Black President

by Brenda Hampton

  “Not tonight,” he said without turning around. “I’m tired. Need some rest.”

  I pressed my body against his, hoping that after he felt my hard nipples and firm breasts brushing against his back, he would have a change of heart.

  “I’m tired too,” I said. “But I assure you that this won’t take long.”

  I planted a trail of kisses against his back, but as I made a move to squat, he turned to face me. His package hadn’t increased a single inch. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I was shocked that he didn’t appear turned on by me anymore.

  “Raynetta, I have too much on my mind tonight, and that doesn’t include sex,” he said, towering over me. Our eyes remained connected; I figured that he could see the pure disappointment in mine.

  “Why isn’t it on your mind? Why are you rarely ever in the mood anymore, and what in the hell am I supposed to do if my husband refuses to have sex with me?”

  “You’re supposed to wait until he’s ready and not take it personal.”

  My brows furrowed as I cocked my head back in awe. “Wait? Are you kidding me? How can I not take it personal, especially when I have a gut feeling that you weren’t too tired to explore other things while in Africa?”

  Stephen reached for the faucet to turn off the water. “We’re not doing this tonight. As always, I have a busy day ahead of me. And for the last time, I need some rest.”

  He stepped around me to get out of the shower. All I could do was shake my head as I watched him reach for a towel and tie it around his waist. He exited the bathroom with me following closely behind him. In no way did his rejection feel good, but I refused to let him see how much his actions really hurt me.

  “You know what?” I said with a grin on my face. “If you’re not in the mood, I surely am.”

  I opened the drawer, pulling out my sex toy, which was a chocolate dream, multispeed vibrator . . . plopped on the bed, opened my legs wide, then flicked it on. Stephen looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “Wha . . . What in the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? You’re a smart man, and I’m sure you can figure it out. First ladies have needs too.”

  I positioned myself and sighed from relief after carefully inserting the sizeable, pleasing instrument. Anger and a little bit of shock appeared on Stephen’s face as he watched me. I started to moan a little; it was obvious that he had seen enough.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, walking to the closet.

  “Oooh, baby, you better believe that I am. Yes! Yes! Yes! I aaaam.”

  Stephen hurried into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. I continued to display how excited I was, and just as he’d made his way to the door, I expressed my enthusiasm. He couldn’t resist watching me as I heavily breathed in and out, trying to catch my breath.

  “That’s right,” he said as if he was upset. One would have thought that he was witnessing me in bed with another man. “Release all that fakeness, and remember that I do know what you really sound like when you’re overly thrilled about something being inside of you.”

  Okay, maybe I was overdoing it, but what the hell? I clicked off the vibrator, then looked at him with a satisfying smile on my face. “I’m glad you remember what I sound like because I don’t. But, until I can recall what it used to feel like, my new friend will suit me just fine. Good night, Stephen. See you in the morning, and don’t forget to dim the lights.”

  I fluffed my pillows, then turned on my side to get comfortable.

  * * *

  Morning was there in a flash. My schedule was crammed with things to do today, but I had to somehow or someway squeeze in a visit to Chanel Hamilton’s office. While I suspected that she and Stephen had gotten close on his trip, I wasn’t exactly sure how close. My assistant, Claire, was doing a little digging for me too, but she hadn’t come forth with any information yet. Either way, I wasn’t going to wait. I needed to know something, and the one thing I knew about slick women was, they were always willing to talk. Chanel would definitely let the cat out of the bag. She came across as the kind of woman who would shout her business to the world. Then again, I was sure that Stephen told her to keep everything hush-hush. He never appreciated his business being out there, and now that he was president, I was sure that he encouraged her to remain tight-lipped. He surely remained that way with me, and he skipped breakfast this morning, just so he didn’t have to elaborate on his trip. I grabbed a few pieces of toast and coffee. And while going over my schedule with Claire, I told her it was imperative for me to squeeze in a meeting with Chanel.

