The Commander In Chief
The person who I assume is a Secret Service agent motioned for me to sit down on the couch. I followed his command. I was nervous of course. I wondered how they had heard about me and my “special” ability.
“This is the guy?” the President said as he entered the Oval Office.
“Yes, sir,” the agent responded.
The President sat next to me on the couch. As he plopped down, I got a whiff of McDonald’s French fries and baby powder that was barely concealing diarrhea. I tried breathing through my mouth but that just led to me being able to taste the smell.
No one else in the room seemed to notice.
I wondered if I would get used to it like they did. I doubt that I could.
“So I just whack you off and I de-age a year or two?” the President asked.
“I don’t know exactly. But yes, a year or so.” I didn’t look up. I kept my eye on the carpet.
“Do I need to eat it?” the Commander in Chief asked. “Or use it as a lotion?”
“I don’t believe so,” I responded, still looking at the floor.
What the hell happened to my life? How did I end up here?