Way too many sex scenes with Bill Clinton. We work our way through Rodham, a piece of Hillary fanfiction / slash fiction. Except it's written by a bestselling author endorsed by tons of major outlets. Honestly, we are still recovering from recording this.
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And then, of course, Hillary and Bill experience their first kiss.
True Dark still hadn't descended, but if I'd had a book, there would no longer have been enough light to read.
Through my jeans I could feel the cold of the sculpture contrasting with the pleasant warmth of Bill next to me, his bulk and closeness.
Certainly there was nowhere else I wanted to be in the moment.
There was no one whose company I'd have preferred.
My heart spasmed a little because of how significant the moment felt.
It felt like a threshold between my youth and adulthood.
Or the exact instant of love coming into existence.
It seemed he felt it too, because he removed his arm from my shoulder and took my hand, my left with his right.
In addition to being enormous, his hands were beautiful.
His fingers long and slender.
I could sense him turn his head towards me, and I knew that if I turned my head towards him, we'd kiss.
And I wanted this to happen, and also was overwhelmed and immobilized.
A few more seconds passed.
Seconds that were silent, and massive, and terrifying, and thrilling.
And then, his lips were against my neck.
Softly but firmly, he kissed my neck over and over.
It felt very good, and I was very happy.
That's an actual lie!
It felt very good and I was very happy.
C Spot run.
Oh, fuck.
Yes, absolutely NPR.
What a novel.
And she has managed to put a comma in it felt very good and I was very happy.
Not only is it a trash sentence, but the commas, the insult, just the cherry on top.
Fuck.
Oh, excuse me.
And eventually, I could turn to him.
Our mouths could find each other.
Our lips and tongues.
And then we were kissing fully.
Come on, baby.
With tongues.
This is written like a baby.
Like a child baby in a fucking writing course or something.
Yeah, it's like a bland, dry explanation of a series of events with no information about how this distinguishes every other kiss in history.
It sucks.
Well, guess what?
They're about to fuck, my friend.
So, the first major hookup is next, and we're gonna actually make Travis read the Hillary part here.
Jake is gonna read the Bill part, and I will be doing the inner voice of Hillary.
All right.
We were lying in my bed, him on top of me, both of us on top of the covers, the only light in the entire apartment, the small one on my nightstand.
I was wearing jeans, socks, underwear, and a bra, and he was wearing jeans, socks, underwear.
Or so I assumed.
And a white t-shirt.
Wait, he's going...
He's got no underwear on!
Bill is a nasty little slut!
He's fucking really asking for it!
This chick is fantasizing about Bill Clinton not wearing underwear!
Like he's a girl with a skirt on, like, Ooh, I wonder what's under there!
His sweater was on the floor, and we'd been kissing for a long time, and it had been wonderful.
I loved how his neck smelled, and I loved his chest pressed to mine,
and I loved how his back felt when I ran my hands up inside his t-shirt,
and I loved how sometimes we were talking, and joking around,
and sometimes we were just making out.
This is a teenage diary.
This is a teenage girl texting her friend.
He propped himself up as if doing a push-up and looked down at me our faces perhaps six inches apart.
He said, you're not a virgin are you?
I smiled.
You sound like Professor Genie.
You know that's not how I meant it.
No, I'm not a virgin.
I said.
I was joking as I added.
Are you?
Yes, so please be very, very gentle.
I'm on the pill if that was your next question.
At the risk of scandalizing you even more than I already have.
He said.
I lost my virginity when I was 14.
Wow.
I said.
I was 19.
Who's the lucky fella?
My college boyfriend.
Were you in love with him?
Not really.
To my surprise, he laughed.
Were you in love?
At fourteen?
I was in lust.
She was sixteen.
And I thought she looked like Anita Ekberg.
You know who that is?
I shook my head.
A very voluptuous...
What?! !
Very voluptuous actress.
So we now have an adult woman fantasizing about Bill Clinton talking about his 16 year old girl as an adult.
Yeah, and about her like big boobs.
Just incredible.
Half of me is tempted to ask how many women you've slept with and half of me doesn't want to know.
Maybe we ought to defer to the second half of you.
With our faces close together, I scrutinized him and he added, For as long as I can remember, even when I was just a kid, I've had a weakness for a nice figure.
A girl in a skirt walks by, and I'm like a dog drooling over a bone.
This is like something that I would write for him to say.
Oh no, I don't know if she's good or if I'm bad now.
Everything is parody, that's the answer.
But it's infatuation, not love.
His face remained a few inches above mine as he watched me absorb his words.
You and me?
He said.
This isn't infatuation.
At the risk of making an argument I don't want to win, you wouldn't really know, would you?
Presumably infatuation never feels like infatuation until it's over.
No.
He shook his head.
I haven't told you this yet, but soon after the day in the lounge when you heard me talking about watermelons...
I saw you at a lecture.
It was when Judge Motley came to campus.
Do you remember that?
I was sitting in the row behind you and when it was over I thought, I'll introduce myself to her.
I reached out my hand to touch your shoulder and I felt, I realize this will sound strange, but it was like an electric shock.
I knew I'd be starting something I couldn't stop.
It was difficult to know what to make of this story.
I was flattered, yes, but also confused.
Then he said, Can't you feel it too?
How this is different from everything else.
I want this!
Us.
To last forever.
Prior to two days earlier, we had hardly spent time in each other's company.
But with Bill's face so close to mine, waiting for my response, with our bodies pressed together, it seemed that either of us might blurt out, I love you.
That I was just as likely to do it as he was, and almost impossibly that it would be true.
However, I love you wasn't what I said.
Soberly, I said.
Yes, I feel it too.
Soon after that, we weren't talking much.
We were kissing a lot, and removing the rest of each other's clothes, and his fingers were stroking me in different places, and I was overwhelmed with wanting to be as close as I could to him.
Him.
Bill.
A specific person.
With Roy, and with another law classmate named Eddie, whom I dated my first year at Yale, the sex had been enjoyable enough, but not personal.
It had felt like we were doing pleasurable things that human beings did in a fairly consistent sequence, but it hadn't felt relevant that I was specifically me and the other person was specifically the other person.
And then I could feel the nudging of Bill's erection.
It was probably going to happen.
Then it was definitely going to happen.
He was entering me, and I gasped.
I gasped, both because it felt so incredibly good, and because I couldn't believe I was naked with this man.
And then he really was inside me.
It was happening.
And we would eternally, from this moment on, be two people who'd had sex with each other.
Even as he thrust into me, as I arched up against him and gripped his buttocks, there were a few seconds in which our eyes met and we looked at each other, both of us unblinking.
Neither of us was smiling.
Smiling would have been trivial or beside the point.
To be with him in this way was an almost intolerable ecstasy.
It was the most precious thing I had ever experienced.
We've lost Travis, Travis.
What?
Sick fuck.
Since a while imagining the ways in which Hillary gets horny.
Oh man.
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