Chapter 16

Chapter 16

More time passed, and with it the campaign only ramped up from the cash injection that was thanks to Reagan’s efforts at the fundraising dinner. Along with it, Reagan was required to spend more and more time perfecting his feminine persona. It all led up to the preparations for an interview with “A Woman’s Work…” magazine, a stable in the households of conservative women, with a pretentious ellipsis in its name.

That afternoon in Reagan’s condo the feminized candidate felt queasy. While his domicile had grown increasingly feminine over the previous several months, at that particular moment it was so saccharin sweet it should have come with a nausea warning. Autumn fragrances filled the air, as dry potpourri rested in small oil filled dishes on almost any open surface, meanwhile the aroma of fresh chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven wafted from the kitchen. Seated on one side of the coffee table was an elderly woman, dressed somehow older than her sixty-plus years. She wore a brocade two-piece suit, consisting of a dress and jacket, with matching gold shoes, and little white gloves. Every part of her, from her outfit, to her bubble hairdo, to the way she sat upright, pin-straight, knees together, legs crossed at the ankles, with her purse resting in her lap, and her hands gently on top, painted a picture of a woman who just stepped out of a time machine from a tea luncheon fundraiser for one candidate Richard Milhouse Nixon.

Sitting across from her was a different candidate, Reagan Esen Demir, who seemed equally out of time, matching posture, and poise, but instead he seemed to be doing his best June Cleaver

impersonation. He was dressed in a simple pink, short-sleeved, a-line dress with a small built-in petticoat, accented with a cream belt, and matching Cuban-heeled pumps. The outfit didn’t look absurdly anachronistic, but with the pearl jewelry at the neck and ears, it was clear the picture Reagan’s stylist, who also happened to be his campaign manager, was trying to paint. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn Eva seemed to prefer the former duty to the latter. She’d even curled his hair again, only this time the look seemed more structured and severe than the fun flirty waves she created that night he first met with her brother.

“I must say, Miss Demir, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived, but I’m pleasantly surprised. That roast was to die for. You must give me the recipe. You know it’s quite the honor to have your dish featured in A Woman’s Work… magazine.”

Just a few moments prior the two were standing over a serving dish, prepared for the customary photospread that would accompany the article. Mrs. Beauford, the journalist, couldn’t help but allow herself a little indulgence, as she enjoyed a smaller second helping, while her subject posed in front of the oven in a starched white apron. Normally she would have started the interview by that point, but she was too distracted by the anticipation of the delicious confection just minutes away.

Sensing the tension in the air, the experienced writer tried to break the ice. “You know Miss Demir, our magazine has traditionally endorsed republican candidates, so I’ve interviewed my fair share of candidates, and a small army of candidates’ wives. If you’d have asked me just yesterday, I’d have told you I’d probably be walking into a den of sin, but I must say, you’ve created quite the lovely little home here.”

Before she could continue a timer went off, forcing Reagan to hurry to the kitchen as fast as his clicky heels would carry him. When the blonde returned, he was carrying three small plates, remembering the cameraman silently snapping photos, something Mrs Beauford noted. Most people treated them like furniture, but she genuinely believed it was a lady’s duty to provide hospitality first and foremost, leaving things such as status for outside the home.

“You know,” she began to whisper, the way some older women do when gossiping, even if the offended party was a hundred miles out of earshot, “some of these ladies, if you can call them that, spend their time at home in sweatpants. Now, I understand that it’s normal for women to work now. Lord knows I had to pick up a pen to make ends meet when my husband passed back in ‘83, but that didn’t mean I had to give up my femininity. The image we present to the world is important after all. Fortunately, I had a little skill with the quill from my days at the junior college newspaper, so I decided to use my gifts to help remind women how to be women. Transgender or not, I must say you require no lessons. In fact it seems I could learn a thing or two from you.”

The elderly woman rested her hand on Reagan’s offering comfort for what she assumed must be a hard life. Reagan smiled kindly in return, placing his hand on top of hers, saying, “Thank you very much. Let me get these plates into the dishwasher, and then we can get started.” and with that he was off.

Once he crossed that threshold, and the door swung closed behind him, Reagan could finally allow the facade to fall, but he’d drilled that pristine smile so hard, it hurt his face to relax. It was normal for a politician to sell a bag of lies to the media, but somehow this particular interview required more preparation than any other he’d ever faced.

The exquisitely feminine decorations were all chosen, and placed by his eager interns. Eva, and his time spent playing her Barbie created the look, though he only had to sit there. Even the meal was prepared by Elias’ loyal assistant, Kenneth, who’d learned to create the dish perfectly at his boss’ request. That kind of devotion was something Reagan wished for in his own people, but for whatever reason, when the petite feminine twenty-something displayed those traits, he trusted him that much less. By the time he realized Kenneth probably saw him as competition, Reagan was offended to think that the little twerp even believed he had a chance at the elder Arnoult. If the feminized politician realized he was internally competing for his boyfriend’s time and affection with the man’s secretary, it might well have killed him.

