amischiefmaker
Virgin
- Joined
- Nov 14, 2012
- Posts
- 1
Since they wouldn't accept this as a story I'm submitting it here.
I Want to Fuck Melania
Dear Readers: as will quickly become apparent this story is 100% fiction and could never happen. If you can’t suspend belief – like you need to every time that you watch a Superheroes movie – you won’t enjoy it.
Also, this is not meant to be an expression of political philosophy. It does not represent – I repeat does NOT represent – my personal philosophy about any political party, candidate, or issue. It’s just a fucking story!
************
I’m Blake Break, a 29 year old of average intelligence who got a college degree primarily the result of intense tutoring by the athletic department tutors at the university I went to. I was the starting tight end on a Division I (SEC) powerhouse football team at a university that valued athletics more than academics; but nevertheless I have a degree that says that I’m smarter than I really am.
While pretty average in looks, smarts, and many other ways, I do have a few distinguishing characteristics. Of course two are size and strength – you don’t start for a Division I program unless you’re strong, or at tight end unless you’re big too. I’m 6 feet 5 inches tall, 245 pounds, 8% body fat, and despite my long arms can bench press almost 500 pounds. I also don’t have that gene that causes fear – or maybe I’m just too stupid to be afraid.
Although I was drafted in the 4th round by the Cincinnati Bengals, I had an epiphany after the draft, and determined that I had had enough of football; and I got lucky. One of the sports agents trying to sign me up, who I’ll call Jerry McGuire just for fun since I don’t think that he wants his real name used (I didn’t use mine either), I really hit it off with. When I ultimately told him that I wasn’t interested in signing with the Bengals even though I had attended the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, he offered me a job. I would work like a paralegal in a law office would some of the time, and other times I would babysit his football clients and keep them out of trouble.
If a star offensive lineman gets in a fight with some jerk baiting him he might break his hand while punching out the asshole, lose game time, and get his name in the papers and a fine by the horse’s ass who passes himself off as the Commissioner of the NFL. If I intercede on his behalf, the interloper still gets the shit beat out of him, but the offensive lineman is blame free. Jerry has attorneys on retainer in all major cities who I can call if the cops think I was a little overzealous.
I’ve never had too much interest in politics but my entire family, myself included in the two national elections that have been held since I turned 18, normally votes Republican. I’ve never voted for a Democrat, but in 2016 I was planning to since the Republicans went ass-wipe crazy and nominated a guy named Donald Trump who has a narcissistic personality disorder. I’m not just slinging shit by saying that – my Mother is a well-known psychologist and she assures me that he has that disorder. Although she has never before in her 53 years voted for a Democrat in a national election, this year she says she will too.
In fact, I’m so upset that the Republicans would nominate someone who bad mouthed war hero John McCain, denigrated a Gold Star family because they expressed their First Amendment opinion about a national figure, made fun of a disabled reporter, and said that the president of the United States sympathized with terrorists, I actually gave $200 to Hillary Clinton’s campaign – although my hand was shaking when I wrote the check.
In fact there is only one thing about the Trumpster that I admire (I don’t admire his wealth because unlike people like Warren Buffet, Michael Bloomberg, and the Koch brothers, he got it by cheating people instead of actually promoting the economic well-being of the country). What I admire about him is that he got his wife Melania to marry him. While she’s smart and appears to have a nice personality, of course the main thing I appreciate about her is that she is the stone coldest fox I have ever seen! Those nude photos of her from European magazines when she was in her 20s are enough to make a eunuch cum, and she appears to look just as good now after having a kid ten years ago.
**************
In Northern Virginia where I live I have a concealed carry permit and I’m an excellent marksman with a handgun; my favorite is a Ruger P series. However, in D. C. where I work there are essentially no such permits, and in any event I couldn’t get one, so I don’t carry a gun in D. C. I do carry an innocuous self-defense tool stupidly called a “Travel Wrench,” which is merely a piece of light, hard specially-shaped plastic. Though simple, in the hands of an experienced user it is an excellent attack, as well as defense, weapon.
My real story starts as I was walking from the Metro to work near a big D. C. hotel when a black SUV, of the type everyone who lives in the area associates with the Secret Service, pulled up to the curb maybe 50 meters ahead of me. Out came three obvious Secret Service agents (one a woman), a boy of about 10 or 11, and a slinky woman wearing a hat and sunglasses. They apparently were making a short walk to a side entrance of the hotel.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose; I heard gunshots, and two of the Secret Service agents went down, and the female one had her Uzi out and was firing before she hit the deck. Three dirty looking guys ran up to the woman and kid, two grabbing the woman, the other the kid.
Like I said, I don’t have the fear gene. I was already in full stride like I was running downfield to crush a safety so that my running back could score by the time that the first gunshot registered in my brain. I got to the guy holding the kid in no time at all, hit him on his temple as hard as I could with the Travel Wrench, and he went down instantly.
The guy closest to me holding the woman pointed a handgun at me – it looked like a Glock G42. I hit it with my left hand, moving it toward him, dropped the Travel Wrench and then with my right hand pulled his Glock away while breaking his thumb. Then I shot him in the chest and he staggered. I realized that he had a bulletproof vest on so I shot him in the head; blood sprayed all over the place.
Exactly how I got in a tussle with the other guy holding the woman I don’t remember, but I was when I saw two other dirty looking guys pop out from behind some bushes with automatic weapons. I turned the guy I was tussling with toward them and he took a few rounds from his buddies. I knew that he would drop as soon as I let go of him so I looked around for the woman and kid. They were startled and disoriented, and kneeling. As soon as I dropped the miscreant I dove on top of them to protect them from the automatic weapons fire.
I don’t really know first-hand what happened next. However, I saw two videos of it – isn’t everything on video these days? I also was told what happened. The other Secret Service dude who was driving jumped out with his Uzi blazing and he killed both of the guys with automatic weapons. Apparently another had been killed by the female agent before she went down. One of the male Secret Service agents who was hit (a guy named Weld) died at the scene, but George Washing Hospital is close by, and they were able to save the lives of the other two.
I took three rounds in my torso and apparently also hit my head on the concrete sidewalk, which was probably what knocked me out. Both the woman and kid were bruised, but otherwise unharmed – I had taken their bullets by covering their bodies. Of course you know who they are, although I didn’t until I was told. Melania Trump and her son.
Like the Secret Service agents I had quickly been transported to G. W. Hospital. By the time that I woke up two of the bullets had already been removed, and the Secretary of HEW, at the behest of the President, insisted that the top spine doctor in the country fly in from New York because the third bullet could either be innocuous or paralyze me for life. I was told that he would be there in about ten minutes. He had flown by military jet to Andrews Air Force base, and a Secret Service vehicle, with motorcycle cop escort, had him on his way from there.
I was feeling like shit, although happy to be alive, when it happened. A disheveled, but impossibly beautiful, Melania Trump walked into my room, grabbed my hand, in her sexy Eastern European accent thanked me for saving her life, and more importantly that of her son, and then started crying and kissed me on the forehead.
I think that I babbled something about being happy to help, or some such shit, but between my pain and how gorgeous she was in person I was so taken aback that I really don’t remember. I do remember a crew of medical personnel coming in just a couple of minutes after she did, and excusing themselves saying that Dr. Swanson was on site and that they needed to get me to the operating room ASAP. She kissed me on the forehead again, just before the biggest male nurses I had ever seen shinnied my mattress onto a gurney and we were off as a cute female nurse started telling me what they were going to do to me.
