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Subject: Re: Part I, 'Bill & Hillary'
From: davewl <davewl@indy.net>

Disclaimer:  This story is a work of fiction.  The characters, names,
incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or
events is purely coincidental.


Bill & Hillary
(A Short Story By Dave Wallace)

Copyright 1997
Electronic Manuscript Publishing Company, Inc.
Indianapolis, Indiana 46227


	This is going to be a difficult story to relate. It's already started out
that way with the title.  My first thought was, 'The First Family' but I
quickly rejected that, both because it sounded trite and because of the
'Long Playing' Record Album of that title some few decades ago.
	Then, it was, 'The First Couple', which simply sounded dumb.  'Mr.
President' sounded like the name of an old movie, and on.
	'Bill & Hillary', undoubtedly is the title of a book, a song, an opera, and
a stageplay, so a prophylactic apology is offered to the writers of those
works for any imposition or affront on my part.
	The reason that I settled upon this title is, moreover, a result of the
fact that when I met them, he wasn't a president of anything.  She was a
Governor's wife, to be sure, but this White House experience didn't come
until later.
	As I peeked from my vantage point, down into the crowded dining room,
filled with the rich and the famous, the privileged and the powerful, to a
person honored by their inclusion in yet another 'State Dinner', I found my
mind drifting back to Arkansas, to those early days.
	I'd graduated from high school a virgin, believe it or not.  Ah, you might
say, she's probably a skank.  Nobody would have wanted her.  Forgive my
immodest defense, but the school that I attended had 800 students in its
graduating class.  And, I'm not ashamed to aver, I was elected Homecoming
Queen in my junior year and Prom Queen in my senior year.
	I don't say this in a spirit of braggadocio, merely to help you quickly
'meet' me.  I want you to understand a bit about me but I don't want to
waste a lot of words on the issue.  For, the focus of this story is them.
	Bill and Hillary.  Although, even that is inaccurate.  I think that most
people have had their fill of him.  Jogging - golfing (and falling down
steps at golfing buddies' homes) - eating fast food - commenting upon this
or that - kissing this baby or speaking in front of that group - we've all
had ample opportunity to see Bill.
	Hillary, though, is another matter.  Not only has she limited the press
access (especially 'post-health-care-debacle'), but, even when she appears
in public, it's as if she is cloaked not only in chic, conservative dress,
but is also surrounded with an unmistakable aura of 'stay the fuck away'
vibes.
	This vibe, coupled with her 'this bitch is not one to be fucked with' vibe,
causes her to be a formidable person.  She's always been intimidating - at
least as long as I've known her.
	As I stood before her in a tastefully furnished living room, eighteen years
young, valedictorian of my recently graduated high school class, I was
confident.  I knew that my appearance was both immaculate and appealing.
	I'd spent a good deal of time choosing my clothing (a conservative business
suit, with matching charcoal skirt and jacket, with a silk blouse beneath,
white-on-white - charcoal panty hose with gray-toned shoes, no purse,
briefcase deposited at my side), coifing my naturally blond, shoulder length
hair, and applying a minimum of makeup.  
	In spite of this confidence, though, I must admit that I was a bit
'whelmed' by her presence.  I stood quietly in front of her, almost at a
position of attention, as she scanned my brief resume and application.  Even
then, I didn't find it odd that she'd not offered me a seat but instead had
required me to stand before her in an almost military - or imperial - manner
.
	In time, I'd learn to stand in that manner - although in considerably
different attire - for many hours on many occasions - but, I get ahead of
myself.
	The look on her face and the concentration, moving from my application to
focus on my face…my eyes, belied both a sharp intelligence and a feral
intuition.  I knew that this was a person that one couldn't 'bullshit'. 
This was somewhat unique, since I was generally able to prevaricate with
parents, friends, teachers, etc., pretty much with impunity.  Forgive the
