Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica by Stephen Elliott Page A

my Stewart/Colbert ’08 shirt every time I go to the gym. I have a ‘Somewhere in Texas a Village Is Missing Its Idiot’ bumper sticker on my Prius and a ‘Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for Kerry’ button on my denim jacket. What more do you want?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “But you’re not exactly involved. You’d rather watch Friends reruns than stand outside the Palace Market and register voters.”
I shrugged.
“But you could be involved. What if you call the man and I call the woman. You’ll be your charming little self and try to win him over to the cause, and I’ll do the same with her. It’ll be like a contest.”
“That’s not really fair. You don’t have to win her over. She’s
already a Democrat. Besides, I don’t have any idea what to say.”
James glared at me, his nearly endless supply of patience fi- nally waning. “Haven’t you been listening to me make the last hun- dred forty-five calls?”
I nodded, lying. I tended to tune out as soon as I heard him say the words “This is James Miller, and I’d like to talk to you about Measure A.”
“You just coo the same info to the man.”
I looked at him for a moment. “What do I win if I get him onto our side?”
“You name it.”
I motioned for him to dial. I could think of several proposi- tions I was extremely interested in winning him over to—and not one on the current ballot. There was the up-against-the-wall posi- tion, of which I was fully in favor. And the bent-over-the-arm-of- the-sofa position, which I could fully support.
I could tell that James didn’t think I’d go through with the bet. When he handed the phone to me for my turn, I pressed redial, asked to speak to Leonard Carson, then tried my best to explain the terms of the measure to the husband. Unfortunately, the jerk hung up the phone on me as soon as he realized where I was headed with my political speech.
“Well, that was successful,” James said. “You didn’t even
try.”
     
    “You never know,” I countered, “I’ll bet they’re talking about
the issue right now.”
“You think?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I sat down on his lap. “She’s saying, ‘It’s a good cause, Lenny.’ ”
“His name is Leonard.”
“Sure, but she probably has a pet name for him. ‘It’s money for the schools.’ ”
James interrupted me again, “And he’s saying, ‘We sent our kids to private schools over the hill. What the fuck do we care about those rats in the public system?’ ”
“Why is he swearing?” I asked. “Because he’s an asshole.”
“Just because he has a different viewpoint from you?” “ You’re the one who said you’d never fuck a Republican,”
James pointed out.
I ignored him. “He’s saying, ‘Convince me.’ And she’s going on her knees on their expensive Spanish-tiled floor . . .”
“She’s not going to give him a blow job over Measure A,” James insisted.
“How do you know?” “Would you?”
“Maybe she’s more political than I am. You know I have zero interest . . .”
“So she’s giving him one hell of a blow job. How’s that con- vincing him to vote the way she wants?”
“Maybe you’re right. She needs her mouth free to win him over.” I hesitated, trying my best to envision the scenario. “Okay, they’re in the kitchen, and she bends over the table, like this, and lifts her nightgown.”
I demonstrated for James, sliding my short satin nightie to my waist. James eyed me for a moment, then got behind me. He ran his large hands over my panty-clad ass before pulling my knickers along my thighs. I shivered at his touch. It had been so long since he’d last stroked me like that. When he
slipped his drawstring pj’s down and pressed his body against me, I could feel how hard his cock was.
Cautiously, James slid a hand under my body and touched my pussy. “You’re wet,” he said. “Does talking about politics turn you on?”
“You know it,” I told him, stifling a giggle. Even after he slid inside of me, he