Chapter 7

Being at the game the next day was a surreal experience for Bob. He'd been to hundreds of football games. He'd stared at the cheerleaders even more times than that, since he also attended basketball and volleyball games. And he'd dreamed about what Kendra Bradford might look like under that uniform at least a thousand times.

Now, as he watched her prance, dance, and gyrate, calling out to the crowd, chanting cheers, flirting with everyone in the stands, his brain kept telling him that his sperm was, at that very moment, nestled in her womb. She'd gotten fucked just before she'd left his house to go to the game, and all she'd done to deal with his issue was put on an extra pair of panties under her uniform spankies, to soak up anything that leaked out.

He was quite positive no one in the crowd had even the faintest idea that he knew her and she knew him, much better than anyone he knew of could dream of. She didn't look at him any more often than she looked at anyone else. There was no blowing of kisses, or long, lingering looks, or smiles as are sometimes exchanged between lovers. She was the consummate professional out on the field.

He had taken his usual place on purpose, but had been sure that, somehow, everyone around him would know that he was fucking one of the cheerleaders. He knew that was ludicrous, but the fear nagged him. What took his mind off of that was examining why he was so worried. Technically, while nobody would be happy with the ethics of things, he hadn't done anything either illegal or immoral. She was not, in fact, taking any classes from him. He couldn't affect the outcome of any of the classes she was taking, short of tutoring her. And that, after all, could actually be construed as being his job!

So why was he so worried that someone might find out?

He decided that, with his investigation into the Marlowe manuscript, he didn't need the grief of having to defend his private decisions. And then there was the possibility that the cheerleading coach was not restrained by the rules of tenure. If she wanted to kick Kendra off the squad, all she had to do was do it. No reason was required. And Bob knew Kendra would be crushed if something like that happened.

He was distracted further by the fact that the game was quite good.

They won. He already knew that, in situations like this, there would be a celebration after the game. Kendra would go, because all the players and cheerleaders were expected to go.

He had walked to the game. It took longer and gave him time to think. Unfortunately, it also gave him time to think on the way home.

About all those horny, excited boys, and what they all wanted to do to those equally excited cheerleaders.

He had nodded off on the couch, but woke up when she unlocked the door and came into the house. He looked at his watch and wasn't surprised to see it was two in the morning.

He'd given her a key to the back door as she prepared to leave for the game. That was, in fact, why his sperm had been in her belly as he watched her cheer for her winning team. She had been delighted to have the key and "rewarded" him by giving him a quickie before she left.

Now she trudged into the living room, looking bedraggled, rather than perky.

"What a night," she said, flopping down on the couch.

"You worked hard," said Bob.

"I'm used to that," she said. "It's all the mandatory schmoozing that wears me out."

"Mandatory schmoozing?"

"Yeah, lots of boosters come to the party after the game," she said. "Lots of them are horny old men and they all want to meet the cheerleaders. We're supposed to be nice to them."

"How nice?" asked Bob, his mind running in directions it might not have a couple of months earlier.

"Not as nice as I am to you," she said, smiling tiredly.

"Thank goodness for that."

"That's not to say that some of the girls don't arrange meetings later," she said.

"You're kidding," said Bob.

"Not at all. College is expensive, and boosters have money."

"You're talking about prostitution!" gasped Bob.

"You could call it that, I suppose," said Kendra. "But don't get all worked up about it. It's pretty rare to go that far. It's more like an escort service. A girl might go out with a man so he can show her off, and maybe he cops a feel, but that's all."

"What if he wants more?" asked Bob.

"Then she tells him that, if she lets him do anything else, she'll get kicked off the squad. That usually cools them down. They know that if a girl gets kicked off the squad, she might tell people why. Even boosters with deep pockets can wear out their welcome when they start affecting things in that manner."

"So, what you're telling me is that nobody can ever find out about you and me," he said, his voice flat.

"I don't know about that," she said. "All the girls have boyfriends. Some of those boyfriends are older. None as old as you, but some are maybe in their thirties. Nobody seems to care about that."

"They aren't professors," said Bob.

"I know one who is," said Kendra. "Well, he's not a professor, but he teaches classes."

"Who?" asked Bob, instantly.

"We don't talk about that kind of thing outside the locker room," she said. "Actually, it isn't encouraged to talk about that kind of thing inside the locker room. For example, I haven't mentioned you to anyone."

"You think they don't know?"

"Oh, they know I'm seeing somebody, but not who."