  “I’m not sure if you will have time,” she said, looking at my schedule. “You have a very tight schedule today. I just don’t see where we can squeeze it in.”

  “We need to make time. If I have to cancel lunch, that’ll be fine with me. She and I have some unfinished business to discuss. All I need is fifteen or twenty minutes with her.”

  “Okay. I’ll call her office to see if I can make that happen.” Claire looked at her watch. “As for now, we have to get going. It’s almost nine thirty. You’re supposed to be at the homeless shelter in less than an hour. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  As usual, we left the White House with Secret Service in tow. Many of the agents were new. They were nearly glued to me. I could barely shake people’s hands, and when a little girl reached out to hug me while at the shelter, one of the agents attempted to pull her away from me.

  “It’s okay,” I said, displaying a frown. “No need to be so aggressive.”

  He backed away, allowing the little girl to get closer to me. She held wilted daisies in her hand while thanking me for coming to see her.

  “These are for you.” Glee was in her eyes. “My mom said that you would like them, and they go well with your yellow dress. It’s so pretty, just like you are.”

  I accepted the flowers and smiled. “Thank you for the flowers, but I’m nowhere near as pretty as you are. What’s your name?”

  “Anastasia.”

  She swayed from side to side, showing much happiness as I complimented her. She looked to be about five or six years old. Her thick hair was brushed into a ponytail, but was very kinky. The dress she wore looked as if it hadn’t been washed in ages, and her white shoes had black scuff marks all over them. I volunteered my time to feed the homeless, but it pained me to see so many homeless children there with their mothers. Anastasia introduced me to her mother who looked as if life had been very hard on her. Bags were underneath her eyes, her hands were real hard and dry when I shook them, and her hair too was a mess. I didn’t want to question why she had been living in a shelter, but one of the workers mentioned to me that she and Anastasia had been abused by the mother’s boyfriend. Feeding them didn’t seem like it was enough. I wanted to do more, and when I returned to the car, I discussed it with Claire.

  “I know that everyone makes their own choices in life, but what we witnessed back there should not be. We continue to protect and lookout for the wealthy, and it’s a darn shame. A measly check and food vouchers will never be enough to help change those people’s situations, but decent-paying jobs and a good education will. But as you already know, schools are closing, teachers are being laid-off, and many jobs don’t pay enough. I truly hope that Stephen and his administration can do more to help homeless people. Meanwhile, please contact the shelter and see to it that by the end of the week, Anastasia and her mother have a roof over their heads and the mother has a job. Can you handle that for me?”

  “I will do my best.”

  “Please do.”

  I sat in silence while looking at the wilted flowers in my hand and thinking more about the homeless. I said a prayer for them, and then prayed for myself as I entered Chanel’s office. She was on the phone and didn’t look happy to see me.

  “Someone very important just came in,” she said. “I have to go, Ciara, talk to you soon.” />
  Chanel laid the phone on her desk, then stood to greet me. Her office was surrounded by glass, and we both noticed several individuals peeking in to see what was going on.

  “I was quite surprised when I received a phone call from my boss, telling me that you were coming here. I’m not exactly sure what you’d like to discuss, but tell me now if I should close my blinds and allow us some privacy.”

  “I think that would be a good idea.”

  I watched as Chanel sashayed over to each window, closing the blinds. She wore a gray pantsuit that showed her hourglass figure. Her hair was brushed back into a ponytail that was full of curls, and her makeup didn’t allow any blemishes to show. I had never been jealous of any woman Stephen had been with, but there was something about Chanel Hamilton that made me feel as if the competition was real steep.

  “All done.” She walked over to her cluttered desk, barely sitting on the edge of it and crossing her arms.

  “Thank you,” I said politely. “Normally, I don’t waste time with women who I suspect are after my husband, but this time I couldn’t resist. Why? Because I kind of like you. I think you have an amazing and rewarding career, and I would hate for you to mess it all up by getting involved with Stephen.”

