I reach down to take it, and allow myself to be walked from the dais to the first lady inside the door. She is smiling, seated in an office chair, leg... crossed at the ankles, hands to her face, eyes darting up and down my body, which Jo leaves so close to her, that she could reach out and touch it. Her lips are now open and damp, glistening in the light. She reaches out with one hand to touch my chest, and with her open palm, feels the smoothness of my skin, slowly lowering it, until I think. I can call her a whore, slut or anything else, but god help the next guy that does it. And of course she doesn’t hold back on me either. Last week she was bitching about something and I asked her if she was on the rag. And it turned out, she was. But on the rare occasions we see each other outside the office we actually tone down the rhetoric and act like normal people with each other. Well, almost. It hasn’t always been this way. At first we were rivals, always trying to look better than the. More

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