Yes, Mr President

by Jean-Luc Cheri

  But now, that just wouldn’t do. I was working with the man. If I allowed my fantasies to dominate my daytime thoughts, he would surely be able to tell, and I would be fired. No, I had to resist, and put these inappropriate thoughts out of my mind.

  After a while I gave up on the television and went to bed, hoping that sleep would come quickly. But instead, I lay awake, running over my encounter with him again and again. Soon, the itch of desire turned into a throbbing ache, and my panties became soaked from my desire. Several times I rolled over to reach for my drawer, convincing myself that a quick orgasm was just what I needed to put these thoughts out of my head, but each time I stopped myself.

  No. I can’t. This job is too important. Go to sleep.

  Sleep finally did come, but it wasn’t very restful. I startled awake sometime in the night, after a particularly vivid sexual dream. I groaned into my pillow, wishing I had dreams like normal women, about men who brought me flowers and then made sweet love amid soft satin sheets. Mine were darker, and involved being held by strong hands, while being forced to do things I couldn’t admit I enjoyed.

  Chapter 5

  The next day, everyone made me feel like I was a welcome part of the team. I saw the President briefly, as he strode quickly down the hallway, but I don’t think he saw me. April, Kyle, Olivia and I all went to lunch together, and I told them about my encounter with the President yesterday. I left out the part about him telling me my letter selection was better than the previous person, and I also omitted my little outburst about helping him with anything.

  “One thing I’m curious about,” I asked my new friends, “did the President know your name when you first started?”

  April gave a small laugh. “What, are you upset he didn’t know you? Do you realize how many people work in the White House? I’m sure there are people who’ve worked there for a year who the President doesn’t know, let alone us lowly interns.”

  “No, I–”

  Kyle interrupted me. “He doesn’t know my name, even though I try to remind him every time we meet.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia said, “don’t feel bad. He’s never called me by my name either.”

  I remained quiet, deciding to keep this from my friends too. But I filed it in my ‘very interesting’ mental slot.

  After we got back from lunch, Mrs. Marshall placed another basket of mail on my desk.

  “Here’s today’s letters,” she said. “I understand yesterday’s were a big hit.” Her eyes twinkled at me as she smiled.

  I returned her smile. “I guess.”

  “No need to work late on them. Just finish up what you can by five o’clock, and then take what you have done into him.”

  “Yeah,” April said with a grin. “You’re making the rest of us look bad. But I do want to thank you for taking that job off my hands.”

  So, that mystery was solved. I was glad I hadn’t said anything at lunch.

  I focused on my work, and sure enough, I was surprised again when April announced it was quitting time.

  “Just a few more,” I assured her, and she rolled her eyes and smiled.

  “Give her another week,” Kyle said, “and she’ll be tired of this and leaving on time.”

  The three of them laughed as they waved goodbye.

  This time, I was finished at six o’clock, and picked up the stack and headed down the hallway towards the Oval Office. I decided that if there was no one there like yesterday, I would put them on his desk and get out quick. I didn’t want to be caught loitering in there two days in a row.

  In the outer office, the secretary’s desk was empty, but this time the door to the Oval Office was closed. What if he was in there with someone important? Would he want to be interrupted with these letters?

  I considered leaving them on the secretary’s desk, but I remembered my instructions had been specific – the President’s desk. I took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door.

  His voice came from the other side. “Come in.”

  I opened the door and stuck my head in as unobtrusively as possible, looking around to see if he was alone. He was, sitting at his desk and writing.

  “Sarah,” he said, putting his pen down. “I see you’re working late again. I’m going to have to have another word with Betty.”

  I smiled and pushed open the door. “It’s not her fault. She told me to stop working at five.”

  “Then I’m glad to see your devotion to your country.”

  “Something like that,” I said, as I placed the stack on his desk. He took a small pile off the top, and began to scan through them.

  I turned to leave, and I just reached the door when he spoke.

  “Another fine job, Sarah.”

  I turned. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  He stared at me a moment, then said, “Have you been given the tour?”

  I nodded. “Mrs. Marshall showed me around.”

  “How would you like the deluxe tour?”

  “The deluxe tour?”

  He stood. “Yes, only available from sitting Presidents and First Ladies. And since there’s no First Lady, I guess I have to do it.”

  My eyes went wide. “A tour?”

  “Unless you have other plans?”

  “Oh. No, none at all.” Unless you count going back to my apartment and debating with my vibrator.

  “It’s settled then. Come on, let’s go for a walk.” He came over and held a different door open for me, and then followed me out, guiding me to the outdoor colonnade that led to the main residence.

  “You enjoying school?” he asked as we walked.

