Just then they heard the clatter of the cleaning cart and its French maid came into view, having completed one wing of the hotel and now moving on to clean the rooms of the other wing. Amanda stared. Kirsten giggled. Jo dropped his comic book. The maid passed right by the family, half-bent over his trolley, the hem of his tiny skirt riding up over his ass as his hips swayed femininely.
And swelling against the frilly white apron was Amanda's beautiful baby bump. The black cotton of the dress was stretched taut trying to contain this new addition. Stephen felt a wave of confusion and anger as he saw what must be his child now on this man.
He intended to get some answers. "Amanda, take the children and go to the hotel room. Lock the door and don't let anybody in until I'm back." She nodded, shepherding the children into the lift.
The maid continued down the hotel corridor with Stephen following at a distance, treading carefully, muffling his footsteps in the thick carpet. Stopping at a room, the maid glanced back, catching sight of the father as he ducked behind a meal trolley. He gave a feminine huff, tugging down the hem of his dress with one gloved hand. This man is watching me again. Pervert. Yet he couldn't help enjoy the attention the male guests gave him; the (to his eyes) long, lustful stares, even of married men.
He took his cleaning supplies and entered the hotel room. Stephen slipped out from behind his hiding place, tip-toeing down the corridor to peek in at the door.
The maid was on all-fours, scrubbing away at an invisible stain on the carpet with a foaming cloth. The skirt had been hitched up, exposing his pink bottom which waggled in the air with each stroke of the cloth. Pressed against the carpet, the pregnant belly rubbed against it with each movement. Suddenly, the maid looked back, his face rosy.
"Ar' you following moi, monsieur?" the man said in his delicate, accented voice. "Eez zere somezink I can 'elp you with, per'aps?" he said, wiggling his rear end suggestively.
"Yes there's something you can bloody help me with," he shouted, stepping into the room, his anger taking the maid aback. "You can start by telling me how you got that," he said, pointing a finger at his belly.
"'Ow I got zis?" he asked confused, his satin-covered hands covering his bump protectively from this angry guest. "I do not understand, monsieur. Please do not shout, 'ey am seven months along."
"Aye, with my baby," Stephen snarled.
"I see! Yoo 'ar ze father?"
"Yes!"
"Zen we 'ave made love before?"
Stephen stared. How did this man seem to think his pregnancy was natural when only five minutes later he had been as flat as a pancake? Despairing, he strode forward, determined to make his point.
"Look, buddy, I don't know what the hell is going on here but this isn't obviously your baby. For the simple fact that you're a dude," he shouted, crouching down and lifting up the hem of the dress.
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