Politics. Escorts. Blackmail.

by Pynk

  Darrell Ellington had just hung up his cell phone as Virgil walked inside his office.

  “Hey there, Virgil,” Darrell said.

  “I know you’re not fond of me.”

  He looked at Virgil as if to say, What the hell? “Why would you say something like that? Have I ever given you that impression?”

  “I know that you really don’t like me.”

  “Of course I do. You’re my son. Where is all of this coming from?”

  The topic changed, sort of. “How’s the race going?”

  “It’s going.” Darrell Ellington began writing on a pad of paper.

  “Everybody keeping their noses clean?”

  “I guess so. Keeping clean is not something you focus on. You just live clean and the rest is spent on the campaign.”

  “I see. You think Mayor Graves keeps it clean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Virgil took one step closer. “You think the world would trip if they knew that you cheat on my mother?”

  He shook his head like he was hearing things. “Virgil. What? That’s not true.”

  “Okay. I guess what I really want to know is, why do you cheat on her?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lip Service.”

  “What?”

  “Oh no. You play dumb just about as terribly as someone else I know. Small world, huh?”

  “Virgil, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looked down at his work.

  Virgil approached and stopped within a few feet. “You do. I often wondered about you. I always thought you were just a little too good to be true. I should’ve known you were a freak.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Virgil was amazed by his stepfather’s act of innocence. “Wow. You’d make a really great president. You’re in the right line of work. Denial, denial, denial. You try your best to find out what the other person knows and then you see how weak the information is, and keep playing stupid. Very good.”

  Darrell shook his head again and put the pen down, gathering his papers. He arranged them by page number and sorted through them. “You know what? This conversation is over. I’m lost as to what you’re referring to. You can have this conversation by yourself.” He came to a stance and took hold of his cell.

  “Actually, the best thing for you to do would be to save that dumb line of responses for my mom. I’m not the one you’re fucking around on with hookers. But I will tell you one thing: my mother’s well-being and happiness is my concern. You let this shit come back to bite her in the ass, and I will tell everything I know. You can bet on that.”

  He passed by Virgil, almost grazing his shoulder, saying, “Good-bye, son.”

  “Stop,” Virgil demanded.

  Darrell Ellington turned to face him.

  “I am not your son. I’m your wife’s son. And your wife wants the White House. You will give her that. And what I get out of it is two million dollars. Find it where you can. Money laundering or whatever. Call it a loan if need be. I’m starting a site. My own business. Better than where I work at Google. You’ll tell Mom you offered it to me to help out and I took it. Yep, two million will help me lose my memory for sure.”

  “A loan?”

  “Good listener.”

  “For silence?”

  “A loan that I will never fucking pay your sorry cheating ass back.”

  Darrell turned and walked toward the door. “You have lost your mind. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Will three million help you remember?”

  He stopped but kept his back to Virgil. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. In case you never noticed, I care about as much about you as the shit I flush down the toilet. I care about my mom. What she wants is what I want. And you hurting her is not gonna happen.”

  “Exactly. I would never hurt her. And I’m not loaning you a dime.” Darrell exited swiftly, looking certain.

  “Try me.” Virgil’s voice was loud and sure.

  That evening, Virgil sat in his bedroom on the upstairs level of their home. He had a large bedroom and private bath, and an office for all of his computer gadgets, desktops, laptops, printers, and devices.

  He was proud of himself for coming up with a way to make his stepfather pay for cheating on his mother by way of funding the establishment of Virgil’s new business venture. For now, it seemed like the right thing to do. He knew his stepfather, who had inherited millions, could definitely afford it.

  He lay back upon his bed, coming to grips with what started it all…his naiveté upon first meeting Midori that evening at an event where someone stood her up. And how he bonded to her, all the while thinking she was selling homes for a living. And now discovering she was an escort, running a line so close to his personal life. Out of all the escort agencies in the world, his stepfather—who was campaigning to be the next president of the United States—had to be patronizing Lip Service.

  Sex was not something Virgil was familiar with, and he had a hard time understanding why people felt the need to go to such great lengths to get it, paying someone to lay them even when the person who paid was married.

  Sex was, after all, overrated. It shouldn’t be difficult for someone to wait for their ordained mate, their last love, their significant other. To save their bodies for that person shouldn’t be so difficult. “Horny-ass mothafucka,” he said aloud about his stepfather. “What is this world coming to?”

  He then wondered who he was fooling. He wasn’t born again. He and his mom went to church before, but not often since she married his stepfather. Virgil had no church home. Ordained to him meant someone saved who was destined to be with someone else who was saved. Saved wasn’t what he was. Yes, he was saving himself, but not for the right one. He was saving himself from himself. From having to feel what he felt before. He was afraid.

  Virgil’s mind wandered back to that time, so long ago. It was the night of his high school prom. The night in a hotel room that was paid for by his mom. There was nothing uncommon about a teenaged boy and girl spending the night out. But the girl he’d been seeing, who promised to give it to him good that night, took one look at what he was packing or wasn’t packing and laughed hysterically when she saw the size of his penis.