‘The little twat even had the gall to leave instructions by the cookie dough tray.’ Reagan cursed under his breath.

The note simply read, “Put it in the oven for seven minutes. Do not overcook.”

‘Of course I’m going to put it in the oven.’ the would-be housewife complained to nobody. ‘Did the little princess think I was going to throw them out the window?’

Reagan glared hard enough at the note that it might very well have burst into flame on a less humid day, as he read over it a second time. The entire thing was insulting.

While the little bowtie wearing boy might not have hated the nickname, “little princess” it may have fit the person dishing it out all the more. The culinary skills might have been fudged, but all of the knowledge required to measure up to A Woman’s Work… magazine’s notoriously high standard couldn’t be faked. Once again Reagan read flashcard after flashcard, cramming every cleaning tip, centerpiece design, meal planning instruction, and seasonal decorating idea the periodical had to offer in its thirty years of publication. Once again he was drowning in a sea of the makings of a conservative woman, the kind that only really existed in ideal - a woman republicans might actually vote for. The only comfort he could find in the whole thing was that Ryan was **** to suffer with him, playing the tutor just like he had during their previous fashion lesson.

Ryan’s suffering certainly wasn’t comfort enough. Regardless of the planned end to their scheme, Reagan felt himself being pulled, kicking and screaming, into the kind of feminine world he thought better suited his sister, and it was beginning to feel like there might be no escape. Once again he found himself ruminating on the matter when he realized he’d left guests waiting. Quickly he hurried back into the living room and found his seat.

“I do apologize. I was briefly distracted. Now, where were we?”

“No bother, dear.” the woman replied with a warm smile. “If you’re ready, I’ll proceed with my first question. From here on out everything is on the record.”

“I understand. Please proceed.”

“Before your transition you were quite public about your opinions on a woman’s role in a functional relationship. How has that changed since your “coming out” as they say?”

Reagan took a moment to pause, and ponder the question. His thoughts drifted back to those first few weeks after the banquet, when the taste of Elias Arnoult seemed permanently stuck to his lips. In the aftermath of the show he was **** into putting on, he would have preferred to never set eyes on the man playing the role of his beau again, but Eva had basically glued the two together during any off time they shared.

Any time Reagan would open his day planner, there would be another night out with the tech bro, dancing, or whatever other “cute” activity Eva could dream up, and thrust her boss into, right in the public eye. Each and every outing served its purpose as yet another photo opportunity. One night, Elias even chartered a flight to New York City where they spent the evening catching a Broadway show.

There was little chance of bumping into either of his older sisters, Heather and Victoria, while there, but the idea of running into either, or worse, Heather's family, his two nephews included, added a distraction to the trip. It was a ridiculous concern when he didn’t even think about running into his younger sister, Caroline, and they lived in the same state.

Overall Reagan found the experience of being courted incredibly humiliating. Entering a dining room, his unwanted cleavage on display for all to see was bad enough, especially since he was expected to puff his chest out, like he was proud of the new assets he’d been saddled with. It wasn’t until their fourth outing that he began to notice just how infantile he was being treated. Every time the public couple entered a room the feminized politician would feel Elias’ palm resting on the small of his back, steering him around as though he couldn’t see where he was going. A few times though, reluctantly, Reagan had to admit to himself that it did help to have the much taller man help him navigate an escape from a suffocating crowd.

It didn’t take very long for the young politician to have danced enough for a lifetime, and in heels to boot. One particular Friday evening, several weeks later, when Eva was going over his schedule, and the proposition of another Friday out at the club was suggested, the exhausted blonde looked like he might cry.

“I just need some time off my feet, Eva.” he pleaded, seemingly forgetting the catchphrase that got him through college, “Sleep is for the weak.”

“You know you’re absolutely right, Reah. We’ve been running you ragged these past few weeks, and I’d say the public is thoroughly enraptured by your new amorous connection. Perhaps it’s time your relationship moved on to a more private phase. Tonight, your driver will be taking you straight home.” Eva made the necessary adjustments to the schedule and then excused herself. “I’ve got to make a quick phone call.”

The entire conversation felt odd. It was like Eva was speaking to him as though he was her employee instead of the other way around. He dismissed it, knowing how easily she could get caught up in her job. Of course Reagan shouldn’t have felt surprised when he arrived at his condominium to find the lights already on, and Kenneth bustling around the kitchen. Waiting in the foyer, his conscripted beau took his coat, and offered a welcoming embrace, and a kiss on the cheek.

‘Those damn paparazzi could still be outside, I guess.’ Reagan wondered, allowing the little act of affection to pass without comment. ‘Though, I haven’t seen a flashbulb in weeks. Oh well, Arnoult seems like a thoroughly competent man, so he must know something I don’t. He’s clearly got a good head on his shoulders. That acquisition deal he was working on rocketed the share price at his firm. I’ll just follow his lead. Still, I think I would have liked some time to myself for a change.’

