39.

Portrait

“It’s freezing in here, isn’t it?” She rubbed her bare shoulders.

He was still across the room, pretending to be working. “We’re conserving heat. We wear sweaters.”

She tried not to roll her eyes. Who was she to critique his love affair with conservation, gaudy solar panels on the White House or not.

“I guess I should count on you to warm me up?” She asked, moving closer to him. She wasted no time, as she had a feeling his time in the office was limited. He took her hand for a moment, then pulled away, nearly knocking over the dish of peanuts he kept on the desk.

“We should talk.”

She cringed. Nothing good followed those words.

“Of course, sir,” she smiled back at him. She’d dressed down for this meeting, as if she knew his weakness was farm girls. (Spoiler: she knew). He struggled to find the words he’d spent the morning rehearsing.

“I’ve had to do many things I’m not proud of,” he stated, carefully. “And I don’t regret them, but they weigh on me. And I’d like to keep everything I do in the future above board.”

“You’re going to be one of those ex-presidents who builds houses and teaches Sunday School, aren’t you?”

“God willing.”

His earnestness was charming, but she couldn’t help trying to corrupt him. “So you’re saying, I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you’re saying what we did last week is something you aren’t proud of?”

“Well,” and he drew closer to her on this; he was sending surprisingly mixed signals. “I’m proud I could keep up with you.”

“You did more than that,” she insisted, but to be honest she couldn’t remember if the sex had been remarkable because it had been good.

“But I don’t think we should do it again, of course.”

“One and done Carter,” she laughed. “Well if you were having this crisis of confidence, why did you summon me? To the Oval Office of all places.”

“I wanted to tell you in person. It seemed respectful.”

“I don’t believe you,” she replied, finally, calling his bluff. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yes — no — what do you mean, you don’t believe me?”

She positioned herself on his couch, “You didn’t need to bring me in here to tell me you haven’t been consumed imagining my mouth around your cock.”

“That language…”

“Oh come off it,” she waved him off. “You’re a good man. You don’t have to act like it.”

There was a pause while he sized her up. He knew she was right, of course; he could have had this conversation over the phone. “I did want to see you again.”

“I know.”

He joined her on the couch, and reached out a nervous hand to stroke her cheek.

“I hate that,” he admitted. “I mean I don’t hate that I don’t — you know what I mean.”

She shushed him. “You’re thinking too much, Jimmy.”

He kissed her, as if to prove he could shut off his brain. She snaked her tongue into his mouth while impatiently clawing at his tie. Like a killer rabbit, she was ready to attack.

“Slower,” he directed. “You exhaust me.”

“You could use a little excitement,” she replied, but she slowed down. It was nice to be genuine and tender with someone, she realized. The way his hand moved up her denim miniskirt was painfully slow, leaving her trim 70s bush dripping with anticipation.

“You wouldn’t rather do this with someone your own age?” He asked, his hand cautiously exploring her slit.

She shook her head, “Children. Sometimes a girl wants a daddy.” The word daddy felt gross leaving her mouth, but it had the effect she desired.

Despite his objections, which were as much for show as his Playboy interview had been, operation eagle claw was commencing. It was what he wanted; he knew that the moment she stepped into his office, knew it when he placed the call. Around her, his strict moral code was suspended, held hostage. He leaned her back on the couch, gently.

“Take me,” she demanded.

He nodded, and pushed his business into her like she was a blind trust. She moaned excitedly, and wrapped her legs around him. He was not particularly inventive, and she knew asking him to speed up was a lost cause. Still, it wasn’t bad. He was strong, and skilled, and she felt cared for in a way she really wanted but pretended not to want because it’s hard to be a woman in the world.

“I really needed you,” she admitted, arching her body in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Is this ok?” He asked, striking her coal mine again.

It wasn’t the Camp David Accords, but it was pretty neat. She nodded, and leaned back to grab the couch while he continued his tender humping. It was almost romantic, if either of them would admit to such feelings.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “I have to feel you.”

He was impressed he’d made it this far, but he was close to orgasm and not about to stop. He sped up, just a bit, wrapping her in his arms as he finished.

He dumped his hazardous materials into her love canal. She pulled him close to her, enjoying the precious post-coital minutes before they had to get back to real life.

“See,” she chuckled. “I told you that was a good idea.”

“Do you ever not get what you want?” He asked, amused.

“Well, no one’s passed the Equal Rights Amendment yet.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s