The Trump and I
- LECTURAS 9
- Votos 0
- Partes 1
It was midnight. Outside, the full moon gleamed, its gentle light turning the river into molten silver. Scooping up the shimmering liquid between my two cupped palms, I envisioned my love: his delicate, wispy, blonde hair perched on top of his lightly sun-kissed skin, his large hands and even huger fingers, and his melodic voice, a choir of rats sent from heaven. Then, swallowing the water in one huge gulp, I sealed my wish.
"I want Donald Trump to love me."
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Poor country bumpkin John Doe has never yearned for much in his life, preferring to live his life peacefully farming and coexisting with the forest and its inhabitants. But when his 90s television suddenly switches on in the middle of a thunderstorm, his attention is drawn by the muscular man on screen. How will John deal with his newfound love? Will he manage to play his Trump card?
Or will it end in more disaster and Trumpiness?
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I watched the water drip down his nose and onto his beautiful full lips. I craved the warmth of his touch. The rush of our connection. Regardless of how wrong it would be. I couldn't resist it any longer. I stepped closer, covering the flush of his cheeks with my hands to feel their heat and pressed my lips firmly against his until it hurt. Dylan gripped my waist and pulled me into him, sealing the space between us. I secured my arms around his neck, brushing my fingers through his soft, luscious hair. I didn't allow anything else to matter. Not the voice that told me this was wrong. Not the guilt. Not the warning that crashed through my head. I pushed it all away and let the desperate craving take over.
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