one with his back to us is my boss."

"Really? What do you do?"

"It's pretty dry stuff. We're going through the papers left behind by some doctor of literature, looking for stuff for him to write a paper about."

"Typical," said the bartender. "That's all these academic types seem to think about, publishing papers."

"It helps with expenses," said Kendra, shrugging. "And give me a gin and tonic for my boss. Two lime wedges."

"Wow," said the girl. "You know what he drinks?"

"I know a lot about him," said Kendra, slightly discomfited by revealing that. "He keeps a bar in his office. Don't tell anybody, okay?"

The bartender zipped her lips, and made the drink.

The eyes watching Kendra hadn't gone elsewhere when she stopped at the drinks table. They had seen her point at the little knot of men, and seen that that little knot of men was being discussed by the two young fillies in the room.

That was concerning, at least to Meredith Bellingham, who had begun "sampling" the champagne before the party actually started. The flute in her hand now had been preceded by eight others, though she wasn't counting. She was just lubricated enough for her inhibitions to be substantially lowered.

She went to take her husband aside and ask him why this tart had been invited to the party.

When Mrs. Bellingham tugged her husband away from the assemblage, Dean Charles also left. Before doing so, though, he said, somewhat cryptically, "Bob, don't leave without letting me know. There's something we need to discuss when the time is right."

Bob gaped, slightly. He hadn't had any kind of discussion with Dean Charles since the school year had started. In truth, their relationship was more of a nodding acquaintance, as opposed to employer/employee. Bob knew what he was supposed to do, and did it well. He'd been doing that for years. There was little about what he did that needed to be "supervised."

He was distracted from wondering what that could be about by Lindsey, who took his elbow.

"You fucker," he whispered, urgently. "I thought you said there was nothing going on between you and her."

"There isn't!" Bob lied.

"What's she doing here, then?" asked Lindsey.

"She works hard," said Bob, feeling lame. "I thought she might enjoy going to a party."

"With geezers like us? Give me a break, here. No girl who looks like that wants to spend New Year's Eve at this kind of party. I don't even want to spend New Year's Eve at this kind of party. Come on. You're tapping that shit ... aren't you."

Bob forced down his nervousness.

"Look at me," he said, calmly. "Sure, I'd love to ... tap that ... as you so coarsely put it. But why on Earth would she even think about doing that with a geezer like me?" He emphasized Lindsey's choice of words, using that to distract the man.

Lindsey's eyes moved to Kendra, who was crossing the room balancing two drinks in her hands. She was obviously headed towards them. He eyed her breasts hungrily.

"Yeah," he sighed. "You're right. No way is something like that going to give either of us a tumble. You must have to jerk off five times a day."

"Actually, I'm kind of used to her," said Bob. "She's pretty bitchy. Kind of takes the shine off. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, whatever," said Lindsey. "Fuck. My wife is glaring at me. I'd better go find out what's gotten her panties in a wad."

That left Bob alone as Kendra approached and handed him his drink.

"I feel naked," she said, her voice low.

"I wish you were," said Bob.

"Here? I'd be raped a dozen times before I could make it to the door."

"I'd protect you," he said, smiling.

"Who knew a bunch of pedagogical types would be so horny?" she said.

"Mmmm. You used a big word. I should reward you." He smiled.

"You're obviously a bad influence on me," she said. "You change my vocabulary. You dominate my time. You knock me up and get my scholarship revoked. And then you bring me here, where I feel like I don't have enough hands to cover everything all the men are staring at."

"I'll stand behind you and cover the girls," said Bob. "Then you can use both hands to cover your pretty."

"Why are we here, Bob?" she asked. "This isn't at all like I thought it would be."

"I don't honestly know," said Bob. "Dean Charles said he wanted to talk to me about something. Maybe that's it."

"But why would the president invite you so Dean Charles could talk to you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Bob. He felt eyes on them and didn't know quite what to do about it. "We should circulate," he said. "I think that's what they do at these things."

