Chapter 17

Chapter 17

On a plush burgundy armchair Reagan sat, legs crossed, before a few towering bookshelves in the background, He was dressed in an outfit carefully selected by the kind of strategists that can only be afforded by candidates with backing from men like Albert Amancio. The cream colored blouse tastefully covered Reagan’s immodest figure without doing anything to conceal what was underneath. Ruffled cap sleeves, and a pussybow accent tied gracefully at the neck harkened back to a time “when men were men, and women were women” or at least that’s what the experts said. The black circle skirt matched the outfit well, and while being decidedly feminine, it was also decidedly grown-up. Reagan was a spring chicken compared to most other politicians after all, so portraying an air of experience was paramount.

Reagan’s eyes gazed intently forward, as though he was meeting the eyes of not just the state of Florida, but all of America. Speaking in the soft, comforting, motherly affectionate tone he’d just that day practiced tacking onto the myriad feminine modifications he’d been making since that day Eva rescued him from himself, he addressed his constituency.

“My fellow Floridians, we are coming upon a turning point in our great nation, and Tuesday we’re going to have to make some decisions. The last four hurricane seasons our governor has fallen short in dealing with the perpetually escalating disasters. I’m a simple girl. I don’t know much about climate change, but I do know one thing Floridians know the value of, and that’s a dollar. The devastating blow to our economy cost us more than one-hundred twenty billion dollars a year, just in the last five years. Now that’s money out of your pockets, and that’s money out of mine.

“Just last year, during Hurricane Idalia, other politicians were there, posing for photo ops, and then heading back to Tallahassee, and D.C, leaving the damage behind. I know they left because I was there, and when they were gone, I stayed there. I was the shelter captain for my neighborhood after all, keeping safe the people I see almost everyday. It’s there in the record, but you won’t see a single photo of me. It wasn’t the time for that.

“Florida, I’m one of you, but I’m fortunate enough to have the experience and knowledge to lead and show those fat cats in Washington that this great state will not be taxed to ****, and not see a penny of it go towards fixing our roads, our schools, and our businesses. From tourism to industry, Florida’s economy has the foundations to be strong - to stand on its own, but we can’t do that until those people in that horrid swamp stop cutting our legs out from underneath us. It’s my promise to you that I will fight for Florida. I’ll bring an end to their rampant spending, and get our budget balanced. I won’t do it for a photo op. I’ll do it for you.

“My name is Reagan Esen Demir, and I approved this message.”

“Cut!” shouted the director, much happier with the quick production than the hours they spent baking on the shooting range. “You were wonderful, gorgeous. I’ll get this over to post A.S.A.P, and you’ll see the finished product tomorrow.

“Just as long as it’s ready before Tuesday. This thing needs to be on the air for the entire week, right up until election day, if we’re going to get our money’s worth. Airtime on every network affiliate in the state doesn’t come cheap.”

Eva Arnoult wasn’t hovering over the director, but she kept close by. It was more to soothe Reagan than anything else. He was apprehensive about working with the commercial auteur again. The only way the exhausted campaign manager could convince her employer to give it another go was to promise to peek over the man’s shoulder from time to time. Pretending to do any of that was far easier than explaining to the feminized candidate that the only real risk he feared was being publicly embarrassed like when he missed those two-dozen shots.

In the end, the final ad was settled on, a simple one-shot where Reagan could deliver his message clearly and concisely. As far as what that message contained, Reagan wasn’t so sure, but it was cleared by Amancio’s people, and the strategists that were brought aboard hadn’t been wrong yet.

The first day they arrived, the campaign media team showed off their model, one created by observing dozens of election cycles, and trends in public opinion. At the start, Reagan Demir was a shoe-in for the seat. He was an attractive, well-educated lawyer with plenty of experience in local office, and he was charming to boot. After winning the primary, the whole thing was practically in the bag, especially since his democrat opponent was running on the exact same platform that hadn’t won an office in the state for nearly twenty years. That all changed the moment he “came out” to the public.

For a month it appeared that his campaign would be another strange footnote in the history books, that is until he began to see a small groundswell in support from people who typically identified as left. It was far from the entirety of the Democratic party, and most of those people had never even voted before, but there was enough hope that if Reagan could sway a few of those people on the right back his way, he might be able to steal the thing.

