THE PRESIDENT'S GIRLFRIEND Read Online Free PDF Page A

get a jolt of giddy excitement just by his presence alone, she was still determined to stand her ground. 
     She remembered him.  It was years ago, but she remembered it as if it was last night.  She remembered his big body on top of hers, gyrating her in such an expert way that she left that hotel suite in a daze.  And his rod, she still had dreams about that thick rod inside of her, caressing and then pounding her, all stiff and hard.
     She found out that he was her one-night-stand early in his political career, when he was first thrust onto the national stage some eight years ago as the newly elected senator from the great state of Massachusetts.  He was known back then as the CEO Senator, a man with plenty of business expertise but no previous political experience.  It was perfect timing back then since the electorate was tired of career politicians, and he quickly made his mark as a moderate, new kind of democrat. 
     She’d never met him personally early in his term, nor paid him much attention whenever she was lobbying Congress, until she saw him one night on CSPAN, giving an impassioned speech about the clean air act.  His hair style was different, and he’d aged, but she suddenly realized that the handsome and bachelor Senator Walter Harber was the same man she had gotten to know quite intimately one sultry night in Miami Beach. 
     And when he decided to run for president and won three years ago, she was astounded. She wanted to tell somebody about it, she was that excited, but she didn’t tell a soul.  How would bragging about the fact that the then future President of the United States once had his way with her, be a positive for her?
     Dutch Harber entered the East Room of the White House feeling as if it was déjà vu.  This was his third ceremony of the morning.  The first two, both also commemorating unique organizations, were brief and unremarkable.  And when he welcomed the cheering room to the White House, and took a seat on the makeshift stage with the other dignitaries, he expected more of the same. 
     He would stand and present the award to each representative who came on stage, and then he’d sit back down while they gave their prepared remarks.  His attention, however, would drift from the stage to the audience.  Because he’d heard it all before.  But after more than a few predictable acceptance speeches, his eyes drifted and stayed on one audience member in particular.
     She sat on the front row, and during the entire ceremony she remained almost stoic, even bored.  She never clapped.  She never smiled.  She never showed anything but seeming disinterest in the ceremony itself.  But Dutch Harber couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
     He’d noticed her from the moment he arrived in the East Room, the audience rising and Hail to the Chief blaring in his ears.  She was the youngest of the organization representatives, he’d noticed.  Much younger.  In Dutch’s trained eyes, no more than thirty-five if she was a day. 
     He’d also noticed that she was the only female in the room who chose to wear pants rather than the conservative, button-down skirt and blazer that were standard issue around DC.  She, in fact, wore a striking eggshell-white pantsuit that contrasted beautifully against her dark brown skin, with a royal purple blouse that crisscrossed at her ample breasts and revealed what he considered to be a tasteful amount of cleavage.  Her heels were four-inches high, a magnificent golden-yellow, with a matching gold scarf wrapped neatly at her throat in an elegant overlay that made her look almost regal.  His loins were throbbing just looking at her.
     And her face.  That was, for Dutch, the most intriguing feature of all.  She wasn’t someone he would pick out of a crowd and declare the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.  He doubt if he could even declare her the most gorgeous woman in the