They had wandered around the room for a while, sipping their drinks while others guzzled their own. The reception they got, whenever they approached some couple or small group was the same. The men were eager to be introduced to Kendra, and the women looked at her askance. This went on for half an hour before Ronald Charles grasped Bob's elbow.

"Come with me to the library," he said. "Randolph wants to have a word with you."

Bob raised a mental eyebrow at the use of President Bellingham's first name. There were dozens of deans at the institution, and Bob somehow doubted that all of them were on a first name basis with the president. Why, then, was Dean Charles?

Bellingham was already in the library, smoking a long black cigar that stank up the whole room. Bob controlled his impulse to suggest that it would be better for the pages of the books if smoking was done away from them.

"Glad we could get this chance to chat," said the president, offering Bob the open box of cigars. Bob shook his head slightly, and a red flag raised in his mind. The president of the university could "chat" with any employee any time he liked. All he had to do was call that employee into his office. Something was up.

"Any time," Bob said, smiling.

Bellingham got right to the point.

"Tell us about this Marlowe manuscript," he said, casually. "Why is it we haven't heard about it before now?"

The question took Bob completely by surprise.

"I found it among a mass of papers and notes procured from an estate sale. How did you hear about it to begin with?" asked Bob, who was shaken.

"I have an old college friend who works at the Museum of Science and Industry," said Bellingham. "Imagine my discomposure when he called to congratulate us on the find, and I had to pretend I already knew about it."

"It isn't ready for public exposure," said Bob, grasping for something to say. "I'm not even sure it's genuine. It's being authenticated now."

"I'm aware of that," said Bellingham, whose voice showed more than a hint of unhappiness. "But I should have gotten that information from you, and not my friend."

"Actually, from me," said Ronald Charles, breaking in. "You should have briefed me on this, Bob, so I could brief President Bellingham."

"As I said," replied Bob. "At this point all I have are some handwritten pages I picked up at an estate sale. They may be nothing. They may be a forgery. I'm just now working on a transcript, so technically, we don't even know what this thing says."

"According to my friend, this is an important find," said Bellingham. "This could bring much needed attention and support to this university. I assume you're preparing to publish. When can we expect to see something?"

Bob swallowed. He wanted to take his time with this, but obviously, now that the cat was out of the bag, pressure would be brought to bear.

"Not for months," he said. "We haven't even gotten through the rest of the data from the sale. There may be documentation among those papers that refers to this manuscript, and which may establish provenance. We don't have that, as yet. And, as I said, the authentication is being done now. I'll have to wait on the results of the tests before I even know if a paper can be written."

"I'd like something sooner than that," said Bellingham. "Perhaps I can call my friend and see if he can expedite the conclusion of these ... tests?"

"Please do not," said Bob, firmly. "There is a well-tested protocol for this sort of thing. It should not be rushed. If it's rushed, or corners are cut, that's how errors creep in. The last thing we need is an unfavorable peer review of anything that comes from this."

"Well, don't lollygag," said Bellingham. "I'll forgive the lapse in notification, but in the future, I want to be kept informed."

"Yes," said Dean Charles. "I want regular progress reports." He was obviously trying to make himself important in future events.

"I'll let you know something when I know something," said Bob.

"Good," said Bellingham. "Now, if you have another party to go to, feel free. My wife has taken a dislike, for some reason, to your research assistant, and I'm tired of hearing her carp about it."

"No problem," said Bob. "As it turns out, there are a couple of other parties we were invited to."

He said it out of anger, and didn't think about a better way to phrase it.

But both other men took particular note to his use of "we" in his comment.

The use of that word suggested, at least in the minds of Bellingham and Charles, that Bob and Kendra, a student, were a couple ... rather than boss and employee.

That "fact" was filed away for future reference.

Who knew when something might be needed to hold over Doctor McFeeley's head to ensure his performance ... or obedience.

They didn't go to another party.

Instead, they went home. Kendra did a little striptease for Bob, removing the little black dress and parading around in her heels.

