The Perks Of High Office - The Sexual Diary Of A Milkmaid In The White House

Mary Farnsworth was born, raised, and educated in Chillicothe, Ohio - except of course for two years at a community college in Dayton which her father insisted upon and paid for, so bound and determined was he to see all his five daughters properly educated, no matter what the school. 

The college was called MK by Ohio Staters who looked down on Milton College and gave it its moniker thanks to the stupid kids who went there and couldn't spell; but it was the perfect launching pad for Mary who, sick and tired of goats, chickens, and barnyards, saw it is the first step to Washington, the place she felt she belonged more than any other.  More than New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, the Nation's Capital was the seat of real power where legislators were able to effect systemic changes in the way the country worked, enabling it to serve more, to serve better, and to serve all.  

This was a fantasy, of course, for anyone who has lived and worked in Washington knows what a den of thieves, con artists, and snake oil salesmen it is.  Take the Congressional representative from her district, a man with one hand in the till and the other up some woman's skirt since his days as city alderman and state legislator.  He was a prick and a jerk but with a canny sense of opportunity; and so with every shady feint, cross-over, and pas de deux he advanced his career and made it to Capitol Hill. 

Washington being the kind of town it is - little changed since the days of hanging judges, frontier justice, saloons, whore houses, and gunfighting - no one seemed to notice the flimsiness of the Ohioan's resume, nor felt the need to dig deeper to find the 'truth', for in Washington the truth itself is a fiction, a laid-on-thick pastiche, a shadow play, anything but a serious place of rectitude and national purpose. 

Mary, a savvy girl in her own right had seen right through her Congressman's chicanery and knew that he was just a bloated windbag; but if he could fool most of the people most of the time, then she certainly didn't need any more of an education than MK could provide, and when she graduated she headed straight for the Potomac and Congressman X's chambers. 

Now, Mary was not only a smart, canny girl, but a beautiful one, the kind that the Midwest is famous for - blonde, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, peaches-and-cream complexion and an innocence that made you weep - ; and so it was that when she walked into the Congressman's office, she was welcomed with more than just professional interest.  She would be a feather in the old philandering bugger's cap before the end of the term, and he hired her on the spot. 

Mary learned the trade and having no particular sexual compunctions, pleasured the Congressman enough to keep his interest but no more.  As his sexual dependence on her grew (he was almost becoming a liability to the Democratic ranks, so obvious was his dalliance), his favors increased, and before long she was not just filing, but considering, commenting, annotating, and preparing. The step from intern to aide was a short, quick one. 

Of course other members of Congress had early on taken note of Mary, understood her opportunism, i.e. doing and diddling for political favors, and thought that they could offer her more and tempt her to greater riches to which she well agreed and before long had made her way up through the Democratic ranks to leadership.

Her affair with the Senate Minority leader was a poorly-kept secret, but since Mary knew that with every rumor and innuendo, her stock would go up in value since sex is the currency in the Capital, she encouraged them.  

 

When innuendoes became too strong to ignore, the Minority Leader appeared with his wife, and after an affectionate political pas de deux, the whispers became knowing smiles, and then disappeared.  These public appearances were very distasteful to him in the first place - to be seen with this old crone was tantamount to political exile - and he was glad when they were no longer de rigeur.  

After all Sarkozy, Mitterrand, Putin and even Kim Jong Il had mistresses, beautiful young ones, and their wives were no hothouse plants either; but pose with her he did until things quieted down which mattered little since Mary had moved on to a position in the Trump White House. 

There were no secrets, no clandestine affairs, no political sanctimony there.  The President, unlike his predecessor was a red-blooded, virile, macho man who set the tone for the White House - young, blonde beauties like Mary were not only welcomed but were the symbol of the Administration's anti-DEI movement.  The White House would be returned to its roots, white, European, sophisticated, sexy, and elegant.  A middle-brow Camelot to be sure - Donald Trump had no pretentions of that kind of aristocratic sophistication - but one joyously retroactive and white as the driven snow. 

Far from an unused fixture, Mary went about her business, and before long had attracted the attention of more than a few male Cabinet members who were young, ambitious, and not at all shy about their sexual intentions.  More light-footed stepping was required here.  

Par for the course and perk of the office that casual sex might be, care was important, particularly in the uber-Type A environment of the White House.  These high-profile, high-volume appointees might not take her sexual mobility as well as her Congressional lovers who were really just boyish simpletons, happy to get away from their wives for a short interlude. The air in these upper echelons was a lot more rarified. 

What about the Oval Office itself? Would not the Chief Executive like to be accompanied by other than granite-statue Melania? Especially because the world knew that he was an admirer of women, had squired beauties his whole life and encouraged everyone on his staff to loosen up. 'We're not Sleepy Joe', he said.

 

How does one return to Chillicothe, Ohio after that? But return she did, kudos in hand, tributes written, and acknowledgements of thanks from the President himself, back to the farm.  She was the happy flip side to the old adage, You Can't Keep Them Down On The Farm Once They've Seen Gay Paree. She had had her fling, knew always what was what and when to exit stage left.  She had become a master of the graceful exit and no one in Washington harbored anything but warm feelings and happy memories of her. 

This was what womanhood was all about, the glories of Shakespeare's, Lawrence's, Ibsen's, and Strindberg's defiantly strong, calculatingly brilliant women.  Women who bested men at every turn, turned tricks and magic, penned journals and solved insoluble puzzles. 

'One and done', she said to a friend. The true victor retires from the field of battle a hero unscarred, praised, and remembered.