  A noticeable purse of her lips appeared. “So, you came here to warn me . . . or threaten me? Which one?”

  “I didn’t just threaten you, did I?”

  “No, but let’s not pretend that you came here to save me from ruining my amazing life-slash-career. You couldn’t care less about me, and you made it clear, after our interview, that you really don’t like me.”

  I snapped my finger. “That’s right, I did. And you made it clear during that same interview that my husband could have you at the snap of his finger. My gut tells me that your trip to Africa turned out to be something real special. I hope I’m wrong, but I can’t help that I’m good at recognizing . . . Well, I hope this is appropriate for me to say, but I do recognize whores when I see them.”

  Chanel chuckled, then straightened her face as she took a few steps in my direction. “Whores don’t have three sex partners after living on this earth for thirty-two years. A whore does not save herself until the right man comes along, nor does a whore care about the kind of man whom she spreads her legs for and allows to enter her. After careful thought and much consideration, I made an adult decision because I felt as if Stephen was so deserving of me. I mean, he took me to a place I had never been before, and what a passionate and experienced man he is. I’m a little disappointed that he’s married to a ghetto drama queen, but I guess every man has flaws. Even our president.”

  This time, I inched forward, chuckling too. “The one word I will take from that crap you just said is experience. They say experience is the best teacher, and you, my dear, will learn, starting today, that a passionate man in the bedroom will diss the hell out of you once he leaves it. You will also learn that if you take another step forward, his ghetto, drama-queen wife will knock you on your ass and stomp you with the heels his money paid for. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed yourself in Africa, and before I go, I must gift you with a scrapbook for your memories. Keep them close to your heart, because I assure you that Stephen will never screw your trifling ass again.”

  I reached in my bag, then dropped the three-by-five scrapbook with four pages in it on the floor. I turned to exit, but stopped in my tracks when Chanel fired back at me.

  “How much do you want to bet that Stephen will come to me again, especially after what I put on him? I doubt that he’ll ever forget it, so you’ll have to swap that little scrapbook for an eight-by-ten with many more pages for me to fill because he will be back.”

  Without turning around, I responded. “See, you just proved me right about whores. You all stay confused and are very delusional.”

  I left Chanel’s office, waving at those who waved at me. One reporter kept hounding me about my visit, but to silence her, I encouraged her to set up an interview with me in the near future. She was ecstatic about that, but I wasn’t doing much smiling on my end. I was torn up inside. Couldn’t get the thoughts of Stephen having sex with Chanel out of my mind. Then I thought about how he rejected me last night. That angered me even more. I couldn’t even gather myself to attend my next meeting, and while in the car, I had to shed a few tears. The path Stephen and I were on was dangerous. I was starting to dislike him, and I just didn’t understand his ugly ways. Arguing with him all the time hadn’t done much good, but something about confronting him made me feel better. I couldn’t wait another minute to do so.

  The second we returned to the White House, I marched down the West Wing, heading for the Oval Office where I knew Stephen was in a meeting, thanks to Claire. Secret Service was nearby, and one agent stopped me as I approached the door.

  “The president is in an important meeting with a few members of his administration, with the vice president and chief of staff. He asked not to be interrupted, but he should be finished within the hour.”

  “I thank you for telling me, but I need to see my husband, now. Please move away from the door so I can go inside.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t do that. I’ve been advised not to let anyone go inside.”

  I ignored the agent I had never seen before. When I touched the knob, he grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Jefferson, I can’t.”

  I snatched my hand away, then lifted my finger to his face. “Keep your hands off of me and move out of my way. If you don’t, I will have you thrown out of here so fast that you’ll regret not—”

  Just then, Florence, from Stephen’s administration, opened the door. She said hello to me, but I moseyed right on by her, entering the Oval Office. Stephen and Tyler sat across from each other on the sofas. Andrew stood next to Stephen, and three other people stood near the chairs. It appeared that the meeting was close to being over. Stephen glared at me; he could instantly tell I wasn’t happy.