That thought left his mind just as quickly, as the aroma of roasting chicken pulled him to the kitchen, like a cartoon hobo floating towards a pie on a windowsill.

After a satisfying meal, one only soured by the occasional sideways glance thrown his way from Elias’ assistant, Reagan retired to the couch, kicking his heels off into the floor. The brunette man found a seat beside him, leaving Kenneth to dine in the kitchen alone, before cleaning up.

When Elias took Reagan’s feet into his hands, the skirted blonde’s first impulse was to yank them away, but the relaxing pressure of his pamperer’s firm hands, one massaging the beleaguered foot, tortured by another day in those horribly impractical shoes, and the other working his tense calf, the exhausted senate-hopeful could hardly put up a fight. He could only ask one simple question.

“Why are you doing this?”

The words were somehow moaned rather than given a proper voice. Elias took this as a sign of a job well done and continued his labor in earnest.

“Because you deserve it. You’ve been working so hard on the campaign these past few weeks. Clearly this helps take some of the strain off that worn out little body of yours.”

Reagan shot a glare across the sofa to his pretend partner. The “little body” comment caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand for a moment, but without the energy to follow through, the waves of pleasure radiating from his tender muscles won out. His thoughts drifted back to world history, where he remembered the professor giving a lesson. He spoke about men cleaning, and massaging other men’s feet as a sign of respect and humility, and how it was an excellent example of cultural relativism. He knew Elias was a well travelled man, and well versed in the ways of the world.

Reagan thought to himself, ‘Say what you will about Eva’s brother, but the man certainly knows his place. He’s perhaps the only one in on this whole charade who I don’t constantly have to remind who’s in charge.’

Deciding to reward the man’s loyalty, Reagan threw him a bone. “You know, from what I’ve seen, you work hard too. You deserve a little something nice from time to time, yourself.”

“Tell that to the leaches who are trying to drain me for all I’m worth at that union vote next month. If the measure succeeds, I’m looking at a five percent dip in profits for the quarter, not to mention a drop in my share price. They say I’m acting like a King, just because I expect them to maintain a strict break schedule the way I do. If you have bladder problems, then maybe that’s just not the job for you, you know? Am I telling them how to live their lives? I think not. They’re free to leave and look for another job whenever they wish.”

For the first time since their meeting, Reagan saw Elias’ face fall. The man clearly had his own struggles to deal with outside of the campaign. He knew the weight of being responsible for so many people, and those people in turn being the model of ungraciousness. Elias had done nothing but impress him up to this point, throwing himself into the role he was given, and all for the greater good. The feminized man had a feeling he didn’t have very often - empathy. He was used to lifting people’s spirits in masse, through speeches and the like, but on a one-on-one basis, it was unheard of for him to try what came next. He pulled himself upright, and tried to make a joke.

“But you’re such a benevolent ruler, my king.” he said with a flourish of the hand, and a slight bow of the head.

“King Consort might be a better title, my queen, for it is you who I serve above all.” Elias answered back, the playful grin Reagan had grown accustomed to returned. “How are those feet feeling?”

“Perfect.” Regan replied, melting back into the couch, a grin creeping to the corner of his lips as he stretched his arms high above his head. “Now, if only you could do something about my back”

“Your wish is my command.”

Before Reagan had time to react, Elias had scooped one arm underneath him, and flipped the pretty man over, straddling his lap. Reagan’s expression of shock did nothing to mask the outrage he felt, but his unwanted cuddle partner took it as more playful than anything.

Once again, Reagan went to speak, but he was once again interrupted by the expert hands of his beard, this time working deeply into the small of his back. Every muscle in his body went limp, and for the first time in months, the politician felt truly relaxed, whether he wanted to or not. Elias moved from knot to knot, working each out with the kind of attention mothers reserve for newborn babies. Reagan was a puddle in the taller man’s lap, his breast pressed against Elias’ pecs, and his prettily made-up face on the starched shoulder of the pristine white button-up he wore. He was asleep in no time.

A few hours later, Elias had sat still, stroking his fingers through Reagan’s hair, while the object of his affection drooled cutely on his shirt. Carefully he was able to lift the sleeping beauty without disturbance and carry him all the way to the bedroom. After tucking Reagan in, it was only the gentle kiss on the forehead where he took it just a step too far.

Reagan awoke, though not entirely, blinking through day old mascara. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Almost two.” Elias replied.

“Well, you can’t leave now then. It wouldn’t make sense.”

The fog barely lifted, but Reagan still worried about appearances above all else. If the tabloids caught the young Mr. Arnoult leaving at such an odd hour, the story of a couple's spat could dominate the news when he really needed people focusing on his platform this late in the race, and nothing else.

“There’s plenty of room here. Get some sleep. Oh, and get Kenneth to pick up breakfast in the morning, and bring it here. That way we can sleep in.” Reagan might not have trusted the twink, but he was certainly taking him as a given by that point.