"And they aren't curious?"

"Sure they are. But we're sisters. We have to be able to depend on each other, so there are rules, some written and some unwritten. If you don't abide by those rules, you don't last on the squad."

"And one of the rules is, 'I'll tell you when I want you to know, '" suggested Bob.

"Exactly."

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For coming here instead of going back to your place," he said.

"Here is much more interesting than my place," she said.

"I'll let you sleep. Then things can be interesting," he said.

"I need a shower first," she said.

She stood up and started shedding her uniform. When she was naked she struck a pose.

"Having some help in there would be interesting," she suggested.

When he woke the next morning Kendra was snoring softly. She had rolled away from him during the night and he turned his head to just gaze at her supine, naked body for a while. He was still amazed that this lovely creature had chosen him, when she could have her pick of men.

Their shower had been intimate, but not sexual, at least as far as penetration. He had lovingly run his hands all over her, as she murmured in pleasure. She'd stroked his erection in return, but not to completion. They had kissed and moved to the bed, ostensibly to complete their lovemaking, but she was clearly exhausted, so he let her drift off to sleep.

Now he decided to let her continue sleeping, and eased out of bed to avoid waking her. She moved, stopped snoring, but then relaxed again as he slipped on the silk boxers she'd presented to him one evening.

He'd finished eating and was half-heartedly scanning the Sunday paper, trying to decide whether to get dressed or not, when she appeared. She had braided her hair and was wearing a lavender bra and panty set. She looked rested and awake. His eyes took in the high rise of the cords that connected the front and back panels of her panties. Her lush breasts bulged from the cups that cradled them. He decided the outfit looked more like a bikini than an undergarment, other than the fact that one could see through the material.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Thank you. What smells so good?"

"I had bacon and eggs," he said.

"Well it smells delicious."

"I'll prepare you some," he offered.

"I'll let you," she said.

He got up and turned the burner back on under the skillet. As he got the ingredients from the fridge, he looked over his shoulder at her.

"I haven't seen that outfit before," he said.

"That's because you usually keep me naked." She grinned. "I like frilly under things. May I assume you do too?"

"Yes, and no," he answered, separating two strips of bacon from the package.

"Let me guess," she said. "You like them, but want to take them off."

"Got it in one," he said.

"Men are all the same," she sighed.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It is unless it's you."

He turned.

"You have no idea how that makes me feel," he said softly.

"Good. I want you to feel special. You make me feel special."

"I don't understand how," he admitted. All he'd done was become ravenous and fuck her every chance he got.

"You care about how I feel," she said. "I can't think of another man who would have been so gentle and loving like you were last night."

"You were tired," he said. "And you were staying the night," he added. "I had no reason to be in a hurry."

"That's my point," she said. "Any other guy would have climbed on first and let me sleep later."

"Well you're welcome," he said, cracking two eggs on top of the sizzling strips of bacon.

"I think that's why it's so much fun to get you going," she opined.

"Oh?"

"I love it when you're rough with me ... demanding ... aggressive. But I think that's because I know you'll be gentle too. I like both."

"I'm not very patient," admitted Bob.

"You were last night," she said.

"Like I said, I knew you were sleeping over."

She laughed. "You make it sound like I'm a teenager."

"You are, compared to me," he said.

"Oh, pshaw," she said.

He grinned at the archaic expression.

"What?"

"You said 'pshaw'. That's an old lady word."

"No it's not. It's just a word. Where's my breakfast, old man? I'm starving here."

"Now you're the impatient one," Bob teased.

"I just want to eat, so I can get to the best part," she said.

"And what's the best part?"

She reached for the front clasp between her breasts. Her fingers flicked it open and the cups sprang apart, exposing stiff, pink nipples.

"I get to reward you for your patience last night," she said.

"Coming right up!" said Bob, urgently. "Right away, Miss. Won't be but a second."

She stared pointedly at the front of his shorts, which now concealed what was obviously an erection.

"Men!" she snorted. "You're all the same."

Sometimes Kendra yipped when she had an orgasm. To Bob's ears, the noises she made during sex could have been used as the sound track for just about any porn video. In fact, they should have been used, because she didn't make the same sounds over and over like a broken record, like most professionally produced pornography used. She communicated with grunts, whines, squeals and words, urging Bob on.

