A gay story: Disillusion Rick could hear the rich tones of Jason Jenkins’ speech to his volunteers in the bull pen down the hall over the nearer-to-hand grunts of Herald Hastings. The young college student’s belly was pressed into the Xerox machine flap in the copy machine at campaign headquarters, and the candidate’s chief of staff was crouched over his rump, hands grasping his hips, and was thrusting hard and in a fast rhythm up his back channel.
The trousers and briefs of both of the men were bunched around their ankles. Otherwise they both were fully dressed in the spiffy suits they were wearing to this “rah, rah” session, where Jenkins was rallying his campaign workers to push harder toward an election victory in six weeks.
Jenkins was running for a congressional seat that had become more available because of the long-incumbent opponent’s heart attack and death. Another candidate from the congressman’s party had been thrown into the breach, but it was late days for him to gain the recognition that Jenkins had now, and the highly photogenic Jenkins had flipped up seven points in the polls.
Hal Hastings covered Rick’s mouth with a hand when his thrusts were deep and reaching climax so that no one would hear any loud noises of being taken quickly and hard coming from the Xerox room. He wasn’t particularly big—and Rick had little trouble taking him—but he was vigorous. The door was shut and locked, and few had keys. Everyone else should be in the larger room that was called the bull pen. Hal wasn’t being missed, as he and Jason had agreed as a matter of strategy that the chief of staff, who was the real power in this campaign, wouldn’t be seen hovering over the candidate. And Rick wouldn’t be missed because he’d been assigned the privileged position of manning the telephone in Jenkins’ office during the assembly. There should be no one needing to make copies of anything during the Jenkins’ speech.
To the sound of applause and a few raucous cries from the other room, Hastings released Rick’s body, pulled out and away from him, and stepped back. Rick remained where he was, bending over the Xerox machine, and breathing heavily, as Hastings pulled the filled-out condom off his cock, set it down on the flap of the copy machine beside Rick’s chest, pulled his briefs and trousers up, zipped up, and secured his belt.
Indicating the spent condom, Hastings said, “Take care of that, please, Rick. And don’t leave it anywhere here at campaign headquarters.”
He turned and unlocked the door to the reception area for his and Jenkins’ offices. He paused for a moment at the door.
“Oh, and I came back here to tell you that Jason wants to meet with you after he’s done his glad-hand pass-through of the bull pen and survived the obligatory tasting and snapshots with Sally Ann’s oatmeal cookies.”
“Me? He wants to talk with me?” Rick asked as he pulled his own briefs and trousers up his legs.
“Just go sit in his office. You were supposed to be manning his telephone anyway.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick answered. But Hastings was already gone—out to the bull pen to be in the background for those oatmeal cookie shots, looking as if he’d been somewhere in the area all along.
Rick didn’t resent the man. Not really, or not too much. He was a cold-blooded snake, certainly, but he had to be to do what he did for political candidates. And he did what he did very well. Rick wasn’t so dumb or unobservant not to know that, if Jenkins won—and it now looked quite likely that he would—Herald Hastings had made all of the difference. So anyone who wanted Jenkins to win needed to be nice and accommodating to Herald Hastings. Or so Rick’s justifying mantra went.
Hastings had been straight with him on the fringe duties of Rick’s job as the coordinator of the college-age volunteers. He had fucked Rick even before he’d offered him the job. Rick hadn’t reported it, even when it continued after he’d gotten the position. He saw Jason Jenkins as being so upright and straight laced that he surely would have fired Hastings on the spot and would have done little to try to cover up why. Even Rick could see that this would be the death knell of Jenkins’ campaign. Hastings was just too closely identified with this run at Congress. And Jenkins had to win. He was the only completely honest and incorruptible politician Rick had seen in the state—ever.
In addition, Rick needed this position. He was studying political science at the university. This was his sophomore project. He needed this to satisfy his project requirements and for the A grade it guaranteed him. And he was gaining experience and networking he’d need for when he got into politics himself. He wasn’t so dumb as not to know there were Herald Hastings types in this business. But he also knew there were damn few Jason Jenkins in this business. Rick couldn’t rock that boat.