It was apparently the next morning when I woke up. A guy in a suit – obviously a Secret Service agent – immediately picked up the phone when I opened my eyes and said “He’s awake” into it. It wasn’t thirty seconds later when the room was filled with people. A guy who was obviously a hotshot doctor smiled at me. “Mr. Break, the operation by Dr. Swanson and my team was a complete success. You’ll have no long term damage at all, let alone to your spine, from that concerning third bullet. Dr. Swanson said to tell you that he was honored to help you out, but he had to get back to New York for other surgery that required his expertise.”
“Great Doc,” I mumbled.
I think I remember some of the other people in the room and what they said.
Julia Pierson, director of the Secret Service, thanked me profusely. It was then that I learned that one agent had died but the other two would recover only because the gunmen – who were Islamic terrorists – were stopped so quickly and the wounded agents got to the hospital within minutes of being shot.
The head of Donald Trump’s campaign – I don’t remember his name and don’t care to – thanked me profusely too, and said that The Donald wanted to see me. I told him in no uncertain terms that I did NOT want to see The Donald under any circumstances but that he could send Melania back any time.
Jerry McGuire actually had tears in his eyes when he shook the hand that was not the one with the arm loaded with IVs and told me how proud he was of me and that all of his clients had been calling in to express their good wishes.
Some woman whose name I don’t remember, but she was either the hospital public relations director or from some news organization, on an iPad played the two videos of the incident that had been released to the public (apparently a third was not being released because it was too graphic). I was surprised that I looked real good on them!
I asked someone else who looked official if they captured any of the terrorists. “No,” he said with a smile, “you killed the one you hit in the temple with your fist,” [apparently he didn’t see the Travel Wrench in my hand] “and the one you shot. The other guy holding Mrs. Trump was shot by his own two guys. Agent Hampton (the female agent) and agent McMurray (the SUV driver) killed the other three guys. However, we got their smartphones and have already arrested two others who we will get to talk.”
After a few more greetings, the head Doc shooed everyone out except for the Secret Service agent who had been in my room when I woke up. Director Pierson said “Just to be safe, Agent Phillips will be staying with you until he’s relieved. We want someone with you for at least the next 24 hours – you’re infamous and we want to make sure that until the entire terrorist cell is caught by Homeland Security or the FBI that no one gets any ideas about killing the hero.”
I mumbled “Thanks,” and smiled, and Agent Phillips shook my good hand. I shortly was asleep.
***********
When I next woke up another agent had replaced Phillips. He called for a nurse and doctor. They came in and took my vitals. “How are you feeling Mr. Break?”
“Except for some pain in my back, I feel almost normal – how long did I sleep?”
“Eight hours – and never moved a muscle the entire time,” the nurse replied with a big grin.
They talked about my medical condition for a while, and concluded with “If you make the same progress in the next two days that you have the first full day after your operation, you could be released.”
“I’ll be sure to,” I chuckled, before a pain in my back made me wince.
“Your parents and sister are here; they just got in from Chicago – can I send them in?” the doctor asked.
“Absolutely, I’d love to see them.”
All three of them were on the verge of tears as they virtually sprinted into my room. The Agent went outside and closed the door and stood in front of it.
I had a great talk with my family, although I was disappointed that my sister didn’t bring my five year old niece with her – she stayed with her father, although both my brother-in-law and niece had a video greeting that my sister played for me on her smartphone.
After my family left I was tired – and in pain. The nurse gave me a shot to relieve the pain. After she gave it the head nurse poked her head in and asked “Are you up for one more visitor? Mrs. Trump would like to see you.”
“Send her in,” I quickly replied.
Melania came in looking like a perfect cross between an angel and devil – a sexy angel and provocative devil, that is. My Agent left, and her’s stayed outside the room with the door closed.
“How are you doing, Blake? I hear that your operation went well.”
“I’m doing great Mrs. Trump…”
“Melania,” she interrupted with a smile, “Someone who saved my and my son’s life must call me Melania; please.”
“OK, Melania,” I smiled. “I’m feeling good, especially since I just got a pain shot. I’m determined to be released in two days.”
We talked some more about my life and hers – God she had the sexiest eyes, voice, and touch imaginable – and then an unpleasant subject.
“Donald and my son would really like to come and thank you personally,” she quietly said.
“Uh… Melania…I would love to meet your son. However, I really, really, really do not want your husband to visit me. I’ve told the hospital staff that, and I mean it. While I’m honored to have helped you out, and really admire and respect you, I’m really sorry – but I don’t feel the same way about your husband.”
“He’ll be disappointed, but I understand,” she said stroking my face.
We talked a while longer. The pain medicine really kicked in and I was starting to enter la-la land. Then she asked me a sincere question.
“Blake, is there something that I can do for you? I really want to thank you for your heroism, literally taking a bullet for me. I feel so grateful and helpless,” she said, a tear forming in her right eye.
My pain medicine had really taken effect by that time, because the filter between my brain and mouth was drugged away. “Melania; I would love to have sex with you.”
She didn’t go ballistic; I think that she realized that I was drugged. “How flattering that a wonderful young man like you would find a 46 year old mother sexy,” she smiled. “I don’t know how I could escape the Secret Service, though,” she laughed.
“You’re such a stone cold fox – and so kind; you’re awesome,” I babbled. “It would be my dream come true.”
She smiled again and held my hand “You must be delusional – you can find someone much sexier than I am,” she laughed again.
We talked some more; I’m sure that I made a bigger fool of myself but I don’t remember exactly what was said. Just to be polite she pretended to take down my cell phone number “In case I can work something out,” she chuckled.
I think that I actually fell asleep – more likely passed out – before she left.
The next morning I was physically feeling much better; however I remembered that I had propositioned Melania. “At least I didn’t use the word ‘fuck,’” was my only solace.
Just before lunch, after I had taken a few walks around the floor I was on, despite my caution to the hospital staff, Melania, and Trump’s campaign manager, The Donald showed up. He burst into my room like a tornado, along with a guy filming. “Blake I really can’t thank you enough for saving my wife and boy…” he started out, holding out his hand for me to shake.
I cut him off.
“You know how you can thank me, nutcase? You can get the fuck out of my room, now.”
He was babbling more things, almost like he either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to. I was pissed. I got out of bed, almost pulling out the I Vs. and stuck my finger in his face.
“Get the fuck out of my room now or I’ll kick your crazy ass,” I yelled.
Two Secret Service agents got between us and hustled him out of the door, much to his displeasure. The cameraman was still there. “If you show the video you took to anyone I’ll sue your ass and when I find you kick it too,” I screamed again. Agent Phillips hustled the terrified dude out the door.
When Phillips returned he calmly said “I guess you were serious about not wanting Trump to come to see you, huh?” Then he chuckled. That broke my anger temporarily, however I picked up the phone, called the administration office of the hospital and told them that unless the hospital administer was in my office in a half hour I was leaving and would create a public relations nightmare for them.
A doctor was in the room within five minutes begging me not to leave saying that I really needed one more day to heal. “Then make sure that the administrator is here within twenty four minutes, otherwise I’m gone, and will be giving interviews to the press corps that I know are stationed outside the hospital front door waiting for my release.”
The flustered administrator got there fifteen minutes later, apologizing profusely about the intrusion. When she explained that two nurses and a doctor tried to stop the Trumpster and he and his Secret Service contingent just bulled their way past them, I understood. I asked Phillips and his replacement to stand outside my door and not let anyone except doctors or nurses in unless they cleared it with me first; they were happy to agree.
I did get a Trump liaison who seemed to always be hanging around to ask Melania to give me a call. She did that same day.
“How are you doing Blake?”
“I’m doing much better Melania. However, I really, really want to apologize for what I said to you yesterday. I hope that you know that I was looped on pain medication – I never would have propositioned you otherwise,” I stammered, my mouth going dry.