  “Very much. But it might be tough to go back after this summer.”

  “That’s happened with a few of our interns. We always encourage them to return to school.”

  When we entered the Palm Room – the ground-floor entrance to the main house – a marine guard in his dress uniform snapped to attention, giving a quick salute. The President gave him one in return, and we went down a short hallway and made a left into a pantry-type area, which had an elevator along the left wall. A thin gray-haired man in a white chef’s uniform was placing a box on a shelf.

  “Good evening, Mr. President,” the man said in a slight Italian accent, showing a wide smile.

  “Harold. How’s the family?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The President turned to me. “Sarah, do you have dinner plans?”

  “No.”

  “Harold, could you add one more to the evening’s menu?”

  The chef’s smile widened. “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  The President pushed the button to the elevator, and the single door opened instantly. His hand moved to the small of my back and guided me inside.

  This was all happening too quickly for my mind to keep up. I was being guided into the White House by the President himself, and we were going to have dinner together? For a moment I wondered if this was all a dream, and I was really back in my apartment, asleep in my bed.

  But what had really sent my mind spinning was the feel of his touch on me as he led me into the elevator. He was gentle, but I had felt the strength in his hands as he pressed into the skin through the silken material of my blouse. My flesh felt warm where his hand had been, and the warmth was spreading outward. I felt the familiar twist of desire between my legs, and had to close my eyes for a moment to calm myself.

  Stop it. You’re going to ruin this. He’s going to see right through you and recognize the dark lust you’re hiding deep inside. And then he’s going to ask you to leave.

  The elevator door opened, and my eyes did the same. His hand returned to my back, and he led me out into the large center hall of the second floor. I realized he had skipped the entire first floor, which was on the public tour, and we were now in his private residence.

  Everything was ornate and impeccable, from the paintings on the wall, to the hardwood floors, and the
crystal chandeliers.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “It’s humble, but it’s home,” he said, causing me to laugh. His eyes seemed to study me as I did, as if he was looking for something.

  We walked down the central hall, and I took it all in. A large folding screen with a Chinese painting on it dominated one wall, and bookshelves lined the other. We reached the other end, walking through an archway with the backdrop of a beautiful semi-circular window. His hand returned, guiding me to a set of stairs on the left. But I stopped.

  He looked at me curiously. “Not interested in the third floor?”

  “Of course. I just want to see something first.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I’ve always wanted to visit the Lincoln Bedroom.”

  He gave me a slight smile. “Right this way then.” He turned and guided me with his other hand, to the other side of the center hall, and we entered the famous room.

  It was even more beautiful than I thought it would be. Decorated in golds and greens, it was dominated by the large, ornate, rosewood bed, with its oversized headboard and crowned canopy. It had been bought by Mary Todd Lincoln, and had been used by various presidents. Small tables, couches and chairs filled the rest of the room, and paintings and photographs of Lincoln hung on the walls. A large, mantled fireplace sat opposite the bed, and I wondered if it still worked.

  Lincoln hadn’t actually used the room for sleeping, but instead for his private office. In recent administrations it had become the place for guests of the president to stay during overnight visits. From big donors to celebrities, it was considered an honor to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “I love it. Thank you. Do you have many guests staying in here?”

  “I don’t have that many overnight guests.”

  I took one last look around the room, and then said, “I’m ready for the third floor now.”

  We went back across the center hall to the staircase, and climbed the stairs together.

  Chapter 6

  At the top, we emerged into the third floor central hallway. It was similar to the floor below, with fancy desks and sitting couches lining the walls.

  “This way,” he said, leading me to the middle of the house and turning left. In front of us was a short ramp, with double doors at the top. He opened one side and guided me through, with that now almost ever-present hand on me.

  I realized we were in the solarium, an enclosed structure on the roof. In it were various modern couches and chairs, and a large flat-screen television. Its walls were glass, which gave us a view out onto the promenade, a rooftop patio which was surrounded by a high, columned balustrade.

  “This is nice,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s where I spend most of my time when I’m in the residence.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, pushed a button, and then held it to his ear, waiting for a response. When it came, he said, “Harold, Miss Hayes and I will have our dinner in the solarium this evening. Thank you.” He folded the phone closed and slid it back in his jacket pocket.

  “Have a seat,” he said, indicating the couch, and I took a seat at one end, smoothing down my skirt. He sat at the other end, and turned to me. “Enjoying the tour?”

  “Very much. It was wonderful to see it in person, after only reading about it.”

  “So, Sarah, tell me about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you’d like to share. What do you do for fun? What are your future plans?”

  I smiled. “Well, lately, I’ve been spending most of my free time studying. I really want to hit my senior year running, so I can find the job I want when I graduate.”