  He hadn’t played sports, so he never did the locker room thing. When he went to the bathroom and used the urinal, he never looked over at someone else’s penis. He kept his eyes on himself. He just assumed other boys had done the same thing. He hadn’t watched dirty movies as a teen. He’d only read a few Playboy magazines and had seen the women’s vaginas on the pages. He jacked off to a centerfold model here and there. He really didn’t know what to compare his own size to.

  The technical term for what he had was a micropenis. Fully erect, his penis was about the size of his thumb. Compared to the average-size penis, he had a small shaft that was flanked by the pubis skin of his uncircumcised gland. The only other person who knew before his prom date was his mother. When he was young, she took him to the doctor because he was overweight. The doctor mentioned it and suggested waiting to see if he further developed after losing weight and after puberty, and that sometimes the hormonal process is delayed and the testosterone can take longer to do its thing.

  Well, he did lose weight, but his mother never saw Virgil nude after that moment.

  Now in his late twenties, nearly six feet tall and 190 pounds, it was obvious to Virgil that his penis wasn’t going to grow on its own. And his mother just never brought it up again. Neither did he. Especially after what happened on prom night.

  Though sex was something Virgil was able to live without for now, he did find self-stimulation to be a calming way of relieving stress. And this day had been a ten on the stress Richter scale.

  He had pulled down his pants, taking his foot out of one leg of his sweats, and began massaging his penis. He’d usually find a way to stimulate himself, erecting it to its full two and one half inches. His library of
dirty movies usually helped.

  He used his index finger and thumb and twisted it, rubbed it, twirled it while watching a volumeless girl-on-girl movie. In his mind, he compared himself to the clit the way he would tease his dick. He assumed that he’d need to eventually use artificial ways of penetrating his last love, thinking in terms of doing what lesbians do, using his mouth to please her.

  The movie he watched was of an Asian woman with a black woman, one extra slim, one extra curvy. He imagined what the sensation would feel like, as he leaned over and took the small pocket pussy, a hand masturbator shaped like a vagina, from his nightstand. He’d always kept it deep inside of a shoe box.

  He barely got himself an inch inside of the nude-colored flexible stimulator when he began to moan, watching the vision of the Asian woman between the black woman’s legs, prodding her with a tiny blue dildo. As the tip of the blue dildo went in, he focused on his tip going in the fake vagina he used, squeezing the rubberlike texture of the pussy as tight as he could to grip his penis. Before, he’d think of Midori, imagining her taking the time to let him stick his dick inside of her. Thinking of her always got him off. He thought he’d be too mad for that fantasy in his head, considering the argument they had, but he surprised himself, still feeling the turn-on of her in his mind.

  Just as he was about to try to get another inch deeper, he reached over again and took the small bottle of lube, and squeezed a couple of drops inside, bringing the pussy to his head again, squeezing it with all of his might, giving a few good pumps while he watched the blue dildo push past the soft, bald lips of the dark, porcelain-skinned black girl, and he thought of Midori, naked, watching him.

  He geared himself up to come just as the Asian woman got a good oral grip on the girl’s clit, sucking like she was sucking her own finger, and to Virgil, that was the sensation he dreamed of feeling upon his tip. It brought him to a tenseness that caused his ass cheeks and thighs to flex. His toes pointed and his hand went to work, gripping the vagina around his tiny tip and then stopping as he felt himself giving off his orgasm, squirting his semen inside of the pocket pussy while he tightened his eyes to shut out the movie and focus only on the vision in his head of Midori, turned on by him masturbating.

  “Oooo, yesss. Ahhhh, yesssss.” He sucked his teeth and then heard a knock at his door, and someone turning the doorknob, but it was locked. His eyes popped open and his voice traveled from porn to norm. “Yes. Just a minute.”

  “You okay, son?” his mother, Ursula Ellington, asked.

  He froze as he answered, “Yes. I am.”

  “Okay. Didn’t want anything. Just checking.”

  He knew she knew.

  He said nothing in reply but heard her footsteps slowly fade down the hallway.

  She was the one who bought him the pocket pussy and all the other items in the shoe box. She had figured out what her son needed. For now the sex toys, but eventually a woman to love him as he was.

  And he knew what his mother needed for herself. To be the next First Lady. Period.

  In the meantime, he washed off his soft, dependable, no-hassle girlfriend and put her back in the drawer.

  Back to the other issue at hand.

  How to deal with his now ex-girlfriend, the escort, and his political stepfather, the John.

  Republican candidate Darrell Ellington has been criticized for being pro-choice. Robert Sally, a pro-life candidate who just entered the race, says he plans to zero in on Ellington to debate abortion, which is sure to be one of the most controversial and emotional debates to date.

  Nine

  Leilani

  Monday—July 25, 2011

  Manhattan was booked to meet Mr. 51, Senator Darrell Ellington, at the Library Hotel on Madison Avenue, a boutique hotel known for its artsy rooms with collections of artwork and books. The particular room they were scheduled to meet in was called the Erotica Deluxe Room, complete with chocolates and champagne.

  As soon as Mr. 51 walked into the room, Leilani noticed a different look upon his face. His charm was absent. He stood there in his dark blue suit, and she stood dressed in her fuchsia bra and panties. He looked unfazed, then immediately said, “Maybe I should be asking Money this, but I’m going to ask you.”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  He looked only at her face. “Who knows?”

  “Who knows what?”

  “Who knows I’m here?”

  “Knows you’re here right now?” she asked.

  “Now, then, whenever. Who knows?” He was no-nonsense.

  “Outside of the company, no one. Why? Did, like, something happen?”

  He walked toward the window, looked out, and turned back to face Leilani. “Just making sure no one’s been talking. I mean that is why I spend all this money. If I wanted to be indiscreet, I could have a mistress on the side who’d backstab me when things didn’t go her way. I’m not into that. I just wanted it clean. No mess-ups. No talking.”

  “No. I would totally never do that. Why would I? Why would we, meaning the company? Talking gets everyone in trouble. For sure, none of us want that.”

  He nodded. “Well, I’ll just say this. Someone said something. I know they did.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He took heavy steps to the door. “Look. That’s it. I only came here to ask you that. I’m not here to…have you. This will be my last time. Period.”

  “Okay. But you won’t tell me what happened?” She stood close to him.

  He turned toward her, then walked back to the window, reached in his pocket for his cell, and sent a text. “No. I can’t. It’s best that you don’t know. Besides, I can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  He kept his phone in his hand. “One thing I do want to know, though. Do you all use my name, or is there some sort of code for me?”

  She looked sincere and concerned. “You know I can’t tell you that. They tell us very little, anyway.”

  “Okay. Let’s leave it where it is. From this moment on, I need to work out whatever it is that I need and look to my wife to fulfill it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “This is way too much of a risk. Too much at stake. Every time I look up, someone in Washington or the political arena here in New York has us on the news for doing something stupid, some indiscretion.”

  She turned to face him. “True, but don’t get nervous about it. That’s when things happen. Just relax and follow your gut. If you think you need to stop, then stop.”

  “Makes me wonder how you stay so cool.”

  Leilani stepped closer to him again. “I don’t. Each and every day I wake up, I just, like, realize it could be my last day of freedom. I have a hard time trusting new clients, you know, wondering if I’m being set up or if I’ll get beat up or robbed. And I always hope my regulars won’t get sloppy. But that’s totally the risk. That’s why it’s so lucrative. Like you said, that’s why you pay so much, and you’re totally right. You’re one of the good clients. You respect boundaries and don’t drink or smoke or get rough.” She touched his shoulder. “I want you to rest assured and know that what we do goes absolutely no further than this hotel room. Yes, there’s a company I work for and all, but I was thinking about breaking away and doing this on my own, you know, like we discussed. I mean, why give half to someone else, when I’m the one doing all the work, you know what I mean?”

  His expression showed his worry, but he still said, “I do. You need to do what you think is best.”

  “Actually, like tonight I was going to ask you if you’d think about, you know, like maybe trying me on the side. But, I see that you’re done.”

  His voice gentled. “No. Can’t do that.”

  “I totally understand, especially not after you have this feeling like someone is talking. I get it.”

  He stepped away and she had no choice but to remove her hand. He said, “Anyway, you take care.”

  A faint smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “You
too. Do what you have to do.”

  “I will.” He turned back to her, looking dissatisfied. “Honestly, I still need to know how this got out.”

  She gazed at him as he stood before the door. “I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is, since you’ve vowed to stop, then we’ll stop. Do you want me to tell Money you won’t be needing our services anymore?”

  “No. She’ll find out. Let this be the last we speak of it, and each other.” He turned, opened the door, and stepped out.

  “Bye.” She leaned out of the door and wanted to wish him luck with his bid for the White House, but she didn’t. She simply closed the door.

  Leilani stayed in the room and logged on to her computer. She returned some e-mails, paid a bill or two, and spent the remaining time the senator had paid for just piddling around. Then she sent her usual text to the booker. Done.

  A female candidate has entered the race: three-term Illinois congresswoman Marla Goins spoke at a rally today announcing her declaration. Goins was propelled into the race with support from the Tea Party movement. Civil unions were legalized in her state earlier in the year. She’s angered some voters for pushing to give same-sex couples the right to marry in Illinois.

  Ten

  Leilani

  Monday—July 25, 2011

  Leilani’s next appointment was nearly three hours later at the W New York on Lexington Avenue. It was a woman, Ms. 101, who’d spent time with Kemba before. This time, it was Leilani’s turn.

  The female athlete’s name was Temeka Palmer, and she was one of the top female basketball players in the world. She was also as bisexual as they came. She wanted men and women at different times. This time, it was time for new pussy.

  Leilani had been with women many times and could take it or leave it, never interested in exploring girl-on-girl in her personal life, but for the money she knew just what to do. She wasn’t just talented at giving men head, she could also give women head, too.