“You mean that if you hadn’t had pain medication you wouldn’t have found me sexy?” she laughed – Melania doesn’t really giggle, but it was as close to one as she gets.
“No…I mean yes…no, I mean…” I stammered some more.
“I’m just pulling your leg. I was flattered,” she said.
We talked some more and then I said “I hope you understand me blowing up at your husband – I didn’t want to see him.”
“I told him that so it’s his own fault. He doesn’t listen, so he’ll pay for it.”
We signed off with a few more light-hearted comments. “After all the dust clears my son and I want to at least take you out to dinner,” was her concluding comment.
“I’d love that,” I said, as I hung up.
*************
I got out of the hospital just hours before the funeral of Agent Weld, the Secret Service agent who was killed. Jerry had someone bring me a new suit. I begged Phillips to take me to the funeral and gravesite.
I was touched when the agent’s widow, Jessica Weld, and six year old twin boys, came up to me after the service – I don’t know how they knew who I was, but I guess the videos of me and my photo – provided by Jerry – on the front page of the Washington Post probably tipped them off – and thanked me for trying to save their husband/father, and asked me to the reception afterword.
I was reluctant to impose – but Jessica was one of the most intriguing people I had ever met, and her kids seemed really friendly. Jessica wasn’t beautiful, didn’t have a big rack or six foot long legs; but there was something ethereal – for lack of a better word – about her that really got to me.
I went to the reception and enjoyed myself as much as possible – considering the purpose. I had great talks with Jessica’s brother Tom and brother-in-law Bill (her husband’s older brother) and subtly pumped them for information about Jessica. She was twenty seven, a big football fan, a school teacher, and loved by everyone who came into contact with her. I played catch with a nerf football (without straining my stitches) in the back yard with her twin boys. I got goodbye hugs from the boys – and Jessica.
Things went really well for me as a result of my saving Melania and her son, and ultimately the two Secret Service agents too. I got four season tickets to Redskins games, a joke (I think) bulletproof vest, a commendation from the President, several civic awards including one that carried a $50,000 stipend with it, and a bonus of $50,00 from Jerry McGuire. Jerry told me that he had dozens of more calls about new business than he ever had in a week before and virtually every potential new client mentioned my situation.
I called up Jessica and asked her if she and the boys wanted to go to a Redskins preseason game with me; see deferred, but her brother Tom and kids were thrilled.
There is only one problem with professional football (and hockey) games these days when you bring kids – drunks in the stands. Of course, there had to be an incident; a drunk guy a row in front of us, who had been making a fool of himself the entire game, pushed a women into the aisle, knocked her down, and then cursed her. Reacting – not thinking about my stitches or that the two kids were there – I grabbed him and cold-cocked him with one punch.
When security arrived it was the strangest thing. No one in the entire section knew how the guy had gotten knocked out. The elderly couple who had put up with his swearing for two quarters told security “I’m sure that he just passed out,” which was quickly seconded by everyone around, including the woman who had been pushed into the aisle – his girlfriend (hopefully she was smart enough to become his ex-girlfriend).
One of the security guards recognized me and shook my hand just before he and his associate dragged the groggy drunk out, followed by his girlfriend who mouthed “Thank you” to me. I then got besieged by autograph requests – the first time since my senior year in college – and the twins and their Uncle Tom thought that it was the coolest thing ever. After I took them to dinner and dropped them off Jessica called my cell phone.
“I understand that you had some excitement – I’ve never seen my kids so animated. They think that you’re Batman,” she chuckled.
“I…I hope that you’re not upset. I’m sorry, I just can’t stand by during something like that. I should have controlled myself more.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize to me about,” she chortled. “The only real concern anyone had is if they could go to another game some time.”
“Definitely – I will call before the first regular season game.”
God, she had a nice voice.
*************
While things went great for me after I left the hospital, they didn’t go well for The Donald. Apparently he bad-mouthed me to the press because I was rude to him – with Melania right there. The way I heard it she stormed off after he badmouthed me and she didn’t even turn around when The Donald called after her. She even commented to a reporter that caught up to her that “Anything that happened was Donald’s fault because Blake told him not to come to his room.”
The Donald was apparently upset that Melania took off and didn’t return, and with the hostile questions that he got from the reporters about his tirade about how rude I was. He went to dinner at a local restaurant, drank too much for the first time during his campaign, got upset with a black waitress and called her “a stupid fucking N- word” reducing her to tears (of course all caught on video).
That was too much even for The Donald to overcome. He resigned and was replaced by John Kasich, someone I could actually vote for. I was sorry that I had given Hilary money, but consoled myself that it was the best thing to do at the time. I wrote Kasich’s campaign a check for $1,000.
I talked to Director Pierson about Agent Weld’s financial situation; she gave me as much information as she could considering the privacy laws. I called Jessica’s brother Tom and asked him about her financial situation. “It’s not bad,” he said, “but not good either since their house was at the high end of what they could afford, and Jessica really doesn’t want to move.”
“If she got an anonymous gift of $25,000, would that help?”
“Hell yes,” he said – “but how would she get it?”
“I don’t know – just asking,” I responded.
I took Jessica’s kids and Tom to the first Redskins real game (fortunately there was no incident). Jessica insisted on having me over for dinner afterword, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Jessica did get $25,000 from a previously unheard of charity. Of course it was from me, but since I’d have to pay gift tax if I gave her the entire amount, I offered to return $12,500 of my bonus to Jerry and he could give it to her. He agreed to combine his $12,500 with mine but refused to accept my return of part of my bonus. However, someone who helped us “anonymously” give it to Jessica screwed up, and she suspected that I was behind it.
I saw Jessica’s number on caller ID. “Hi, Blake Break here,” I answered in a professional voice.
“I can’t accept $25,000 from you, Blake; it’s just not right.”
“What are you talking about,” I replied trying to play dumb.
“You know very well what I’m talking about. I can’t take it.”
“There are no strings attached – if you don’t take it I’ll never take the kids to a game again,” I replied, trying to sound firm but probably not pulling it off. I hoped that she didn’t call my bluff, because I really liked her kids and brother.
“My brother-in-law Bill and his wife are hosting a barbecue on Sunday at 5:00 p.m. Be there and we’ll talk about it then. I’ll text you the address.” Then she hung up.
When I got to the barbecue I was warmly welcomed by everyone except Jessica. Bill pulled me aside. “That was really wonderful of you, Blake – she can use the money to be sure she stays in the house, but she’s afraid of what people will think accepting money from you so soon after my brother, her husband, died.”
“Look, Bill, I just wanted to help. It was money given to me from a civic organization for the incident where your brother was killed, and I thought it only fair that she share in it – it isn’t the entire amount. Please urge her to take it; she wasn’t supposed to know the source, and she doesn’t have to tell anyone. I really wanted it to be anonymous.”
Bill smiled broadly. “Already in the works – me, my wife, and Tom are putting on the full court press—just don’t push her yourself.”
“I’ll steer clear,” I chuckled.
I played with all the kids there, ate a ton, had great talks with many of the adults, and had a really fun time until just before things were shutting down Jessica came up to me. “I’m mad at you Blake.”
“Look, I’m really sorry – I just wanted to share my good fortune and blunt some of your worries. You have enough on your plate now without worrying about money too.”
“You’re trying to endear yourself to me, aren’t you big guy?” she asked with a smirk.
My response surprised her. “If you’re smart enough to figure that out why aren’t you smart enough to take the money?”
I smiled, and turned to leave. I looked over my shoulder – she was gobsmacked – and then I said “By the way, your kids are going with me to the Redskins game next Sunday but Tom can’t make it – you should think about going in his place.”
“Don’t I have any say if the kids are going,” she yelled after me.
I just waved without looking back.