  “And what job would that be?”

  “Somewhere where the action is. I want to be involved in politics, one way or another. I want to make a difference.”

  He nodded. “Have you considered running for office yourself?”

  “Perhaps in the future. No one’s going to take a twenty-one year old seriously as a candidate.”

  “What about marriage? And children?”

  “They’re going to have to wait.”

  He nodded, but didn’t reply. Then I remembered he and his wife hadn’t had children, and I wondered if I’d struck the wrong nerve.

  “Of course, that’s just my opinion,” I quickly added.

  “How do the guys you date react when you tell them that?”

  “I don’t really date that much.”

  His eyebrow rose. “Really?”

  “Actually, not at all.”

  “I find that surprising. A pretty woman like you should have guys asking her out.”

  I felt a blush rising in my cheeks. I was about to answer when a knock came on the solarium door. We looked up to see Harold standing on the other side of the glass, with a rolling food cart. President Remington got up and held the door open for the chef, and he wheeled the cart into the room.

  We moved to a small table, and everything looked wonderful as Harold set our plates in front of us. The main dish was Chicken Cutlets Brasciole on a bed of Lemon-Pepper Capellini. He gave us each a slice of chocolate cheesecake, and poured our wine, a sparkling Sauvignon blanc.

  “Thank you, Harold,” I said.

  “You’re very welcome, Miss. Enjoy.” He rolled his cart back through the door, and left us alone.

  When I turned back to the President, he was holding his wine glass out. He waited for me to lift mine before he spoke. “To Sarah. Here’s to her getting everything she desires this summer.”

  I smiled and touched my glass to his. “Thank you.” We drank, and our eyes stayed on each other.

  I realized his toast had a double meaning, and a flutter of nervousness went through me. Then I remembered April’s warning about his hands-off attitude with interns, and I calmed a bit. My body had been purring softly all evening as he led me around, touching me lightly on the back and arms, and that familiar current of electrical lust was running through me. I fought to keep it in check. The last thing I wanted to do was make a fool of myself with him, and make assumptions that would get me fired.

  Because, if the truth was told, the only thing I desired at the moment was him. I had always been turned on by self-assuredness, and Maxwell Remington was the embodiment of that term. It was like he never had any doubts about what to do, whether it was dealing with the Russians over nuclear arms, or informing me I was having dinner with him.

  Would I really consider giving my virginity to him? As I watched him eat, and the way he moved with such athletic confidence, and how his blue eyes appraised me, I knew the answer to that question was yes. In a heartbeat. All he had to do was ask.

  But I knew it was just a fantasy. He was the president, and I was a lowly intern. He was a thirty-eight year old widower who just lost his wife a few years ago, and I was a twenty-one year old virgin. It just wasn’t meant to be. It would be me and my vibrator tonight, and I knew that after being so close to Remington, and feeling his hands on me, there would be no way to resist opening that drawer. I felt a wet quiver between my legs as I anticipated what it would feel like.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  I shook my head as I swallowed the bite I was chewing, then said, “No, why?” Damn! I had to be more careful. Keep it under control.

  “You had an odd look on your face.”

  I shook my head again. “No, there’s nothing wrong.”

  I needed to change the subject. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask me anything. However, because of national security interests, I may not be able to answer.” He gave me a slight smile.

  I laughed lightly. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then ask away.”

  “How did you know my name?”

  He gave me a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “When we met last night in the Oval Office, you knew my name.”
r />   “You were employed to work in my administration. I know everyone who works in the White House.”

  “Oh.” I thought about what my fellow interns had told me, but decided not to accuse the President of lying.

  The slight smile returned to his lips. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was easy to see in your face.”

  “Sir,” I said, “I’m very sorry–”

  He cut me off. “You work in an office with three other interns. The first is April Masterson, from Boston, age twenty-three. Next, is Olivia Yates, from Seattle, age twenty-six, and the last is Kyle Spacek, from Phoenix, age twenty-four.”

  I stared at him in shock, and his smile widened. “See? You’re not so special after all.”

  My cheeks felt hot as my blush turned on full force. Oh god, how could I be so stupid? I had promised not to make an ass of myself in front of him, and I had done just that.

  I placed my hands over my face to cover my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

  He chuckled. “It’s ok.”

  “I better leave.”

  “Sarah, you’re making too big a deal out of this. I have a gift for remembering people. It’s part of the political animal in me.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. Besides, there’s one more intern in your office I haven’t told you about yet.”

  I removed my hands and looked at him. “No, you got them all.”

  “Her name is Sarah Hayes, from San Jose, age twenty-one. I first met this young woman over a year ago, when I was giving a speech at Stanford.”