After that, it was a trudge uphill, but one the feminized politician refused to concede. The only thing his campaign needed was funds, and after getting Albert Amancio back on board, that was no longer an issue. Once the Demir campaign could afford the strategists’ services again, that was when things really took off. The democrats were frozen at forty percent, as was typical in Florida, so all Reagan had to do was sway over the undecided voters. From there, the mission was clear - stay on message, don’t allow any unforeseen media exposure, and for the love of god, do not bring up the transgender thing.

Polling had shown that while they might possibly attract trans voters from the left, seeking to vote in their community rather than along political lines, most of them weren’t convinced. The pretty blonde, two shakes away from a job as a Fox News pundit, wasn’t any different from any of the other hateful witches on that side of the isle. If anything, they cared less about what was in her pants than other demographics.

The thinking was that maybe if they just left that messaging behind and focused on other issues, Republicans who didn’t care one way or another about bathrooms might come back once they saw Reagan wasn’t “in your face” about it, and perhaps even the elderly might forget this pretty thing on TV ever presented as anything other that the feminine creature she so obviously was. This new strategy was great news to Reagan, but it seemed to elude him that that meant being seen as a typical woman rather than a man.

The part Reagan wasn’t so sure about was attacking his fellow republicans in the new ads. Talking about their failures in all the recent disasters seemed like a bad play, but he was assured that his opponent’s base wasn’t flinching, so the best play for the independents was to show that he wasn’t a part of the status quo. In some other states, and on a national level, Democrats had held office for the previous four years, and they were easy targets. Florida on the other hand was staunchly red, but that didn’t mean anybody’s lives were any better than anywhere else. When in doubt, point to the people in charge, and say, “I’m not this.”

Reagan’s short tenure as “Shelter Captain” consisted of him tossing rolls of toilet paper to the people in his apartment building, while the worst of the storm passed by, hitting other areas of the state much harder. Of course, photographers were there. It was a photo op after all, though none of those photos were usable, given Reagan’s much prettier packaging he found himself wrapped in. That was plenty for the spin that came next, culminating in the shoot. At that moment, the numbers were too close to count, but after the ad ran, promises were made about recapturing the highs thought lost after the primary.

When the director shouted “Cut!” Reagan was beaming. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the trends were obvious to anyone capable of half interpreting a line graph, and the flyers the marketing group cooked up did exactly as advertised. They promised a small three percent bump, and they precisely delivered. If the commercial did as promised, then he would finally achieve the goal he’d been working for, and he’d be free of the accursed breasts, eternally tugging on his shoulders in their imprisoning brassiere.

Peering out past the imaginary fourth wall, once the studio lights switched off, just behind the center camera stood Elias, the boyfriend he never wanted, with his arms out while his assistant, Kenneth preened over his suit with a small sticky lint roller. Quickly he leapt to his feet, and hurried across the room as fast as his heels could carry him, lightyears ahead of where he started all those months before.

Reagan snatched the roller out of Kenneth’s hand, and slid forcefully in the small gap between the assistant and his boss. “Thanks’ Kenny, but I’m here now, so you’re no longer required. Why don’t you go get us some drinks from craft services for the road. We’ve got a long drive back to the city ahead of us, and I don’t believe the limo is stocked.”

He knew Kenneth hated that little nickname after a slip of the tongue, and every utterance had been intentional since. When he heard the twink mutter “bitch” under his breath as he started to walk away, of course Reagan had to rub a little salt in the wound. He closed his eyes, and locked lips with the man who it was now painfully obvious worshiped the ground he walked on.

As he let Elias’ tongue explore his mouth, he opened his eyes, and met the slack jawed gaze of his rival, offering only a mischievous wink as an explanation. The last thing Reagan believed he needed was the media finding a scandal in a potential tryst between Elias, and his little secretary plaything. The little queen wasn’t going to steal his man - or rather his beard. No, he was Elias’ queen. The tall, dark, and unfortunately handsome man told him so every day.

It was a long drive back from the remote soundstage, and especially boring, given the ten miles of dead zone right in the middle. All Reagan could do was stare out the window at the passing motor strips, and the glut of chain restaurants. It was when his eyes scanned the local Owls that his mind drifted back to nearly a decade before.

It was a Monday afternoon. The air was warm and humid. Reagan had just ordered some wings, a sloppy indulgence of an atypically unsloppy twenty-year-old boy. The downtown Owls in Pensacola hummed with the droning of a gaggle of low-income gulf-coast tourists, as they all marveled at a water spout skating by a few miles off shore. The squall had nothing on the eighteen-year-old blonde typhoon that came ripping through the saloon doors separating the deck from the rest of the restaurant.