Bill called me that night. “The entire family is thrilled that you’ve taken an interest in Jessica and the boys. I hope that you’re patient, because she probably won’t want a romantic relationship for at least another six months – she feels that she’d dishonor her husband’s memory even though – I have to be honest with you about this – they didn’t have the best marriage.”
“I’m patient,” I chuckled, “and also really interested in her. I’ll just hang around until the time’s right.”
“I’d like that,” he chortled, then hung up.
Jessica went with me to the game. I saw her and the boys at least weekly. Whenever I could see her, usually using the kids as an excuse, I did. She opened up a little more each time, and obviously enjoyed my company. I knew that she was attracted to me and she was worth the wait. I was completely smitten.
I made up my mind to be patient with Jessica but I was definitely going after her once she was ready.
*************
Even though Jessica was worth the wait I was a horny healthy male under thirty, so my thoughts roamed all over the place; plus – after the well- publicized Melania incident I really didn’t have any trouble getting dates.
I thought back on Melania fondly, but knew that nothing would come of my interaction with her, not even the dinner she mentioned the last time that we talked.
During the last week of October, close to election time, I got a call from an area code 212 number that I didn’t recognize.
“Hi Blake, what are you doing on Halloween – the bewitching night,” said this sexy Eastern European-accented voice.
“Melania?” I asked.
“How did you know,” she chuckled.
“Wild guess – say how are you doing?”
We chatted for five or ten minutes like old friends. Then she said “The reason for my call was that I promised to do something nice for you, Blake.”
“Yeah, dinner; but it will be expensive,” I chuckled.
“Well – actually – I’m going to be in D. C. on Halloween night at the Four Seasons in a suite on the 8th floor. I’d like you to reserve a room that night on a different floor; I’d like to visit you there to talk, say about 8 p. m.”
I almost fainted, both because of what she was implying and because all of my blood rushed to my dick.
“Uh…yeah…I’d like that,” I mumbled. Remembering back on our earlier conversations I asked “Can you get away OK?”
“No more Secret Service and I have arranged how to easily ditch my personal secretary and the stupid bodyguard Donald wants around me. So no Blake, there will be no problem getting away. But you won’t just ‘like’ it. I promise that you’ll love it. Here’s my private cellphone number, xxx-xxx-xxxx. Just text me the room number – nothing else – from a burner phone as soon as you get into your room. Can’t wait…” Then she ended the call.
I immediately made a reservation at the Four Seasons for Halloween night and told them “Any floor except the 8th,” which was no problem. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. I thought something would occur to screw it up, or it would turn out to be a cruel joke, or some other weird-ass thing. However, there was no way that I was not going through with it in case it was real.
I actually took the day off Monday the 31st; of course I told no one about what I hoped was going to happen that night. I weightlifted, got a massage, took a nap, and even scored a couple of little blue pills in case all the stars aligned and it turned out to be an all-nighter.
When I checked into the hotel about 7 p. m. after a light dinner, on my recently purchased burner phone I texted Melania’s private number “404,” of course my room number. Only a couple of minutes later I got back “8pm.”
I was as nervous as I’d ever been. Not only was Melania by far the hottest woman that I had ever been around, but she was married, and famous. I never had sex with either a married or famous woman before. I did deep breathing exercises just like it was before the college football championship game, and calmed down. There was a knock at the door at 7:58. I couldn’t believe it – Melania was actually standing there when I opened it; and dressed as a sexy witch.
I must have been slack-jawed because she laughed and asked “Are you going to invite me in, or are you scared of witches?”
“Uh…sorry…uh…sure,” I stammered, moving aside. Even though there was plenty of room she brushed into contact with me.
“Please take off that hideous mask,” she said with a straight face and then laughed her ass off when I became slack-jawed again. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist a little Halloween fun,” she chuckled.
I offered her a drink. “Just Perrier,” she replied with an evil smile. “I want my wits and senses about me.”
I gulped.
We sat close to, but not touching each other, while we sipped our French bubbly water. I was shocked to find out how much she knew about me. Some of her comments were “I thought it was so sweet that you gave $25,000 to the widow of Agent Weld;” “Jessica Weld’s boys are really cute, aren’t they, and they so look up to you;” “You know you couldn’t do better with a life mate than Jessica – I hope that you’re patient and will wait until she’s ready,” “I understand that you helped sign up a half dozen more football players for your agency – you must be doing well.”
After each of her statements I asked myself “How in the fuck did she know that?” I never asked her, however.
Once we were finished with our Perriers Melania got this really diabolical look on her face, threw the bottle on the floor, stood up and said “Enough chit-chat. I came here to fuck, not talk.” With that she pulled one ribbon on her dress and the whole fucking thing fell off, revealing her consummate body.
I swear that even though she looked different, she looked just as good as she did when she was modelling in those European magazines in her twenties. “You’re fucking awesome,” I blurted out, sure that I was drooling.
“Enough talk – action!” she said as she approached me.
Not only was the woman a stone cold fox, but she was a sexual dynamo. It was only five minutes after she said “action” that we were in a sixty nine on top of the covers of the king size bed in my room. Her pussy was as beautiful as she was – and so fucking sensitive I couldn’t believe it.
She seemed to really like to suck my cock since once she started it never left her mouth – except when she was screaming through the orgasm I gave her by fingering her G-spot while tonguing her clit. However, I didn’t want to waste a load in her mouth, so when I felt my balls boiling I broke away from her, laid her on her back, put her heels on my shoulders, and buried myself in one thrust as she moaned “Oh fuck, yes,” and then started what appeared to me to be cursing in Slovenian.
God I loved her pussy; and looking down at her beautiful face and bouncing tits I didn’t last long. As I jettisoned what seemed like a liter of cum into her while groaning like a butchered hog, she bit my arm to muffle her scream as she shook so hard in orgasm that if I didn’t outweigh her by 120 pounds we would have been jettisoned off the bed.
What there was little of that night was talking and sleeping, although there was some of both.
What there was a lot of that night was fucking and sucking.
We fucked in every position that any human except a contortionist could fuck in, including some that I didn’t think were possible, especially the one in the shower where I had her lifted up with her facing the wall and me entering her from behind and below her. I took both of the little blue pills I brought with me because after the third orgasm I would have been spent otherwise, and she got me to six – a personal record that I’m sure will never be broken.
Melania had at least twenty orgasms – I’m surprised that her nervous system didn’t short out.
At least she had the wherewithal to set an alarm for 7:00 a. m., before the hotel halls would be crawling with people. We were both half asleep when it went off, with me spooning her and mauling her tits even though I was only semi-conscious.
We took another shower together, but we both were too spent – and my cock and her pussy (and asshole) too sore – to fuck again.
I gave her a robe to wear since she didn’t want to put the costume back on. “Keep the costume as a souvenir,” she cackled. I didn’t object.
She pulled a pair of sunglasses out of a clutch that I didn’t even recognize that she had the night before. Just before she put the sunglasses on and slinked out into the hall she kissed me deeply. “Was that a suitable thank you Blake Break?”
“Are you kidding me,” I snarled, “I’ll never forget this night even if I get dementia. You’re a fucking goddess, and a goddess at fucking; a modern day Aphrodite.” Then I kissed her again. “I am so happy to have saved you!”
“That wasn’t just for saving me – it was for your part in getting Donald out of the race. I never wanted him to run in the first place.”
That shocked me, but the smile on my face wouldn’t leave.
“Thank you for a truly wonderful time – you’re not the only one who will never forget this night,” she said with a smile. After one more kiss she was gone.
