Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica (15 page)

“Yeah,” he nodded, “But you’re not exactly involved. You’d rather watch
Friends
reruns than stand outside the Palace Market and register voters.”

I shrugged.

“But you
could
be involved. What if you call the man and I call the woman. You’ll be your charming little self and try to win him over to the cause, and I’ll do the same with her. It’ll be like a contest.”

“That’s not really fair. You don’t
have
to win her over. She’s

already
a Democrat. Besides, I don’t have any idea what to say.”

James glared at me, his nearly endless supply of patience fi- nally waning. “Haven’t you been listening to me make the last hun- dred forty-five calls?”

I nodded, lying. I tended to tune out as soon as I heard him say the words “This is James Miller, and I’d like to talk to you about Measure A.”

“You just coo the same info to the man.”

I looked at him for a moment. “What do I win if I get him onto our side?”

“You name it.”

I motioned for him to dial. I could think of several proposi- tions I was extremely interested in winning him over to—and not one on the current ballot. There was the up-against-the-wall posi- tion, of which I was fully in favor. And the bent-over-the-arm-of- the-sofa position, which I could fully support.

I could tell that James didn’t think I’d go through with the bet. When he handed the phone to me for my turn, I pressed redial, asked to speak to Leonard Carson, then tried my best to explain the terms of the measure to the husband. Unfortunately, the jerk hung up the phone on me as soon as he realized where I was headed with my political speech.

“Well,
that
was successful,” James said. “You didn’t even

try.”

“You never know,” I countered, “I’ll bet they’re talking about

the issue right now.”

“You think?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I sat down on his lap. “She’s saying, ‘It’s a good cause, Lenny.’ ”

“His name is Leonard.”

“Sure, but she probably has a pet name for him. ‘It’s money for the schools.’ ”

James interrupted me again, “And he’s saying, ‘We sent our kids to private schools over the hill. What the fuck do we care about those rats in the public system?’ ”

“Why is he swearing?” I asked. “Because he’s an asshole.”

“Just because he has a different viewpoint from you?” “
You’re
the one who said you’d never fuck a Republican,”

James pointed out.

I ignored him. “He’s saying, ‘Convince me.’ And she’s going on her knees on their expensive Spanish-tiled floor . . .”

“She’s
not
going to give him a blow job over Measure A,” James insisted.

“How do you know?” “Would you?”

“Maybe she’s more political than I am. You know I have zero interest . . .”

“So she’s giving him one hell of a blow job. How’s
that
con- vincing him to vote the way she wants?”

“Maybe you’re right. She needs her mouth free to win him over.” I hesitated, trying my best to envision the scenario. “Okay, they’re in the kitchen, and she bends over the table, like this, and lifts her nightgown.”

I demonstrated for James, sliding my short satin nightie to my waist. James eyed me for a moment, then got behind me. He ran his large hands over my panty-clad ass before pulling my knickers along my thighs. I shivered at his touch. It had been so long since he’d last stroked me like that. When he

slipped his drawstring pj’s down and pressed his body against me, I could feel how hard his cock was.

Cautiously, James slid a hand under my body and touched my pussy. “You’re wet,” he said. “Does talking about politics turn you on?”

“You know it,” I told him, stifling a giggle. Even after he slid inside of me, he wouldn’t stop taunting me.

“So, in your little fantasy, the wife says, ‘Vote for Measure A and I’ll let you fuck me’?”

“That sounds silly when you say it.”

“It’s beyond silly,” James insisted. He continued to drive inside of me, working a little faster now. “They’re not having a conversa- tion like this at all. If anything, they’re having some huge four-star fight because she’s voting one way and he’s insisting on voting the other. In fact, I’ll bet he’s saying, ‘If you vote for Measure A, I’m going to have to give you a spanking.’ ”

That caught me off-guard, and for a moment I actually con- sidered switching over to the dark side. But I still didn’t want to give in. “Well, what if she says, ‘You can do that thing you want to do’?”

“
What
thing?”

“You
know
what thing,” I said coyly. “The thing you always want to, and the thing I hardly ever say yes to.”

James was silent, but I knew he understood what I meant. “You’ll let me do
that
if I vote for Measure A?”

“She’s thinking about it.”

“She?” he asked softly, “Or you?” “I’m
already
voting for Measure A.” “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” I said. “She’s thinking about it, and
I’m
thinking about it—”

That was all James needed to hear. There was a tub of mar- garine still out on the table, and he leaned over and scooped out a fingerful. In seconds, he had lubed me up between my rear cheeks, his firm hands spreading me wide open. I shut my eyes and gripped even tighter onto the edge of the table, breathless.

James went slow at first, sliding his cock forward inch by inch, pressing hard, but not forcing. “Relax,” he said.

“How can I relax when you won’t vote for Measure A?” “It’s that important to you?”