She rubbed both hands in circles on her flat abdomen.

"You got me pregnant," she chanted, softly. "You put your nasty old penis in my poor pretty and spurted sperm in there and they attacked my poor egg and now my tummy is going to get all fat and round and I'll waddle like a duck and nobody will want to look at me."

She cupped her breasts.

"My poor girls will get all fat too, and drip milk all the time. I'll probably have to buy a hammock and alter it to use as a bra."

Bob laughed.

"Don't laugh at me," she pouted.

"You make me happy," he said, smiling.

"Because I let you put your nasty old peter in my pretty," she said, trying to put derision in her voice, but not doing a very good job of it.

"I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world," he said. "That's back when all I could do was watch you prance and pose and tease the crowd. And then I got to see you the way I always dreamed of seeing you." He swallowed. "Like you are now. And I was right. You are the most beautiful woman in the world. And being pregnant is only going to make you more beautiful."

"Awwww," she said, looking down at her flat abs and stroking them again. "You really think so?" Her pouting vanished like smoke in the wind.

"I know so," he said.

"I'm going to the bedroom," she said, turning in profile to him. "I think that's where I want to bring in the New Year."

"It would be heartless of me to leave you there to bring in the New Year alone," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

"I agree," she said.

By the time he got there she was stretched out on the bed, with one middle finger in her vagina. She was pulling at it and mauling her clit. He had disrobed on the way, leaving a trail of bits and pieces of clothing behind him.

"Why do you make me so horny?" she said, her voice husky.

"It's my manly charm," he said. He leaned forward and flexed, like body builders do. "My machismo," he growled.

She laughed.

"Come here, mister manly. Let's find out just how studly you are."

Instead, he got onto the bed and lay down perpendicular to her, with his ear on her navel.

"Hello? Are you in there?" he said, softly.

"Is that you Daddy?" said Kendra in a high, make believe infant voice.

"It is!" said Bob, brightly. "How you doin' in there, little buddy?"

"I prefer to be addressed as Princess," said Kendra for the fetus.

"Oh, of course," said Bob. "I have to confess, though, I hope you're a boy."

"Why?" asked the baby voice.

"Because if you're a girl, you'll probably grow up to look like your mommy, and then I'll have to buy guns, and build electric fences around the house and all those kinds of things to keep the boys away."

Kendra laughed. She pushed at his head, making his cheek slide onto her shaven mound. He could tell she had shaved as she got ready for the party, because the skin there was smooth and soft.

"Talk to me from down there," said the baby voice. "I think I'll be able to hear you better, Daddy."

He was more than willing to play that game. He rolled over and, as she spread her legs, got comfortable with his face right by her pussy. He kissed the lips there.

"There's a little kiss for my princess," he said.

"I need lots of kisses, Daddy," came the falsetto voice.

Bob licked with a stiffened tongue, sliding it between her labia. He used the stiff tip in an attempt to circle her clit, but it slipped up and onto the smooth skin above her split. He lifted his head.

"You taste like ... fruit," he said.

"Cherry," said Kendra in her normal voice. "I got it at Christy's Toy Box. Do you like it?"

"It's yummy," he said, and licked her again. This time he reached to split her lips with his fingers, so he could encircle her distended clit with his lips and nip at it.

"Ohhhh, fuck that feels good," moaned Kendra. "If I wasn't already pregnant, I'd let you get me that way."

Bob kissed his way up her belly, stopping to kiss all over her abdomen. Then he worked his way up to her breasts where he teased her by kissing everywhere except the tip of each one.

"Don't tease me," she groaned, reaching to move his head until his lips sucked at a nipple. "I chose cherry because I wish I could give you mine," she moaned.

He crawled farther, reaching to fist his rampant prick. He swabbed the tip between the cherry flavored lips he had so recently kissed.

"I feel like you did," he said, sliding into her slowly.

Her arms went around him as her feet came up to press on his buttocks.

"I love you so much," she moaned. "Now fuck me good."

"Fuck you well," he corrected.