He always liked laying on the sheets. Liked posing for his sex partners. Allowing his naked form to linger there on display, wrapped up on the enticement of all the man he was.
He preferred naked, to be on display, in nothing hiding who he was, as he was hiding always so much of everything he was.
His mind wandered even now to that time in Chicago, that wonderful weekend of exploration with Larry Sinclair. That first date in the excitement of being summoned by the limo driver to be hostess to a man in town, to show him the way things could be, if a man could be appreciated, and, appreciated Barack was, with Larry buying all the drinks, buying the limo, buying the coke and buying the hotel room. It was for Barack the first connect to be free from the wife who always expected so much more of him than he was capable.
He could still feel the straw moving up his thigh as Larry snorted the coke off his bare skin............
"Barack", he heard Michelle say. She was on display too. She always liked being on display in doorways with the light behind her, leaning up against door jams, with that Diana Ross look to her as she slid her leg up the frame.
He liked Diana Ross, but never figured that in mentioning it to Michelle that she would clone herself to it. Maybe it was when they were in bed and he would blurt out "Diana" in the throws of passion, or call out in gritted teeth, "DONALD", that Michelle would look back at him giving it to her from behind, that he would say it was "Diana Ross" he was thinking about as Muchelle and her looked so much alike, but there was only so much Supremes a man could take.
It was around then that Muchelle started playing Superstition by Stevie Wonder, but it was Obama who was suspicious in why his daughters did not seem to look like him, and that got to weighing on him, and why he told himself he was out at the bath houses with the boys like Rahm as they understood those kinds of things, and they always made him feel like a man in kneeling in front of him.
"Barack", he heard the wife again say his name. She always had on that pastel purple see through thing as she made her entrance. He remembered how long it took for him to get used to the name, "Barack", in when they met he told her his name was pronounced, "Bear ICK", but Michelle would not have any of that, as it sounded too "icky" to her and she wanted something solid and rocks were solid like dime bags.
Why was it the women in his life could not just be in his life, and not take over his life, he pondered. Michelle changing his name. Stanley Ann taking him here, dumping him there. Gram struggling as he increased the morphine drip..........
Gram should have just let him be the girl he wanted to be. He could have moved to Switzerland and had that operation.......
"You got any blow baby?",. he heard the wife wimper softly as she strolled to the bedside.
"No baby", Obama lied to her, as he liked to keep some in store just in case Boehner might stop by for a smoke. He liked Boehner really. He was feminine like him really and they both could cry and smile over the same things as Washington never understood such men.
Yes he still had that jacket wrapped in plastic from the meeting when John was blowing cig smoke in doing an entire pack. He would sniff at it, not dry cleaning it. If only the public knew the debt cliff was not about economics, but about Obama getting the boys over to smoke and sit in his chairs so he could sniff the upholstery and his smokey garments later to relive it all.
"Barack, you always smell like Chinese take out", Michelle said as she laid down beside him.
"You keep saying that baby all these years, but I swear I had a burger today and you fed me cherry pie for supper," Barack said as he pouted looking off into space thinking about the scents of Uncle Frank in yellow stained urine shorts, cheap whiskey out of fruit jars and that black smell Frank had, that Obama never had.
Michelle called it exotic when they first met. Then after she wrote the book script in Bali, she knew it was Asian, and as time wore on, her baby powder scented skin just wrinkled it's nose to that Chinese take out smell that Barack had, and it became a reality that he stunk.
Muchelle drifted her hand over her naked husband's torso. He liked that. It always got him going. She could tell as he closed his eyes that he was never there with her, but off in some other time with some other boy doing what came natural to Barry.
She always told herself that she had no competition among women to make her feel better. She also told herself that she was more man than most of the men Obama was with.
What was Donald Young but a singer. Rahm Emanuel but a skinny Jew with a loud mouth. There were the others like Charlie Gibson, the old bald white man. None of them, even Anderson Cooper were a match for her, but in the recesses of her mind, there was always the competition, the place Barack's mind slipped back to that really got his johnson ready to write the signature and that was Lawrence Sinclair.