Callie Demir, fresh off of the worst birthday party of her life, was on a tear the moment her butt touched the seat across from her brother. “Can you believe that asshole?”

“Yeah, Mom was super weird all through dinner. We should have just left, but she was so insistent on pretending nothing was wrong. People were staring.”

“What…?” Callie blinked, shaking her head. “No, Dad!”

The night before, Callie had her eighteenth birthday party, where since her mother and father were obligated to be in the same space without killing each other, she decided it would be the perfect time to tell her entire family she was a lesbian.

Upon hearing the news, everyone had a different response. Vicky looked at her little sister like she suddenly grew a third head, realized it didn’t affect her in the slightest, and then went back to texting with her boyfriend. Heather smiled warmly, unsurprised by the announcement as it was her Callie had rehearsed with during months leading up to the occasion. Their mother, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, refused to even acknowledge a word came out of her mouth, and not wanting to waste the money she spent on three flights, she also refused to leave after what happened next. The kids’ father exploded, screaming at the top of his lungs that she was no longer his daughter.

Reagan was the only one who seemed to have no reaction, unable to find the words on the night. The whole thing was a clumsy ordeal, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he felt equally as embarrassed as his mother, though rather than keeping a brave face through the rest of the meal, he wanted to leave with his father, only held in place by the fierce loyalty he felt towards his little sister.

Separated by less than two years, they were youngest of the Demir Siblings. Throughout their childhood the pair were inseparable - as thick as thieves. It was the both of them against the world, when it came time to finish their vegetables.

It was no wonder that after the heartbreak of her father storming out of her life, the first person she reached out to was her brother. The two had grown apart since their parent’s divorce, when Reagan chose to live with their father. She came along with them, having **** in the matter. The courts gave her father custody, while the older sisters stayed with Mom up in New York. Each of her siblings were old enough to choose who they stayed with. It was how the court ruled, but Callie couldn’t shake the feeling that the judge might have ruled differently if Reagan didn’t go to bat, when the rest of the family clearly didn’t want him to. That didn’t mean she saw it coming when he plunged the knife into her heart.

“Well, I mean…you did kind of spring it on him. Getting news like that, in a very public setting, it honestly wasn’t very fair.”

“You’re kidding me?” Callie cocked her head to the side, confused to her core. She wondered what the dick in boat shoes did with her sweet big brother. Where was the guy who helped her with her homework, and snuck her an extra lollipop from the dentist? They hadn’t seen each other as much in the last few years, but she was thoroughly blindsided by the stranger before her.

The waitress returned, and the tension could be cut with a knife. Awkwardly she collected the basket of bones, and rushed from the table, hoping her interruption wouldn’t affect her tip. Reagan chuckled after she left, taking special effort to gaze down the woman’s cleavage in her revealing uniform.

“I guess he overreacted a little. I mean, you’re just a lesbian bartender. It’s not like you’re an Owls waitress. “He motioned with his head, nodding in the direction of the eye-catching waitress that had just visited their table. “Now that’s shameful. Did you see the rack on that one?” Reagan paused, perking up a little bit as something hit him. “Hey, I can talk about stuff like that with you now. At least until you get bored with it, and you decide to try a real relationship before you make up your mind about that sort of thing.”

Callie didn’t say another word. She stood up from her seat and threw her glass of water in his face. Most people would have just splashed the contents, but not Callie. She tossed her entire glass so that it hit her brother in the face, leaving his lip busted.

After leaving the restaurant that day, she and Reagan didn’t speak again. They’d show up for the same holidays with their mother. They would pose painfully for each Christmas card photo, play nice with every other sibling, but freeze each other out in a way that wouldn’t make their mom ask questions. In a way they sort of mirrored each other. While Callie was kept at arms length because of her sexuality, Reagan kept everyone else away, especially after their dad died. Every time he saw his little sister he felt a pain in his heart of his own making, but was unwilling or unable to concede, making him hate himself a little more each year for it.

The aspiring politician was affable, likeable, and he had all of the tools to achieve his goal, but above all else he had the megalomania required to aim for such a high office. Being humiliated by his sister, he found comfort and validation in the echo chambers young men can find themselves in online. Anonymous message boards lured him in with memes about owning the libs, but they kept him there, assuring him his sister was attention seeking, and that she, most assuredly, was the one being a bitch.

At the start of his time in college Reagan fancied himself a Libertarian at heart, pointing out the problems with both major political parties and having no problem speaking out about how their goals seemed more aligned with fighting one another than making any changes to a broken system, but he knew Libertarians didn’t win elections. Sooner or later he’d have to compromise, and join one of the big two if he was ever going to achieve his dream, and if he didn’t pick then someone might accuse him of flip-flopping in the future. It could come back to bite him at the worst possible time.

