Presidential Pursuit: A Kamala Harris lesbian love story

Chapter 1

"This way, please. Follow me; I'll show you to your office."

I follow the woman guiding me through the labyrinth of the White House to my office trying to keep a mental map of the path.

"So, you'll be in here when President Harris doesn't need assistance. You can use the space however you like—feel free to make it your own. Although most presidential assistants barely have any time to themselves; it's really a full-time gig. How did you get the position, anyway?"

I look around the room, buying myself some time to come up with a believable response. The truth is, I have no idea how I ended up here. I feel completely unqualified for the job. Being inside the White House alone is so surreal. If someone slapped me told me this was a dream, I'd believe them in a heartbeat, but when the President personally offers you the job with those sparkling eyes and that captivating smile, there's no way you'd turn it down. Honestly, I'd do anything she asked me to do.

"Miss Fields?"

I snap out of my reverie.

"Sorry, yes. I met Miss Harris during one of her campaigns in New York before she got elected." I say not really answering her question.

I consider elaborating further but decide against it until I see the woman's puzzled look. She wasn't satisfied with that response.

"We got along." I say with a tone of finality.

She looks at me with curiosity but doesn't ask any further questions. I release a small sigh of relief at the small victory.

"Alright, well, I'll be heading off. Oh! I don't think I ever introduced myself. I'm Katherine Baylor," she says, extending her hand, which I shake.

"You'll probably be seeing a lot of me. I'm the head of economic advising"

"It's a pleasure. Thank you for your help," I say.

She walks off, closing the door behind her.

I walk around the desk, running my hand over the surface and feeling the texture of the wood in my fingertips. I sink into the chair with a heavy sigh.

This is still so insane to me.

A few months ago, I was a journalist covering low-level stories about the failures of the MTA. Now I'm sitting in a room a few feet from the Oval Office, an executive assistant to the first female President of the United States. How did this even happen?

My mind drifts back to that day.

_________________________

It was just a normal day. My boss had sent me to the rally in the Apollo Theater to report on any major announcements for the upcoming issue. Fortunately, I managed to stand front row in Kamala Harris's direct line of sight.

Her speech was incredible—powerful and commanding. Not to mention, she looked amazing in that form-fitting navy-blue pantsuit. I'd never really noticed how beautiful she was. It made it hard to focus on my task. I barely took any notes, and her eyes kept meeting mine every so often during the speech.

"Probably just my imagination," I thought.

When the rally ended, I saw Miss Harris gesture to one of her security guards from the podium. She looked at me for a moment, then whispered something in his ear. Her entire team of guards approached me and offered to escort me to one of the many black cars stationed outside.

There was little conversation. I didn't ask any questions because the whole interaction was intimidating enough. For all I knew, I'd violated some code of conduct and was about to be executed backstage. A bit dramatic, I know, but what could they possibly want from me?