“I like the way you think.” Elias replied, standing up from the bedside.

Reagan imagined his beard making his way to the sofa, and getting comfy for the night, so eyes still closed, he patted himself on the back for a job well done, and allowed himself to drift back off. What he didn’t expect was the rush of cold air that came when the covers were drawn, and his best friend’s brother crawled into bed to join him.

A chill shivered down Reagan’s spine, but ever the dutiful partner, Elias swooped in and wrapped his arms around his new cuddle buddy, warming him instantly. Reagan wanted to protest, but the pleasant heat radiating from his bedmate won out, and sleep came again quickly, before he had time to argue with the sandman.

Reagan had one last thought before sleep took him, “We’ll have to discuss this in the morning.” but there never was a good time to bring it up. Sitting in the interview chair, Reagan realized he never did. Elias was gone in the morning, and in his place sat a bagel, and a hand written note, though clearly with the loopy strokes of the accursed Kenneth, which explained that the jet-setting executive had to jetset off to push another merger deal over the finish line. Reagan just never found the time to bring it up again.

After that quick contemplation Reagan’s mind returned to the present, and he answered the question left hanging in the air. “No, my opinion hasn’t changed. I pamper my man. It’s my role after all. He comes first, always. Cooking, cleaning, it’s my duty after all. Taking care of Elias, AND saving the country from the tax-and-spend liberals is all in a day’s work.”

“Wonderful to hear!” Mrs. Beauford gushed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now for this next question, I must apologize in advance, but you know how young ladies typically behave these days. It’s a bit risqué for my taste, but if we wish to stay in publication we must cater to the younger generation. Now then, from what we’ve all seen in the news, it seems you and Mr. Arnoult have become quite the power couple. Not to sound insensitive, but he’s the kind of man who could have any choice of woman, but he’s chosen you… and given your complicated uh… situation… Well, it’s just very surprising. People want to know what you do to keep a man like that interested.”

The elderly woman tapped the end of her pencil on her glittering notepad, and gazed at Reagan expectedly. She seemed far more interested in the question than she cared to admit to herself, or anybody else for that matter. It was only when she saw Reagan’s tormented expression that she realized her error. “I’m sorry, was that insensitive? I truly didn’t mean to imply you’re somehow less-than.”

It wasn’t that transphobic question that had Reagan spooked, but rather, in that moment, the last two months of his unwanted relationship hit him all at once.

Reagan had fantasized about exhibitionism from time to time, but it was always him, thrusting his hips, pressing some pretty little thing against a two-way mirror, with god knows who on the other side. What he didn’t think was that in his first foray he’d be the pretty thing, giving his “boyfriend” fellacio while the largest individual campaign donor he could have at his back watched on like a creepy lustful uncle. After their performance, Reagan hoped the topic would never be broached again, and a month later he was beginning to actually believe he might just get his way, that is until one Sunday afternoon.

Gifted with a day without obligation or event, Reagan stood before his vanity mirror and examined his reflection. Usually eager to keep his schedule full, exhaustion from the campaign had the feminized man excited by the prospect of doing nothing. It was a day where there would be no interviews, no press conferences, no traveling, and most of all, no heels and makeup. When it came time to get dressed that morning, he had but one requirement - he was going to wear pants.

The shorts Reagan first wore on the day of his makeover were an option, but the growing chill in the air had him thinking twice. There was a solitary pair of jeans that Eva had yet to find an occasion for, but after squeezing his growing thighs into them, they were basically painted on, so sitting comfortably, let alone just sitting, wasn’t really an option in the garment. Eventually he settled on a simple pair of black yoga pants.

When Reagan saw a woman in yoga pants before, it didn’t matter how attractive she was, she instantly became a five if she shamelessly strolled out of the house in “pajamas” as he dubbed them. Now, egged on by what felt like an eternity in skirts, suddenly an exception could be made. The black elasticized pants were just as tight as those blue jeans, but somehow once they were in place, it was like he was wearing nothing at all. Reagan might have attempted a backhand spring right there if not for fear of a broken neck.

After that, normally it would be time for a bra, but Reagan was set on a break from his feminine prison, so he left his girls, a term that still brought a sick taste to his mouth, hanging loose while he hunted for an old t-shirt. Unfortunately the ample weight pulling at his back and shoulders had other plans in mind. Reluctantly he decided to compromise with himself, something he was becoming quite accustomed to, and he fished out a little white cami with a built-in shelf bra.

Instantly he felt better, but now his breasts faced forward prominently once again, refusing to be ignored. When he finally did find a simple white t-shirt, he was disappointed when he noticed it was a few sizes too big, at least that’s what he thought, but the little piece of cloth was supposed to be baggy, and the way it draped off one shoulder was by design.