Joining the G.O.P. he’d debate with his peers the merits of international trade policies, but almost as soon as they graduated, gay marriage had just been legalized, and it was clear the wind was blowing in a new direction. It was also clear that there was clout to be gained by standing in opposition to that change. He never advocated for anything violent, but maintained that it wasn’t normal behavior, and that society shouldn’t treat it as such. This got him a lot of hate from the left side of the aisle, but it also got him noticed by the local branch of the party, and not even one year out of school, Reagan had a job working for the county DA office.

The funny thing about saying the same things so many times for so long is that you start to believe your own bullshit. Fueled by the sadness he felt in his heart, and never properly mourning the loss of his relationship with his sister, Reagan’s heart grew cold, and the hateful rhetoric escalated, especially after earning his first elected position.

He carried that attitude all the way through, feeling justified in his decisions, but after experiencing **** feminization at the hands of some online terrorists, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d perhaps taken it a bit too far. Unfortunately the girlified man’s ego had yet to have taken a thorough enough beating, so he continued to bide his time until after the election, when things could finally go back to normal - when he would experience a second round of validation, and adulation, when he can finally drop this charade, and prove it’s all a choice, once and for all.

That night, after the long drive home, Reagan performed his nighttime routine, donning a satin nightie before crawling into bed in a mood. It had been a fine day, but dwelling on both his little sister, and how he was practically **** to live as a woman. When he felt the bed shift from his fake boyfriend coming to bed, the man practically living with him now, the feminized man let out a deep sigh.

When Elias went to pull his partner close, all he got was a grunt, and shrug - or at least what passed for a grunt with Reagan’s exceedingly cute, but angry voice.

“Are you okay, my queen?” he asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Reagan spat back. He closed his eyes tightly, and pretended to be asleep, refusing to acknowledge any attempt at affection from the person he couldn’t keep out of his bed. It was bad enough that he was **** to endure the shame of sexual intercourse with a man to keep him from blowing the lid of the whole thing, but now the beard always wanted to cuddle. Sure, the time he spent with Elias were the only occasions he could actually remember what the word enjoy meant, but that didn’t mean he was welcome.

Eventually the lie gave way to the truth, as Reagan drifted off to sleep, and his mind once again travelled through time, this time to the future.

A shout in Reagan’s direction caught his attention. “Hey, new girl, wake the fuck up! Table seven needs their wings!”

“Huh?” Reagan muttered, whipping his head to take in the foggy, bizarrely spaced room.

He caught sight of a mirror behind the bar, where he was able to see his reflection. His blonde hair hung down down to his shoulders, with what he knew was a fresh perm. The corkscrew curls exploded outward in all directions. Reagan now sported the kind of big hair thought long left behind in the 1980s. With blue eyeshadow, and red lipstick seemingly arguing with each other on his face, “trailer-trash” was the first thing that came to his mind. It was so garish it took him a minute to realize underneath it all was the short shorts, and skintight tank-top of the Owls restaurant uniform.

“Huh… what happened?”

“You lost the election, silly.” explained the blonde employee, polishing a glass behind the bar. “I mean, if you failed that badly, then you might as well make the best of those bazongas. I mean, it wasn’t like you could afford to get them removed anyway. This is your life now, Reah.”

“Callie,” Reagan whispered, the figure's face coming into focus as the haze cleared, “what are you doing here?”

“Tending bar. It’s a low job, but not the bottom of the barrel. I believe you told me that was what job, Reah? Oh right, now I remember, an Owls waitress. How’s that working out for you?”

Just then, as though hell itself had crafted the perfect way to **** Reagan, his Mother walked through the door, and barked, “I thought you were going to be president - president of the whorehouse maybe. I knew this was going to happen when you both chose to live with your father.”

Reagan saw his younger sister lean forward on the bar and shake her head as she pointed in his direction. “I didn’t choose that mom. Queen Bimbo here did. I just got dragged along because of it.”

“If you both would have stayed with me you girls might have turned out as refined young ladies like your sisters.”

Even more unsettling to Reagan than what he was wearing, or the job he was doing, was hearing his sister and mother agree on something. “I don’t want to be a lady, Mother!”

Sizing up his outfit, and figure, Reagan’s mother cut deep with just one word. “Clearly.”

