Whore

[Note: This was a piece I was inspired to write after reading the following quote. However, I couldn’t come up with an original plot to accompany it, and I ended up scrapping it. This short section of the story was the part I liked and decided to keep; it’s obviously unfinished.]

“[A] Whore can govern the Back-stars, the Back-stairs a Council, and the Council a Senate.” Gulliver’s Travels, Jonathan Swift

When all the men I’ve fucked are in the same room, they know. Oh, they read their agendas and drink their coffee and peer through their bifocals at their newspapers, but they’re all sweating nervously; they know the secret the others hold, but none of them will go near it. It’s as if they feel dirtier now, realizing the naughty transgression they’ve committed without their wives and friends catching wise, and they can’t hide it.

Instead, they legislate.

H.R. 646, a bill to eliminate the adult entertainment section of classified advertising websites.

S. 47, a bill to screen all individuals arrested for prostitution for victimization by sex trafficking and by other crimes, such as sexual assault and domestic violence.

S. 1733, a bill to require the regular and timely notification to the United States attorneys, the Human Trafficking Prosecution Unit, and the Child Exploitation and Obscenity Section of any sex or labor trafficking investigations opened by the Federal Bureau of Investigation or the Department of Homeland Security.

As if any of that will make me or them go away. As if it suddenly waives all of their crimes.

They dress up in suits and ties and give speeches on the House and Senate floors, turning dry tax language into impassioned remarks advocating for the middle class. They stand with grieving constituents when one of their sons returns from the war in a coffin and decry the commander-in-chief’s poor understanding of military tactics. They send public statements to newspapers affirming their love of country and vowing to uphold the sanctity of marriage.

And at night, they fuck me and pull my hair when they come.

I can’t resist smiling when I think of that dichotomy, that some of the most powerful men in the world still fall to their knees and whimper for mercy when they’re under my control; the groveling gets worse when they displease me and I threaten to go public.

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