Once dressed in that outfit, his hair pulled back from his face by a black headband, with not a spec of warpaint, Reagan was **** to face what he had become. Even without the hours spent in the beautician's chair, he still could hardly recognize himself. The lipflip, and microblading transformed his features far more than he’d have ever thought possible, as had the steady flow of feminine hormones coursing through his body. The cute casual outfit, the glistening sparkle of his diamond stud earrings, and the way he now stood in a feminine pose without having to think about it - he hardly recognized himself anymore. It was obvious that mascara and lipstick weren’t the things that made him look like a woman. He did that all on his own.

“What’s got you stressed, my queen?” a voice asked, startling the dazed politician. For a moment, Reagan almost forgot that he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t been alone for quite some time.

Ever since Eva’s proclamation on the next phase of his “relationship” if Elias and Reagan had mutual availability, they were together in that condo, watching police procedurals, and being waited on hand and foot by the mouthy twink Reagan was growing to loathe more and more by the day. The giant never went home anymore, and was sleeping in his bed almost every night.

Elias pulled himself from under the covers, and strolled over to the mirror, standing behind the vision of beauty he felt lucky to have. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Not unless you can make me look like somebody else entirely” Reagan spat back, a little more venom in his words than he intended.

Elias was no stranger to queer relationships, and he knew that some transwomen, even ones as breathtakingly gorgeous as the one he was fortunate enough to share a bed with, suffered from dysphoria. The disconnect between how they felt, and what they saw in the mirror could be debilitating. He was impressed Reah hadn’t let it get her down any more than it had, especially transitioning under the judgmental public eye, something he was certain she would have rather kept private.

He went to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, only to be met with rejection, when she shrugged him off violently, shouting, “Get the fuck off of me!”

Clearly miffed, the man spat back, “God, Reah, I’m just trying to help. One minute you’re hot, another you’re ice cold. One minute we’re having the time of our lives, and another, I’d almost swear you hated me. You know, I get that this is hard for you, and I try to be as supportive as I can, but just a reminder, I’m a living breathing person as well, and I also have needs. If you can’t be the person to meet them, then perhaps we should just call this here, and go our separate ways before…”

As good as the busty blonde was at talking, listening had never really been a strength. The moment he heard Elias talk about needs, he knew exactly what the man was talking about. He too had unfulfilled needs, though with the scant few erections he’d been able to get since that devilish hormonal implant was installed were essentially useless, unable to sustain until he was capable of finishing. As much as he loathed the thing, at least he didn’t have the same unyielding arousal that was a constant before. When he realized the same couldn’t be said for Elias, Reagan was amazed they’d managed to keep the beard on in the role for as long as they had.

“...Reah, are you even listening?” the bearded man asked, snapping his fingers in Reagan’s face, pulling him back to reality from his racing anxieties. “I’m just gonna go…”

In an instant the tape played through for Reagan. Elias was going to leave, and even if he was lucky enough to not have their scheme outed, the tabloid fallout would surely sink him this close to the election. Every decision made had been to paint a picture for the people of Florida - the picture of a normal, stable, loveable American woman. An extremely public bad breakup would do just the opposite.

“Wait, wait, wait…!” Reagan cried, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. That had been happening more and more in recent times, and if not for the sense of urgency in that moment, he might have gouged them out to never have to deal with it again. “I can’t do this without you. Normally, I’d have no problem going it alone, but since you’ve come into my life, well… I can’t get rid of you…You’ve got me over a barrel.”

Elias turned back and met eyes with the woman he’d fallen in love with. He knew Reagan was the type who struggled to open up with anyone. It wasn’t always a bad thing. The way she always spoke in metaphor could be adorable from time to time. It was the single trait that probably helped her to remain one of the few truly scandal-free politicians of the era.

He’d play the game with her, and that’s how the two developed such a famous report. It was how they’d grown so fond of each other so quickly. Even so, they were at a moment of truth in their relationship, and if he wanted to hang on to this girl, he knew now was the time to be explicitly clear.

“I know you need me, but sometimes it feels like you don’t want me. I understand you’ve got campaign obligations, and issues with your body right now, and I’ll support you through all that, but sometimes I just need to feel like you want me. If you could just show me that sometimes then I’ll be satisfied. I know I can’t ask for more than that, but also, I can’t ask for less.”

‘Of course!’ Reagan shouted in his mind, hit with his own eureka moment. ‘He can’t risk getting caught with another woman, so he’s basically trapped with me. He must not have cum in weeks. No wonder there was so much after the uhh…performance…’

Reagan’s thoughts raced at a million miles an hour as he weighed the pros and cons of the situation, trying to make an informed decision on how to proceed.

‘Okay, so he wants more blowjobs I guess, and he wants me to play the part. He does know I’m not gay right? I mean, I guess it wouldn’t matter to him. It isn’t an unfair ask. We never did discuss compensation, and once I learned how much money he was bringing in, that’s when I realized he was mainly doing this to get me elected. My policies would greatly behoove his company after all. I guess he does expect another form of compensation, at least until he’s freed from our fake relationship’s shackles. I mean, that’s really not asking too much, is it? Fuuuuck! Would I ask for the same? Reagan, what are you going to do? How about…’

Elias watched his girlfriend freeze up. He could see the anguish on her face, as she struggled to get a sound out of her mouth. A couple seconds went by, and it was weird. Around half a minute, he was done. She’d finally exhausted all her chances, or so he thought.

