IN THE SERVICE OF MY COUNTRY
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
I stood up when the Secret Service men entered. "Are you ready, Bob?" one of them asked me.
I nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be." I said and fell into step with them. As I walked down the East Hall toward the press room, I remembered how this had all started, the night President Ian Larson--then only a hopeful candidate among several--called me to his room.
The call itself wasn't that unusual, not for an aide like myself. My duties have a public and private side. The public side is well-known but the private side can be tricky. Politicians are people with a problem they share only with actors. They cannot let the public see too much of their human side. They have to balance the image of a benevolent father with fierce avatar, and there is no room for error. An unzipped fly can sink a promising career for good.
So one of my unspoken duties was to cater to the man behind the image. He drank a good deal (though never to incapacity), and one common duty was to order and supply him with liquor while he pretended to be a near-teetotaler. I thought that was what he wanted when he called, a new bottle from my supply.
But when I opened the door, I saw that he was about as smashed as he ever permitted himself to get. He was dressed in silk pajamas (he couldn't even strip down to briefs, for fear some maid would walk in), sprawled in a plush armchair.
"Sit down, Bob." he said when I entered.
I took the chair opposite him and waited while he struggled with the words he needed. While he waited, I gave him a careful look-over.
Ian was Irish-American, and his jet-black hair was straight and clean, his face was straight-edged and actor-handsome. Barely forty years old, he appeared ten years younger, and on television managed to radiate a persona even younger. I joked to him on occasion that he won his elections by flirting with the widows and fifty-ish matrons and he didn't deny it; they were a solid and loyal chunk of our voting block. He kept his body in shape despite a rigorous travel schedule by squeezing in workouts on a home gym and exercise bicycle that traveled everywhere with him. His pajama tops were open-collar, and I could see a thick mat of chest hair as black as that on his head, the hair thicker as it converged in the cleft between his breasts. His arms were big enough that I could see his biceps even in the pajama sleeves' loose embrace, and the way his pajama bottoms clung to his lower body, I suspected he wasn't wearing any underwear at that moment. If not, then that bulge along one side could very well be...
He finally gulped and said, "Bob, you've been a very good friend to me these past few years. You've seen a side of me that very few people see, and you've protected my reputation at the cost of your own. You're known as a drunkard, did you know?"
I smiled. "I know."
"But we both know where the liquor actually goes. Right in here." And he slapped his firm stomach. "Can't have a Presidential candidate drinking, you know."
"I know." I repeated.
"So you keep your lip buttoned even though it makes your own life more difficult. I'm wondering now if you would help me with another problem that is bound to make your reputation even blacker than it is now."
"I'll help any way I can." I assured him. "What's the problem?"
"I'm a man." he informed me like that was some sort of secret. "A man with needs just as strong as anybody else's, maybe even stronger. You can't make it in politics without a bit of horniness lurking behind your eyes and smile, for the women voters to gobble up and pant over. If you knew how many contributions I received by innuendo and bedroom eyes, it would turn your stomach."
"I understand." I told him.
"I wonder if you do. If you want to go out on the town, pick up a bit of fluff and sneak her into your motel room, nobody even blinks. But if I were to do it, I'd be in deep shit."
"Absolutely." I hastened to agree. Gary Hart could answer for that.
"But I still have my needs." he said very carefully. "And I was hoping you had a few ideas of how I could take care of those needs."
For one brief moment, I wondered if he was propositioning me. His eyes, which appear so expressive in the camera, in fact hide a great deal. Even after years of being with him, I couldn't tell, and decided to waffle. "Well, Ian," I began, "you have several choices. First is to, uh, take care of the problem all by yourself." I made a quick motion with my hand to illustrate.
He burst into laughter. "My arm's about to fall off as it is. I'm tired of Miss Rosy Palm."
He was determined to fuck someone, then. This was the time that could sink a career quicker than anything. "In that case, I see three main choices. First, you could find some girl with a good background and thirst for the First Lady spot, and marry her as quickly as possible."
"Maybe." he agreed. "But that doesn't help with tonight."
"Second, you might think about Hazel Tourney."
"Hazel?" he asked wide-eyed. Hazel was a fellow aide, plump, a matronly-regal fifty-ish, and as loyal to Ian as I was.
"Hazel would be understanding of your needs. I'm also sure she would be very discreet both before and after, for as long as you needed her."
"Where is Hazel?" he asked, sounding interested.
I remembered, groaned to myself. "Handling your preparations in Chicago for this weekend."
