Mr. President 2(7)

When asked in a Fordham University poll who the sexiest person out of both the candidates and their families were, New Yorkers had no divisions among them. 89% agreed that Lance Anders was the sexiest man involved in the mayoral election. An even greater 94% of respondents agreed that Jocelyn Anders was the sexiest woman involved in the race.

49% of New Yorkers even admitted that the reason they showed up to events or tuned in to the news was to catch a glimpse of Lance or Jocelyn Anders.

In fact, my spies inside the Anders campaign tell me with numbers like this, they’re a bit concerned how much people must dislike Hizzoner for the margin of advantage to only be 5% over Jim Jenkins.

We’ve always known that Lance was a bit of a handful. As the prodigal son of the mayor, his biological mother died when he was only 10 years old, and his stepfather has raised him. Over the last several years, the two have been estranged according to family sources, but they’ve seemed to put whatever issues aside for the election as son has been next to father every step of the way. In college, sources tell us Lance lived up to his bad boy credentials, partying and living it up in a big way while also excelling at his studies and playing varsity football for Yale. After college, he went to work at the White House as an intern, but you’ll remember he was caught having sex with the First Daughter and almost started World War III, leading to his dismissal.

Jocelyn, on the other hand, comes from the politically connected Carter clan. Her brother is planning on running for Governor of New York State in two years time. The marriage between Jocelyn and Michael was certainly a whirlwind, and the two tied the knot in a private ceremony in Westchester. While they’ve been seen in public together, a few close to the family hint that there may be troubles beneath the surface between Hizzoner and his wife. But nothing that we’ve found out enough to confirm and print.

But whatever the case, we know we’ll all be watching Lance and Jocelyn as they stand behind Michael. Will that be enough to lead us to vote for Michael? Only time will tell.#p#分页标题#e#

That’s all for today, but we’re digging up as much as we can about this election. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.





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Jocelyn





Four.

That’s how many months ago Lance Anders set foot into Michael’s Upper East Side townhouse. How many months since I opened that door and set my sex-starved eyes on that gorgeous body of his. That’s roughly the number of months since I tried walking into his room when he was in the shower. Since I almost gave up on the sofa after he rescued me in the Park. Since my birthday. Since I saw him at the gym and went over to touch his shoulder. Then invited him to my dressing room at Saks. Four months since he first put his giant cock inside of me and shot me into orbit. It’s like I haven’t come down since.

Zero.

That’s how many times Michael has asked and wondered why Lance is still here even though the election is just shy of a month away. Lance was supposed to only stay the summer. But Michael doesn’t care about anything except staying as Mayor. Who knows what he has planned after that, he doesn’t tell me.

Zero is also the number of times that Michael has tried touching me. He just doesn’t care about me. I know I’m beating a dead horse and you get it—Michael may not be into me. Michael may be gay. You’re aware. But listen to me, hun, because this is important to me. I need you to understand this. I’m not the kind of girl who goes around cheating on her husband. I’m not some slut who sleeps with her stepson because there was nothing good on television during the day. If Michael hadn’t been cheating on me, and it’s pretty obvious nowadays when he walks in, or if he hadn’t forced my father to give me up for marriage, or even with all that, if he had shown me even the slightest bit of affection I would have never looked at Lance as hungrily as I do now.

OK, well, let me rephrase that. I would have looked at him hungrily. I mean, he’s young. And he’s so hot. But I would have controlled myself. I wouldn’t have flirted at the gym. If Michael had even given me a hug in the six months we were married. Forget about fucking. I don’t even want a kiss. A hug. Or a caress. Even a nice word of affection. Anything.

Can you imagine what it’s like to be treated like an employee in your own marriage? To sleep next to a stranger? And if you wake up with your arms and legs wrapped around them to have your partner look at you with disdain and scorn? So much so that you put a pillow between the two of you so it doesn’t happen again?