Week Four

Ripped for the Headlines
A Gay Fantasia on National Themes*

He turned off the television and, with a an exasperated heave, turned his chair away from his desk. Through the murk of on-coming dusk and past the leaf-less trees, he could just make out the thick obelisk of the Washington Monument. Erected in honor of a man who made this country great, it always gave him pleasure to hold the memorial in his mind. He thought about the huge and amazing monuments that would soon be built in his honor.

The knock on the door was unexpected, and it pulled President Trump out of his daydream. His executive assistant, Madeleine Westerhout, stood in the doorway. 

"Sir," she said, "Vice President Pence is here to see you."

"Right. Give me one minute," he replied out of his pursed lips.

She closed the door, and Trump quickly, well, quickly for a man of his girth, shot up from his desk. He adjusted the lights so that they dimmed a bit. He grabbed some unread documents labeled "Important" and strew them about his desk. He wouldn't want Pence to think he wasn't working. Finally, after his tiny hands struggled for purchase on the handle of his desk drawer, he pulled out some sweet mint gum, placed it in his mouth, and rolled the ball around with his tongue.

"Please send the Vice President in," Trump buzzed.

The door opened, and in walked Mike Pence. Trump noticed how his crisp navy-blue suit hugged this round shoulders. And how his white hair looked so much like the snow-frosted peaks that dotted the background of the Trump International Hotel & Tower™ in Vancouver. 

"Mike, so good to see you," he shyly stammered out.

"You too, Mr. President," replied a stern Pence.

"Please, have a seat."

The two sat across from each other on couches, Trump's legs spread wide to give him a sense of power and alpha sexuality while also giving his thighs a brief chance not to rub against each other.

"Mr. Presi-"

"Please Mike, we're friends, I've asked you to call me Donald J. Trump."

"Right, Donald J. Trump, I have some documents that I need to review with you regarding reducing tariffs on several West African nations."

Trump looked around much like one would before telling a sexist or racist joke. With a whisper, he said, "You mean countries with ... those people?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Trump let out a sigh, "Fine, let me see them."

Trump and Pence stood up at the same time, and as Pence passed the folio to Trump, their hands grazed each other. The world stopped and they both locked eyes. This touch was something they'd both been wanting for so long.

Trump thought about how smooth Pence's hand felt, not unlike the soft golf towels available at the Trump Turnberry™ in Scotland. 

The documents fell to the ground and they held each other's heads in their hands. Pence grabbed the crucifix necklace from around his neck and pulled it off.

"I won't be needing this tonight," he said, tossing the cross away into the plush carpet of the office.

Sensing that things were moving quickly, Trump took off his "Make America Great Again" cap and quickly ran his hand through the straw-like bramble of his hair. He took off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Donald J. Trump, " Pence whispered with warm breath, "Let me do it."

Pence's fingers moved quickly, unbuttoning Trump's shirt. He then reached around Trump's back and unbuttoned the girdle; releasing the gelatinous masses of fat that cascaded down Trump's sides and stomach. 

For the first time, Pence got a full view of the most powerful man in the world, and saw that his spray tan had missed the folds of his stomach, striping his body like a tiger.

"Pence, there's something you should know before this goes any further."

"It's okay sir, you can tell me anything. I won't mind whatever it is."

"I... uh..."

"What is it?" Pence pleaded.

"You'll have to see for yourself." And with that, Trump lifted up his mighty panniculus, and pulled out what appeared to be a five day-old roast beef sandwich.

"Sir?" Pence asked, confused.

"Yes Pence, I store food in the various folds of my body. I-"

Pence held his finger up to Trump's mouth, demanding he no longer speak. He then reached down and took a bite out of the wet sandwich. Stifling a gag, he smiled at the President.

Trump's hand caressed Pence's face. A light five o'clock shadow had formed on his face, and the rough dots of hair were just like the sandy beach of the Trump Ocean Club™ in Panama. God he wanted his swollen tongue to dart over every inch of the Indiana-native's face.

Trump quickly grabbed his office phone and dialed Westerhout. 

"Madeline, hold my calls," he punctuated into the mouth piece, "I'm about to debrief the Vice President."

Once the phone slammed down, their bodies became an instant tangle of old-man skin. Tongues touched tongues, hands groped bodies, and fingers explored the deep moist caverns of Trump's torso.

Trump took a moment to look at his Vice President. He noticed how Pence's abs looked pale and chiseled, which took him immediately to the pale and chiseled toilets of the Trump International Hotel™ in Las Vegas. 

As the two bodies became one, Trump could feel the oval office spinning. He'd wanted this for so long, and it's so rare that actuality beats expectation. Still, as with the other five times he'd experienced sexual intimacy, he knew there was only one way he could climax. 

Grabbing the long slender black remote of his office television, he pressed the "power" button. On the screen flashed the beautifully crafted face of Steve Doocy. Trump had a back catalog of Fox & Friends queued on his DVR should just such an occasion arise. Seeing Doocy, Trump finally exploded with passion. A tear ran down Vice President Pence's face.

They held each other on the couch for a few more minutes. Doocy's punctuation seemed to match the cadence of their heavy breathing. Stroking his white hair, Trump looked down at Pence and said, "This has been more thrilling than the day I closed on Trump Vineyard Estates™ in Charlottesville."

*With sincere apologies to Tony Kushner