That was when Reagan felt a slap to his ass. Turning his head he saw an overweight man leering at him, his hand still resting on his rear, giving it a squeeze. “Get me some more wings, sugar tits!”

Reagan ran from it all. He couldn’t bear the weight. As fast as his curves could move, he fled through the saloon doors, only to find the Oval Office on the other side. As he continued onward, his stride became hindered. He looked down to see a pink pencil skirt forcing his knees close together and a pair of modest three inch heels on his feet. Looking up he found the siblings, Eva and Elias, sitting atop the resolute desk.

Eva looked to her brother before taking Reagan’s hand and leading him over to a mirror on the wall, to see his reflection. “See, isn’t this better?”

Once again Reagan was presented with an exceedingly feminine image of days gone by. Her blonde hair was teased into a little bubble. Her subtle makeup, and pearl earrings were timeless. The pink Channel suit, with its matching pillbox hat, gave shades of Jackie Kennedy in one of her numerous public appearances.

It was better, but it was a perversion of what she wanted. “But I didn’t want to be first lady.”

Eva snickered, squeezing her best friend’s shoulders. “I know, but girl, that outfit is just too cute. Since when did the office of President come with a uniform?”

Her brother strolled confidently across the room to join them, taking the woman he adored by the hand. Turning her to meet his gaze, he cupped her chin, and planted a gentle kiss, the soft hair of his beard tickling her face. A shudder ran through Reagan’s body. Elias led her back over to the desk, and pulled out the chair.

“This seat has always been yours, my Queen. You just won’t be able to make it here on your own. Fortunately, you’ve got me by your side.”

Reagan stared at the leather seat apprehensively. She wanted to sit, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground might open up underneath her if she did. “What do you want in return?”

Elias took her by the hand, and spun her into the chair, nudging her closer to the desk.

“Nothing. I only wish to stay by your side, Reah. So long as you are my woman, this will be yours, and there’s nowhere else in this world I’d rather be.”

He bent down to kiss his woman, and Reagan was too happy to object. In that moment she had everything she ever wanted. She kissed the handsome man, letting him roll over on top of the desk, and bring her with him. It filled her with the same warm feeling, as the echoing announcement outside pronounced her the new leader of the United States of America. His fingers sliding into her wet pussy was icing on the cake. That is until she realized she was all women.

In a panicked sweat, Reagan jolted up from the bed, hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Elias asked through a scratchy voice, as he rolled over and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Bad dream?”

“I don’t know.” Reagan replied. “I remember it being good, but then I got freaked out about something I think. I’m just exhausted…”

The details of the dream had vanished almost the second he opened his eyes. He could only remember his presidency didn’t come as expected.

Once again Reagan was left crying, no clue as to why, and no clue how to stop it. It wasn’t the first time his emotions went into business for themselves. He wished for so many things, but mostly he just wished for a control he once had that seemed gone. He couldn’t even control himself anymore.

Elias sat up in bed, and wrapped his arms around the tearful figure, just able to make out her beautiful face in the dark room. He thought of Reagan as such a strong person. She knew what she wanted and had no problem taking strides toward it. He truly loved that about her, yet here she was, more **** than he had ever seen. Empathy wasn’t his strong suit, but he could feel she was hurting and he only loved her that much more for allowing him to see this side of herself. He pulled Reagan to his chest, and let her bawl for a minute.

“It’s okay, Reah. Everybody gets overwhelmed sometimes. I imagine with your HRT that it’s probably worse now than it’s going to be in a year even. Sure, you’ve got to be strong out there, but here with me you’re safe. You’re allowed to be ****.”

It took a minute, but Reagan eventually calmed down, and the only discomfort he was left with was a raging erection straining against the fabric of his panties. Even through his emotional turmoil the thing remained rigid from the moment he woke. As he broke away from Elias’ embrace, he looked the man in the eye, and saw something new for the first time. It was something he’d been chasing since his very first hire - it was the kind of loyalty that money couldn’t buy.

Something about that expression, and the memory of each and every time Elias had made him cum since the beginning of their orchestrated courtship, of which there had been many, did something to him. Reagan could clearly feel something - something that had been there for quite some time, but he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge. Reagan Demir wanted to kiss Elias Arnoult. He wanted to kiss him, knowing full well what would inevitably follow. Flummoxed by the realization, he paused for a moment to have a conversation with himself, never once breaking eye contact.