"Four days away." he said. "Any other ideas?" his eyes burned into me, strong and still ambiguous.
I gulped and plunged in head-first. "There's always one more person you could count on for that kind of help."
"Who?"
"Me." I said.
"You, Bob?" he asked, his eyes still fiery, still misty.
"Me." I repeated.
"I see." he mused, and his eyes turned absolutely opaque.
"Ian, I'm not trying to destroy what you and I already have together. I am prepared to spend the rest of my life never sitting another inch closer than I am right now. But you asked for options and I thought you ought to know this one exists."
"I wondered about your turning down that regional position." he mused.
"It would have meant staying behind." I said. "Instead of being with you."
Ian looked up. "Bob. Come here." he said.
I stood up and walked to him. His arms enfolded me and I sighed as, for the first time I could remember, our bodies made real contact. This was no accidental brush in the crowd, no formal handshake for the media, this time I was being held by Ian Larson, the man most likely to be elected President. I lifted my face (he's three inches taller than me) and he gave me a kiss of the kind I had been dreaming of. I trembled as his tongue gently probed and teased my teeth, and I opened wide for him. There was the taste of left-over alcohol, and the taste of Ian, which was pure nectar of the gods. I sucked on his tongue gently yet greedily, while I focused on remembering this moment for the rest of my life.
I was wearing only a sweat shirt and blue jeans (I didn't dare undress before bed for the same reason as Ian) and I felt his hands on my back reach down to slide beneath the sweat shirt to find its bottom and from there to creep beneath to find my bare flesh. I dared only to do to him what he did to me; so now I could find the end of the pajama top which left me at his buttocks, so taut and firm beneath my hands that I longed to linger there, yet I brought my hands up and onto his body. The hairs on his back, scattered yet enough to be felt, danced along my fingertips and palm.
Ian pulled back his tongue and I felt a suction from him. I presented my tongue to him as a grateful gift and he pulled it in hungrily to milk at it. I thrust my tongue into his mouth as far as I could, ignoring the pain at its root for the joy of invading Ian's body in this small way.
Ian stroked my back a short time longer than reached down to pull at my sweatshirt. I hated to release him for this short but necessary time, and I raised my hands over my head and didn't release his face until the sweatshirt forced its way between us. When my shirt came over my head, I reached for his pajama buttons. Big, fancy buttons, they weren't in the center, but over to one side, and I fumbled.
"Let me." Ian said and undid them adeptly. I grabbed his breasts the moment they revealed themselves, large, oval masses held taut to his body by his well-developed pecs, and I felt the nipples like twin buttons on his chest and felt a brief, wild fantasy of undoing them to reach right inside of Ian, climb inside him and never, never come out!
Ian was appraising my own body. "Very nice, Bob." he said. "How do you manage to keep in shape with our schedule?"
"Hotels usually have gyms inside them, the kind we stay at." I explained. "I always make sure I'm booked to use it."
"Very nice." Ian said. "I wished I dared work out in one. I would love a chance to just go swimming one night."
"I'll talk to the hotel about setting the pool aside for you." I said.
Ian smiled. "Another photo op?"
"It wouldn't hurt your chances." I panted. "Not with this body of yours."
"Want to see more of it?" Ian teased.
I knelt down at him like a worshiper at an idol. "Ready, sir." I said.
"Take them off." he urged me. I didn't need a second request, I grabbed at their elastic waistband, found it hampered by a tie-string as well, undid it with an impatient yank and freed his lower body. No underwear! That bulge I had noticed earlier WAS his cock, engorged and trapped in the heavy silk fabric. I freed it and it sprang to life like a trapped bird wrapped in its misery, suddenly released and it comes to life with a burst of sheer joy and flutter of wings. Ian's cock couldn't do that, but it did spring to point at me and I was the bashful servant no longer, I was quick to seize this lovely cock and shove it into my mouth. It was uncut, over eight inches long, thick and stiff to the point of feeling like a bar of iron encased in thick flesh. I wanted it all, and I crammed his hard tool into my mouth with an avid hunger. Ian groaned with the rapture of my need, and his hands grabbed the back of my head, his fingers threaded themselves a firm hold, and he proceeded to face-fuck me roughly.
Too much, too fast, I thought and fought free of him. He looked at me, confused in my refusal, his eyes glazed and uncomprehending.
"Let's get on the bed." I panted. "And make this last a bit longer, please!"