“I’m just gonna go.” Elias said, starting to leave.

Reagan knew Elias was serious. All of the work they’d done was about to be tossed out the window. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he didn’t have any more time to think so he just acted instead.

“Hey wait…” he shouted, grabbing Elias by the wrist before he could finish turning away. “...my King…” A panicked smile plastered itself onto Reagan’s lips, and his pleading eyes met Elias’, refusing to break contact.

Instantly Elias Arnoult felt more guilt than he ever had at any point in his life before. He loved this woman more than anything, and he was about to leave her crying over a stupid little tiff.

“Reah, you don’t have to…”

Reagan pressed a finger to the man’s lips. ‘I know the game now and the cost of it.’ he thought, steeling his nerves for the humiliation to come. “No, I want to.”

The petite blonde leapt as high as his plump little legs would carry him, and wrapped them tightly around his conscripted boyfriend’s waist, while his arms braced for the impact of the two colliding with the unmade bed. Still meeting eyes, he felt his stomach turn, but a little queasiness wasn’t going to stop him from achieving his goals. He knew right then that if he needed to suck a thousand dicks to make it to the White House, he’d have had them form a line, and he’d do his best not to throw up along the way.

At least this one man wasn’t entirely unreasonable. He was fun to talk to, and the meals that came along with him were to die for. A thought entered his mind, one he could never have predicted just a year prior.

‘There are worse dicks to suck.’

Reagan closed his eyes, held his breath, puckered his lips, and with nobody watching but the two people in that room, he kissed his boyfriend like he meant it. Elias’ tongue entered his mouth, and the two explored each other. Reagan tried to divorce his thoughts from the person attached to that mouth, and just let the experience happen. He could go somewhere else. He could be making out with any number of sexy ladies he brought home from the bar. At least he tried to do that until the very beard he’d told the man to grow would tickle his face, reminding the girly man that those lips couldn’t belong to anybody else.

After that his tactics changed. If he couldn’t go somewhere else, Reagan would have to approach this like another project he’d prove he was best at. He’d make sure Elias would never demand to feel wanted again. He’d show him, for sure.

Reagan felt Elias grinding, pressing his standing member into his own limp package, tucked safely away between his legs. He reached down with his long manicured nails, and took the long phallus between his five digits. He pumped the thing up and down furiously, causing his partner to wince, and grab him by the wrist.

“Careful, Reah.” Elias said with a chuckle. “It feels good, but I think we need a little lube” If he needed to feel wanted, the girl’s hurt expression did that in spades. He almost felt guilty for stopping her, but the wounds she was bound to leave behind would have taken future escapades off the table for some time to come.

‘I give an inch, he takes a mile.’ Reagan thought to himself, wringing his hands together. ‘You want more lube, I’ll give it to you.’

“Anything for you, my king.” the little blonde in the tight yoga pants said. With all of the dignity of a future US senator, he spit as gracefully as he could muster on the member, and then took it into his mouth in its entirety. He only gagged a little as the firm head made contact with the back of his throat, even. It was a true “rip off the band-aid” moment for the man, quickly becoming educated in the art of giving head. When Elias finally exploded in his mouth, Reagan swallowed it down with the same pride he felt scoring the winning goal in a game of water polo.

‘Tell me you want to feel wanted, I’ll make you feel more wanted than anyone ever has before, then you can’t leave.’

Reagan almost picked up his phone right there, to brag to his campaign manager that he’d just solved another crisis before it got out of hand, all without her help. The one thing that stopped him was the realization that Eva probably didn’t want to hear those things about her brother. It was a disturbing thought that he even considered bragging about being intimate with a man, but Reagan told himself that other politicians had done worse for less.

After that, the two fell back asleep in the early morning, in a sweaty pile, Elias stroking his fingers through Reagan’s hair, while Reagan’s dainty hand gripped Elias’ shrinking genitals like he owned them, seemingly unable to let go.

“Miss Demir, are you okay?” Mrs. Beaufort asked, startling Reagan from his thousand-yard stare, where he realized his fist was balled tightly, and his long fingernails were digging into his palm.

“Yes, I’m fine… What was the question again?”

“Don’t worry, dear, I shouldn’t have asked that. You know, I don’t think it’s worth sacrificing our principles to gain readership. We can leave that question, and perhaps I could phrase this a different way. How did you two fall in love?”

‘Love?!’ Reagan scoffed to himself. What did that word even mean? He certainly loved what Elias did for him. Their fake relationship landed him the interview with one of the leading conservative print periodicals left in the country.

