Mother Nature had other plans for me this week, and, sadly, knocked out the power and the cable at my home. So, forced to give into her demands, I was unable to finish this week’s tale. I know. It breaks my heart too. The upside is that instead of rewatching episodes of The West Wing I was able to unplug and spend sometime with a biography of John Adams. And so, in the spirit of Mr. Adams, let’s revisit chapter two in this saga, and I promise I’ll see you next week.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” she offered brightly. “I’ve brought the paper.”
“Oh a most wonderful morning indeed,” he smiled and gestured next to him on the bed. She didn’t hesitate a moment before sitting next to him, feeling the familiar thrill of cozying up to the president.
She toyed with the collar on his dressing gown. “You’re not dressed yet. This is most improper.”
“You barged into my chambers,” he laughed. “I could have you arrested.”
“You wouldn’t. Need that room in the jails for all the people slandering you in the press.”
“Hey now,” he protested. “Sedition is a serious crime.”
“Yes well everything I’d say has the benefit of being completely true.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
She continued unabashedly, “Insufferable. Won’t stop talking. Has an ego the size of the Atlantic. Smart, but knows it.”
“Those are my best qualities!” He was grinning now. He hated the company of most people, and hated criticism even more, but for some reason this woman got away with it all and still managed to tickle his fancy.
“I know. It drives me crazy how much you drive me crazy,” she looked at him expectantly, her expression begging the end of their customary verbal foreplay.
He brushed a piece of her hair aside, and asked, “Can I kiss you?”
“You ask,” she smiled, adoring this about him.
“I wouldn’t presume!”
She couldn’t hide her affection for this strange, charming man, and she nodded as modestly as she could manage. He kissed her immediately, attacking her lips overenthusiastically. Still, it worked for him, and she appreciated how boldly he went into everything, even when perhaps he wasn’t completely accurate. Her body was responding, at any rate, and as he moved to her neck she found herself growing wetter with anticipation. His hands were everywhere now, expertly removing her layers of dress, and she was feeling wonderfully spoiled, and then, he paused. She sat up, and his eyes had focused on the newspaper, the stupid pretense she’d used to get into his room unnoticed. She should’ve known better, known that he’d want to read it, that he’d obsess over every word as surely as he’d obsessed over the official title of the U.S. president.
“John,” she reached for him. “Don’t let him ruin this.”
He stood up in a huff, yelling, “Hideous hermaphroditical character?! Who does that low-lived mean-spirited fellow think he is?” She rushed to his side, her dress cast aside in the process. His face flushed and contorted, and she tried to quell his rage, ran her hands along his surprisingly sturdy chest.
“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” she explained, and inspired by this she wrapped her hand around his cock. “And that’s my job.”
“Oh Christ, you are distracting.” They stood in his room; he realized he hadn’t even put on his wig yet. He was rock hard at her touch, though still he fought the urge to continue yelling about Thomas Jefferson.
She released him, “Take me.”
He obliged, scooping her and flinging her onto the bed. Again, his strength surprised her, but it drove her mad with desire to be tossed around so casually. And then he was on top of her again, kissing, working his way down, teasing her as her entire body screamed for him. She was certain he muttered something about the paper again, but it was lost as he busied his lips between her legs.
“Stop talking,” she groaned, gripping the bed harder. The sunlight reflected off his bald head, and she was struck again by the ridiculousness of her situation.
“I’m merely saying that if Jefferson has such a problem with me, I’d like to hear it from him and not his puppet Callender,” he continued, and she was smitten by the vitriol in his voice.
“Well you’ve certainly showed him,” she agreed, pushing his head back down, “but you promised today would be about us and not your stupid feud with your vice president.”
For a moment he resumed his exploration of her body, his tongue pushing impressively deep inside her. She closed her eyes, and thrust her hips; he was teasing her with such enthusiasm, she almost felt bad the electorate never saw this side of him.
“They’re good Acts!” he shouted suddenly. “Doesn’t he see how hard I’m working to keep us out of war with France?”
“You need to work on keeping the Federalists together,” she reminded him. Usually their conversations enhanced the mood, but the closer she got to climax the less she cared about what Alexander Hamilton was doing at the war department.
“That’s another thing!” He sat up now. “If that bastard twat wants to fight me on this, he’s basically going to give the election to Jefferson and he HATES Jefferson.”
“Yes well at least Jefferson knows when to shut up and keep his head down.”
“Well because he’s afraid to have a debate that isn’t on paper,” he realized she was no longer talking politics and blushed. “Oh. OH. I’m sorry, I promised, less talking.” He dove back between her legs with renewed vigor. Again, the urge to laugh was strong, but she found it quickly replaced by his skill. Their conversation had dampened the mood momentarily, though the mood wasn’t the only thing dampened. He slipped a finger inside, then two, his tongue still marvelously on her clit. She opened her eyes and glanced down; his brow was furrowed and she was pleased with how hard he was working to please her. If he’d worked this hard at uniting the Federalists, he could easily win a second term. Though, feeling him catch his breath as he patiently sought her climax, she wondered if he were truly capable of suffering through four more years of the Democratic-Republicans and their crude slander.
“Slow down,” she instructed him, wanting to linger on the edge for as long as possible. He listened, he was a remarkably fair man, she realized, and one who understood the value of her input.
“They want me to move to Columbia, as soon as that idiotic mansion is complete,” he said this into her, and the vibrations of his lips sent a shiver through her body.
“Terrible place for a capital,” she agreed. “I’m so close.”
“If I wanted to spend my time in swamp I’d just,” he stopped himself.
“Spend it here?” She arched into him again, not minding the crass comments as long as he continued. She could feel him smile, as he increased his pressure.
“Oh god that forever,” she moaned. He knew better than to let up when she was this close, and he didn’t stop. He was begging her to come now; he was desperate to be covered, and to know he’d done his job well. She found the back of his head again with her hands, encouraging him as she let herself give in. He could’ve been talking about increasing the residency requirement for citizenship to 200 years and she wouldn’t have argued. Or cared. There was nothing now but delirious pleasure. Finally, her body shaking, she gently lifted his head.
He smiled, “Let’s see Thomas Jefferson do THAT!”
He slid up the bed next to her, rightly pleased with himself. She could tell by his protruding rotundity he was eager for reciprocation, but as usual, he didn’t press the issue. Still she struggled to form words and catch her breath, her body still reveling in post-orgasm bliss.
“You,” she half whispered, as he kissed her forehead agreeably. “Number two in the history books but number one in here.”