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A proud African prince comes to Harvard University.

I felt a tightening in my gut; a tingle of anticipation shooting through me. I looked down to see the short dress had ridden up the smooth nylons of her close-set thighs; it was all I could do to keep my hands off this gorgeous creature.

The big buff-colored house was brightly-lit, situated on the rise of a well-manicured lawn at the end of a cul-de-sac. Our hosts, Roger and Hillary B., were a distinguished-looking couple in their fifties, who cordially greeted us at the front door as though we were long lost friends. I noticed how his eyes lit up when he took in my companion's slender body in that short sexy dress. I also noticed that his wife's eyes took on a similar interest in her newest guest, whom she favored with a hostess' reassuring smile, reaching out to briefly touch her on the bare arm.

The entrance way and most of the first floor was ablaze with light from high chandeliers but the spacious house seemed curiously still and empty. No trace of an ongoing party was to be found on the main floor, but the flight of stairs we were led down descended into a darkened room, and it was there we found the party-goers -- perhaps a dozen well-dressed people sitting around in quiet conversation.

Gradually my eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting. A sprinkling of candles added their softened glow to the intimate gathering. There seemed to be a lot of drinking and touching going on, light caresses punctuated by the occasional kiss in the shadows that spoke of the closeness, even intimacy of a group of friends who were very friendly indeed. I noticed both Rob and Greg in a dimly-lit corner sitting with their wives whom I had met at the country club on a few occasions. Rob waved us over to their low candle lit coffee table.

The murmur of voices died to a few whispers as I lightly cradled Anna's waist, guiding her as she glided into the room like a stately model -- the eyes of the hushed guests following us across the thickly-carpeted floor.

We made small talk. Rob and Greg chatted, relaxed and confident with their eyes frequently checking out the newest guest, who warmed under the obvious male attention; while their women, outgoing cordial and warm, were going out of their way to make us newcomers feel welcomed.

We had settled in and after several rounds of drinks flowed freely, a set of overhead spotlights suddenly came on, starkly illuminating a small platform that had been set in the very center of the room. This impromptu stage was a painted piece of 4 x 8 plywood mounted on four acrylic posts, raised about a foot of two off the floor, and centered exactly under twin spots mounted on track lights. In the middle of the platform, a plush red easy chair dominated the stage.

Roger, our host, now took the stage. Gray-haired and suave, his blue eyes twinkling, he seemed to be enjoying the role of grand impresario as he welcomed us and confided how pleased he was to introduce the very special treat we had in store for the evening's entertainment. He asked that Stephen and Anna be given a warm welcome, and we stood up smiling to a smattering of applause.

Ron had gone over the initiation ceremony with me in some detail, and Anna and I had talked about it over lunch so she'd know exactly what to expect. I was to present my partner to the group and she would then perform a solo act, after which things would take, what Ron laughingly called "their usual course."

A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd as we stepped up to the platform and I helped Laruen mount the step in her high heels. She tuned to face the crowd, while I stood behind her, the big chair to my back. She turned to face me over her shoulder, and we kissed. Then I placed my hands on her shoulders, offering her to our eager audience like a proud parent presenting his child.

She stood in the light: her slender figure straight and tall in her heels, legs slightly parted, facing her shadowed audience serenely, with chin held high.

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