I collapsed in bed suddenly noticing that the sheets were wet and stained. I called work and told them not to expect me, set the alarm for 10:50 (ten minutes before checkout time), curled up in a blanket and fell asleep with visions of Aphrodite/ Melania dancing through my
I Want to Fuck Melania
Dear Readers: as will quickly become apparent this story is 100% fiction and could never happen. If you can’t suspend belief – like you need to every time that you watch a Superheroes movie – you won’t enjoy it.
Also, this is not meant to be an expression of political philosophy. It does not represent – I repeat does NOT represent – my personal philosophy about any political party, candidate, or issue. It’s just a fucking story!
************
I’m Blake Break, a 29 year old of average intelligence who got a college degree primarily the result of intense tutoring by the athletic department tutors at the university I went to. I was the starting tight end on a Division I (SEC) powerhouse football team at a university that valued athletics more than academics; but nevertheless I have a degree that says that I’m smarter than I really am.
While pretty average in looks, smarts, and many other ways, I do have a few distinguishing characteristics. Of course two are size and strength – you don’t start for a Division I program unless you’re strong, or at tight end unless you’re big too. I’m 6 feet 5 inches tall, 245 pounds, 8% body fat, and despite my long arms can bench press almost 500 pounds. I also don’t have that gene that causes fear – or maybe I’m just too stupid to be afraid.
Although I was drafted in the 4th round by the Cincinnati Bengals, I had an epiphany after the draft, and determined that I had had enough of football; and I got lucky. One of the sports agents trying to sign me up, who I’ll call Jerry McGuire just for fun since I don’t think that he wants his real name used (I didn’t use mine either), I really hit it off with. When I ultimately told him that I wasn’t interested in signing with the Bengals even though I had attended the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, he offered me a job. I would work like a paralegal in a law office would some of the time, and other times I would babysit his football clients and keep them out of trouble.
If a star offensive lineman gets in a fight with some jerk baiting him he might break his hand while punching out the asshole, lose game time, and get his name in the papers and a fine by the horse’s ass who passes himself off as the Commissioner of the NFL. If I intercede on his behalf, the interloper still gets the shit beat out of him, but the offensive lineman is blame free. Jerry has attorneys on retainer in all major cities who I can call if the cops think I was a little overzealous.
I’ve never had too much interest in politics but my entire family, myself included in the two national elections that have been held since I turned 18, normally votes Republican. I’ve never voted for a Democrat, but in 2016 I was planning to since the Republicans went ass-wipe crazy and nominated a guy named Donald Trump who has a narcissistic personality disorder. I’m not just slinging shit by saying that – my Mother is a well-known psychologist and she assures me that he has that disorder. Although she has never before in her 53 years voted for a Democrat in a national election, this year she says she will too.
In fact, I’m so upset that the Republicans would nominate someone who bad mouthed war hero John McCain, denigrated a Gold Star family because they expressed their First Amendment opinion about a national figure, made fun of a disabled reporter, and said that the president of the United States sympathized with terrorists, I actually gave $200 to Hillary Clinton’s campaign – although my hand was shaking when I wrote the check.
In fact there is only one thing about the Trumpster that I admire (I don’t admire his wealth because unlike people like Warren Buffet, Michael Bloomberg, and the Koch brothers, he got it by cheating people instead of actually promoting the economic well-being of the country). What I admire about him is that he got his wife Melania to marry him. While she’s smart and appears to have a nice personality, of course the main thing I appreciate about her is that she is the stone coldest fox I have ever seen! Those nude photos of her from European magazines when she was in her 20s are enough to make a eunuch cum, and she appears to look just as good now after having a kid ten years ago.
**************
In Northern Virginia where I live I have a concealed carry permit and I’m an excellent marksman with a handgun; my favorite is a Ruger P series. However, in D. C. where I work there are essentially no such permits, and in any event I couldn’t get one, so I don’t carry a gun in D. C. I do carry an innocuous self-defense tool stupidly called a “Travel Wrench,” which is merely a piece of light, hard specially-shaped plastic. Though simple, in the hands of an experienced user it is an excellent attack, as well as defense, weapon.
My real story starts as I was walking from the Metro to work near a big D. C. hotel when a black SUV, of the type everyone who lives in the area associates with the Secret Service, pulled up to the curb maybe 50 meters ahead of me. Out came three obvious Secret Service agents (one a woman), a boy of about 10 or 11, and a slinky woman wearing a hat and sunglasses. They apparently were making a short walk to a side entrance of the hotel.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose; I heard gunshots, and two of the Secret Service agents went down, and the female one had her Uzi out and was firing before she hit the deck. Three dirty looking guys ran up to the woman and kid, two grabbing the woman, the other the kid.
Like I said, I don’t have the fear gene. I was already in full stride like I was running downfield to crush a safety so that my running back could score by the time that the first gunshot registered in my brain. I got to the guy holding the kid in no time at all, hit him on his temple as hard as I could with the Travel Wrench, and he went down instantly.
The guy closest to me holding the woman pointed a handgun at me – it looked like a Glock G42. I hit it with my left hand, moving it toward him, dropped the Travel Wrench and then with my right hand pulled his Glock away while breaking his thumb. Then I shot him in the chest and he staggered. I realized that he had a bulletproof vest on so I shot him in the head; blood sprayed all over the place.
Exactly how I got in a tussle with the other guy holding the woman I don’t remember, but I was when I saw two other dirty looking guys pop out from behind some bushes with automatic weapons. I turned the guy I was tussling with toward them and he took a few rounds from his buddies. I knew that he would drop as soon as I let go of him so I looked around for the woman and kid. They were startled and disoriented, and kneeling. As soon as I dropped the miscreant I dove on top of them to protect them from the automatic weapons fire.
I don’t really know first-hand what happened next. However, I saw two videos of it – isn’t everything on video these days? I also was told what happened. The other Secret Service dude who was driving jumped out with his Uzi blazing and he killed both of the guys with automatic weapons. Apparently another had been killed by the female agent before she went down. One of the male Secret Service agents who was hit (a guy named Weld) died at the scene, but George Washing Hospital is close by, and they were able to save the lives of the other two.
I took three rounds in my torso and apparently also hit my head on the concrete sidewalk, which was probably what knocked me out. Both the woman and kid were bruised, but otherwise unharmed – I had taken their bullets by covering their bodies. Of course you know who they are, although I didn’t until I was told. Melania Trump and her son.
Like the Secret Service agents I had quickly been transported to G. W. Hospital. By the time that I woke up two of the bullets had already been removed, and the Secretary of HEW, at the behest of the President, insisted that the top spine doctor in the country fly in from New York because the third bullet could either be innocuous or paralyze me for life. I was told that he would be there in about ten minutes. He had flown by military jet to Andrews Air Force base, and a Secret Service vehicle, with motorcycle cop escort, had him on his way from there.
I was feeling like shit, although happy to be alive, when it happened. A disheveled, but impossibly beautiful, Melania Trump walked into my room, grabbed my hand, in her sexy Eastern European accent thanked me for saving her life, and more importantly that of her son, and then started crying and kissed me on the forehead.
I think that I babbled something about being happy to help, or some such shit, but between my pain and how gorgeous she was in person I was so taken aback that I really don’t remember. I do remember a crew of medical personnel coming in just a couple of minutes after she did, and excusing themselves saying that Dr. Swanson was on site and that they needed to get me to the operating room ASAP. She kissed me on the forehead again, just before the biggest male nurses I had ever seen shinnied my mattress onto a gurney and we were off as a cute female nurse started telling me what they were going to do to me.
It was apparently the next morning when I woke up. A guy in a suit – obviously a Secret Service agent – immediately picked up the phone when I opened my eyes and said “He’s awake” into it. It wasn’t thirty seconds later when the room was filled with people. A guy who was obviously a hotshot doctor smiled at me. “Mr. Break, the operation by Dr. Swanson and my team was a complete success. You’ll have no long term damage at all, let alone to your spine, from that concerning third bullet. Dr. Swanson said to tell you that he was honored to help you out, but he had to get back to New York for other surgery that required his expertise.”