Certainly he appreciated the man though. If he was **** to spend all his private time with one person there were so many worse options. The two shared a sense of humor, they had similar values, and after standing on the outside edge of conservative circles as a tokenized checkbox for LGBTQ acceptance, Reagan found himself empathizing with the man in a way he rarely did with anybody, let alone “some queer”.

As often happened though, the truth would only strike a glancing blow, and eventually he’d yet again convince himself that he couldn’t wait to be rid of the only person he was ever certain was happy to see him since the day the campaign was hacked.

To Reagan it wasn’t like Elias was doing all this from the goodness of his own heart. The man had made his expected payment extremely clear, and the Senate hopeful had made sure not to leave any outstanding debts. Any time Elias touched him, he would spring into action. First a kiss, just the way he knew Elias liked. Then he’d touch his crotch, and wait for the invitation of the swell that rose up underneath the fabric.

The first few times they kissed, Reagan felt like he could vomit right then, but by the tenth he couldn’t be bothered to care. His mind dwelled on the far more challenging task that lay ahead. Understanding reward required effort, the only way to minimize the time he spent with a dick in his mouth was to get good at it. One can only **** so much on the burning reflux that comes with gagging repetitively in quick succession before turning to the internet for some pointers.

A type-a gold star student, on the first occasion that Reagan wasn’t on the road campaigning, and Elias was off on his own business, he sat on his bed with his laptop, note-pad in hand, watching both instructional videos, as well as some more pornographic demonstrations.

Ready to ace the quiz, Reagan beamed with the same kind of overinflated cockiness he brought to his golf game. He’d crammed all the facts he thought he’d need, and he still had the rest of the evening to himself. He realized the videos were pretty hot when he could finally divorce them from his pseudo-academic endeavor. He also realized it had been quite some time since he’d performed his scheduled masturbation. The thought of sexual pleasure for himself disappeared for a time, and he was back to a place he hadn’t been since before puberty without realizing it. It’s no wonder his speech writing skills had seemed to reach a new level. Still, at that moment, he had one thing on his mind.

He restarted the last video that was playing, and gripped his shaft while he watched the vivacious redhead continue to demonstrate her skills on a glossy pink dildo. For the first time in what felt like the entirety of all space and time before it, Reagan’s shrunken cock stirred to life, and began to swell a little. It was solid enough that he actually managed to hold it in the palm of his hand, no longer inhibited by the talons. The practice on Elias’ member turned out to be a boon for himself as well.

The tension rose, as the girl began to show off, engulfing the artificial penis like she was swallowing a sword a renaissance fair. It was hot, and Reagan knew it, but regardless his little-engine-that-could lost steam. No matter how furiously he pumped, and he was starting to chafe, he couldn’t get the little guy to resume standing in attention. The pleasurable sensations faded away, and in their place was a limp noodle rubbed raw, and a disappointed man in a night dress trying not to cry, as he began to truly understand the meaning of the phrase, “sexual frustration” like never before.

The next few times he and Elias hooked up, Reagan managed to shave minutes off his time, and he was high-fiving himself under the comforter when his boyfriend gushed into his mouth. Pride at a job well done was one the perpetual overachiever would never deny himself, but that coin had another side. In school, any grade Reagan received below an A plus, any answer marked incorrectly, he took as a personal affront, and he’d spend a ridiculous amount of time arguing with the teacher, trying to get them to change it. Most of the time they would because it was easier than arguing till they were blue in the face. Unfortunately for Reagan, this little relentless quirk could rear its head in the most unexpected of places.

The day had come to an end, dinner finished, and Kenneth overstayed his welcome, but was finally gone. The sun was going down early, and the exhaustion of the homestretch of the campaign had taken its toll on both Reagan and Elias, so the two were off to bed early. Coming off a five hour flight, it also meant Elias was a little more irritable than usual.

After the two crawled into bed together, Elias kissed his girlfriend goodnight, only to have her yet again, immediately grab for his penis.

“Why?!” he shouted to the ceiling, turning towards the wall in a huff. He cranked his head backwards, petulantly facing away from Reagan, but making sure he was heard. “All you ever do is blow me, and we go to bed. It feels like you’re just trying to shut me up, and keep me happy.”

“I don’t understand.” Reagan replied, trying to stop himself from getting emotional again. He sat upright, and pulled his knees into his chest, where he rested his chin. “I thought I was doing a good job. Don’t you like it? I’ve been trying so hard to get better.”

The uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability caught Elias off guard, and he couldn’t get his arms wrapped around his girl fast enough. “No, my queen. Please don’t feel bad. It’s not about that. I was being a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

“But you said you didn’t want me to. What am I doing wrong?” The pitiful expression on Reagan’s visage was unfathomable before the whole ordeal started. Drained in the way that he’d never been before, and fueled by the vile hormones racing through his bloodstream, he couldn’t make sense of anything. All he knew was that the thing he’d been working so hard for was falling apart right in front of him, and for once he didn’t have anybody to blame but himself.

“It’s not that you’re doing anything wrong, but you do that a lot. I just want to feel like we’re doing something together, you know?”

