The memory of his lips on hers was still fresh as they rounded the corner, and she hoped she hadn’t misinterpreted this trip. She noted the new sign as the car entered Camp David.
“Democrats are never going to let that go,” she mused. “Their precious Roosevelt’s legacy.”
“Shangri-La is an idiotic name,” he retorted. “And the opposition is always going to find fault with me.”
“I like you riled,” came her amused reply, and she comfortably slipped her hand in his. “Not enough people get to see this side of you.”
He squeezed her hand, “I thought you didn’t like sharing.”
She smiled, and turned to meet his striking grey-blue eyes. “You know me too well.”
“I have you followed.”
“The troubling thing is I know those Dulles boys and that sounds plausible.”
“Just stay away from communists.”
He chuckled. She knew it was in jest; for though he was fiercely anti-communist, he was no McCarthyist.
The car slowed as they reached the lodge, and a well-groomed driver escorted her inside. For a moment she lost sight of the president; there was always so much fuss surrounding him and she was used to being brushed aside. There was a lot to admire at Camp David; the woodwork in the lodge was impressive but without the ceremonial stuffiness of the White House. It felt like the perfect place to escape. To take a break.
She felt his hand on the small of her back, “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?”
“It’s nice to have the company,” he returned warmly, and an impish hint of suggestion flashed in his eyes. It was the same look that convinced her on a whim to visit the Camp with the president, the same look that caused her to jump into his car on a lark and find her lips locked with his as they made the short trip to Maryland.
“I’m glad you asked me to accompany you,” she realized formality dictated she refrain from jumping him just yet, but like communism she was barely contained.
“I want to show you something!” He took her excitedly by the arm and led her to the elevator. He waved away his security detail, and finally, the doors closed, and they were alone.
“What do you want to show me?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Keep your mind away from the prurient,” he paused. “You kissed me.”
“I did, and I’m sure your driver saw, and you know what — I’m not sorry.”
“That’s the trouble.”
“General Eisenhower, threatened by this little girl,” she scoffed. “Well now I’ve seen everything.”
“I was the goddamn Allied commander and you’ll be the thing that does me in.”
She grinned, pulled him close to her. The elevator slowed and she pulled away, disappointed. The doors opened into a long hallway, devoid of any of the charms of the lodge upstairs.
“Is there where you bring all your women?” She asked, doing her best to hide her nerves.
He paused, and turned to look at her. “I’ve never done this. Honestly I — sometimes back in Washington you and I have… there’s a connection and I know it and I know you feel it and… well I know it can’t be constant competitive games of bridge that keep you coming to my office late at night.”
She laughed, “Wouldn’t it be something if I were just really delighted by playing cards?”
“It would be the most embarrassing moment of my life. And I hired Disney to write my campaign ads.”
“Those are catchy as hell though,” she pressed up against him. “I like being this close to you.”
she pressed up against him. “I like being this close to you.”
“I like the way you smell,” he admitted, and he gently cupped her chin and kissed her. He was reluctant at first (much like with civil rights) but she’d undone his belt easily and he was powerless once her hand found his military industrial complex. He hardened in her practiced hand, his turgid member struggling to be free of his trousers. He stopped her. It was not easy.
“Not in the hallway, my impatient girl.”
She nodded, and they continued to the door at the end.
“What do you want to do to me?”
He’d found his stride now, “Wear you out.”
She blushed, and there was no way he missed it. He pushed open the door and escorted her inside. She was insanely curious — would it be a secret Korean War room? An underground putting green?
“It’s a bomb shelter!” She exclaimed.
She barely had a moment to look around before she was back in his arms. He kissed her, firmly, clearly taking charge. She submitted without a fight, and they quickly began undressing each other.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admitted. “More than I want to win the space race.”
“That’s a lie but you still flatter me,” she grunted, pulling off her blouse. His hands moved up her hips, over her breasts, enthusiastic but prepared to take his time. He navigated her body like his highway system would navigate the country. He guided her to the wall, between two sets of bunk beds. It was not the most romantic location, but in their dangerous world it was perhaps the safest. At any rate, she knew why being here tickled his fancy, and she was well prepared to do it for her country.
His hand travelled up her skirt, brushing aside her panties, to her welcoming mound. She inhaled excitedly and arched her body toward him. She bypassed his blockade and exposed his erection finally, stroking him, and coaxing out precum. It did not need much coaxing. Expertly, he explored her trench, feeling her wetness and aware his behavior did not befit a man who usually loved containment.
“I’m ready for you,” she breathed, and he nodded, lifting her against the wall for leverage. God, he was strong.
He entered her, expanding her body like it was social security. The initial thrill of christening his bomb shelter had worn off, and nothing about the quarters were practical for their purposes. She braced herself between the wall and bed, always amenable to making a situation work. He thrust into her, pushing her into the wall. She wrapped around him, encouraged by making the most of their cramped quarters.
He thrust into her again, penetrating her Suez Canal. His thick cock filled her, and he rammed into her forcefully and without any sign of difficulty. She felt completely at his mercy; there was almost something paternal in his ministrations. Outside of this room she would fight to be treated as equal to her male colleagues, but for this moment she was content to take his rod and let him have her. His bald head glistened, but he’d yet to break a sweat even though he was supporting her body while fucking her.
“You’re incredible,” she gushed.
“I want you to feel good.”
His job was nearly constant stress — sending the Army to enforce desegregation, keeping tenuous relations with the Soviet Union, deciding to invade Korea even though he was long tired of boots on the ground. He hadn’t realized until her hand stroked his ballistic missile how badly he needed to escape, just for a moment, to trade the pressures of the presidency for some friendly covert action.
“Oh you devil,” he moaned, and he meant it too. He wasn’t a churchgoer but he was a religious man, and occasionally that colored his language. “You minx, I can’t get enough of your body.”
“Come for me, baby. I can feel you’re close. You’re throbbing.”
He nodded, and tossed her onto the table knocking aside Western novels and multiple decks of cards (if that Cold War ever heated, this table would need aggressive cleaning). She grabbed the sides of it, preparing for his final assault. The faster he pounded, the more she moaned, encouraging him, telling him it was impossibly good.
“Baby I’m gonna burst,” he shouted.
“Good, baby, come for me.”
Moments later he was collapsed on top of her, panting and utterly spent. He was prouder of this than any other poundings he’d given in his career, that was certain. In fact, he was almost as proud of it as he was of the National Defense Education Act. Strong science education was nearly as important to him as taking time off on a Tuesday afternoon to turn his bomb shelter into a bone shelter.