Besides, Rick was actively gay and a bottom. He’d never done it for a guy as old as Hastings before, but Hastings wasn’t a toad. And he had good technique. Rick couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have gone with Hastings for a bit of money even without everything else Rick was getting out of this experience—including the protection and support of Herald Hastings.
And now Jason Jenkins had asked for a meeting with Rick. He sure hoped that wasn’t about what was going on between Hastings and him.
* * * *
“I wanted to see you, Rick, because the campaign is entering a new phase, and we must do what we can to maintain momentum.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever I can do to help.” And Rick meant it. He was all aglow to be sitting here alone with Jason Jenkins in the candidate’s office. Well, not completely alone. Herald Hastings was sitting off to the side and looking through some files as if he was only half listening to what Jenkins was saying.
Jenkins was mesmerizing. He was a tall, strongly built man, with wavy black hair, twinkling hazel-green eyes, and a smile that never stopped. He had a knack of devoting his full attention to the one he was talking to, and if he was talking to a group of three, each of the three felt like he was focused just on them.
That’s the way Rick felt now. The candidate reached out with a strong hand, with long, sensuous fingers and carefully manicured nails, and touched Rick lightly on the forearm. Rick felt a chill go all of the way up his back. This intimate touching wasn’t what Jenkins did for Rick alone. He was a touchy-feely sort of guy. He connected with everyone this way. And Rick thought everyone felt the same chill he did. If Jenkins were able to directly connect with every constituent in the voting district, Rick had no doubt the candidate would win by a landslide.
Rick briefly wondered if everyone else Jenkins touched would be willing to lie down on the carpet right here in the candidate’s office and open their legs to Jenkins. Rick would—he worshipped the man that much—but he couldn’t speak for anyone else. He must not have quite this effect on others, though, Rick thought. There wasn’t a hint of sexual scandal floating around on the man. Politics was ripe for such rumors—manufactured and otherwise—but Jenkins was squeaky clean.
Sort of a pity, Rick thought, having gone hard from just the touch on the arm and the warm smile.
“I need you to recruit more college students to canvas for the campaign, Rick,” Jenkins said, bringing the young campaign worker out of his reverie. “We need maybe twice what we have now. Young, good-looking men, like yourself. This is a walking-the-street job, so no women. It’s not safe on the streets for them, alas. That’s something I plan to fix when I’m in office. And all clean-cut and good-looking—like you. We want to impress the voters, not scare them off.”
The young campaign worker was flattered and was practically humming from the attention and the faith Jenkins was placing in his hands.
“Sure, I can do that, sir. I’ll get right on it.” Rick was fairly trembling at the favor the candidate was bestowing on him—and the confidence. He had no idea how he was going to muster up thirty more campaign workers from the university campus. But the fact that Jenkins was ahead in the polls and they were coming close to the election would help him. College students talked like they favored the underdog, but they were more likely to hop on a rolling victory bandwagon like Jenkins’ campaign was becoming.
“You have a dinner meeting with the big donor, Mrs. Engles, Jason,” Hastings said from across the room. “You’ll not want to be late for that.”
“Of course,” Jenkins responded. “Mustn’t keep the money waiting.” He stood, with Rick struggling up to his feet as well, flashed a broad, melting smile just for Rick, and held out a hand.
“Oh,” Rick muttered, with a gulp, realizing that Jenkins wanted to shake hands. He quickly rubbed his hand dry on his hip, and reached out. The candidate’s grip was strong. It sent an electric pulse up Rick’s arm.
He was at a loss on who should leave the room first but then decided that it must be him. But as he turned toward the door, Herald Hastings said, “Could you stay back for a few minutes, Rick? There are some particulars of the assignment we should go over.”
“Yes, of course,” Rick mumbled. He looked around for a last, admiring glance at Jason Jenkins, but the candidate already had left the room. He sank back down into his chair, in awe of the experience he had just had. He’d never been this close to Jenkins before. He had never realized the man could have this effect on him—a sexual one. He ached for him.
“You understand what Jason is asking you to provide, don’t you, Rick?”
