Mr. President

“This, everyday. For the rest of our lives,” he tells me, his expression one of love and wickedness. “That’s what I want.”

“No,” I tell him, struggling to get the words out as my lungs work hard to get the air in. “That’s what I want.”

“And that’s exactly what you’ll have,” he responds, leaning toward me and laying his lips on mine. I brush my tongue against his lips, and he sucks it eagerly, cleaning it of the cum that covers it.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Arsen.”

“You better.”

This right here… This is perfection. Happiness. And if I can have it, anyone can. Just make sure that if you want to go on a quest for a perfect man to stay away from Arsen Hawke… This man right here is mine, just mine. And I’m just his. And that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

Happy endings—oh, yes, they are very real.

60

Epilogue - Ashley

“Hi, I’m Tricia Loomis with Good Morning Manhattan, and today I’m at the company headquarters of Hawkelane Media Inc. where we catch up with two of New York City’s most dynamic and successful couples, Arsen and Ashley Hawke,” the news reporter says, standing in the center of the product display room.

Is it me, or is she being slightly condescending?

I’m in the product display room today of Hawkelane Media because Arsen and I are being interviewed by the television show Good Morning Manhattan regarding the runaway success of a revamped adult entertainment company.

Oh right, I may have forgotten to explain, this is one year after that evening at Del Frisco’s. In case you were wondering, my showing up actually was for the best. That’s right. I didn’t come in and ruin everything.

Actually, Mr. Mozorov couldn’t have been more understanding about it. Once he understood that Simulated Pleasures was only profitable because of me, and that I was going away, he lost complete interest in the phone sex outfit. When he realized that a majority of the profits had been created because Arsen was calling me, he also began to shy away from the industry in general. But through it all he was a very charismatic and friendly old Russian man. It was kind of surreal actually, one moment listening to him as to how he was going to bankrupt hundreds of women into sexual slavery and the next moment hearing him tell us stories of his growing up in St. Petersburg during the age of Perestroika.

But that was a year ago. Arsen and I were together. And back then, that was all that mattered. Its all that matters today, too. After that night where we were reunited, there was seriously at least a month or two where I wanted to be by his side every minute of the day. We had sex like five times a day until both of us were worn out.

But once that period ended, Arsen looked at me one day as we lay in bed after having a marvelous afternoon lovemaking session. I was still breathing heavily with my face nestled on his chest when I felt him play with my hair and move my head slightly so he could look me in the eyes.

“What do you think I should do with the last piece of Dad’s legacy?” he asked.

I looked hard at him. “Well, have your reasons for selling it changed?”

Arsen shrugged at me. “I used to feel that there was something wrong with openly hawking this stuff and that’s why Mom wasn’t around, even if she was dead,” he said. “But I get it now that this brings happiness to people’s lives. With my MBA, I could easily make Dad’s operation viable again,” he said.

I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at him. This is the man that I had fallen in love with. “And with my Art History degree, I could handle most of the creative branding,” I told him.

“You wouldn’t want to work the lines?” he asked me with a smirk.

I used my free hand to tickle him. He squirmed, and I moved lower. Without realizing it, my free hand grabbed onto his cock, and I began to squeeze it.

Within minutes, the idea of a reborn Hawke Media Group was being consummated quite noisily on that bed.

“Mr. Hawke, your company has really blazed a trail forward in bringing adult oriented entertainment even more mainstream than it has ever been. Many people call you a visionary. Others call you a smut peddler like your father with fancier technology. What are your comments to them?” the reporter asks Arsen as the news camera points to him. I’m standing to the side, content to let Arsen take the interview.

But he doesn’t listen to my directions.

“I couldn’t have done it without the help of my wife, Ashley,” he says, gesturing towards me. I gasp as the news camera swivels and takes a picture of me. “She’s the one that had the idea for a FaceTime app for our services, a Skype app, and a Facebook Live daily feed. She’s really harnessed social media.”

“Mrs. Hawke, any comments?” Tricia the reporter asks, looking at me. She’s looking triumphant. I don’t understand why she wants to make us uncomfortable.

I’m frozen. I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot.

It’s true though on some level. Every time we had brainstorming sessions for what to do next, Arsen could execute like nothing else, but he came to rely on me for ideas. But I need to be honest, if it weren’t for his questioning, I would have never have gotten the juices flowing to come up with the idea. And before you start snickering, that’s mental juices, okay? Oh my God, talk about mind in the gutter.

“It’s more of a back and forth between Arsen and I that results in some of the ideas that we have coming to me,” I tell the camera sweetly, belying my thumping heart at being on television for millions. “If he weren’t asking the right questions, I wouldn’t be coming up with the ideas.”