“I think I do.” Reagan nodded. He’d expected this, but hoped Elias could hang on until after the election. Since that didn’t seem to be the case, Reagan took a deep breath, and then, from his night stand, he retrieved a strip of condoms, and a small bottle of lube.

The idea had crossed his mind that he might have to have intercourse with Elias at some point, and while he hoped that wouldn’t be the case that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. Reagan would fall asleep at night, thinking about the giant cock the way a kid might be up late worrying the night before a tonsillectomy. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but sooner or later it might have to be done. The only thing he could do was to make sure they were stocked up on the necessary supplies, and to try to learn all he could until the trigger was pulled.

The steady escalation of his feminine role had Reagan’s mind growing more numb to each new humiliation that befell him, so when he suction cupped his brand-new dildo to the headboard of his bed, and tried to slowly back into it, once the cool lube met with his puckering anus, he clamped that thing shut faster than a Florida gator striking at its prey. After that, he yanked the thing down, tossed it in the nightstand drawer, and hoped against hope that his unwanted relationship would never come to that.

Here he was, staring down the barrel of that gun yet again, only this time there was a person attached to the other end. Deciding that hesitation would only make it worse, he bit the bullet, and held up his pristine naked ass, poking out from underneath his nightgown, for Elias to see.

He cringed to himself as he thought up a line, but anything that might get this over with quicker was a necessary sacrifice. He winked over his shoulder to Elias, and said, “Take your throne, my king.” trying not to puke in his mouth.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Elias asked, not wishing to rush his girlfriend into anything. He hadn’t meant to insinuate her physical efforts weren’t enough, he just wanted to feel more like a couple and not just a guy the woman he loves blows.

“Would you just shut up, and stick your dick inside of me already?” Reagan barked back.

He was brimming with fear, causing his normal defense mechanisms to kick in. When in doubt, take charge of the room.

“There’s my girl.” Elias said, any apprehension he felt long gone.

He couldn’t get the rubber on fast enough. He loved it when his partner demanded what they desired, like Reah had the first time she took his cock into her mouth.

As he slipped himself inside, Reagan didn’t know what to expect, but the initial shock of pain was certainly in line with what he could imagine. What he didn’t count on was that tearing sensation to give way as he relaxed, only to be replaced by a growing warmth radiating out of his loins. The grunts of the man behind him quickly snapped him back to reality though. With the full gravity of the occasion dawning on him, reality was the last place Reagan wanted to be.

His ego retreated to its safe cocoon in the back of his mind. There was that sexy scene again. The hot blonde was in bed with the bearded man. She clearly couldn’t get enough of him. She was practically begging for his cock, as she spread her legs like a runway to guide him. The bearded man kissed her gently, far tamer than Reagan’s usual fantasy, but soon things were back on track as he ravaged her, the woman’s moans the blend of pain and pleasure that come in the throes of ecstasy.

Reagan watched this scene unfold, as he had done in his dreams a dozen times before since the whole trans ordeal had started. As he felt his member grow in a way it hadn’t in months, Reagan noticed that the woman in the throws of passion was himself, just like before, but now he could clearly see the bearded man had brown hair and definitely wasn’t. He suddenly realized which perspective was actually his, and in doing so, he realized he could see the man’s face the whole time. It was Elias.

Horrified, Reagan snapped back to reality. He was panting, he was moaning, he was hard, and for the first time in a long time, he was actually close. He could feel Elias’ giant hand reach around his hips, and he heard his breathy voice ask, “Can I touch you there?”

“Oh my god! Quit pussyfooting around, and just do it already!”

When Elias gripped Reagan’s manhood, the last little shred of anything on his body that could be called that, one would think he would have died of shame, but that wasn’t the case at all. He didn’t care about the line he’d just crossed. He didn’t care if it was gay. He didn’t care if it was a man getting him there. More than the senate seat, more than the White House, Reagan Esen Demir just wanted to cum, and cum he did. The sheets were ruined by two ropey streams of milky white, but that didn’t stop the pair from laying on them afterwards, unable to move, with Elias’ soft cock still deep inside.

“I love you.” Elias said, breathing in the fragrance of Reagan’s mass of disheveled hair.

“I love you too.” Reagan replied, answering the phrase back as he had a thousand times before. It was just something you say to your family, or partner, or whoever. Only in a flash, it was something so much more. Reagan’s eyes shot open, and as the man sleeping behind him got the best sleep of his life, the little blonde felt the momentary relief that came from his orgasm dissipate into nothing. He would lie awake for several hours more, contemplating how far he’d fallen, while stewing in the smell of sex filling the room.

“How did we fall in love?” Reagan asked, after a long pregnant pause. “I’m not sure. I guess it just sort of happened. Sometimes these things happen whether we like it or not.” Reagan knew men who caught feelings after sleeping with a girl, he just wasn’t expecting or enjoying the fact that Elias seemed to be one of them.