Bob's Memoir: 4,000 Years as a Free Demon Vol. 3
Copyright© 2022 by aroslav
Chapter 68: International Bob
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 68: International Bob - "Hi! I'm Bob and I'll be your demon tonight." But Bob is not your ordinary textbook demon. He was not imbued with any traits of evil. He's just your everyday, slightly horny, happy-go-lucky (mostly lucky) demon with 4,000 years of history as his teacher. This is the way Bob remembers it happening and he was there! (Tell that to your history prof!) It's a romp through the annals of time from a unique perspective. A little bit spooky. A little bit sexy. A lot funny. Vol 3: Current Era (Mostly)
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Demons Polygamy/Polyamory
I PROMISED MAY that I knew several people at Space Pioneers and could get her in to see them. She was doubtful at first, but I convinced her with a first class ticket to Houston where the main offices were. Doug met us there. She recognized him from the television show.
“I’ll take it from here, Cleveland Bob,” he said, using the name I’d adopted for my travels. “We’ll give you a call and let you know how things turn out.” He led May to a conference room. I went into a bathroom and transformed to The Bob. Twenty minutes later, I entered the conference room.
May gasped when she saw me.
“Hello, May. I’m Bob,” I said. “We’ve had a lot of applications to be on the show, but I think you’re the only one that tracked us down here.”
“It uh ... wasn’t really me who did the tracking. The import/export guy I met in Cleveland made all the arrangement. If you don’t mind, this uh ... Doug didn’t give me a chance to say a proper goodbye. I’d like to see Bob again.”
“That’s not a problem. I hope he was civil and decent to you.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve never met someone quite like him. I really like him, you know. I mean, I’m sure I’ll like you, too. I did apply to be on your show.”
“And so you are,” I said, pointing out the cameras in the room. She caught her breath again.
“So, tell me about your design for a space station that would fly away from earth. Do you have drawings? Specifications?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “They’re probably too much for the budget of a television show. I was hoping to talk to the people at Space Pioneers because maybe they could get funding for it.”
“I see. You didn’t know I’m the majority shareholder in Space Pioneers.”
“You are? I thought that president fellow, Leroy Reese, founded and owned it. He’s always in the news as the spokesperson.”
“Yes. He runs most things on a daily basis. The Mars Mission is all mine. So, tell me more about yourself.”
We got into quite a conversation. Many of the things she was telling me were a repeat of what she had told Bob of Cleveland. But there was significant new information, as well.
“It’s almost impossible for a woman to get a hearing in the science and technology arena. And what’s worse, using just a first initial is as much a red flag to reviewers as a woman’s name. Their first assumption is that it is a woman trying not to appear to be a woman. I have to ask, did you ever select a woman for your crew who wasn’t sexually active with you? That seems to be the expectation.”
“Actually, that was never intended. It has worked out that way in a majority of cases, but I don’t bring women to Areola just to have sex with me.”
“Areola. You named your palace after a woman’s nipple.”
“The women named it. I had nothing to say about it.”
“I see. So, what do I need to do to get selected as one of your crew, if it isn’t sleep with you? I mean ... You’re nice. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be a hardship to sleep with you. But I’d like to be valued for what I can contribute, not for my collection of holes,” she said. “Um ... Besides, as nice as I think you are, I’d kind of like to see where the relationship with Cleveland Bob goes. I do like him.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I will make no demands on you, but understand that Bob has responsibilities traveling around the world. Your base of operation will be here in Houston,” I said.
“My base of operation? You mean I’m hired?”
“I expect you to head up the design team for our space station cum interplanetary colony ship. Can you handle that?”
“Yes! Yes! Oh, thank you, Bob. Uh ... Do you mind if I call Cleveland Bob and tell him the good news?”
“I’ll step out and give you privacy.” I immediately headed down the hall so she couldn’t hear my phone ring.
Let me tell you about Mia in Firenze. I know that’s a jump, but it’s the next thing on my mind. It started with a conversation I had with Doug on that visit to Houston.
“It would be awfully damn nice if you could just open a gateway to and from Areola whenever and wherever you wanted to without depending on the satchel to function as your portal,” Doug said. I would leave him in Houston, as I headed off to Europe. There were just so many loose ends. We’d hired nearly a thousand non-Areola personnel to work on the production of season two, in addition to those special individuals who were jumping in and out of Areola from my satchel.