“Yes. More college-age campaign workers. To do door-to-door canvassing. All men.”
“Yes, but more than that, all good-looking. Blonds. As many of them blonds as possible. They make the best impression.”
Rick took a little umbrage at that. He was dark. He didn’t see why people would be willing to open their doors for a campaign pitch from blonds any more than they would from dark-haired men, like him.
“And the blonds. I want them to be just like you—as cooperative as you are.”
“But I’m not a blond. I don’t see . . .” But then he did see. Hastings wanted variety. He wanted Rick to recruit blonds who would let him fuck them.
“Do you understand?” Hastings repeated.
“Yes, sir, I do.” And he did, or at least thought he did. And he’d somehow manage to find what Hastings wanted. He knew how important Hastings was to this campaign, and Jason Jenkins had to win this election. Rick wasn’t going to be any part of him not doing so.
“Good. Now close and lock the door, please, and come over and lean over the desk and drop your trousers.”
That night, in his dorm room, already having recruited five campaign workers, including two good-looking and willing blonds, Rick drifted off to sleep, masturbating himself and dreaming of Jason Jenkins pressing his knees between Rick’s thighs. Crouching over Rick’s body, with his fists buried into the sheets on either side of Rick’s waist, the Jason Jenkins of the dream was capturing Rick’s eyes with his, smiling that mesmerizing smile. Rick flinched, grunted, and then sighed, as Jenkins entered him and then started slowly to pump. He was thick and long, just as Rick knew he’d be.
Rick woke with a start, having just ejaculated and sent cum spouting on his belly and the sheets on either side of him.
He felt shame at thinking of the squeaky clean candidate that way. But he couldn’t help it. The man was just so sexy and arousing. Hastings paled in contrast, but Rick had to accept that what he got out of this was Hastings, not Jenkins. And, of course an A for his political science project.
* * * *
The day out canvassing a town at the southwest corner of the congressional district had been a long one. But it had been fruitful, with more residents willing to say they were voting for Jenkins than the campaign prognosticators had projected. There would be press interviews the next day, and the projections that would be used would be those of the prognosticators unless Rick could get the statistics he collected today back to the office that night.
There was nothing to do but for him to drive back to campaign headquarters in the wee hours of the morning and slip a manila envelope with the statics under the door, to be found in the morning.
When he got to the office, though, he found that the front door was unlocked and lights were on in the bull pen. He entered and walked through that toward the executive offices. He’d leave the envelope under the door to the reception room for Jenkins’ and Hastings’ offices.
But that was unlocked and open too, and a few lights were on in the reception room. Still, the light was dim in there. Not so in Jenkins’ and Hastings’ offices, though. Lights were blazing in there. There must be a cleaning crew in, he thought. He had no idea what nights the offices got cleaned.
He’d leave the envelope on Jason Jenkins’ desk.
Bad idea, though. When he got to the door, he found himself pulling back into the shadows of the reception room in shock. All that he had thought—all of his illusions—about Jenkins shattered in one glance.
Jenkins, naked, was sitting in a Chippendale armchair. Straddling his lap, also naked, was a young blond man. Todd, one of Rick’s recent recruits. He was sitting in Jenkins’ lap, facing him, his legs straddling the arms of the chair. Jenkins was holding his waist on either side and pulling the young blond up and down on his cock.
Todd had been recruited for his willingness—and that had been conveyed to Herald Hastings, with the understanding that Todd would be servicing Hastings.
Not Jenkins. Not squeaky clean Jenkins, the man with a sterling reputation, a perky wife, two darling children, a cocker spaniel, and two Siamese cats.
Yes, Rick had fantasized, but that was all it had been. And this. A shocking disillusion.
Rick gave a jerk as a hand closed of his elbow on either side from behind him and he was being pulled, backward, into Hastings’ adjacent office.
“The blonds . . . they were for—” he blurted out, when he saw that it was Hastings pulling at him.
“Jason, yes.”
“But I thought . . . I mean, why did I have to procure others for him? I would have loved—”
Disillusion number two. “Jason is partial to blonds. I offered you, but he wasn’t interested. I’m the one who likes them with black hair, like you.”