Mr. President

"Come for me," Kenneth growls. I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. I knew Michael and Kenneth were having an affair, but I never thought they'd bring it here. Michael grunts and cums hard into Kenneth's mouth until he's completely drained, every last drop. It seems I arrived just in time for the finale. His cock spasms, and I watch as it dies down. I can see thick strands of cum drip from his mouth, and coat his tongue and lips. Kenneth is still on his knees and gets up slightly, placing his hands affectionately on Michael's chest. "You can have this every day—you are I, pure bliss—just say so. We can be happy together," Kenneth says, and then leans in to Michael, pressing his lips to him. He brushes his tongue against his lips, and Michael sucks it eagerly, cleaning it of the cum that covers it.

It is only at that point that both men notice my presence at the doorway. They both pull away from each other and gaze at me, wordless. There is a thickness to the silence, and for a moment, no one knows what to do. Kenneth seems pleased that I've just witnessed it all. A sly grin dances across his face. Michael is stunned, and debates how he should respond. I can almost see his mind working overtime. Then he finally speaks, "Really now, Jocelyn. Don't look so surprised." He bends down and picks up his pants, carefully pulling them on, one leg at a time.

"You were supposed to be at the doctor appointment with me today."

"I changed my mind," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "And besides, this was only a fair turn of events. While you go off and fuck—who—no, I don't even want to know—whoever it is that you're fucking, I'll get mine."

I look at Kenneth and he nods his approval. He looks ecstatic and casually runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. I bet this was his idea to be here, in this house, with Michael today. It would make sense.

"As you wish," I say, all emotion hidden. I tell myself that I shouldn't care. This was always a marriage of necessity. A favor for my father. I've never loved Michael and he's never loved me.

Michael clears his throat and says, "Good, now if you know what's good for you, you'll close that door and run along."

120

Lance

Sometimes, love means letting go.

I swear, I fucking tried. After that fucking awful night out, I went home ready to take on the world. I wouldn’t let anything get in the way—in my mind, Jocelyn and I were meant to be together, and I wouldn’t allow for that not to happen. Of course, that was nothing more than a childish thought. It fucking hurts to put it like this, but she was fucking right: I’m nothing more than a kid, and I was living nothing more than a fucking fantasy.

But there’s one thing that I won’t let go of: I love her. I fucking love her. With all my being. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever love another woman like this. It’s just fucking impossible. So why am I not going after her? I’m astonished that you still have to fucking ask. Have you read the newspapers? Have you seen the fucking news on TV? She’s happy. Fucking happy. Swear to God, it hurts like a motherfucker to say it, but Jocelyn is happy. And she’s carrying my father’s child. Let me put it like this so you can understand it: I’m going to have a fucking brother. How can I come crashing into her life now? How can we ever be together like this? Fuck, I’d do anything to have her with me, but I won’t fucking ruin her happiness… I fucking won’t. It might cost me my own fucking happiness, but I don’t give a fuck. As long as she’s all right, the world will keep spinning on its axis…

That’s why I left in the middle of the night, not bothering to tell a soul that I was leaving. I packed my shit up in a duffel bag and called a cab. Half an hour later I was checking in at the Plaza, laptop propped up on my knees as I booked a flight to London.

Yeah, that’s right, come tomorrow morning, I’m getting the fuck out of New York. Maybe being on the other side of the planet, as far from her and my father as I can fucking get, will help. Or maybe it fucking won’t. Whatever, I’ll take the British night by assault and I’ll work through everything by going back to being good ol’ Lance Anders.

Yeah, sure, I know what you’re thinking. Things didn’t exactly go the way I intended the last time I tried to work through things like that. But, listen, this isn’t the way I wanted things to go. But what do you want me to fucking do? Try and break Jocelyn and my father apart, now that they’re waiting for a child? I’m an asshole, sure, but I’m not a fucking evil bastard. I have fucking limits. It might not look like it, but there’s a fucking conscience inside this pretty head of mine. Don’t believe me? Well, fuck you then.

Laying here on the bed of my hotel room, my head is racing, going at an hundred miles per hour. My mind is fucking brimming with scattered thoughts, a big gaping hole in my chest. Inside my heart, there’s fucking emptiness. I never felt like this. Never.

There’s a knock on my door, but I don’t even bother with it. I’m fucking crushed right now. Sprawled on top of the bed, I’m just staring at the ceiling while the seconds go by. It’s not like I’m fucking busy, but I won’t let room service fucking interrupt me. Besides, I have the fucking “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging outside the door, so these assholes can go fuck themselves.

There’s another knock, this time louder. Jesus Christ, do not disturb means do not fucking disturb, what’s so fucking hard about it? I sit up on the bed and, sighing, go up to my feet and walk to the door. I’m already in a foul fucking mood, and having someone knocking at the door isn’t fucking helping. While I’m crossing the room, whoever is on the other side starts to knock more insistently. Fucking hell.

“I’m on my fucking way,” I say, feeling more and more pissed by the second. What the fuck? Can’t I fucking wallow by myself for one fucking minute? Let a man be, for fuck’s sake. Seething, I grab the handle, turning it. The door swings open and my heart almost stops beating.

“Hello, Lance.” I have to blink twice in order to be sure that I’m not fucking dreaming. Jocelyn? What the fuck is she doing here? “Going somewhere?” Yeah, the other side of the planet.

“London,” I tell her without thinking. I’m still dazed by the fact that she has managed to track me down. “How the fuck did you find me here?”

“Your father’s name carries some weight,” she says with a smile. “That and you left a booking note on your bed stand.”

Fuck.

“Yeah, alright. That doesn’t explain why you came halfway across the city to bang on my door,” I tell her, stepping aside and letting her walk into the room. I turn my back to her and head to the bed, sitting on the edge while I prepare for her fucking speech. No hard feelings, yada yada, and some bullshit more. I’ve given that speech countless fucking times, but I never actually thought I’d end up on the receiving end of it. Karma can be a fucking bitch, let me tell you.

“I came to stop you.”

“Stop me?” I raise one eyebrow at her. Does she think I can stay in New York, living under the same roof as her and my father? I’m not a fucking masochist, thank you very much. I’d jump out of the fucking building before I let that happen.

“You can’t leave,” she insists, an expression of desperation taking over h

er face. Her beautiful face. Fuck, I just want to take her into my arms right now. Okay, be fucking strong, Lance. You can do this.

“I sure can. I’m leaving in the morning. And before you ask, I didn’t buy a return ticket. One way only.”

“You can’t,” she repeats, a sense of urgency in her words. She’s desperate. Why? She takes two steps toward me, looking me in the eyes. “I love you, Lance. Please don’t go.”