This is, of course, a work of imagination. Any resemblance to events in the real lives of those mentioned are entirely coincidental.
*
I've been involved in politics most of my life. Mostly in local races for candidates you've never heard of, but over time I've worked my way up and now I specialize in national contests, mostly for democratic candidates. I helped elect a democrat to congress in a Pennsylvania district that had long been a republican stronghold, and I guess that's what caught the attention of the national party.
Like a lot of people, I had mixed feelings about Hillary Clinton, but I couldn't resist such a high-profile campaign. She was the leading democratic contender, had a strong base in New York, good fundraising and incredible name recognition. These were certainly factors I could build on.
What I wasn't prepared for was the effect she had in person. At our first meeting, she took my hand in both of hers and looked me in the eyes.
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Clinton," I said,
"Hillary," she responded with a smile. "I'm so glad you're here, John," she said. Her hands were warm. "Tell me about yourself." I did so, feeling myself falling into those amazing eyes.
I was stunned. In seconds, this woman had completely pulled me in. The personal magnetism of her husband was famous, but she had always been in the background, and I was amazed to discover that her charisma was, if anything, stronger than Bill's.
We talked for quite a long time, about her, about me, and about the campaign. After an hour, I felt like Hillary was a dear friend. I would do anything for her, and I was thrilled to be working on her presidential campaign.
Being a workaholic had always been an advantage in my business, and today was no exception. I met the staff, began to get my office organized, and plotted out my schedule for the next several days. I didn't see Hillary again that day, but I was disturbed at how often she invaded my thoughts - that brilliant smile, those deep, dark eyes, and her warm touch. I had to keep shaking off the memory and telling myself to focus on work.
I told myself this would pass. I'm no kid to get caught up by an adolescent infatuation. But that night I kept dreaming of her and waking to find myself reaching out for...nobody. What the hell was wrong with me?
I had planned to spend the week connecting with key players in and around New York, beginning to set up more fundraising, coordinating a media campaign, the usual early stage campaign stuff. But about 5am I was awakened by a call informing me we were catching a plane to New Hampshire.
This wasn't too surprising. The Iowa and New Hampshire caucuses kicked off every presidential campaign. Although the sparsely populated states had few electoral votes, they were symbolically important. Doing well in the beginning sent a positive signal, and every candidate would be spending time in these two states in the days ahead.
The campaign staff were still being hired – in fact that was one of my jobs – so we were going to New Hampshire with just a small crew - myself, Hillary, and a couple of assistants to handle phone calls and travel details. The day was a whirlwind, seven stops in 12 hours, hundreds of hands to shake, interviews with half a dozen small papers and two radio shows. We got back to the hotel, and we were all beat. Marsha and Gail announced they were going to their room to crash and would see us in the morning. We had a 5am wakeup call. Hillary said she was going for a swim in the hotel pool and asked me to join her so we could talk about the campaign. I was exhausted, but she was the boss, and we did need some time to plan strategy. The hotel gift shop was closed, but I called the front desk, and they were able to set me up with a bathing suit – I hadn't planned on doing any swimming.
I got to the pool first, and was pleased to find it empty. Not a surprise, as it was pretty late, but I wasn't in the mood to put on a happy face for the public. I called room service and had them bring a bottle of champagne to the pool. Hillary walked in just as I hung up, wrapped in a fluffy white robe from her room. She dropped the robe on a chair and slipped into the water. I was stunned for the second time in as many days. Hillary was wearing a pretty demure one-piece suit, but it didn't hide much. She was gorgeous! All those stuffy business suits had disguised a killer body. Slim, shapely legs, a flat tummy, a nice round little butt and full breasts that were amazingly firm for a woman her age. I realized I was staring and dove into the water to hide my blush.
I swam a couple of laps in the warm water while Hillary just floated and splashed around, trying to relax after the long day. The champagne arrived and I waded over to the side to sign for it. Hillary smiled at me and said, "Oh, perfect! I love champagne!" God, that smile made we weak in the knees. What the hell was wrong with me? I poured her a glass, lifted my own, and said "To the next President."
"Oh, no," she answered, "that's bad luck. How about – to new friends."
"New friends," I replied. We drained our glasses and I poured another round.
"Better watch out," Hillary said, moving closer to me. "I get silly when I drink champagne." She giggled. A sound I never expected to come out of that mouth, but I found it completely adorable.
"That's all right," I answered. "I'm silly all the time." We both laughed, and the tension of the day began to ease away.
After just two glasses each, the bottle was empty. I suggested another, and Hillary agreed.
"Please have them bring it up to the room," she said. "I'm getting cold." She climbed out and toweled off. I spent a few moments admiring her figure again before she covered it with the fluffy robe.
It was late at night in New Hampshire, and it was getting a little chilly. I shivered a little in the elevator, and a look of concern came over Hillary's face. The doors opened right in front of her room, and she invited me in.
"We need to warm you up," she said. "Can't have you getting sick at the start of the campaign."
Just then room service arrived and I took care of the waiter while Hillary went to the bedroom. She came back with a couple of towels and a blanket.
"Here," she said. "Get out of that wet suit and pour us some more champagne while I go change." She vanished back into the bedroom. I stripped off the sopping bathing suit, dried myself off and wrapped myself in the blanket. Better, but still a little cold. I poured the champagne and handed Hillary a glass when she came back into the room, still in the fluffy white robe.
We both sat on the love seat in the suite's small front room and sipped our champagne. I felt a little ridiculous wrapped in a blanket with nothing underneath, but exhaustion and champagne combined to alleviate my nervousness. Hillary leaned forward to pour another glass and her robe gaped open at the top, showing enough cleavage for me to realize she had taken off her bathing suit and had nothing on underneath. She turned to hand me the glass and caught me staring. I blushed and she smiled.
"Why John," she said, "I do believe you're blushing." She laughed that warm laugh I was learning to love so much.
"I'm sorry ma'am..." I stuttered, but she held up her hand.
"Ma'am? I thought we took care of that. It's Hillary. And I may be a Senator, but I'm still woman enough to appreciate it when a man looks at me." She crossed her legs and the robe opened up to her thighs. I couldn't keep my eyes away. She straightened her legs and ran one hand down and back.
"Not too bad for an old lady, huh?" she laughed.
"Not bad at all," I answered. "And I wouldn't call you old. Any man..." I was interrupted by a violent shiver.
"Oh John," she said with a look of concern. "We have to warm you up. Come on." She pulled me out of the chair by the hand and dragged me toward the bathroom. Cranking up the hot water in the shower, she tugged at my blanket. I resisted, but she said "Come on John, this is no time to be shy." I dropped the towel and she pushed me into the shower. The hot water felt great, but I felt suddenly weak and sagged against the wall. Suddenly Hillary was in the shower with me, her arms around me holding me up. I wondered idly where the robe had gone. Part of my brain was astounded that this beautiful and famous woman was in the shower naked with me, but I was too weak and feverish to care.
Hillary supported me, turning me this way and that so the hot water would warm me all over. I felt the press of her breasts against my back, then my chest, and part of me noticed the water streaming over her back, her tight little butt and the small bush between her legs. I couldn't help the erection, and it would have been pretty hard for her not to notice. She took it in one hand.
