Lynn Cheney's Secret Diary
Oh my, Dick finally got authorization from his cardiologists to take Viagra for his impotency problems.
As much as I've been dreading it, he appeared at my boudoir door with his bobbing member in hand the night John Kerry spoke to the American public.
Whilst my fantasies are of a strong young lass reading to me whilst I cross-stitch in the firelight, then spiriting me away to our bed of the finest chintz fabric, Dick had that gleam in his eye, the same gleam he had when he said to me one night 34 years ago, "Let's hunker down and make me a son, honeypot."
When I birthed not a son but instead little Mary, Dick was limp with disappointment. Sigh. I think that episode started his heart problems.
Now that he's a somewhat full man again, thanks to his friends at Pfizer, I cannot warm to his bear-like frame. And his four inch member may lack length, but the way it leans to the right still makes it an uncomfortable intrusion into my Sapphic tunnel of love.
But alack and alas, I did what I had to do.
I dimmed the firelight, thanks to our remote control dimmer switch made by Dick's friends at Futronix.
I removed my contact lenses that Dick's friends at Acuvue sent me. Then I asked Dick to don a dark wig, clipped into a pert bob that his friends at Monsanto sent us.
When he hovered over me, heavy with horn, and I squinted just right in the firedimmed light at his thin lips, he looked enough like k.d. lang to get my gal juices sufficiently damp.
It was then I allowed the rapture of our coupling to enfold me.
Within the three minutes Dick took to complete the act, I was at one with my faux k.d., and it was almost beautiful.
If only Dick hasn't insisted I chant, "Leahy, Leahy, Leahy" while he pistoned himself inside of me, the fantasy would have been complete.
...to be continued