arrogance, but I'd found most people to be dullards, unable to see past the
words put before them, written or spoken, true or false.
	This may sound terribly cynical at such a young age but I'd just not had
the occasion to meet many people that could 'see through me'.  Hillary was
not only one of those people, she was the Grand Dragon, the High Priestess
of those people.  
	Although her stare was intimidating, overwhelming really, I didn't avert my
gaze.  I somehow knew that she'd reject me out of hand if I were to show
weakness too soon.  I say too soon because, with her singular personal power
, she knew that I was subordinate, not only in social station, but in
intellect, moreover, in willpower.  It wasn't a case of defiance on my part.
 More a case of demonstrating to her my heartfelt (and instant) acceptance
of the rules.
	'Okay.  You're Queen Bitch.  But, I'm the Queen Bitch's 'Personal and
Confidential Assistant' (the position that I was applying for) and you'd
best not fuck with me', my level gaze seemed to say.
	'Furthermore, the Queen Bitch wouldn't have me in this exalted, privileged
position unless I was worthy.  Ergo, 'you'd best treat me with the respect
that is due to the Queen Bitch's Personal and Confidential Assistant', was
the message implicit (I hoped) in my eyes.
	Of course, it was also understood in our little telepathic intercourse that
she was my better.  To her I deferred.  With strength, accepting the
superiority of her gestalt.
	When she spoke, it was with the cute little half-grin that I've since
learned to adore.  "You must understand, Allene.  The position for which you
are applying is one wherein your absolute loyalty is both demanded and
necessary.  My husband, the Governor, is a winner.  I anticipate that he'll
one day be the President of The United States.  Already, there are some very
important people - powerful people - who are more than just talking about
putting him there.
	"As my Personal Assistant, you'll often be present in intimate situations
and will hear and see things that are of the utmost confidentiality.  Both
here in the Governor's Mansion and, someday, if all goes well, in the White
House.  I absolutely must know that I can trust you implicitly."
	Her eyes looked deep into my own.  Past my eyes, it seemed, into my very
soul.  As if searching for the honest answer.  Not the words that may spill
from my mouth, articulating my thought out response to her unspoken question
.  Instead, what she could 'mine' from beneath my shields.  I felt as if I
were standing naked before her, so convinced was I that I could hide nothing
from her.
	As I was having this thought of being naked in front of her, I suddenly
flashed on a mental picture of that reality.  I was standing nude before her
, my nipples hard, my legs spread apart, my hands interlaced on top of my
head, and my shaven pubes at eye level with her seated reach.  As I flashed
on this fantasy, I felt a concomitant warming in my pussy.  An instant
lubrication, as my body reacted to the image sent by my brain's imagination.
	This warming, this wetting, was followed by a hardening of my nipples and a
growing realization of my sexual arousal.  I felt my face flush and saw the
look of recognition that instantaneously flashed in Hillary's eyes as she
instinctively read my feelings.
	As quickly, she broke into a radiant smile and sprang to her feet in front
of me.  "I know that you'll work out just perfectly, Allene."
	As she embraced me, our breasts mashing together, I tentatively placed my
hands on her shoulders and accepted the gesture.  I'd never had any sexual
experience with another female in my life.  I'd had a girlfriend, once,
who'd suggested some mutual masturbation when I was thirteen and staying
overnight at her house.  It frightened me at the time, and I'd begged off.
	Since then, going to school, seeing girlfriends' bodies in the nude, for
example, at gym class, athletic competitions and slumber parties, I'd
noticed that I had an abiding appreciation for the female form but never
considered that I'd feel sexual attraction to another woman.
	These thoughts were racing through my head as Hillary relaxed her grip on
me, stepped back, looked deeply into my eyes again, and suggested, "Let me
show you around.  Welcome aboard."
	From that moment forward, I'd never looked back.  It was now six years
later and we'd been in Washington for over four years.
	How time flies.