I yanked down my pants and shorts, kicking off the house- slippers I was wearing in the process, and was quickly nude before my candidate. He was climbing on the bed and he fell onto his back and I quickly rescued his cock from the cool air of the night by engulfing it once again. Only a few strokes this time, and again I pulled away and Ian groaned.
"Please, Bob, I can't last much longer." he begged me.
"I know." I said, climbing onto him. "But I want to be sure we do one more thing before this all becomes history." And I straddled his stomach and aimed his spit-lubed cock for my ass. It entered my body like an old friend and I realized how long it had been before I myself had managed anything more than a late- night jerk-off. My body reacted with pain, but I ignored the pain in my need and Ian's cock slid in to the very base in scant seconds. Done, I held still and again, remembered this moment in every detail. The dim lights of the hotel room, Ian nude beneath me, my hands resting on his breasts like twin handholds, his hands stroking the fronts of my thighs, his cock, his wonderful huge cock, imbedded firmly inside me. I memorized it all and longed for a camera or at least one of those mirrors they have in cheap hotels so I could see this wonderful event better.
Ian was impatient, though, and he began to hunch upwards into me after a brief pause. I remembered my duties and began to fuck myself on him. Reluctant to let his manhood slip from my body even for an instant, I moved in short, quick strokes that barely moved his cock within me. Ian at first tolerated this, but with the impatience that kept him at the forefront of politics, he finally grabbed my arms, pulled me down to him and, kissing me hastily to reassure me of his intents, he rolled us both over.
We nearly went off the edge of the bed, but Ian ended up on top of me and my legs wrapped around his wonderfully tight ass (ever the dutiful aide, I thought to myself that should we arrange a poolside photo-op, we should get at least one (covered!) shot of Ian's ass for them. I knew just the man to arrange this with beforehand, Ian poised to dive and him right behind to snap the picture, that beautiful butt of Ian's would grace the cover of every newspaper before the next morning.
Ian had other thoughts on his mind at the moment, though, and so did I. He began to give me a proper fuck, with long deep strokes of his cock into my body. I felt his balls slap my ass at first, then begin to draw up to become twin knobs at the base of his cock. Orgasm was approaching for Ian and I gave my own body proper mental notice to be ready to join in the fun.
"Oh, God, Ian, oh!" I panted. "Fuck me, Ian, fuck me!" I didn't dare scream the words like I wanted, but I gave them the urgency they deserved. "Harder, sir, harder! Really give it to me!"
Ian began to buck and thrash in his thrusts into my body and I knew that the moment was at hand. Go for it, I whispered to my own body, and it obeyed, and I felt my own desire build rapidly. "I'm going to come, sir, I'm going to come!"
"Oh, baby!" Ian whispered to me. "Come on, baby, give it to me!"
"Oh, oh, oh!" I warned him.
"Mm, mm, mpgh!" Ian groaned softly as he could, and I felt his salty jism begin to spurt inside me, stinging my innards but welcome nonetheless. I squinched my eyes shut and gave myself to my passion, and it grabbed my body like a beast and squeezed me all over. My entire body went rigid and my butthole clamped on Ian's cock with a death-grip, with him still bucking and thrashing in my arms.
"Oh, oh, OH!" I squelched my own sounds of desire, and felt the denial of sound add to my own orgasm and my spunk squirted from my own cock like a firehose. I could feel the jizz as it squeezed out of my cock-slit and even seemed to continue to feel it as it hit Ian with a funny hollow-popping sound (it was hitting his taut abdomen, and thus the sound was like slapping his stomach). From there, it seemed to fly apart and Ian and I were literally bathed in my sperm, which clung to his thick hair like globs of glue, pearl-white, and landed on my own chest and arms and even my neck and Ian's arms.
Ian fell atop me briefly when our orgasms released us, and I felt what he must, that he and I were sticky all over. "Whew!" he breathed as he rolled off to lay beside me. "That never happens when I fuck a woman. What a mess you've made all over me!"
I started to apologize but Ian laughed and I knew he wasn't upset at all.
He continued. "That was absolutely wonderful, Bob. I had no idea your many talents included this one."
"It's yours whenever you want it, sir." I said loyally. "You'll forgive me for saying that I hope it will be soon, and often."
Ian became businesslike in his own turn. "You'd better get dressed and back to your room." he said. "Walt warned me that paparazzi were prowling this hotel. I keep looking out the window afraid one of them has a washer's scaffolding out there."