“Great Doc,” I mumbled.
I think I remember some of the other people in the room and what they said.
Julia Pierson, director of the Secret Service, thanked me profusely. It was then that I learned that one agent had died but the other two would recover only because the gunmen – who were Islamic terrorists – were stopped so quickly and the wounded agents got to the hospital within minutes of being shot.
The head of Donald Trump’s campaign – I don’t remember his name and don’t care to – thanked me profusely too, and said that The Donald wanted to see me. I told him in no uncertain terms that I did NOT want to see The Donald under any circumstances but that he could send Melania back any time.
Jerry McGuire actually had tears in his eyes when he shook the hand that was not the one with the arm loaded with IVs and told me how proud he was of me and that all of his clients had been calling in to express their good wishes.
Some woman whose name I don’t remember, but she was either the hospital public relations director or from some news organization, on an iPad played the two videos of the incident that had been released to the public (apparently a third was not being released because it was too graphic). I was surprised that I looked real good on them!
I asked someone else who looked official if they captured any of the terrorists. “No,” he said with a smile, “you killed the one you hit in the temple with your fist,” [apparently he didn’t see the Travel Wrench in my hand] “and the one you shot. The other guy holding Mrs. Trump was shot by his own two guys. Agent Hampton (the female agent) and agent McMurray (the SUV driver) killed the other three guys. However, we got their smartphones and have already arrested two others who we will get to talk.”
After a few more greetings, the head Doc shooed everyone out except for the Secret Service agent who had been in my room when I woke up. Director Pierson said “Just to be safe, Agent Phillips will be staying with you until he’s relieved. We want someone with you for at least the next 24 hours – you’re infamous and we want to make sure that until the entire terrorist cell is caught by Homeland Security or the FBI that no one gets any ideas about killing the hero.”
I mumbled “Thanks,” and smiled, and Agent Phillips shook my good hand. I shortly was asleep.
***********
When I next woke up another agent had replaced Phillips. He called for a nurse and doctor. They came in and took my vitals. “How are you feeling Mr. Break?”
“Except for some pain in my back, I feel almost normal – how long did I sleep?”
“Eight hours – and never moved a muscle the entire time,” the nurse replied with a big grin.
They talked about my medical condition for a while, and concluded with “If you make the same progress in the next two days that you have the first full day after your operation, you could be released.”
“I’ll be sure to,” I chuckled, before a pain in my back made me wince.
“Your parents and sister are here; they just got in from Chicago – can I send them in?” the doctor asked.
“Absolutely, I’d love to see them.”
All three of them were on the verge of tears as they virtually sprinted into my room. The Agent went outside and closed the door and stood in front of it.
I had a great talk with my family, although I was disappointed that my sister didn’t bring my five year old niece with her – she stayed with her father, although both my brother-in-law and niece had a video greeting that my sister played for me on her smartphone.
After my family left I was tired – and in pain. The nurse gave me a shot to relieve the pain. After she gave it the head nurse poked her head in and asked “Are you up for one more visitor? Mrs. Trump would like to see you.”
“Send her in,” I quickly replied.
Melania came in looking like a perfect cross between an angel and devil – a sexy angel and provocative devil, that is. My Agent left, and her’s stayed outside the room with the door closed.
“How are you doing, Blake? I hear that your operation went well.”
“I’m doing great Mrs. Trump…”
“Melania,” she interrupted with a smile, “Someone who saved my and my son’s life must call me Melania; please.”
“OK, Melania,” I smiled. “I’m feeling good, especially since I just got a pain shot. I’m determined to be released in two days.”
We talked some more about my life and hers – God she had the sexiest eyes, voice, and touch imaginable – and then an unpleasant subject.
“Donald and my son would really like to come and thank you personally,” she quietly said.
“Uh… Melania…I would love to meet your son. However, I really, really, really do not want your husband to visit me. I’ve told the hospital staff that, and I mean it. While I’m honored to have helped you out, and really admire and respect you, I’m really sorry – but I don’t feel the same way about your husband.”
“He’ll be disappointed, but I understand,” she said stroking my face.
We talked a while longer. The pain medicine really kicked in and I was starting to enter la-la land. Then she asked me a sincere question.
“Blake, is there something that I can do for you? I really want to thank you for your heroism, literally taking a bullet for me. I feel so grateful and helpless,” she said, a tear forming in her right eye.
My pain medicine had really taken effect by that time, because the filter between my brain and mouth was drugged away. “Melania; I would love to have sex with you.”
She didn’t go ballistic; I think that she realized that I was drugged. “How flattering that a wonderful young man like you would find a 46 year old mother sexy,” she smiled. “I don’t know how I could escape the Secret Service, though,” she laughed.
“You’re such a stone cold fox – and so kind; you’re awesome,” I babbled. “It would be my dream come true.”
She smiled again and held my hand “You must be delusional – you can find someone much sexier than I am,” she laughed again.
We talked some more; I’m sure that I made a bigger fool of myself but I don’t remember exactly what was said. Just to be polite she pretended to take down my cell phone number “In case I can work something out,” she chuckled.
I think that I actually fell asleep – more likely passed out – before she left.
The next morning I was physically feeling much better; however I remembered that I had propositioned Melania. “At least I didn’t use the word ‘fuck,’” was my only solace.
Just before lunch, after I had taken a few walks around the floor I was on, despite my caution to the hospital staff, Melania, and Trump’s campaign manager, The Donald showed up. He burst into my room like a tornado, along with a guy filming. “Blake I really can’t thank you enough for saving my wife and boy…” he started out, holding out his hand for me to shake.
I cut him off.
“You know how you can thank me, nutcase? You can get the fuck out of my room, now.”
He was babbling more things, almost like he either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to. I was pissed. I got out of bed, almost pulling out the I Vs. and stuck my finger in his face.
“Get the fuck out of my room now or I’ll kick your crazy ass,” I yelled.
Two Secret Service agents got between us and hustled him out of the door, much to his displeasure. The cameraman was still there. “If you show the video you took to anyone I’ll sue your ass and when I find you kick it too,” I screamed again. Agent Phillips hustled the terrified dude out the door.
When Phillips returned he calmly said “I guess you were serious about not wanting Trump to come to see you, huh?” Then he chuckled. That broke my anger temporarily, however I picked up the phone, called the administration office of the hospital and told them that unless the hospital administer was in my office in a half hour I was leaving and would create a public relations nightmare for them.
A doctor was in the room within five minutes begging me not to leave saying that I really needed one more day to heal. “Then make sure that the administrator is here within twenty four minutes, otherwise I’m gone, and will be giving interviews to the press corps that I know are stationed outside the hospital front door waiting for my release.”
The flustered administrator got there fifteen minutes later, apologizing profusely about the intrusion. When she explained that two nurses and a doctor tried to stop the Trumpster and he and his Secret Service contingent just bulled their way past them, I understood. I asked Phillips and his replacement to stand outside my door and not let anyone except doctors or nurses in unless they cleared it with me first; they were happy to agree.
I did get a Trump liaison who seemed to always be hanging around to ask Melania to give me a call. She did that same day.
“How are you doing Blake?”
“I’m doing much better Melania. However, I really, really want to apologize for what I said to you yesterday. I hope that you know that I was looped on pain medication – I never would have propositioned you otherwise,” I stammered, my mouth going dry.
“You mean that if you hadn’t had pain medication you wouldn’t have found me sexy?” she laughed – Melania doesn’t really giggle, but it was as close to one as she gets.