“You mean open a gateway to Areola from wherever I happen to be, regardless of where the satchel is? And open a gateway from Areola to anyplace in the natural world? I don’t know if that can be done, Doug. Areola is kind of in the bag.”
It was an interesting concept and I don’t know why I’d never thought of it before. I had often thought of Areola as being in the satchel, so I needed to be where the satchel was in order to protect Areola. This would be a completely different understanding of what that meant.
“Bob! Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, Doug. You just got me thinking. What was it?”
“Yes, but the big problem today is that you need to be in Italy on Sunday to meet Mia D’Angelo. She’s going to be touring the cathedral in Firenze, compiling historical notes for the Società di Antropologia Religiosa. She is a member of the Order of Shebites, a non-monastic order of nuns and outspoken critics of the Pope,” Doug said.
“I’m going to interview a nun for a place in my harem?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes. But don’t get in the habit,” Doug laughed. I just groaned.
“Unlike many of our contestants, her life reads like an open book,” Doug continued. “She’s been in the news since she was fifteen and told the pope that he was wrong about the church’s stand on celibacy and the acts of priests through the ages had proven it. She quoted Paul in saying ‘Better to marry than to burn,’ and that she sincerely hoped the priests who abused nuns and children were burning in hell.”
“And they allowed her to become a nun?”
“The Order of Shebites snatched her up immediately, rushed her off to their chapter house, and helped her refine her position. She is actually vacationing to conduct her research for the Society of Religious Archaeology. The Shebites are devoted to the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom and take their name from the Queen of Sheba, praised both in the books of Solomon and in the Koran.”
“Wow. Am I up to this?”
“Only time will tell, Bob. Good luck.”
I didn’t have a problem talking to the nun. She wasn’t naked. Sister Mia D’Angelo was a pleasant woman in her late twenties with a real thirst for knowledge. She was making notes as she walked through the duomo. I paused beside her and looked up at the duomo.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Every brick cut precisely to the measurements needed to create the eight-sided dome.”
“One hundred fourteen and a half meters from the floor to the top of the lantern above the dome. You know that’s more than the length of a football field!” I responded.
“Oh, my, you know your architecture, don’t you?”
“I studied this particular cathedral extensively.” I cut myself off before I added, “as it was being built.” She would definitely not understand my being in Firenze when the cathedral was built. I’d intended to come back and help with the dome, but just before I headed that direction, Esmira managed to trap me in the infinity room.
“What can you tell me about it ... uh...?”
“Bob,” I supplied offering my hand. She took it warmly.
“Mia.” No last name. No ‘sister’ or other honorific. Just Mia.
“Well, let me see. You probably know there was a competition to see who would become the architect/builder for the dome. The walls had already been erected and it remained for someone to engineer the dome. DiCambio had actually built a model of the dome that was fifteen feet high, right over there. But the engineering had never been done at the scale of this dome. Before or since. Brunelleschi won the competition to engineer the dome, closely contended by Ghiberti. There was some competition by two patrons of the architects that resulted in Ghiberti being awarded an equal sum to Brunelleschi’s.”
“I have read that the two architects were not only competitors, but were close friends,” Mia said. “Ghiberti even took over the construction when Brunelleschi became ill.”
“It was an illness, I believe, that was feigned, specifically to get his rival out of the way,” I said. Mia looked at me sharply for an explanation. “You see, the tools we would use today to measure and cut the bricks of the outer shell had not yet been invented. Simply measuring the model and scaling up left quite a lot of variances. After laying several courses of bricks, modifying the sizes by a technique he did not share, he feigned his illness and begged his dear friend to continue his work so the dome would be completed. Ghiberti took over, but did not have the technique for making the courses turn out correctly. After a year, he gave up in frustration. At that time, Brunelleschi miraculously recovered from his illness and came back to work, finishing some years later. The dome, I’m told, was finished before Brunelleschi’s death in 1446, but the lantern was constructed after.”
“And what was this special technique that Brunelleschi used to make his course of bricks fit perfectly and that Ghiberti could not do?”
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