Kim Pt. 01

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 or older.

This story has been hanging around on my computer for several years. It was initially going to be part of the 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover Author Challenge. But I had a clash of opinions with my previous editor. I lost enthusiasm for working on this and a couple of other stories and shelved them. The unfinished stories failed to survive a later computer issue. Recently I found a backup file lurking in a forgotten cloud account. It held an early version of this and a couple of other stories. I began the task of resurrecting them. Unfortunately, the working notes for this one didn't survive, but fortunately, the first few pages were 99% completed; all I've done is a bit of tidying up. It's the rest where I've had an issue recalling the plot direction. I'm sure this was the direction I was heading when I down tools.

Part 1.

I'd been waiting for Kim to come to her senses ever since we met. Like many men, I found it hard to understand what the woman I loved saw in me--constantly feeling that I didn't deserve her. Over the years, I'd come up with many stupid reasons why she would divorce me. Whenever I came up with a new one, I'd add it to my mental list.

We'd arrived home earlier that Friday afternoon; we had been travelling for work over the past week. Kimberly worked for one of the big international auction houses. She had been in Zurich for the last part of her trip, authenticating and documenting paintings and sketches for their next fine art auction. I'd been in the north of England negotiating with English heritage for a client on the best practical way to restore a medieval manor house.

I'd driven, so I had timed my return to allow me to pick Kim up from the airport mid-afternoon. She'd been reticent as we drove the 30 miles to our cottage. She took a shower and joined me on the patio to enjoy the last sunshine.

She sat there in silence, toying with a glass of wine. A sure indication that something was playing on her mind. When she was ready, I knew she'd broach whatever worried her.

Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said. "I'm pregnant."

Two words that should make any husband's chest swell with manly pride.

"But I'm not sure it's yours."

And a further six more words destined to tear the heart from that same chest. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but not those fatal words that threatened to explode our comfortable world. I sat in stunned silence before standing and walking over to the far side of the patio, staring out across the fields. I struggled to get my head around her last statement, hoping beyond hope that I'd misheard her.

"What are you saying?" I managed to say.

She involuntarily placed a hand over her belly. "I'm trying to say that I slept with another man around the time this baby was conceived."

I hadn't miss-heard her, my legs felt weak, and I managed to make my way back to my chair and collapsed, bowing my head, unwilling to look at her.

She carried on toying with her half-empty glass. I was frozen, trying to take in what she had just told me. Sadly I'd been expecting something like this for years, ever since the first time Kim had agreed to go on a date with me. That she'd realise her mistake and find someone better, but I'd always believed that her honesty would compel her to tell me if her feelings for me had changed as soon as they occurred. That she wouldn't hide the evidence of an affair, how wrong I'd been!

The silence between us dragged out until she finally said, "Say something, anything, Ben."

"What is there to say?" I said sadly. "You've just taken what was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life and fucking killed it." I should have been shouting, but I wasn't. I spoke softly, resigned to my fate.

I finally raised my head and looked at the beautiful woman sitting across from me. Blonde, almost white hair framing a face you'd expect to see on the pages of a fashion magazine. Her cornflower-blue eyes stared back at me, tears welling up in the corners.

"I've been expecting something like this for years," I mused. "I reckoned I've imagined numerous ways you could leave me, but I never thought you'd be this callous," I continued. "I'd always feared you'd come to your senses and trade up, but to tell me you were pregnant with your lover's child this way wasn't something I'd ever expected."

"I'm not trading up, and he's not my lover, and most likely, the baby is yours, not his. I love you too much..."

I interrupted, "But you fucked another man when we were trying for a child. It's a funny way to show you love me. Christ, why did you even bother to tell me? Why didn't you just leave and save me the anguish of knowing another man has succeeded where I've failed."

She gave a soft sob, "I didn't say I knew it was his, but there is a chance it could be, and if it is, you would have known as soon as it's born."

I glanced down at my hand, immediately understanding her. My skin is a soft coffee colour, the legacy of an Anglo-Caribbean father.

