The next thing I know my jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped and the President’s hand was on my member.
“Don’t worry,” he told me. “I’m good at this. People come up to me all the time and say, ‘Sir, you have a very gentle grip.’ They’ll have tears in their eyes. So just relax.”
After several strokes, the President stopped. He moved a little but that was enough to get a whiff of fries, baby powder and diarrhea again. I swallowed the vomit.
“Maybe we can get my daughter in here,” he suggested. “Put on a little dance for us. Would that help?”
Nothing would help, I said to myself.
“Rory!” the President yelled.
A young intern appeared out of nowhere.
“Yes, sir?” the young man asked.
“This guy isn’t getting turned on,” the President told him as if he couldn’t see that from my unerect penis. “Can you believe that?”
“No, sir,” Rory replied, seeming like if he was the one getting jacked off by the President, he would be rock hard.
“Go to the doctor and get some Viagra,” the President commanded.
“Yes, sir,” the intern said, then scurried out of the room as quickly as he appeared.
The President’s hand never left my penis during the whole exchange.
He got up after a minute.
I tried holding my breath as another whiff of him hit my nose.
“Get a big TV!” he commanded. “We’re gonna put on some porn.”
Another aide ran out of the room to grab what the president wanted. He was pretty old. Maybe he had a 28-inch CRT one. The aide would