End of Part I, Bill & Hillary

and,

Disclaimer:  This story is a work of fiction.  The characters, names,
incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or
events is purely coincidental.


Bill & Hillary (Part II)
(A Short Story By Dave Wallace)

Copyright 1997
Electronic Manuscript Publishing Company, Inc.
Indianapolis, Indiana 46227


	As Hillary walked me through what was to become my new home, I had the
feeling that we'd known each other for years.  Barely old enough to be my
mother, she moved with a feline grace that gave the illusion of a
youthfulness that matched her physical appearance.
	Her body appeared to be firm, arms and legs without extra fat, tummy flat
beneath her rather intense blue silk blouse, her skin tight over the
cheekbones, but her cheeks lush enough to provide ample flesh for her
charming dimples.  I wondered if she would be the youngest first lady, if
her husband was successful in his national ambitions.  
	The mansion was aptly named.  It was spacious, with high ceilings, large
rooms, and ornate woodwork throughout.  While the rooms were large, they
were also many; however I found it odd, still, that even back then, Hillary
and Bill (as I'd quickly come to think of them - her name always before his)
would sleep in separate bedrooms.  Hillary explained this away, saying that
they both kept odd hours and found it better this way.
	Even more oddly, his bedroom was down the hall from Hillary's suite,
whereas mine was adjoining. My bathroom was relatively spartan compared to
Hillary's, hers equipped with an oversized, sunken tub, a double shower
enclosure with clear glass door and multiple (four) shower jets, and an even
larger Jacuzzi in one corner. 
	Besides these bathing facilities, her bathroom had a cozy sauna with enough
room for two people to lay, side-by-side; and two sinks on a long vanity,
with mirrored walls all around.  The bathroom was a wonderland of fluffy
bath towels, stacked high on built-in shelving around the perimeter, several
bowls of miniature soaps, bath oils in bottles, bath oils in multi-colored
marbles, bubble bath in power and bubble bath in liquid decanters, candles
on stands, and candles designed to float on the surface of the bath water. 
It was evident that Hillary was in the habit of indulging her comfort.
	As Hillary guided me through the suite, she showed me my large, walk-in
closet, empty but for dozens and dozens of wooden hangers, empty shoe racks
on the floor, and dozens of empty plastic boxes on the closet shelves,
presumably for the storage of gloves, scarves, etc.
	I kept silent as Hillary explained that we'd be going shopping in the
morning to get me a new wardrobe.  A wardrobe, she explained, that would be
fitting for the new 'Personal & Confidential Assistant' to the Governor's
Wife.  She said these 'titles' as if they deserved to be capitalized.  
	My own mother having died of cancer when I was only eight years old, I'd
been raised by my father, along with two younger brothers.  Dad had never
remarried and I'd always felt a loneliness as I'd watched my girlfriends
sharing moments with their mothers over the years.  That first day with
Hillary, I felt that she was that missing 'older woman' in my life.  I knew
that, although I'd be an employee - a subordinate - I'd also like to be a
close friend to her.  I vowed that I'd do my best to earn that privilege.
	After the tour of my magnificent new home, Hillary had dismissed me with
instructions to be ready when a car would pick me up at Dad's house (I'd
already began thinking of my childhood home as such - somehow intuiting that
I'd never return) at 7:00 AM, for the promised shopping spree.  I'd had a
million questions to ask but kept them to myself, not wanting to appear
anxious or 'uncool' to this supremely sophisticated woman.
	When I'd finally left, Hillary had given me another hug, this time with a
pecking kiss on the cheek and urged me to get a good night's sleep.  I
remember her exact words.  "Sleep well tonight, young lady.  For, tomorrow
will begin a new adventure.  A new life for you that will be full of
exciting challenges.  I have every confidence that you'll be up to meeting
every one of those challenges."

	I'd fairly burst with pride as I'd driven away from the Governor's Mansion
that early evening, visions of an exciting new life before me.  Little did I
know of how unusual, how very perverse that new life was to be.
	Hillary had told me to pack lightly, as we'd be shopping for a completely
new wardrobe.  I'd been afraid to ask her where the money would come from
for such an extravagance but she had spoken with such assurance that I'd not
been concerned about it.
	Nevertheless, I'd packed two large suitcases, along with my cosmetics bag,
holding all of my makeup, etc.  I'd dressed again in a business suit, this
one of lighter weight material, and more comfortable for some 'power
shopping'.
	I'd not wanted to make the car and driver wait for me, so when the long,
white limousine pulled up to the curb in front of our house, I was already
standing there, my suitcases at my feet.
	I felt like royalty, or a movie star, as the chauffeur hopped out of the
limo and assisted me into the rear seat, only then hastening to place my
luggage in the car's trunk.
	I'd ridden in a limousine before for my senior prom but this was the first
time that I'd ridden in one all by myself.  I knew that I wouldn't mind
growing accustomed to such pampering and resolved that I would do my best
not to blow this opportunity.
	I'd been recommended to begin with, by my High School Guidance Counselor,
who had a family connection to my new boss.  Since having heard about the
job less than a month previously, I'd thought of nothing else.  I'd often
seen the Governor and his wife in the society pages of the newspaper and had
always thought her to be both beautiful and regal.  I didn't understand it
at the time, but in retrospect I'd later concluded that I'd had a crush on
Hillary for some time before I'd ever met her that fateful afternoon in the
mansion's living room.
	This woman was to become my boss, my friend, and my lover.  I would grow to
have a devotion to her that knew no limits.  I of course didn't realize this
as I road through the state capitol's streets, on my way to the Governor's
Mansion, feeling like Cinderella on the way to the Ball.  I didn't realize
it, but I wonder if I didn't suspect it, or 'feel' it nonetheless.

End of Part II Bill & Hillary

This one's coming (no pun) slowly.  I'll forward further installments as
they are 'birthed'.

:-)

dave wallace


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