It was a gesture of frustration. To deny herself release improved the accuracy of the image, her reflection in nature. While her fancy fantasized about making her come, repeatedly, violently, she was oblivious, blind to all of the signs. She was nothing but a wilted wallflower, and he, though he secretly despised everything he was, had still carried the school through an average of 13 pigskin victories a season for the last six years. His vapid girlfriend had been on the sidelines, cheering him on for all six of them. Nothing had changed. They both had the same friends, now, that they had in the beginning. Despite his confidence on the field, he was a coward where it counted. He let his fear conquer him when it came to his yearnings for this other, paler, poorer girl. Denise did, too, dream that night. She dreamt of a dismal strip on the interstate where cars would periodically stop, so that their drivers could step out of their vehicles, single or widowed, cheated on or just lonely,. She would make them all pay now that she was on her way into power. Perhaps she would even bring back the concept of internment camps? She laughed at the idea. She'd find some way to turn them into invisible Americans. Maybe she'd have a talk with the ghost of Eleanor about that one later. Right now she had to focus on giving her acceptance speech, and what a speech it was going to be! One of great promises filled with lots of sugar coated lies. Americans loved sugar coated lies, and she was just the right run of the mill politician to feed those lies to them. Hillary Clinton sat in the back of her Secret Service issued black SUV. Her motorcade moved slowly through the congested streets of Denver. All of a sudden the procession came to a stop. She tapped on the bullet proof glass that divided her from the agents that sat up front. The window opened."Yes, ma'am. What is it this time?" asked the agent."What the fuck are we stopping for this time?" It's called traffic, ma'am. There's.
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