"She made it sir. She's a little upset. Apparently the handling was a little rough. We'll try to do better next time."
"Thank you." He's the most trusted of my Secret Service detail. The only one I could clear for 'blueball' ops. It's best if I don't give his name. He doesn't need to be hounded for the rest of his life to confirm what he swore an oath to deny. I climb the ramp to Air Force One, barely able to remember to acknowledge the people lined along the red carpet between Marine One and the stairs. She's inside. I get so sick of hearing "Hail to the Chief" when I need her so badly. I'm so glad that frigid wife of mine, FLOTUS, decided not to accompany me on this trip. The bitch took her damned time before she made her decision and made it a tougher op to get my true love, I guess I should call her MOTPOTUS, Mistress Of The President Of The United States, aboard in secrecy again. I'm also glad that so much sound proofing was installed to keep my suite isolated. Sally's a real screamer.
I go through all the mandatory pleasantries of boarding and then quickly get past the Fixer and into my suite. The other agents all know that when the Fixer is on the job, it's their job to take down anybody who tries to get past him to get to me. This is the only place where I can have any real privacy and he is a necessary evil. I am fortunate that I was able to get my old college buddy into the Service for this.
Inside the suite I go immediately to my private closet. Only three people know the code to open this tiny room that travels to the hold where the Fixer can work without oversight among the cargo pods. Only I know the code to do what I'm about to do. Well, maybe some geeks know this code, but the Fixer knows the geeks. I enter the code and scroll through as the display shows photos of everyone else who has opened the door. I see them all. Only the same two people until I get to my photo from the previous time I opened it. The Fixer is one of them. Sally is the other. I quickly enter the code to open the door.
"It's about fuckin' time," she says. "I gotta pee." She quickly hurries into my private restroom, not even bothering to close the door, and I hear a sigh of relief as she voids her bladder. "Sorry about that Johnny. I forgot to pack my whiz kit."
"I heard you had a rough ride, Sally."
"You can say that again. I mean I know I'm just a little poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, but no more food carts, okay? I banged around like a butterball turkey in a garbage can. I want my padded cargo pod back."
"I'll speak to the Fixer. It was a short notice thing and really important this time. I'm sure glad you made it."
"It's good to see you, too. How long do we have Johnny."
"About an hour and a half."
"Good, then we don't have to rush. Where are we going?"
"It's a West Coast tour. Five states, three days."
"Oh goody. Three or four quickies and two slowies."
I so adore this woman. She was my first fuck, and my first and perhaps only love, way back when we were both sixteen, and she's still the best. I wanted to marry her back then, but she told me that I would be President one day if I wasn't saddled with her. We kept our love secret until I went away to college. That's when she told me not to call her until I got my law degree.
What can I say? My father had money and connections. I had a fairly good brain. Eventually, I had a Harvard Law degree. I called her. She went to a community college. She took classes at night. She put in a couple of years as a paralegal. She took more classes online. She passed the bar exam in one try. It took me three. We both went into government work, me into politics and her into justice. I made it to the White House. She made it to my closet on Air Force One via the secret passenger protocol that has its roots back in another President's term. The first secret passenger was code named "Bombshell". Sally's codename is "Cialis".
For the next three days, the Fixer will be making sure Sally is well fed and has plenty of entertainment media and plenty of privacy whenever I'm not present.