Chapter 5: Donald's Encounter

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The moment that Donald laid eyes on Pope Francis a magical one. Trump was only half changed when Francis came into the changing room for registration - his jaw dropped giving him an extra 2 chins and his ginormous body trembled making his man boobs jiggle. He noticed how this man had a voice like toffee, warm and sweet. He had never felt this way before, he quickly realised that his clear instant adoration was a sign of weakness and vulnerability to his power, (he couldn't let on his lust at first sight else it would ruin his reign of fear). A hundred thoughts ran through his tiny brain.
"Maybe this is the answer to my problems," pondered the half-naked ogre, "Maybe because I hate women, I might be into men? That would certainly explain why I have a male-majority cabinet when I'm President in the future.."

The rest of the students started to filter out if the room, leaving the racy old man alone with the huge beast of a person...
Looking for a silence filler, Pope Francis spoke with his suave, sensual voice, "I have already heard of your.." he took time to choose his words, "difficulty to teach." Trump stayed silent and tried to put on a hard face. Francis continued, his expression still calm, but he stepped closer to Donald, "In my many years alive, I have, of course, seen this behaviour before in people your age." He continued to move closer, "Maybe, I can help fix your attitude..." With every sentence, he glided seductively closer toward the topless giant without fear, a very sexy action for such an aged man. When he spoke his next words, Donald could smell his rosemary-scented breath he was that close. Trump's lips quivered, Francis' simply played out the words as effortlessly as ever, in a low whisper. "I do believe that your anger is born from.. sexual frustration." The Pope was now looking Trump up and down and reached out a hand, stroking Donald's thicc tiddie and blessed him with a moist kiss on the forehead.
"Amen," breathed Trump, for he knew where this was going.

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