He was right. I got to my feet. Keep this business-like, I told myself. You know Ian likes you as a person, but he's got to think of his career. One photo and it's wiped out. "I'll be out of here in a moment, sir." I said. I yanked on my pants and my sweatshirt while Ian wiped himself off with a hand towel he'd had lying on the bedside-table. Ian then stood up, and pulled on his pajama tops while I stood there, feeling filthy dirty and sticky beneath my clothes.
"Just a minute." Ian said, walking up to me, pajama top still unbuttoned.
"What is it, sir?" I asked.
"We got to get rid of this." Ian said and quickly leaned over to kiss my neck. As his lips touched my neck, I realized that a spot of my sperm was there, and he was lifting it off with his lips! He lifted back and licked his lips and said, "After all I got inside you, you deserve a little of your own back." he said, and smiled. Then he gave a nervous glance at the hotel window. So did I. Nothing there at all.
"I'd better go, sir." I said. "We'll talk tomorrow if you want to discuss this problem further."
The next day, as always, we began with a meeting. Ian surprised me by starting with the budget, one of his least favorite subjects. He usually pushed it off until last. We were stretched tight, I knew, any campaign is. You operate in a steady stream of crisis and hope that the election lets you pay back what you had to borrow as you went along.
"We need to find a way for further economies." Ian said. "And a big one occurred to me just last night."
"Yes, sir." Walt said, as surprised as I was.
"How many of us are using solitary hotel rooms?"
"Twelve of us, sir." Walt said. Ian knew that as well as I, we doubled up all but those of us who had to work such odd hours that a room to ourselves became a sheer necessity.
"Well, I suggest we remove that privilege. We can all accommodate each other with our odd schedules, I'm sure. Walt, you and Steve both work on the campaign finances all the time as it is, why don't you two share? It shouldn't be a hardship."
"No, of course not, sir." Walt said.
I began to see his plan, I hoped. "That leaves us with an odd man out, though." I said. "That number twelve includes you. Who else stays solitaire?"
"Neither." Ian said and a small smile meant just for me appeared on his lips for a brief second. "Bob, you and I spend all our time together as it is. You and I can double up."
"I'll call the hotels and inform them." I said with what I hope was a casual tone.
"Now, any other ideas for expenses we can cut? Bob, you told me last night you have to pay for your exercise uses, you can now use my own machine and so can anyone else who wants to." That was an empty offer, everyone else at the table was over fifty and usually with a body that screamed couch-potato. It's an occupational hazard.
"I was paying that portion myself, sir, but I accept gratefully." I said. "I'll turn that portion of my salary back to the fund."
"Very good." Ian said. "Now we're making progress. We're only here one more night, so let's share beds for tonight and turn back those six rooms, people."
That night, I took my things into Ian's room and noticed he had asked for heavy curtains for the window. As I put down my suitcase, Ian pulled the curtains shut. "One other thing." he said and turned on the television, loud. Then he walked over to me. "Now we can make all the noise we want." Ian said and reached for my fly. I was almost shocked when his first act was to unzip me, fish out my cock and kneel down and slurp me down. He was no expert, but I taught him how to please me that night and Ian swallowed my jism quickly.
It was the first of many wonderful nights. Ian let me begin the process of opening his ass the following night and by the Chicago, I was fucking his ass as roughly as he had mine.
We were careful to mess up the beds, but everyone on our staff could guess our secret, I am sure. To a man (and woman), they all kept their lips completely shut. The press never caught on and the polls kept on rising. On election day, Ian was the favorite to win by a 2-1 majority, and we swept the country, winning the electoral votes of every state except Utah, Texas and Connecticut. (Utah and Texas were the home states of our opponents, and I never did figure out why we lost Connecticut). You may remember the victory celebration, when Ian whooped for joy, then grabbed and hugged a man before turning toward his mother and father. That man was me.
Putting me inside the White House was trickier. Whispers began about the young aide who occupied the private quarters of the President full-time. One morning, a Marine guard (who had no business being where he was) had seen me slipping out of Ian's bedroom in the early dawn, and promptly sold his story to the National Enquirer. The private whispers became public scandal.
Which brings me back to the beginning, and why I was entering the press room on that day. To "make a clear breast of the details." To "set the record straight once and for all." And to once again serve my country by serving the man I love.
I stepped up to the podium, took a deep breath, and began. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Robert Whitmore. I am the President's personal aide, confidential assistant, and very good friend. I have called this press conference to make very clear to the American people that I am not, and never have been, in a sexual relationship with the President of the United States, and that all such rumors are absolutely false and utterly without foundation in real fact."
THE END
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM