Trouble in the White House

by Brenda Hampton

  “Please. Don’t make it seem like he’s irresistible. I just wanted to return his money so that we wouldn’t have any ties to him whatsoever. I wanted us to have a fresh start, and now we will.”

  “A fresh start is exactly what we need. And as my final warning, no more lies. None whatsoever, all right?”

  She smiled. “I promise. No more lies. But why aren’t you mad? I thought that if you knew the truth about what Mr. McNeil did, you would throw a fit. Do you not love me anymore?”

  I cupped Raynetta’s face in my hands while searching her eyes. “I will always love you, and yes, I am very angry about what happened. But for now, my thoughts are about holding you, touching you, being inside of you, and making love to you until my dick hurts. I also want a child, Raynetta. I want you to take your time and give it some serious thought. Can you do that for me?”

  She slowly nodded, and within a matter of seconds, we started to remove each other’s clothes. We made our way inside the cabin, and right in front of the fireplace was where our naked bodies landed. I lay behind Raynetta, massaging her breasts, squeezing her hard nipples, and stirring her pussy fluids with two fingers. She moaned and groaned from my touch, and when I rested on my back, I positioned her on top of me. She faced the other direction, providing me an opportunity to see her meaty cheeks shake, rattle, and roll. My steel had reached new heights, and as she plunged down on it, it tapped a hot spot that prompted both of us to grunt.

  “Tap into it,” she said, grinding harder and faster. “Hit it and see how much more you’ll get.”

  Raynetta was already so wet that I didn’t think she could offer much more. Fortunately, I was wrong. I was gifted more of her honey dew when I flipped her on her back, separated her legs, and parted her slippery slit wide with my ferocious tongue. It traveled deep, causing her to rake my back with her nails and tremble all over. Her stimulated clitoris begged for attention, and as I flicked it with great speed, she went wild. Her fist pounded the floor; a high arch grew in her back.

  “I fucking love you,” she cried out, barely able to catch her breath. “See . . . see what you made me do!”

  She sprayed me with the sweetest perfume, and after wiping my mouth and the tip of my nose, I was in no mood to make love. I was too hyped for that—there were times when I was in the mood to get downright nasty, freaky, and dirty with my wife. It might have had a little to do with my thoughts of Michelle, but without a doubt, this was where I wanted to be. Right here, watching Raynetta in a doggy-style position, throwing it back and taking me all in. With each lengthy stroke, she painted my muscle with more of her heavy cream. In return, I rewarded her very well.

  My eyes closed as my warm milk swam inside of her. I hoped that it would do her body good. I was in deep thought about the feel of my wife’s gushy insides when I opened my eyes and noticed someone watching us from afar. I squinted, only to see Claire staring back at me as she stood on the terrace of the cabin across from ours. She stood there for a while, watching as I held Raynetta’s cheeks open and sank my super-hard muscle into her tight folds, unable to break my rhythm. Finally, Claire left her terrace and went inside her cabin. I didn’t make much of it, and if she wanted to watch again, so be it.

  I eased out of Raynetta, and as she lay on her stomach, my tongue traveled down her spine. I kissed her mountain-sized cheeks, which were as soft as cotton, while I lightly ran my finger through her crack. My touch tickled her and made her laugh.

  “You earned a gold medal tonight,” she said. “I don’t know why you’re so energized like this, but I surely hope I can look forward to more.”

  “You, baby,” I said, making my way on top of her. “You have me energized. Let’s see if I can earn more than just one gold medal tonight.”

  Raynetta opened the door for me to shoot for another gold. But in the midst of striving to attain my medal, I couldn’t help but think about what else had me feeling so exuberant. I closed my eyes, wondering if all was going well at Mr. McNeil’s birthday celebration.

  Christopher J. McNeil

  I was never one to make a big fuss about my birthday, but my wife had been determined to throw me a celebration. Most of our family was at the house, and as we all sat around the rectangular dinner table, which stretched from one end of the dining room to the other, I stood to give a toast before dinner was served. Everyone raised their flutes, and many smiles could be seen around the room. That was because my family loved me. It was because of my good fortune that they were more than just financially stable. They were filthy fucking rich.

  “I want to thank you fine people for coming. Family means a lot to me, and I’m grateful to have such a beautiful, gifted family, who wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

  They all chuckled, thinking that I was kidding around. I wasn’t.

  I went on. “It saddens me that there is an empty chair here this year. I miss Tyler, but I know that he’s in the Almighty’s heaven, at peace, and proud of his wife and children for carrying on. I don’t know how much longer God will allow me to be here with my folks, but I thank him for the years I’ve accumulated thus far. I may be getting older, but I feel good and ready as ever to tackle whatever challenges are put forth. With that, happy birthday to me. And, doggone Betsie Ann, I’m ready to eat.”

  Everyone laughed and agreed. The servers then brought in the food, and while the various side dishes were being served, I stood again to slice the prime rib, one of my favorite dishes. One of the servers placed a silver-plated domed platter in front of me, and with a wide smile on my face, I lifted the top. In an instant, my smile vanished. Shouts and screams rang out throughout the room, and everyone raced away from the table and scattered, many falling on their asses.

  “Grandpa!” my sweet granddaughter cried out. “No!”

  “Oh my Lord!” said my wife. “Move away from it!”

  “I’m getting the hell out of here! Go get your coat, sweetheart! Let’s go,” my brother said.

  The server had fallen to the floor and fainted.

  I covered my mouth, gagging, and damn near puked all over myself. Instead of prime rib, there was a man’s decapitated head on the platter. I could barely look at it, and I hurried to leave the room so I didn’t have to. I was moving so fast that I damn near tripped over my own feet. I was anxious to call the police, but before I did that, I ordered everyone out of my house. I told my wife to go lock herself in our bedroom, and then I stormed into my office to make a call. Just as I closed the door, I bumped into something or someone who felt as solid as a rock. When I flicked on the lights, I saw the president’s pit bull, Levi. He startled the fuck out of me, and with a smirk on his face and a long knife in his hand, I knew this wasn’t going to be good.

  “The president would like to wish you a happy birthday. And as payback for what you did to the first lady, I can’t let you live. Sleep tight, muthafucka.”

  Levi jabbed the knife into my stomach, then turned it in a slow circle. My eyes were wide, and so was my mouth.

  “If . . . if you finish me off,” I struggled to say, “the president will never, ever see his son again. I know where he is.”

  In so much pain, I dropped to one knee. Levi grabbed the back of my head, pulled it up so I could look at him. He then yanked the knife out of my stomach.

  “What in the fuck do you know about the president’s son? Are you telling me that he’s alive?”

  I slowly nodded while holding my stomach, which was dripping with blood. Levi released my head and quickly reached for the cell phone in his pocket. I figured that he was making a call to the president. That bastard had better order Levi to make the right move, or else.

  President of the United States,

  Stephen C. Jefferson

  We had just finished making love at Camp David, and Raynetta was in the shower. I had joined her but had gotten out because the cabin was frigid and I wanted to add some more logs to the fire so the living room would stay warm. Just as I finished placing the last log
on the fire, I heard my cell phone ring. I hoped it was Levi, because I had told him to call and confirm after the job was finished. I answered the phone and immediately heard Levi’s voice on the other end.

  “I need you to make the call on this,” he said. “This asshole just told me your son is alive. I don’t know if he’s fucking with me or not, but he says that he knows where Joshua is.”

  I froze from what he’d said, but I didn’t want to mess this up. Mr. McNeil had to pay for what he’d done to Raynetta; he had definitely crossed the line. She was off-limits, and I couldn’t believe that he was stupid enough to think that I wouldn’t retaliate this time. He was probably saying that shit about Joshua to save his own life.

  “Kill his ass,” I said. “Do not let him live another day, and don’t fall for the bullshit.”

  “Your call, my move. See you within the hour.”

  Levi ended the call, and I sat there for a moment, trying to let what he’d said sink in. I couldn’t help but think about my mother’s reaction when I told her about what had happened to Joshua. She hadn’t believed me. Had said I had been tricked. Had claimed that I was out of my mind for believing such a thing. As I sat there thinking, my mind started to change course. I knew how powerful Mr. McNeil was, but was he really so powerful that he could pull off some shit like that? Hell, money could buy anything, especially people and lies. I thought about who had broken the news to me about Joshua. That person was Andrew. But then, there was something about Claire—the way she had boldly watched me make love to my wife tonight, the way she always looked at me, and how she was always in our business—that couldn’t be ignored.

  I rushed out of the cabin, a towel still wrapped around my waist, and hurried to the cabin across from ours. I called Levi on my cell phone to see if Mr. McNeil had said anything else, but he didn’t answer his phone. My heart was racing fast as I climbed the stairs in front of the cabin. After I pounded on the door, Claire opened it, displaying nothing but her white skin. Her firm breasts stood at attention, and her hand touched the trimmed hairs on her coochie.

  “Please come in.” Seduction was in her eyes. “I figured you would come. And I want you, Mr. President, to do to me exactly what you did to Raynetta.”

  This chick was crazy. Didn’t she notice the twisted look on my face? In no way was I there to have sex with her, and I made that very clear when I reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Get your goddamned mind right and tell me if my son is still alive. Is he?” I shouted.

  “What?” she shouted back. “I . . . I don’t know anything about your son. Now, let my arm go! You’re hurting me.”

  I could sense that Claire was lying to me. I didn’t let her arm go, and to inflict more pain, I yanked her hair from the back, pulling it so hard that her head fell back.

  “I swear, I’m going to snap your fucking neck if you don’t tell me the truth! Where in the hell is my son!”

  Tears seeped from the corners of Claire’s eyes. She hesitated to speak, but when she did, it was not what I wanted to hear.

  “Fuck me and I will tell you. I will tell you exactly where to find him. Just . . . just do as I wish and touch me all over.”

  Her wish was my command. I pulled her ass into the living room, and after shoving her on the floor, my fist tightened. I wanted to hit her, but choking the answer out of her would work just fine. I grabbed her neck, and as I tightened my grip on her neck, she squirmed around. But before she spoke, I heard a voice that sounded very familiar.

  “I told you not to trust these money-hungry crackers, didn’t I?” My mother had the meanest look I had ever seen on her face. “I don’t know if I should blow your fucking brains out first or hers. But since you’re my son . . .” She paused, and her eyes homed in on Claire. That was when I saw the gun in my mother’s hand. She squeezed the trigger several times, and as bullets whistled through the air, Claire and I both sprinted to avoid being shot. It wasn’t long before Claire was shot and collapsed, and that caused me to turn around and face my mother. The evilness in her eyes was still there. I held up my hands, tried to reason with her.

  “Put the gun down.” Drops of sweat rolled down my body. “Don’t you forget who I am to you. Your only son, and if you hurt me—”

  “Shut your dumb ass up. I know who you are, and you damn well better start recognizing and respecting who I am.”

  She tossed the gun aside, causing it to skid across the floor. After that, she rolled her eyes at me and walked out.

  I looked at Claire, sighed from relief and gratitude that I wasn’t in her condition. She was still breathing, so I kept shaking her and asking, “Where in the hell is my son?”

  President of the United States,

  Stephen C. Jefferson

  Unfortunately, I had become one big liar, but as president of the United States, not many people questioned me. Some were skeptical, but they didn’t dare call me out on anything. Not even Andrew, who knew my story about Claire’s death didn’t add up. It made no sense that a white man with a scruffy beard would sneak onto the grounds of Camp David and shoot Claire. To shoot me made more sense, but killing Claire was a far stretch. According to my own words, I supposedly saw the killer enter Claire’s cabin while I stood on the balcony of mine, waiting for Raynetta to finish her shower. I supposedly heard Claire scream, and that was when I rushed to her cabin to find out what was going on. By then, she had been shot and the killer had run into the woods and evaded being caught. That was my story; I was sticking to it.

  I had even gone to the extreme of making it look like the killer was a man Claire had been involved with. Pictures of the unknown man had been found at her apartment, as had letters that stressed how obsessed he was with her. I had to do what was necessary to keep my mother out of this. She was already in a heap of trouble for attacking a nurse at the mental institution. That could easily be a case of self-defense, but yet again, it all entailed lies, lies, and more lies.

  With Claire dead and Mr. McNeil in critical condition, I had no way to find out more about my son. Levi had been unable to wipe Mr. McNeil off the face of this earth because the police had arrived shortly after Levi and I spoke. He had to get the hell out of Mr. McNeil’s house before he was caught. We weren’t sure if Mr. McNeil would tell what had happened to him, but we were prepared to lie, if necessary.

  The one person whom I intended to tell the truth about all of this was Raynetta. She was devastated. She and Claire were extremely close, and Raynetta didn’t understand how or why someone would want to hurt her. She just didn’t get it, but after the funeral was over, she would learn that Claire wasn’t really the person she had pretended to be. For now, though, finding out if my son was alive took priority over everything. And if he was alive, where in the hell was he?

  I sat at my desk in the Oval Office, waiting for a call from Ina. I was eager to speak to her, but I was also a little uneasy because I wasn’t sure how she was going to respond to my request. The only way to find out if Joshua was dead or alive was to dig up his grave and open the casket. No question this would be very painful for Ina, but we had to start somewhere. I assumed she would want to know the truth too, or, at least I hoped she would want to know.

  “Mr. President,” my secretary, Lynda, said through the speakerphone, “the call you’ve been waiting for is on line one.”

  I thanked Lynda, then picked up the receiver and placed it on my ear. “Ina?” I said as I heard her conversing with someone in the background.

  “Yes,” she replied in a dry tone. “What do you want, Stephen?”

  “I’m not exactly sure yet, but you sound like you’re upset with me about something.”

  “I just want you and your mother to leave me alone. We have nothing else to say to each other, and I already apologized to you for not—” Ina’s voice cracked, so she stopped talking. I could sense that she was still in a great deal of pain.

  “I’m not trying to upset you, Ina. I only wanted to speak to you about something c
oncerning Joshua.”

  “There’s not much else for us to talk about, and I refuse to listen to any more attacks from you or Teresa. She said a mouthful when she came here, and that woman will never be welcome into my home again.”

  I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, but it was obvious that my mother and Ina had fallen out.

  “Listen. I haven’t spoken to my mother in quite some time, so I don’t know what happened between the two of you. I do know, however, that there is a possibility that Joshua is still alive. I want your permission to dig up his grave and see if his body is in the casket.”

  I was surprised by Ina’s response. Her screaming caused me to cock my head back and move the receiver away from my ear.

  “Hell fucking no, Stephen! No one is going to dig up his grave, no one! I . . . I wish you all would stop with this nonsense about him being alive. Do you have any idea what I’m going through over here? Obviously not! And shame on you and Teresa for putting me through this!”

  Ina started to cry hard. While waiting for her to calm down, I rubbed the hair on my chin, thinking hard about this. I then started to unbutton my shirt, and after a few buttons were undone, I spoke up again.

  “Apparently, something is going on between you and my mother that I don’t know about. But whatever it is, it has nothing to do with why I believe Joshua is still alive.” I proceeded to tell Ina about everything that had transpired in the past several days. I had to get through to her, but unfortunately for me, she wasn’t trying to hear it.

  “That is the most ridiculous mess I’ve ever heard,” she snapped. “I don’t care what anyone says. Joshua is not alive. If you look at the bigger picture, it would’ve taken an enormous amount of planning, scheming, plotting, and illegal crap to make it appear that Joshua was killed in his friend’s garage. You’re forgetting that his friend’s mother saw the boys. She was there, Stephen, and she told me what she saw. I also saw what was on Joshua’s computer. I read letters that he wrote, letters expressing his hatred for this country. I witnessed the change in his behavior, and that’s why all of this hurts so much. I failed to take action, and now I have to live with this.”