"He's white?"

She gave me one slight nod before turning away and staring down the garden. "He's your polar opposite, blonde, pale skin and blue-eyed."

Without turning back, she said, "If I knew for certain it was his, I'd have arranged a discrete abortion and prayed for the rest of my life that you'd never find out." Her voice was emotionless, disturbingly so. "But if there is any chance, it could be yours; that's not an option. I want your baby so much."

That in itself said so much about the situation. Kim had been brought up a Catholic, and while she described herself as lapsed, she retained many of her religious beliefs about the sanctity of marriage and that of an unborn baby. For her to suggest she had considered abortion was staggering. This whole situation made no sense,

"And if it turns out to be his. Where does that leave us?"

"With me begging your forgiveness as I will be doing every day from now until the child is born."

I felt my features harden as I said, "I thought myself the luckiest man alive when you said yes to me. I've always believed I was unworthy of you, but one thing I'm sure of is that I will not, can not, bring up another man's child. Who is this fucking snake in the grass anyway?"

"He's a nobody."

"Well, Mr Nobody was good enough to fuck you," I snapped. "What are you going to do if it is his?"

She held her hand out, but I ignored it. "I will not bring up another man's child," I repeated. "And you need to tell me who he is?"

Kim didn't move or say anything. I waited for a while before I left her to her thoughts. I went inside, into the home we'd created together and found a quiet corner to lick my wounds. I needed to decide on my next steps. Lashing out at her seemed pointless; what was done was done, and we both had to decide how we would live with the consequences of her actions. But getting even with the bastard who'd caused all of this was high on my list of things to consider.

She'd been that girl, the one that every school or university seemed to have. In this case, Kimberly Smythson, the heiress to her family business, is the undisputed queen bee. A goddess seemingly so far above my social standing that I never understood why she had ever sought out lowly Benjamin Anders.

As queen bee, she was never alone. Like drones in a hive, there was always one or another student elite at her side. Lumped in with the rest of the worker bees, I could only admire her from afar. I wouldn't have described myself as a geek or a loser, and I'd been told I was pretty good-looking. But I have a flaw; I lack self-confidence, an unfortunate consequence of a dominating mother and self-entitled sister. So I couldn't accept that a girl like Kim might ever be interested in me.

We were both humanity majors, Kim studying art history, and I, a mix of medieval history and architecture. At the beginning of the spring term of my second year, we both attended a course, the History of medieval art, and it's where I got to know her.

I'd arrived early for the first lecture. Something I like to do, so I could claim that one perfect seat that every lecture theatre contains. It's the one with a good view, yet so perfectly placed that the occupant was all but invisible to the lecturer. I found the spot, and it was mine; the small room began to fill up; it could hold about thirty students. When the lecturer arrived and began to hand out course material, every seat bar beside me was occupied.

She walked into the small lecture theatre just as the lecturer started. She gave him a broad apologetic smile that had left him speechless while she hurried over to take that last seat, the one beside me.

"Hi, I'm Kimberly, and you are?" She whispered.

"Ben," I muttered, blushing. My attempt to stay anonymous was in tatters as the lecturer glared at us. I opened my notebook and fiddled with a pen.

The lecturer began droning on about the importance of religion in the Middle Ages and how that was reflected in the period's art. All I knew was the scent of the beautiful woman sitting beside me. At the lecture's end, she said goodbye to me and was gone, only pausing briefly by the lecturer to collect her copy of the course material.

The same scene was repeated for the following two lectures. Kimberly would arrive as the lecturer was starting and slid into the seat beside me. I would breathe in her beautiful scent and imagine I was holding her in my arms.

This was one of the older lecture theatres, and the space between the seats was almost nonexistent. The first time we sat together, we carefully respected each other's personal space. The second time I felt her leg press up against mine. I managed to ignore it; the last thing I wanted was for her to accuse me of touching her.

