“You look good. I always did like myself a skinny white boy,” she says walking around you, inspecting you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“‘Ma’am?’ Aren’t you adorable,” she says, sucking her teeth.

“You know what I like about white boys?” she asks. “Not too macho, not too thug to go down on a lady. Thugs always want their dick sucked, but they never return the favor. Do you return the favor, Kyle?”

You nod until it sinks in.

“Yes, Kyle, I know who you are. I even know why you are here. You’ll never find those ballots. Trump will lose. And you’ll be dead.”

You try to back toward the door but find that you can’t move at all.

“Like it?” she asks. “One of Hillary’s tricks. Makes faking a suicide really easy. “

“No one will believe I killed myself.”

“It doesn’t matter. The media will say whatever we tell them to say. You’re a terrorist here to kill me. A white supremacist out to kill the first Black Woman President. An assassination attempt would send our poll numbers sky-high.”

You notice her ghetto fabulous accent is gone entirely.

“Come here, Kyle,” she says, pointing at the floor by her desk.

Your legs obey her and take small steps to the spot she is pointing at.

She reaches forward and unbuckles your belt and unbuttons your jeans. She lowers the zipper slowly but pulls your jeans and underwear to your feet in one swift motion.

“I’m going to show you how I got into politics, Kyle.”

She guides you on the desk and lays you down and says, ”I’ll go first but don’t worry, you’ll never have to return this particular favor.”

She fastens on your penis like a lamprey, teeth anchoring at the base of your shaft. You are hard after two long pulls, the inside of her mouth ribbed and slithering. She digs her fingernails into your chest. You ejaculate quickly and then again just a few seconds later. And then again and again.

It starts as a cramp in your stomach and intestines. They clench like fists. And then you scream. Suck suck suck. Your penis bulges, feels like it is going to split, pain. You look down and see your torso being emptied. She digs her nails in harder. Suck suck suck. You feel your ribs detach and make their way out of your penis. You feel the muscles and bones of your legs moving toward your crotch. Your esophagus detaches from the back of your throat and travels out your penis. You can no longer scream. Blood is filling your mouth. Your skull collapses and finally, you die.

Kamala keeps giving you The Willie Brown Special until you are a mere husk of skin, slurped dry of all moisture. By the nails dug into your chest, she carries you over to a window and opens it with her free hand. She lets the wind take you like a grotesque kite.

You flake and disintegrate in the eddy and flow of the wind, and float down to the street as dust.

FINIS

(START OVER?)