She was most vocal in two positions, the missionary position and doggy style. Whenever Bob took her in those positions, she talked a lot, usually either prodding him to further physical heights, or taunting him about what his sperm were going to do to her eggs. But she only said these things after she had risen to her own heights. And, by now, Bob tried to ensure that he always took care of her needs before he surrendered to his own urge to push deep and spurt as much as he could.

"Home" was taking on an altered meaning in Bob's mind. At "home," Kendra's favorite position was the missionary position. She talked about how she loved being under him, helpless as his weight came down on top of her. He knew she was anything but helpless, even though he outweighed her by at least forty pounds. But she liked to surrender sometimes. On the other hand, when she got on all fours and presented her buttocks to him, always with her knees spread enough to expose the split peach of her vulva, her attitude was not submissive at all. That position might be perceived as being subordinate, but the fact is that she could lean forward or push back. One way she teased him was to let him get almost to the pinnacle, and then lean forward and make him slip out of her. She always raised back up, letting him put himself in her again, but she was anything but helpless in that position.

At "work" her attitude was almost always dominant. In the office, she didn't "let" herself be taken. She demanded to be taken. Whether it was on the desk (which was rare because it made such a mess of what was on it), or standing against the wall, or with him seated while she straddled him, she was the driving force. While he always came, it was never until she had completely satisfied her own desires.

The other thing about this crazy relationship was that on some days - most, it could be argued - she was all business when she came to work. If there was any hanky panky on those days, it was after they got home. Occasionally, though, he got almost no work done after she came through his door, because all she wanted was a string of orgasms.

It sounds, from the telling of this story, that all there was, was sex, but that wasn't the case at all. Much routine conversation has been omitted, because "routine life" isn't the stuff of intense interest on the part of most readers. But the truth is that, after the first month of honeymoon-like behavior, this odd couple settled into something more like newly-wed patterns. There was sex every day, sometimes more than once a day, but there was everything else as well.

Another thing that must be said is that Kendra had her own life as a student, and she did not forsake that life for her new relationship with her older man. So it must be related that she usually only worked four days a week, and she only went home with Bob on the nights when she worked. And in some cases, she didn't go home with him after work.

Weekends were split, fifty/fifty, with Bob getting two of them each month, and the other people in her life getting the other two.

Her primary work had been reduced to sorting through the "financial" drawer, trying to bring some order to what was in it.

Bob's cursory look at the contents gave him the impression that this file drawer pertained to tax returns. Everything was filed by year, but within that category, there was no discernible further delineation of the importance of any given receipt.

It was Kendra's job to bring some order into this chaos of information, so they could determine whether any of it could help them in their quest to prove they had an original Marlowe manuscript.

Meanwhile, Bob called a friend of his who worked at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. This man had the ability, tools, and techniques necessary to evaluate the paper and ink on the manuscript.

"Brady! Bob McFeeley, here. How are things in Chicago?"

"Cold and windy," said Brady Williams. "It's been ages since we talked. You must need something."

"You've always been a man who gets right to the point," said Bob. "I have a manuscript I believe might have been authored in the late fifteen hundreds. I need that confirmed."

"And you don't want to go to one of the companies that does this kind of work because... ?"

"I'm kind of off budget on this," said Bob. "For now, anyway," he added.

"That's interesting," said Brady. "How come?"

"I'm trying to establish provenance. Without it, this is merely an interesting document. With it ... well ... this could rock the literary world."

"So, what I'm hearing between the lines is that you want me to do this on the sly, so you know what's what. And then, later, you take it to one of the pros and know it's worth what they charge."

"Something like that," admitted Bob.

"How come you don't just use department funds?" asked Brady.

"This is all under the radar for now," said Bob. "It's sketchy. Like I said, if it isn't a genuine antique, then it's probably nothing. Once I determine how old this thing is, then I can start going public with it."

"Not that I'm not willing to help you out, but it won't work," said Brady.

"Why not?" asked Bob.

"Because anybody who examines this document in the future will find the holes I'll have to put in it to do my tests. In fact, that's the first thing I'd do if I examined it. Have you looked for needle marks?"

"I never even thought of that," said Bob. It was quite possible that Anthony Eldridge had had such work done. If so, the needle used to recover bits of ink and paper would be evident to examination with even a magnifying glass.

"I have an idea," said Brady.

"Shoot."

"Make it official. Submit it to me in a request asking only for evidence of previous evaluation. That won't cost much. While I look for needle marks, I can get some idea of its age and origin. If it doesn't have any punctures, then we know nobody else has examined it. But nobody else will know that, and any punctures I put in it can be credited to previous examination."