“No…I mean yes…no, I mean…” I stammered some more.
“I’m just pulling your leg. I was flattered,” she said.
We talked some more and then I said “I hope you understand me blowing up at your husband – I didn’t want to see him.”
“I told him that so it’s his own fault. He doesn’t listen, so he’ll pay for it.”
We signed off with a few more light-hearted comments. “After all the dust clears my son and I want to at least take you out to dinner,” was her concluding comment.
“I’d love that,” I said, as I hung up.
*************
I got out of the hospital just hours before the funeral of Agent Weld, the Secret Service agent who was killed. Jerry had someone bring me a new suit. I begged Phillips to take me to the funeral and gravesite.
I was touched when the agent’s widow, Jessica Weld, and six year old twin boys, came up to me after the service – I don’t know how they knew who I was, but I guess the videos of me and my photo – provided by Jerry – on the front page of the Washington Post probably tipped them off – and thanked me for trying to save their husband/father, and asked me to the reception afterword.
I was reluctant to impose – but Jessica was one of the most intriguing people I had ever met, and her kids seemed really friendly. Jessica wasn’t beautiful, didn’t have a big rack or six foot long legs; but there was something ethereal – for lack of a better word – about her that really got to me.
I went to the reception and enjoyed myself as much as possible – considering the purpose. I had great talks with Jessica’s brother Tom and brother-in-law Bill (her husband’s older brother) and subtly pumped them for information about Jessica. She was twenty seven, a big football fan, a school teacher, and loved by everyone who came into contact with her. I played catch with a nerf football (without straining my stitches) in the back yard with her twin boys. I got goodbye hugs from the boys – and Jessica.
Things went really well for me as a result of my saving Melania and her son, and ultimately the two Secret Service agents too. I got four season tickets to Redskins games, a joke (I think) bulletproof vest, a commendation from the President, several civic awards including one that carried a $50,000 stipend with it, and a bonus of $50,00 from Jerry McGuire. Jerry told me that he had dozens of more calls about new business than he ever had in a week before and virtually every potential new client mentioned my situation.
I called up Jessica and asked her if she and the boys wanted to go to a Redskins preseason game with me; see deferred, but her brother Tom and kids were thrilled.
There is only one problem with professional football (and hockey) games these days when you bring kids – drunks in the stands. Of course, there had to be an incident; a drunk guy a row in front of us, who had been making a fool of himself the entire game, pushed a women into the aisle, knocked her down, and then cursed her. Reacting – not thinking about my stitches or that the two kids were there – I grabbed him and cold-cocked him with one punch.
When security arrived it was the strangest thing. No one in the entire section knew how the guy had gotten knocked out. The elderly couple who had put up with his swearing for two quarters told security “I’m sure that he just passed out,” which was quickly seconded by everyone around, including the woman who had been pushed into the aisle – his girlfriend (hopefully she was smart enough to become his ex-girlfriend).
One of the security guards recognized me and shook my hand just before he and his associate dragged the groggy drunk out, followed by his girlfriend who mouthed “Thank you” to me. I then got besieged by autograph requests – the first time since my senior year in college – and the twins and their Uncle Tom thought that it was the coolest thing ever. After I took them to dinner and dropped them off Jessica called my cell phone.
“I understand that you had some excitement – I’ve never seen my kids so animated. They think that you’re Batman,” she chuckled.
“I…I hope that you’re not upset. I’m sorry, I just can’t stand by during something like that. I should have controlled myself more.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize to me about,” she chortled. “The only real concern anyone had is if they could go to another game some time.”
“Definitely – I will call before the first regular season game.”
God, she had a nice voice.
*************
While things went great for me after I left the hospital, they didn’t go well for The Donald. Apparently he bad-mouthed me to the press because I was rude to him – with Melania right there. The way I heard it she stormed off after he badmouthed me and she didn’t even turn around when The Donald called after her. She even commented to a reporter that caught up to her that “Anything that happened was Donald’s fault because Blake told him not to come to his room.”
The Donald was apparently upset that Melania took off and didn’t return, and with the hostile questions that he got from the reporters about his tirade about how rude I was. He went to dinner at a local restaurant, drank too much for the first time during his campaign, got upset with a black waitress and called her “a stupid fucking N- word” reducing her to tears (of course all caught on video).
That was too much even for The Donald to overcome. He resigned and was replaced by John Kasich, someone I could actually vote for. I was sorry that I had given Hilary money, but consoled myself that it was the best thing to do at the time. I wrote Kasich’s campaign a check for $1,000.
I talked to Director Pierson about Agent Weld’s financial situation; she gave me as much information as she could considering the privacy laws. I called Jessica’s brother Tom and asked him about her financial situation. “It’s not bad,” he said, “but not good either since their house was at the high end of what they could afford, and Jessica really doesn’t want to move.”
“If she got an anonymous gift of $25,000, would that help?”
“Hell yes,” he said – “but how would she get it?”
“I don’t know – just asking,” I responded.
I took Jessica’s kids and Tom to the first Redskins real game (fortunately there was no incident). Jessica insisted on having me over for dinner afterword, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Jessica did get $25,000 from a previously unheard of charity. Of course it was from me, but since I’d have to pay gift tax if I gave her the entire amount, I offered to return $12,500 of my bonus to Jerry and he could give it to her. He agreed to combine his $12,500 with mine but refused to accept my return of part of my bonus. However, someone who helped us “anonymously” give it to Jessica screwed up, and she suspected that I was behind it.
I saw Jessica’s number on caller ID. “Hi, Blake Break here,” I answered in a professional voice.
“I can’t accept $25,000 from you, Blake; it’s just not right.”
“What are you talking about,” I replied trying to play dumb.
“You know very well what I’m talking about. I can’t take it.”
“There are no strings attached – if you don’t take it I’ll never take the kids to a game again,” I replied, trying to sound firm but probably not pulling it off. I hoped that she didn’t call my bluff, because I really liked her kids and brother.
“My brother-in-law Bill and his wife are hosting a barbecue on Sunday at 5:00 p.m. Be there and we’ll talk about it then. I’ll text you the address.” Then she hung up.
When I got to the barbecue I was warmly welcomed by everyone except Jessica. Bill pulled me aside. “That was really wonderful of you, Blake – she can use the money to be sure she stays in the house, but she’s afraid of what people will think accepting money from you so soon after my brother, her husband, died.”
“Look, Bill, I just wanted to help. It was money given to me from a civic organization for the incident where your brother was killed, and I thought it only fair that she share in it – it isn’t the entire amount. Please urge her to take it; she wasn’t supposed to know the source, and she doesn’t have to tell anyone. I really wanted it to be anonymous.”
Bill smiled broadly. “Already in the works – me, my wife, and Tom are putting on the full court press—just don’t push her yourself.”
“I’ll steer clear,” I chuckled.
I played with all the kids there, ate a ton, had great talks with many of the adults, and had a really fun time until just before things were shutting down Jessica came up to me. “I’m mad at you Blake.”
“Look, I’m really sorry – I just wanted to share my good fortune and blunt some of your worries. You have enough on your plate now without worrying about money too.”
“You’re trying to endear yourself to me, aren’t you big guy?” she asked with a smirk.
My response surprised her. “If you’re smart enough to figure that out why aren’t you smart enough to take the money?”
I smiled, and turned to leave. I looked over my shoulder – she was gobsmacked – and then I said “By the way, your kids are going with me to the Redskins game next Sunday but Tom can’t make it – you should think about going in his place.”
“Don’t I have any say if the kids are going,” she yelled after me.
I just waved without looking back.