‘What the fuck is happening? I mean I’m not gay, right? Being gay is a choice. I mean, I guess because of the hormones maybe…, I’ve chosen to be a woman, right? That is right, isn’t it? I’m going to choose to stop being a woman soon. Does that mean I can choose to stop being attracted to him? I can, right? But…I guess I’m stuck with this man…and he is pretty nice…and I like spending time with him…like, when we hang out it doesn’t feel like he ever expects anything from me, other than for me to just be with him…and somehow his smell has grown on me. Like, why is it harder for me to sleep when he’s not here - when I don’t have his scent pressed into my face while I lie my head on his chest…I mean it’s a choice, so I can choose to be attracted to this man right now, and I can choose to leave him later… What is wrong with me? Shit… Fuck I have chosen to be a woman, well not really chosen, but sort of have but… They all see me as… so it’s not like it’s gay...’

Having successfully lost the argument to himself, the expert debater wrapped his lithe arms around his boyfriend’s neck, and planted a kiss on his lips. Opening his mouth slightly, Reagan invited the man’s tongue to explore his mouth. Remaining entwined, the couple laid back down, and continued clinging to each other tightly, as their tongues mingled. Reagan wrapped his manicured fingers around the toned man’s shaft and began to slowly work it up and down.

They had done this dance before, but this time Reagan wanted it. To his own surprise, as he stroked Elias’ cock, Reagan felt Elias return the favor. Staying hard had become a challenge to Reagan. He told himself all sorts of things about the reason why, but right now he couldn’t help but moan in pleasure at his lover’s touch.

A cacophony of moans reverberated off the walls in the room, as the two undulated, and grinded against each other’s flesh, slowly accelerating the pace. As the tension built, Reagan began to unbutton his boyfriend’s shirt, and once the loathsome garment was out of the way, he began to rake one hand across the man’s chest, leaving scratches in its wake. Elias grunted, and then seeking a playful erotic ****, he spun Reagan over, and swatted him firmly on the ass, eliciting a giggle from the feminine creature clad in the pink nightgown, a nightgown he was struggling not to lose control and ruin. Reah often wore the satin garment so he assumed it was a favorite.

The first swat caught Reagan off guard, but after the second, he was ready to cum right there. After one final check-in with himself, he decided not to waste it. ‘A person can’t help what feels good, and goddamn does this feel good.’

He hurriedly fished through the bedside table drawer, while Elias slid his panties to one side, and began to gleefully play with his puckering asshole, teasing him relentlessly, and making the responsible task of safe sex that much harder. Finally, able to overcome his erotic adversary, Reagan shoved the man back down with his foot, leaving only the eight-inch cock pointing upright.

The pretty blonde couldn’t get the prophylactic on his lover’s member fast enough, ready and take the sex into his mouth, but he was able to resist in anticipation of a greater reward, so he settled on giving it a few kisses as he continued his efforts. After an ample amount of lubricant on the erection, and even more around back, Reagan was climbing on top, and lowering himself down hungrily.

“Ahhh, ahhh!” he panted, feeling the man’s large cock slowing penetrate him. His mind didn’t even consider his normal thoughts on the subject of another man’s privates. Reagan felt so horny, he wanted it - he needed it. The only thing stopping him from diving in head, or rather, tail first was the knowledge that a candidate walking funny during the last week of an election was the perfect thing to tank a successful candidacy. Fighting his desires, he let his substitute pussy get acclimated, and then allowed himself the pleasure of riding the handsome man like a cowgirl fighting a bull.

“Ga… Dahh… Damn!” Reagan spoke through gasps as Elias thrusted his hips.

Touching the back of his hand to his forehead, Reagan closed his eyes tight, letting out another gasp as he felt the man’s large hands take hold of his hips. A part of Reagan told him that he shouldn't be enjoying this, but his lust told that part, “Shut the fuck up!”

Reagan knew Elias adored him in a way nobody else did, a way Reagan knew he deserved, and receiving such adoration felt better than anything he’d ever experienced in his life. He imagined that it was what sitting at the resolute desk would feel like. He adored the man for adoring him so.

As their feelings created a feedback loop, the couple swelled together in ecstasy, Elias depositing his seed in Reagan’s welcoming cheeks, while Reagan shot his thin load all over the man’s chest, getting some in his beard. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but cum dumb, Reagan licked the few drops clean before kissing Elias passionately goodnight, and collapsing in a cuddle puddle to sleep the rest of the night away.

Just as his eyes were about to shut, Reagan muttered to himself just one last time, “I’m not gay. I’m just a woman right now.” and then he was back off to dreamland, with only one week remaining until it was all over, one way or another.