She watched her husband twitch, as that is what he always did when thinking about Larry. He could not help himself. Her mind returned to Chicago though, before Christmas and all of this began. Before Reggie Love became the body man, when that Christmas she had eliminated her competition in Donald, and yet she never had. There was always a new boy for Barry, and now he was back to white men and that is why she rolled her eyes at Boehner, when the inauguration conversation was about a threesome in what the wife would be smoking with the men folk.
"You do that so good La...........BEE", she heard Barack hiss.
By reaction she snapped back, "Laybee?!???!! What the hell is that!!!!".
"I said Baby........easy Baby, I said Baby. You know your Barack might not have a line of blow for you, but you keep that up and I'll blow a line for you," Barry grinned as he tried to appease her.
She grabbed his johnson and started to pull on it. She knew it was "Larry", he in Freudian slipped up on, but this was the 10 year old Barry coming out again. The boy who would tie his Indonesian sister up so she could not get away as he told her all his secrets. The Barry who ran like a duck and liked dancing as the Asians threw rocks at him, as they called him "nigger".
It never bothered Barry, as he knew he was Chinese with only a drop of African in him. His mom was an anchor woman the communists provided out of the Philippines for his namesake. Barack really never did know who his real father was, as it was the Kenyan who was supposed to be dictator, and then Uncle Lolo was adopting him as his Filipino mum had gone back with Stanley Ann buying him for the Dunhams. Being a called a nigger when you were not one, was nothing to be upset about.
His sister in Indonesia knew the stories Obama whispered and now she was dead.
Well Michelle could make Barack forget about sodomy and she swung her leg on top of him as she rose like a giant looming in the room.
Barack opened his eyes breaking the spell. Michelle knew she had to move fast before the reality hit him that it was not a man doing this. She ripped at the panties and slipped the johnson in easily. It was not really she was that loose or that he was that small. It was just somewhere in between that the reality met.
Obama liked being served. Watching his wife pound up and down, with both straining to feel something as the 400 pounds of them tested the springs. He made the sounds and she made the sounds, as each was thinking of others of the same sex, in all the better times they had.
That is what one of the children heard in them calling out, "Plug the damn hole", and it was explained about gulf oil gushers...........
Obama strained to get it done with fast as he focused on Lawrence. Michelle did not care as it was more about getting some as she thought about riding all those white men who kept talking about her big ass.
She knew that is what Limbaugh really wanted was some brown sugar. Men just got tired of their daughters and other men's daughters before they went back to the Aunt Jemima in that sweet dark syrup.
She told herself that, even if she had never been with a man and only been with Barack.
She wondered about her daughters as she felt the stickiness in how much they would bring in trade in Kenya. How much Barack kept noticing them and she wondered if she was trying to skinny them up to punish them for being what was on Barack's mind or if her being the only fat ass in the White House that Barack would only notice her. She told herself that men really liked two zip coded sized black assed women
Michelle slumped as her husband quickly deflated. She would take care of things later. It was always better to get a cherry pie, start the vibrator and watch some Diana videos on YouTube later as Barack flossed himself in dreams.
She looked down at her husband with his eyes closed, and looking very pleased, as he was already falling asleep. She stood at the edge of the bed, looking at his skinny form, bones making his yellow skin even more glowing as they pressed with no muscle there into the hide.
She got her exotic man, but Obama had gotten his men too, including her. It was just easier that way to be a man to keep her marriage as that is where the battle was.
She could always be a man, as every marriage needed one.
She padded over and turned off the ipod as he always forgot to turn it off as it was his foreplay. The rapes of Lara Logan and Chris Stevens in drone footage, like a god, a messiah watching it all from the heavens. Barack liked that view best..
She closed the ap. Cherry pie afterwards always made sex better.
agtG