  “I need a moment with my husband.”

  My eyes shifted from one person to the next in the room. Stephen looked past me, focusing on the Secret Service agent behind me.

  “I apologize, Mr. President, but she wouldn’t listen to me when I said you were in an important meeting and she couldn’t go inside.”

  The direction of Stephen’s eyes traveled to me. “We’re not done with our meeting, so whatever is on your mind will have to wait.”

  “You love keeping me waiting, don’t you? Well, I don’t like to wait, so please allow your meeting to resume in about ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “My meeting will resume now. We’ll talk when I’m finished, Raynetta, and as you can see, this is very important.”

  I looked around at everyone staring at me with bugged eyes. A few mouths were dropped open too, but I didn’t care. I was the priority. It was time for Stephen to treat me as if I was.

  “I have no problem having this conversation in front of your staff. If you want me to, I will. If not, I suggest you make the right decision and ask everyone to leave.”

  I figured that stubborn bastard wouldn’t see things my way. The smug look on his face said it all, along with his tone that went up a few notches.

  “Out, Raynetta, now!”

  I moved closer to the sofa where Stephen was, appearing as calm as I could. “I’ll get out after I say this. If you ever screw that bitch again, I will slice your throat, cremate you, and send your remains to your enemies around the world. Don’t put me in that position, ’cause if you do, you will regret it.”

  Like always, Stephen didn’t appear moved by my threats. Didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. The others were in shock—I heard loud gasps. Tyler also said something, but I was too busy digging into my purse for a switchblade. I quickly pulled it out, causing more of a reaction when I reached out, pressing the sharp blade against Stephen’s neck. This time he blinked and attempted to back away from the blade.

  “Oh my God,” one lady said. “So
mebody, do something!”

  “Plea . . . Please put that away,” Andrew pleaded. “It’s not necessary.”

  I ignored them all and kept my eyes focused on Stephen while caging him in his seat. “Did you or did you not understand what I said?”

  He didn’t respond, just stared at me with pure anger trapped in his eyes. By then, Secret Service was in the room. Two agents grabbed me, and one of them snatched the switchblade.

  “Everybody out!” one agent shouted. “Clear the room!”

  Everyone left the room in a rush, leaving Stephen, the Secret Service, and me all by ourselves.

  “Release her,” Stephen said, then got off the sofa. He hadn’t shown one bead of sweat and barely looked at me as he casually walked over to his desk. He opened the drawer, then placed what looked to be a nine millimeter Glock on top of it. His eyes narrowed as he glared at one of the agents. “I don’t know what it will take for me to get the protection I need around here, but do me a favor and clock out for good.”

  The agent took a hard swallow. “Mr. President, allow me an opportunity to tell you how your wife was able—”

  “Out!” he shouted. “O-U-T!”

  Speechless, both agents left. I didn’t feel good about this, only because I knew this wasn’t their fault. Whenever things calmed down, I intended to clear things up. For now, I had Stephen to deal with.

  “I am so sick and tired of you.” He was blunt. “I’m dealing with a country that is possibly on the brink of war, gun violence issues, racism, cyberattacks, poverty, lack of jobs, a failing educational system, a Republican Party that is threatening another shutdown . . . and you have the audacity to run up in here threatening me over sex I’m having with someone else. How petty is that, especially when all you have to do is open your mouth and speak your truth, Raynetta. ’Cause when you do, you’ll finally understand why I’m not in the bed with you and I prefer to be in bed with others. I will speak no further than that, but sit on that shit for a while, and then come back here when you’re ready to correct your lies. Until then,” he lifted the gun from his desk, cocked it sideways, and aimed it at me. “Understand that I will blow your brains out before you can ever cut my throat and cremate me. My mother has the authority to bury me, and whenever that time comes, I will be laid to rest in one piece.”