Indubitably Obama

© 2009 by Abigail Ekue

The façade of the Waldorf Astoria begged for a bath. Inside the Towers, the family of four settled into the Presidential Suite. Secret Service flanked the door. Had they worn the red jackets of the Brits, they would blend in more appropriately with the décor. The girls were still abuzz over all the holiday lights. The White House is a great place to live. Tons of hiding places, but nothing like New York City at Christmastime.

After she slipped her arms into the dress and straightened the skirt of her gown into place she turned her back to Barack without a word. With his bottom lip bit he took the few steps and stood too close to his wife. She waited and he did nothing. She turned her face to the side and he kissed her cheek.

“I need you to zip me up, Pumski.”

“Do I have to?” He nuzzled her neck. That was his safe space to forget the demands he faced everyday but to also strengthen him for the daily grind. She let him be until she felt him pull the zipper up her long, toned back.

Michelle turned and thanked her husband. She kissed him lightly and placed the palm of her hand on the front of his pants with a smile.

“We have to leave in ten minutes,” he said.

“Was checking if you needed to be zipped up.” She teased the zipper of his single-pleated pants with her finger before leaving the master suite.

Grandma emerged from the bathroom and Michelle left instructions, not for her daughters but for her mother. She didn’t want to have to undo any more spoiling. Her speech was falling on deaf ears, and she knew it, while Barack went over his speech.

“Indubitably.” He slipped the end of his tie over and in and tightened the Windsor knot. He approved of his look in the golden mirror left behind by the yuppie era president. Over his shoulder in his reflection, Michelle locked eyes with him in the mirror. He repeated with his Cheshire cat expression, “Indubitably.” Then he turned to her. “That word rolls off the tongue. I love it.”

“Using it tonight in your speech?”

“Indubitably.”

They laughed as Michelle walked up to him and put her womanly touch on his tie and collar. She brushed off both of his shoulders and then grabbed his ears. She playfully shook his head side to side.

“Mister President, the car is ready,” a Secret Service agent announced. He spoke into his headset about the choreographed departure from Roadhouse. Whether divine intervention or by the hand of the NYCDOT there was no need for a private train from the hotel.

Michelle still hadn’t let go of his ears or taken her eyes off him. Barack knew the meaning of her look and his pulse quickened in response. After all these years, knowing Michelle was thinking about fucking him made him adjust his pant leg every time. 

Their daughters wrapped their arms around their legs, accepted their good night kisses and ran back to the living room for story time with Grandma. Barack shot a glance over Michelle’s shoulder. They were alone in the foyer. He reached around the regal waist of his wife and grabbed two handfuls of her ass. Barack planted a deep wet kiss on her. That sensual moment was filled with amazing ease for the First Couple and the agent who was waiting at the door.

Barack slapped her on the ass. “It’s time to go.”

After a kiss like that, Michelle felt it was time to come. With Barack between her thighs she would hold onto his handlebar ears until she did.

Barack slipped on his Hartmarx suit jacket and buttoned both buttons on the single breast. Michelle double-checked the Old Glory pin on his lapel before the First Couple exited the suite flanked by their security detail.

Michelle stopped in her tracks, “I forgot something.”

The agent closest to Barack continued escorting the president down the hallway. The two men never batted an eye. Barack learned from living in a house full of women that someone was bound to forget something when it was time to go out. Officer Reyes, the second Secret Service agent stayed behind.

“I’m right behind you!” Michelle called out and rushed back into the suite.

She held a tube of lip color in her hand when she came back out to the hallway seconds later. She gave herself the once over, running her hands along the bodice of her dress and straightened the already straight garment.

“You look… stunning,” Officer Reyes said.

Michelle didn’t resist a smile as she stood eye-to-eye with the 6-foot tall agent. She held his Windsor knot between her thumb and first finger. They found themselves alone, again. He plotted the ultimate security breach. It was near impossible to focus on their surroundings when she smiled at him. He studied the detail of her hair so he could put each strand back in place after their encounter. Michelle ran her fingers down the length of his tie. She then grabbed her dress and began to raise it. 

“You are far too kind,” she curtsied. “We have to go; they’re waiting for us.” Holding up her dress she rushed down the hallway with princess precision. Officer Reyes never took his eyes off her. 

The interior of the presidential state car darkened as it was driven under the Helmsley Building and through Grand Central Station and the MetLife building. Barack looked out the window at the underbellies of symbols of a bygone era of financial prosperity. An era he would give anything to rule during. 

He gazed at his wife and had to know the carnal thoughts on her Ivy League mind. Michelle’s expression was soft and light. The tiny hint of a smile wasn’t hidden in the darkness.

“Do you ever think about Danny?”

The question caught Michelle off guard. Did Barack run into Danny in her dream last night? Daniel Covington was one of Michelle’s ex-boyfriends. A white ex-boyfriend she thought she wouldn’t have to belittle anymore to make Barack feel bigger.

“Why are you asking about Danny?” Michelle asked.

“I don’t know, just wondering if you still think about him sometimes.”

The lights lining Park Avenue flickered throughout the interior of the car and danced along the shimmery material of her gown and her cool-toned brown skin. She studied her Pumski’s handsome face, his brow and jowls wearing the stress of ruling the free world. She would be nothing but honest. It had never hurt them up until this point.

“Of course I think about him sometimes. I’m not going to just suddenly forget him. But that was a long time ago.” 

Barack nodded and remained silent. It’s a wonder Michelle couldn’t hear his teeth grinding. But she noticed his jaw flex. And yet she continued.

“Sometimes he just pops into my head. No biggie.” Barack’s questioning spiked her jungle fever to 104 degrees. Michelle smiled to comfort the president but behind those smiling eyes were thoughts of the “biggie” Danny possessed. “Don’t you think about any of your exes?” She shrugged at her own query. It was downright rhetorical. She fully expected him to say ‘yes’. 

He gave the obvious answer with his eyes. He didn’t think about any of his exes so much as he thought about the future possibilities afforded to the president—political groupies, celebrities, escorts, interns. Ghosts of Lewinsky’s suckling haunted him; his imagination vivid. Phone calls with Oprah grew longer and more entangled during the campaign. They tested the encryption on his Blackberry with their racy emails and texts. Hillary’s digs at him during 2008 were fueled by sexual tension. Her Scorpio weakness for Leo men was getting the best of her again. If she couldn’t bed him, she would friend him and then try to bed him again. Hillary’s advice to Barack on maintaining a political marriage was served over martinis and reinforced with a kiss.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” He stepped back from Hillary, his hands firm on her shoulders. “Thanks to your man, I can’t have any cute interns.”

Regardless of losing his membership to the Black rhythm nation, there were many women and even men who would love to sell the story of their private meeting with the nation’s first Black president. They could probably teach him a dance step or three. The Mandingo myth and the possibilities were ripe for the plucking. Yet nausea raked his body at the thought of being entertained in his private study by another woman.

Michelle’s right hand skipped over his knee and made itself comfortable not far under his belt. And that look returned to her eyes. The constant travel, media presence and Secret Service put the Obamas in a state of forced exhibitionism. They truly wanted to maintain transparency in Obama’s administration, but didn’t want to jumpstart Souza’s career as an erotic photographer. They vowed repeatedly to keep it classy in front of the cameras. Things were fair game in the Stagecoach though.

For the Secret Service, the Obamas were a welcome change. They even devised SSSV—Secret Service Sunglass Vision. There was the lucky bastard who got to face the Obamas while they were locked in their lengthy hellos, goodbyes or just overcame with groping spells by each other’s existence. Through the miniature reflection in his sunglasses the agent facing him got a view as well. 

A loving couple like Michelle and Barack made the job much more viscerally exciting. Barack gave the agent posted in the hallway the “Do Not Disturb” wink when Michelle made her drop-in visits. If Officer Reyes was at the post, she tugged on his Windsor knot before following Barack into the Oval Office. There were many nights where the living quarters of the White House were far from quiet. Thanks to the First Couple usually joined at the hip, it was easier for the Secret Service to cover seemingly one body instead of two.

Michelle’s tooth-hiding smile, Barack’s drawn out “aaaahhhs” in speeches all caused by vivid aftershocks. That teleprompter was necessary during the campaign. Sure he cared deeply about the issues and the message. But the increased demand for his time and attention drove him to seek comfort in the embrace of Michelle’s legs more than usual, leaving little time for memorizing speeches.

Michelle, his Renaissance woman, was the ultimate presidential perk. She juggled career, family and also juggled Barack in the palm of her hand. Her libido never waned. Barack barely made it through or to his first few press conferences, but played it cool in front of reporters despite Michelle’s explicit explanations of what she was planning on doing to him and what parts of his body she was going to put in what parts of hers.

Barack lifted her hand and kissed her fingers lightly. There was no pretending he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. Bamboo was clearing traffic. They’d be at the Democratic Party benefit in no time. 

She reached across with her left hand and undid his tie. She slid it off and kissed his neck, unbuttoning his shirt. Barack threw his head back, the presidential tension melting from his expression as he closed his eyes. Tension built in his pants. Michelle massaged it away, with her lips still on his neck.

Barack didn’t lift his head, only opened one eye to look at her. “What would your mother think if she knew you were behaving like this?”

Michelle stopped kissing him. “What would you think if I wasn’t?” 

He took his position willingly beneath Michelle as she climbed onto his lap. The full skirt of her gown covered his thighs and the surrounding car seat. They made out like it was their 2-month anniversary. 

Two minutes later, their car pulled up in front of Cipriani Wall Street. They shut out the world with their eyelids and touched their foreheads together. The stillness washed over them. While some of the Secret Service officers canvassed the location, the others assigned to the state car knew to wait a few minutes before jolting the Obamas out of their own private paradise.

Michelle slid back onto the car seat. Barack’s lips were swollen and a brighter shade of blue-black. He buttoned the first 2 buttons on his shirt. “Babe, where’s my tie?” 

She smiled at him. “It’s under my dress.” His eyes darted to her lap then to her mischievous eyes. “Are you gonna go get it?”

“Indubitably!” Michelle’s laugh filled the limo as Barack’s head disappeared under her dress. 

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"Indubitably Obama" was my entry into the New York Magazine Political Fictions Project