Bill called me that night. “The entire family is thrilled that you’ve taken an interest in Jessica and the boys. I hope that you’re patient, because she probably won’t want a romantic relationship for at least another six months – she feels that she’d dishonor her husband’s memory even though – I have to be honest with you about this – they didn’t have the best marriage.”
“I’m patient,” I chuckled, “and also really interested in her. I’ll just hang around until the time’s right.”
“I’d like that,” he chortled, then hung up.
Jessica went with me to the game. I saw her and the boys at least weekly. Whenever I could see her, usually using the kids as an excuse, I did. She opened up a little more each time, and obviously enjoyed my company. I knew that she was attracted to me and she was worth the wait. I was completely smitten.
I made up my mind to be patient with Jessica but I was definitely going after her once she was ready.
*************
Even though Jessica was worth the wait I was a horny healthy male under thirty, so my thoughts roamed all over the place; plus – after the well- publicized Melania incident I really didn’t have any trouble getting dates.
I thought back on Melania fondly, but knew that nothing would come of my interaction with her, not even the dinner she mentioned the last time that we talked.
During the last week of October, close to election time, I got a call from an area code 212 number that I didn’t recognize.
“Hi Blake, what are you doing on Halloween – the bewitching night,” said this sexy Eastern European-accented voice.
“Melania?” I asked.
“How did you know,” she chuckled.
“Wild guess – say how are you doing?”
We chatted for five or ten minutes like old friends. Then she said “The reason for my call was that I promised to do something nice for you, Blake.”
“Yeah, dinner; but it will be expensive,” I chuckled.
“Well – actually – I’m going to be in D. C. on Halloween night at the Four Seasons in a suite on the 8th floor. I’d like you to reserve a room that night on a different floor; I’d like to visit you there to talk, say about 8 p. m.”
I almost fainted, both because of what she was implying and because all of my blood rushed to my dick.
“Uh…yeah…I’d like that,” I mumbled. Remembering back on our earlier conversations I asked “Can you get away OK?”
“No more Secret Service and I have arranged how to easily ditch my personal secretary and the stupid bodyguard Donald wants around me. So no Blake, there will be no problem getting away. But you won’t just ‘like’ it. I promise that you’ll love it. Here’s my private cellphone number, xxx-xxx-xxxx. Just text me the room number – nothing else – from a burner phone as soon as you get into your room. Can’t wait…” Then she ended the call.
I immediately made a reservation at the Four Seasons for Halloween night and told them “Any floor except the 8th,” which was no problem. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. I thought something would occur to screw it up, or it would turn out to be a cruel joke, or some other weird-ass thing. However, there was no way that I was not going through with it in case it was real.
I actually took the day off Monday the 31st; of course I told no one about what I hoped was going to happen that night. I weightlifted, got a massage, took a nap, and even scored a couple of little blue pills in case all the stars aligned and it turned out to be an all-nighter.
When I checked into the hotel about 7 p. m. after a light dinner, on my recently purchased burner phone I texted Melania’s private number “404,” of course my room number. Only a couple of minutes later I got back “8pm.”
I was as nervous as I’d ever been. Not only was Melania by far the hottest woman that I had ever been around, but she was married, and famous. I never had sex with either a married or famous woman before. I did deep breathing exercises just like it was before the college football championship game, and calmed down. There was a knock at the door at 7:58. I couldn’t believe it – Melania was actually standing there when I opened it; and dressed as a sexy witch.
I must have been slack-jawed because she laughed and asked “Are you going to invite me in, or are you scared of witches?”
“Uh…sorry…uh…sure,” I stammered, moving aside. Even though there was plenty of room she brushed into contact with me.
“Please take off that hideous mask,” she said with a straight face and then laughed her ass off when I became slack-jawed again. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist a little Halloween fun,” she chuckled.
I offered her a drink. “Just Perrier,” she replied with an evil smile. “I want my wits and senses about me.”
I gulped.
We sat close to, but not touching each other, while we sipped our French bubbly water. I was shocked to find out how much she knew about me. Some of her comments were “I thought it was so sweet that you gave $25,000 to the widow of Agent Weld;” “Jessica Weld’s boys are really cute, aren’t they, and they so look up to you;” “You know you couldn’t do better with a life mate than Jessica – I hope that you’re patient and will wait until she’s ready,” “I understand that you helped sign up a half dozen more football players for your agency – you must be doing well.”
After each of her statements I asked myself “How in the fuck did she know that?” I never asked her, however.
Once we were finished with our Perriers Melania got this really diabolical look on her face, threw the bottle on the floor, stood up and said “Enough chit-chat. I came here to fuck, not talk.” With that she pulled one ribbon on her dress and the whole fucking thing fell off, revealing her consummate body.
I swear that even though she looked different, she looked just as good as she did when she was modelling in those European magazines in her twenties. “You’re fucking awesome,” I blurted out, sure that I was drooling.
“Enough talk – action!” she said as she approached me.
Not only was the woman a stone cold fox, but she was a sexual dynamo. It was only five minutes after she said “action” that we were in a sixty nine on top of the covers of the king size bed in my room. Her pussy was as beautiful as she was – and so fucking sensitive I couldn’t believe it.
She seemed to really like to suck my cock since once she started it never left her mouth – except when she was screaming through the orgasm I gave her by fingering her G-spot while tonguing her clit. However, I didn’t want to waste a load in her mouth, so when I felt my balls boiling I broke away from her, laid her on her back, put her heels on my shoulders, and buried myself in one thrust as she moaned “Oh fuck, yes,” and then started what appeared to me to be cursing in Slovenian.
God I loved her pussy; and looking down at her beautiful face and bouncing tits I didn’t last long. As I jettisoned what seemed like a liter of cum into her while groaning like a butchered hog, she bit my arm to muffle her scream as she shook so hard in orgasm that if I didn’t outweigh her by 120 pounds we would have been jettisoned off the bed.
What there was little of that night was talking and sleeping, although there was some of both.
What there was a lot of that night was fucking and sucking.
We fucked in every position that any human except a contortionist could fuck in, including some that I didn’t think were possible, especially the one in the shower where I had her lifted up with her facing the wall and me entering her from behind and below her. I took both of the little blue pills I brought with me because after the third orgasm I would have been spent otherwise, and she got me to six – a personal record that I’m sure will never be broken.
Melania had at least twenty orgasms – I’m surprised that her nervous system didn’t short out.
At least she had the wherewithal to set an alarm for 7:00 a. m., before the hotel halls would be crawling with people. We were both half asleep when it went off, with me spooning her and mauling her tits even though I was only semi-conscious.
We took another shower together, but we both were too spent – and my cock and her pussy (and asshole) too sore – to fuck again.
I gave her a robe to wear since she didn’t want to put the costume back on. “Keep the costume as a souvenir,” she cackled. I didn’t object.
She pulled a pair of sunglasses out of a clutch that I didn’t even recognize that she had the night before. Just before she put the sunglasses on and slinked out into the hall she kissed me deeply. “Was that a suitable thank you Blake Break?”
“Are you kidding me,” I snarled, “I’ll never forget this night even if I get dementia. You’re a fucking goddess, and a goddess at fucking; a modern day Aphrodite.” Then I kissed her again. “I am so happy to have saved you!”
“That wasn’t just for saving me – it was for your part in getting Donald out of the race. I never wanted him to run in the first place.”
That shocked me, but the smile on my face wouldn’t leave.
“Thank you for a truly wonderful time – you’re not the only one who will never forget this night,” she said with a smile. After one more kiss she was gone.
I collapsed in bed suddenly noticing that the sheets were wet and stained. I called work and told them not to expect me, set the alarm for 10:50 (ten minutes before checkout time), curled up in a blanket and fell asleep with visions of Aphrodite/ Melania dancing through my