James slipped in a little more, and I groaned. The sensation of being filled was almost overwhelming. Still, I somehow managed to reply. “Yes,” I muttered. “Yes, it is.”

Now he was fucking me even harder, gripping onto my slim hips and really driving his cock inside of me. My pussy was pressed firmly to the edge of the table, and through the filmy barrier of my nightgown, my clit received the most perfect pressure. I gasped as the rhythm of his thrusts increased in tempo, finding pleasure each time he slammed forward. I could come like this if he kept up the speed.

“You know,” he said, “Measure A needs two yeses to counter every one no.”

“Yes,” I panted. “Yes, Yes . . .”

“That’s three yeses,” James said. “You can’t vote three times.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Oh, god,” I whimpered, unsure of what we were talking about or who I was. Was I Catherine trying to convince her bas-

tard of a husband to vote yes on the school measure and help the children? Or was I Lisa, whose husband was already an activist, such an activist that he’d forgotten to take care of me for the past two months.

I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter as James slid one hand under my body and began to tap his fingertips against my clit. He knew exactly how to work me, thrusting forward with his cock, then giving me a little tap before slowly withdrawing. When he pinched my clit hard, I found myself teetering on the brink, hardly able to breathe until the climax finally flared through me. James let those powerful shudders transfer from my body to his, and then he groaned and began to work me even more seriously, before coming ferociously into my ass and sealing his body to mine.

It took me a moment to recover. The morning sunlight played over our sparkly blue Formica breakfast table. The tub of yellow margarine seemed to be mocking me.

James pulled out and tucked himself back into his pajamas. “I’ve still got twenty more calls to make,” he said.

So he knew what was on his morning agenda, but I couldn’t figure out what to do next. Dear Abby held no interest. Nor did finishing the rest of the paper. I wondered what Catherine and Leonard were doing right now. Was she bent over their kitchen table as I’d described?

Quickly, I slid my panties back up, then climbed onto my husband’s lap once more. I pointed to the next Republican on the list. “If I can get her to vote for A, you let me do that to
you
.” I told James.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, then pushed the phone over to me.

THE CANDIDATE’S WIFE
‌

JAMES FREY

Jack and Dan sit at a bar in D.C. It’s a dive bar in a declin- ing
neighborhood, a neighborhood that did not benefit in any way from the recent real-estate boom. Jack and Dan are both in their early thirties. Jack is a science teacher at a low-income public high school. Dan is an aide for a Democratic senator. They both grew up in Baltimore, have been friends their entire lives, went to el- ementary, middle, and high school together, went to college to- gether. Both are from lower-middle class families and had to work their way through, Jack in one of the schools’ cafeterias, Dan on a maintenance crew. When they finished, they got an apartment together in D.C, a two-bedroom in a crumbling brick building. They have been living in the apartment for the last six years. Until

of one them gets married, which will not be anytime soon, they will continue to live there.

They come to the bar most nights. Sit and watch baseball or bas- ketball and nurse beers. They check out whatever women are in the bar, sometimes they approach them, occasionally one of them gets into bed with one of the women. Both are good-looking men. Jack is tall and lithe. He has blue eyes and black hair. Dan is slightly shorter, heavier because he lifts weights three times a week, brown hair, brown eyes. Neither of them has ever had trouble attracting women. Together it’s fairly easy.

It’s a quiet night. The bar is almost empty, the Wizards are on TV; they’re getting trounced by LeBron James and the Cavs. Dan has been working overtime for the last several weeks preparing for the midterm elections, which are a month away. His boss is not up for reelection, but he and his staff lend support to other Democrats who are, and everyone in his office is overworked. Away from the office, he avoids talking about politics. With Jack, there’s no reason. Both are unabashedly liberal. They are pro-choice, anti- war, in favor of gun control, against budget cuts in education; both believe higher taxes can be used to make the country, and the world, a better place. Tonight they talk football. Despite be- ing from Baltimore, they hate the Ravens, who are a new team and not part of the fabric of the city they grew up in, and love the Redskins. Jack speaks.

Portis is a bum. Dan speaks.

He’s great when he plays, But he’s not playing.

He’s hurt. Football players get hurt sometimes.

He blew our season with that injury.

The season was blown already. We don’t have a quarterback, and our defense sucks.

They’d both be better if Portis was playing. You can’t blame everything on Portis.

Yes I can.

I doubt he wanted to get hurt. I bet he did.

Dan laughs.

You think he purposely ran into the three-hundred-thirty-pound- pound lineman who picked him up and slammed him to the ground thereby separating his shoulder and requiring reconstruc- tive surgery?

Jack laughs. Yes. I do.

They both laugh. The door of the bar opens. An attractive blonde woman in her early forties’ walks in. Dan glances at her in the mir- ror behind the bar. He starts to say something to Jack, looks back into the mirror, watches the woman walk to a table in the corner and sit down. He turns around, gets a better look, turns back to Jack, speaks.

That’s Susanne Carter? So what.