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Like a Hero

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Big Dick

My head was spinning. Absolutely spinning, and it wasn’t just the glass of champagne. The last month, the last year even, had been a complete blur. From high school swim meets, to a generous college scholarship, to the Olympic trials, to the eight days I spent in the Athletes’ Village, to the medal stand (three times), to the media circus back home, to this bathroom in the swankiest hotel in the capitol city of the state I was born in. How could so much happen to one person in so little time? Also, how long had I been leaning on this sink, staring into the mirror? Minutes? Hours? You can prepare your whole life to be an Olympic athlete. You can train and work for years. But nothing can prepare you for the feeling you get when they hand you the bouquet of flowers and slip that heavy gold medal around your neck and you stand there with the world watching as the anthem plays. A stupid farm girl, barely eighteen years old, stringy red hair, more strength than sense, more freckles than actual skin, suddenly an Olympic hero. Hero? Heroes are people who save people from burning buildings or stop wars from happening. Not people who swim back and forth in a pool. Any schmoe can do that with enough training. A real hero cures diseases or… The bathroom door opened, and broke me out of my reverie. I wiped my eyes (after suddenly realizing I’d been about to cry), and stood up straight. The clicking of high heels on the tile floor announced the arrival of a short, middle aged woman in an impeccable business suit. It took me a while to realize that it was the Governor of our fine state. Katherine Maddox, only woman to be elected to the state’s highest office. When I did realize who it was, I stood up straight, adjusted my brand new suit jacket and made sure the fly on my brand new slacks was zipped up. She was a petite woman, shorter than me by maybe a foot. She was skinny, her dark brown hair shone with red highlights. She saw me in the mirror as she walked toward me. As she approached the sink next to me, she winked at me and said, “How you doing, kid?” “Fine, Madam Governor,” kaçak iddaa I said, suddenly unsure if that was the right way to address a Governor. If anyone had told me, I forgot about it. Governor Maddox turned on the faucet in the sink next to mine and ran her hands under the water, waiting for it to get warm. Her reflection smiled at me and said, “Call me Kate.” Call the Governor Kate, I thought. Sure, why not. It’s not hardly the weirdest thing that’s happened to me in the last month. My impression of her was that she was nice, even though I’d only met her once, during the banquet earlier tonight. She, much better in front of the throng of cameras than I was, told the crowd how much effort and strength it takes to do what I’d done, and how proud everyone was of me, and how I was an American Hero, and so much effusive praise that I stopped listening after a while. “Overwhelmed?” she asked. Her voice was deep, betraying the use of tobacco, although no one had ever seen her smoke a cigarette. “You have no idea,” I laughed. She gathered some pink, fragrant hand soap in her hand and started washing her hands under the warm water. “No,” she said. “I guess I don’t.” She finished washing her hands, and gathered up three or four hand towels from a pile by the sink. She leaned against the counter, looking at me, while she dried her hands off. She looked me up and down, smiling the whole time. I didn’t know what to say. The only sound in the room was the rustling of the wad of paper towels in her hands. After a long moment, she disposed of the towels in a little hole cut in the countertop. She paused for just a moment, and then said, “I’m going to grab your pussy now. Don’t scream or anything, okay?” I only had time to squeak out of the back of my throat before she reached out and did just that. Her warm hand moved toward my crotch, and settled on it, cupping me. She held me for a long moment, and now the only sound in the bathroom was the sound of my clipped and irregular breathing. It wasn’t the first time I’d been touched down there. I had a couple of boyfriends kaçak bahis when I was in high school, both of which I let go all the way. I tried to recall if I’d ever had feelings for a woman before, ever had fantasies about myself being with one, and couldn’t remember if I had. But when the Governor of your state grabs your pussy, it’s hard to know how to react. “Is this okay?” she asked. I think I nodded, even though I still wasn’t sure if it was. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you at the Olympics,” she said. Then she laughed and continued, “I have a little thing for redheads.” Her free hand crept up my body, and then around my neck. She pulled my head down, and then our lips met. Little pecks, at first, then she opened her mouth, and I opened mine and our tongues met while she continued to massage my pussy which was already getting wet. I don’t know how long that kiss went on for, but it ended when I realized that we were in a public bathroom and anyone could walk in at any moment. I broke the kiss and looked toward the door, but the Governor’s (Kate’s) hand grabbed my chin and pulled it back toward her. “Security guards at the door. No one is going to come in here. It’s just you and me.” Then, we were kissing again. I moaned as her fingers worked at me. I could feel her trying to find my clit, which couldn’t have been easy through the nice slacks I was wearing. “What about your husband?” I asked. He was a dashing man with a killer smile and perfect Just For Men hair. A lawyer or something. “You want him to join us?” she asked. “I guess that’s okay, but I was kind of hoping it would just be you and me.” “No, I mean…” the sentence went unfinished as she found my breast and started pinching my nipple. “I have a room upstairs,” the Governor said. “I would love to eat your pussy.” I could only breathe ragged, short breaths. “How does that feel?” she continued. “To know that the Governor of your state wants to eat your pussy out?” Again, I didn’t have an answer. In my mind, I couldn’t help thinking that this was some kind of hallucination, some illegal bahis kind of dream. I was still in high school, and I’d never seen a pool before in my life, and this was some kind of weird dream I was having. The whole last year had been a very vivid, very powerful dream. “I have a strapon too,” she said. “I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” My brain decided suddenly that if it was a dream, it didn’t want the dream to end. “Okay,” I said. And suddenly, it was over. Her hand left my breast, her other hand left my pussy, and she was walking away from me. She paused before she reached the door to the bathroom. “Room 1206,” she said. “Wait ten minutes, then take the elevator up.” Punctuating her sentence, she brought her hand up to her face, and breathed in deeply. “I can’t wait,” she added, and stepped out of the room. And just like that, I was alone again. I robotically washed my hands, and robotically walked out of the bathroom. I robotically walked through the ballroom. Someone from the press asked me a question and I robotically answered. I found my parents somehow. My dad was talking to a reporter, and my mom was clinging on to his arm, smiling like she’d just won the lottery. They found me and pulled me in, and it was the photo op of the century for some of these people. Incidentally, in the photo on the front page of the newspaper the next morning, it’s my father on one side of me, my mom on the other, and in the middle, it’s me, and that look on my face is me thinking about having lesbian sex with the Governor of our state. You can’t see it, but my pussy is still wet from when she touched me. After the photo op died down, I told my Mom that I wasn’t feeling very well and wanted to go up to my room. My dad had splurged for two rooms for this event, rather than make the two hour drive back home afterward. She asked if I was okay, and I said something about being overwhelmed with all this and just wanting to be alone for a while and then I’d come back down. She looked worried, but she understood. I asked her to make my apologies to the press, and stumbled away from the scene. It had to have been ten minutes, I thought to myself, as I walked toward the elevator. In the elevator, I tried to make sense of the whole situation, but I couldn’t.

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