The day of his interview, the senatorial candidate from Michigan seemed nervous as he entered my room.
“I’ve, I’ve never been interviewed by the
New York Times before,” he stuttered, as I invited him to sit. He glanced at me furtively before dropping stiffly into the chair.
My dress’s low neckline had slipped open just enough to reveal an edge of red lace. I took my time correcting it.
“So, Candidate Moreman,” I began. “While you’ve been very successful in business, this is your first foray into the political arena. I wonder if you’re prepared for the media scrutiny you’ll be undergoing? I notice you didn’t bring your press secretary with you today.”
“No, I didn’t feel I needed to put any ‘spin’ on my positions.... the thrust of my platform is very straightforward. Why– do you intend to trip me up with trick questions?” he asked, a little spirit surfacing in spite of himself.
“Hmmm. Trick questions? No.... I’m just looking to uncover the man beneath the positions, if you know what I mean. After all, your press machine has worked up enough interest that the
Times sent their best political reporter here to speak with you. I’d consider that quite a coup, wouldn’t you?”
Before he could speak I leaned over and adjusted the hem of my skirt, which had crept up on my thigh. I glanced up at the would-be Senator and caught his eyes darting away from the line of my calf and the high-heeled pump dangling from one foot.
He cleared his throat before replying. “A coup? No, just a welcome opportunity to spread the word about my ideas for the people of Michigan.”
“Speaking of spreading the word, candidate,” I spoke in a lower tone,”There have been several very interesting rumors spread about you. For example, several sources have revealed to me that your personal relationships have taken– well, let’s say
unusual turns."
“In fact,” I continued, “my research indicates that your carefully-honed image as a traditional, heterosexual family man may be one of the best shams in recent campaign history.”
Moreman gasped as he straightened up in his chair. “I beg your pardon, young lady! I’m the proud father of two beautiful daughters! ”
I paused a long moment. “That doesn’t mean you don’t like sucking dick, though, does it?"
Before I knew it, the enraged businessman had leapt to his feet and grasped me by the shoulders. He pulled me close in a tight grip and whispered fiercely. “You print that and you could ruin my career– and the lives of my family.”
“Well,” I gasped, breathless from his strong arms encircling me, “I don’t see how I can avoid it. Unless, of course....”
“Unless what?” he demanded.
“Unless you prove to me otherwise.”
His eyes glittered with determination. "Prove to you that I'm man enough to get excited by a beautiful woman? Is that what you're looking for, Miss New York Times? Because I think I can show you exactly what kind of man you're tangling with... unless you don't know what
this means." He slipped his hands to my hips and pulled me into even closer contact with his strong torso... and a surprisingly large bulge that ground against my tight skirt.
My resolution wavered. Should I expose him... or let him expose me? When a jolt of pleasure shot up from between my legs, the answer seemed inevitable... but so very, very wrong.
(Part 2 in a future issue.)
Lately I've been dreaming about having sexy doings with all sorts of unexpected partners.