I thought about moving seats the next time, but hell, if she wanted to rub her fantastic leg against mine, I would enjoy every last moment. That day there was no way I could write off what she was doing as an accident.

She wore a short shirt that rode up her thigh as she sat down, and immediately her leg was pressed against mine. It was a hot day, and I was wearing shorts, and I could feel every inch of her silky soft skin where it touched mine. Throughout the lecture, her leg moved gently against mine. By now, she'd told me to call her Kim.

"My friends call me Kim, and I like to think we could be friends," she had said.

In the days since we'd first met, she'd given me the odd wave and greeting as we passed in the corridors. One afternoon, we'd enjoyed a pleasant hour in the coffee shop, then one of her alpha drones had called to her, and she was off, my cheeks red after she'd given me a goodbye kiss.

Today's lecture was different. It had been raining, and we both wore jeans, but my leg still felt warm from where hers had pressed against mine. The lecture ended, and I closed my notebook. I had expected Kimberly to rush off as usual and wanted to forestall her, and I was summoning up the courage to ask Kim if she'd like to go for a drink that evening. But she didn't move, and when I started to speak, she put her hand on my arm.

"Can you wait for a moment for the others to leave? I need to ask you something," she said, and I settled down in my seat again.

A few minutes later and we were alone. She pushed back in her seat and looked at me like a farmer assessing his stock. Then she did something rather odd; she asked me to stand up and turn a complete circle slowly. After getting over my surprise, I complied. When I was facing her again, she gave me a big smile.

"I require your body," she announced.

I spluttered and started forward before gasping out, "What, How?" Not very original, I know, but I bet you couldn't have come up with anything more eloquent in the same situation.

She laughed softly, "Sorry, I could have phrased that so much better."

I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile and sat down beside her again.

She started again. "Ben, I've been earning some extra cash as a life model for the art department. None of the crowd I hang out with know about it, and I'd like to keep it that way. Last week I was supposed to pose with another model, a man. But the guy the art department booked turned out to be a creep. He kept touching me, and I ended up slapping him. We had to pose separately after that, which wasn't what the class assignment required. I thought I'd blown the gig, but the teacher was great about the situation. She told me to find someone I would feel comfortable working with, and in close contact... and naked." She gave me a slightly embarrassed but hopeful look.

"Okay, I said softly, desperately trying to coral my wild thoughts. "And you want me to suggest someone to you?"

She gave me a brief smile as she shook her head. "No, I want you to do it with me. You've got the perfect body for this, and the students will love how we contrast."

She placed her pale arm next to my light brown arm. "Yin and yang," and she smiled. I froze in surprise. Was she asking me to pose naked with her in front of a group of graduate art students? She was and was patiently waiting for me to respond.

"When?" I finally managed to croak, shivering in fear at the thought of being naked in front of her and a bunch of strangers and the anticipation of seeing Kim naked.

"Tomorrow evening, from seven to nine-thirty in the art building. Does that work for you?"

I nodded, not willing to trust my voice.

"Good, I was hoping you would," she said, looking somewhat relieved. "I tell you, why don't we meet in the student bar at six-thirty, and we can walk over together? We get paid twenty pounds an hour for barring our all, so you can afford to take me out for a bite to eat and a drink afterwards."

I don't think I ever honestly had a choice in the matter. Kim was the perfect irresistible force, and I wasn't an immovable object. Six o'clock the following evening, I walked into the student bar, and while I nervously waited for Kim to appear, I nursed a pint of liquid courage. As per her instructions, I was wearing loose sweatpants and a baggy tee shirt with no underwear, and I felt incredibly self-conscious

"They prefer that we don't have lines from our underwear on our bodies," she'd explained when she had told me what I had to wear.

"But you better bring something much nicer to change into for later. A girl's got to have her standards, you know. I don't let just anybody take me out."

She'd walked away, and my mind refused to process what had occurred. I was going to see the most beautiful girl I'd ever met naked, and I was taking her out afterwards. That was when I started laughing, the irony of the situation hitting home. Trust me to do the date thing in reverse. Aren't you supposed to wine and dine the girl before you get naked with her?

Kim walked through the door to the bar fifteen minutes later, and I swear the bar fell silent in admiration. She wore a wrap-around long skirt that flowed around her long legs and a loose peasant-style blouse. She came over to me, and I stood to greet her. She surprised me by stepping close and hugging me. I could feel her nipples press against me, proving she wasn't wearing a bra.

She smiled at me, and her hand drifted across my ass. "Good, you've gone commando," she said in her musical voice.

I nodded, and then she took my hand and placed it briefly on the curve of her ass. Through the soft cotton of the skirt, I could feel the curves of her buttocks; unless she was wearing the tiniest of thongs, she was naked under the skirt

A moment later, she confirmed my thoughts, "So am I, come on, let's go."

I swallowed the last mouthful of my drink, and we walked to the Art building. I had no idea what to expect; I followed Kim to an office on the ground floor, where we both signed in. The woman behind the desk gave me an appraising look that made me blush and caused Kim to smile.

"We will need to sign out again at the end to get paid," Kim said. "Come on, stud; there's a room next to the studio where we get undressed."

She took my hand, and we went to the second floor; she showed me the empty studio. A dozen easels were set up in a broad arc around most of the room. In the centre was a raised dais set with a broad padded bench.

"Our throne," I quipped, trying desperately to still the butterflies in my stomach. Kim laughed and said, "A throne for the emperor and his new clothes."

It took me a second to get the reference, and I grinned to show I understood. She pointed out the changing room, and I offered to let her go first.

She laughed again. "In a few minutes, we will both be naked and lying in each other's arms on that bench. I don't think it matters if you see me getting undressed." She gave me a gentle shove and followed me into the changing room. Kim closed the door

For a few moments, all I could do was stand frozen in the middle of the room. There were a couple of armchairs and a table to one side, and a row of four lockers. On a clothes rail beside a full-length mirror hung half a dozen towelling robes

"Shall I go first," Kim said, and without waiting for a response, she turned away and untucked her blouse and pulled it off over her head. She placed her blouse on the arm of one of the chairs and turned back to face me.

For a long moment, I was unable to breathe, I'd had dreams about those breasts, and now I am looking at them. Pert beautiful breasts, with large pink areola that were creased in the chill of the room, with long, dark pink nipples. She cupped her hands underneath them, supporting their weight, and gave them a studied perusal in the mirror.

"Do you think this one is higher than the other?" There was an earnest tone to her question.

I coughed softly, and I knew I was blushing. "I... I don't think so."

She turned to look at herself again and slowly nodded at her reflection. "I think you're right, but you know how it is; you always see imperfections in yourself." Later I understood she'd staged this little scene to get me to relax, and it worked.

She let go of her breasts and fumbled at the waistband of her skirt and unwrapped the skirt, and placed it next to the blouse. She turned and faced me, and I was surprised to see a faint blush at her throat.

"So, what do you think?" And she gestured down at her body.

I mentioned earlier that Kim was beautiful, and I was probably doing her a grand injustice. Her beautiful breasts didn't take away from the rest of her amazing body. She was a tall, willowy blonde, her long hair so blonde it was almost white. An oval face set with the bluest of eyes and the cutest nose. Her mons rose from the flat plane of her belly in a smooth slope; for a second, I thought her mons was hairless, but a second glance showed a line of ultra-fine blonde hair that was almost invisible.

I wanted to kneel in front of her and worship at the altar of her womanhood, but all I could say was, "You're beautiful." Kim blushed.

"Your turn," she said, and my breath froze. For a horrible moment, I wasn't sure I could do this, and she must have sensed my discomfort.

She stepped close and took my hand, and placed it on her breast. "I don't bite, I promise." She took the hem of my tee shirt and pulled it over my head. I regretted letting go of her breast, and it didn't seem right to replace my hand.

She ran the back of a finger down my chest, "You know you are quite beautiful; your problem is you're shy."