37.

Nixon

“Did you need anything else?”

She paused. Their meeting had not been productive, and she was frustrated. He was not the warmest person to begin with, and while she was pleased with his slow withdrawal from Vietnam, she was exhausted by just about everything else. Except the EPA. She really liked the EPA.

“Just a stiff drink,” she responded, a wan smile on her face.

Now he hesitated, sizing her up. He didn’t trust her (or anyone), but it would be nice to have a companion.

“Let’s have a drink then. My office?”

She nodded, cautiously. He was volatile, and seemed perpetually stressed and unfun. And yet, there was a loneliness about him that intrigued her. Plus, if she were being completely honest with herself, she liked a challenge.

She followed him into his private office, trailing just far enough behind as to not raise suspicion. It was moot gesture; the west wing was permanently suspect and replacing his vice president had done nothing to alleviate suspicion.

He gestured toward a chair, closed the door behind them. She sat, dutifully, tugging at her blouse while his back was turned. She’d taken enough meetings in the boys club that was the White House to know the jokes about his nonexistent sex life.

Challenge accepted, she thought.

“You’re not here to get information out of me are you?” He asked, pouring their drinks. His bar was well-stocked, and appeared frequently used.

She leaned back, “Would I tell you if I were?”

He frowned. “That’s a fair point.”

For a moment they silently sipped their beverages. She waited for him to toss her out, or accuse her of being a communist spy. He seemed to be toying with the idea, but the liquor and her exposed cleavage were having their intended effects.

“I’m not a crook!” He blurted.

She waved him off, aware he was lying. “I’m not here for information. Sometimes a lady just needs a drink.”

“Don’t we all?” He poured himself another, downed it, and refilled the glass a third time before taking the seat next to her. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you came for.”

“The night isn’t over yet.”

He was aware what she was doing, but he was never fully comfortable with [frank] sexual talk — especially from women. He bristled slightly, trying not to stare down her shirt, thinking of anything but what it would be like to violate her Constitution.

“It’s late,” he answered lamely, awkwardly standing up. “Perhaps it’s time for you to leave?”

She stood up, but made no moves toward the door, “Why did you ask me to come back here?”

He hesitated, and leaned against the desk. “I drink alone every night.”

“I hear you do more than drink alone,” came her soft reply, and she moved closer to him. Her insinuation was not off-base; he couldn’t remember the last time he and Pat shared a bed. He closed his eyes, willing himself to follow his moral code. She reached for his hand; the gesture was both gentle and terrifying all at once. His pants tightened. It didn’t take much.

“I was right to think you’re dangerous,” he whispered, his paranoia finally confirmed.

He liked the attention, to be sure, but he liked space exploration too and that didn’t mean he was going to fully fund NASA.

Her hand was on his belt now, and he knew the window where he could stop this was closing.

“Should I stop?” She asked, giving him an opportunity for a graceful exit.

He shook his head, giving in. Gracefully exiting would not be his legacy.

“I really want,” he stumbled, nervously. “I think I need this.”

“You need it more than limitations on strategic arms,” she agreed and his belt was undone and she was sliding his pants off his [redacted]. She was on her knees in front of him seconds later, and this was the kind of stuff he’d only heard about in those deepthroat pornographic movies he’d futilely tried to ban.

He understood the appeal now.

“That’s insane,” he exclaimed as she easily took him deeper. He was ready to come immediately, but was able to gain control. For now. He wasn’t going to last long, and he was sure his inexperience was obvious. She looked up at him, his tricky dick hitting the back of her throat. It was incredible. He wondered if he should tell her it was incredible. He wished he’d spent more time doing this and less time spying on the Democratic Party. He pulled out of her mouth, and she saw the layer of sweat on his brow. She pitied him. It made her feel powerful.

“Come down here,” she directed, and he followed her to the office floor. “Don’t be nervous. I’m really fucking good at this; I’ve been with over 35 men. Sometimes two at once.”

He was fairly sure that was hyperbole but he couldn’t be positive. She guided his hand between her legs.

“See how much I want you,” she smiled, meeting his nervous eyes.

Her watergate opened and he felt how ready she was. Frankly, he couldn’t believe he was capable of driving her this crazy, and he swelled with a pride he hadn’t felt since the kitchen debate. She lowered herself to the floor, on her back, holding his gaze. He was uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Get inside me,” she growled finally, and he was happy to acquiesce. He scrambled to position himself on top of her and pushed inside before his nerves could get the better of him.

She laughed in relief, “That’s what I wanted.”

“Is it ok?”

She nodded, “Go harder. I can take it.”

He listened, withdrawing like she was Vietnam before slamming into her again. With each thrust his confidence built, and she moaned. She wrapped her legs around him for better leverage, forcing him to go deeper. He was certain he would burst soon, but at this point it was clear they’d both gotten what they came for.

“There you go, darling,” she urged him to keep his pace. “Give me that cock.”

He sped up, channeling an anger usually saved for Saturday night massacres or Southern schools who wouldn’t follow his desegregation policies. She took it all, wanting him to enjoy himself. She knew when he slowed he was trying to make it last longer, and she tightened around him.

“Go on,” she nodded, “Come for me.”

He did, happily, his body releasing for the first time since detente. It was incredible for him, but she delighted in knowing she’d facilitated it. She reasoned his presidency could’ve taken a whole different direction if he’d spent more time boinking and less time obsessing about his perceived enemies.

He collapsed on top of her, exhausted and briefly happy. He couldn’t believe they’d done this, in his office, in the middle of a national scandal. He couldn’t believe how badly he needed her. He sighed.

“[expletive deleted].”

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