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But what else is fucking new nowadays when I read the newspaper. The New York Daily Journal might as well be called the gossip column on me, that fucker Carter, and Vivian.
We’ve had four meetings in the last two weeks and each time I’ve tried to get close to Vivian, she puts her defenses up. Either the newspaper is right and she’s fucking Carter or she’s playing us both.
It almost wouldn't be so bad if Vivian wasn’t fucking Carter. You know, in addition to that one time she had sex with me. Oh, she hasn’t said anything to me about her and him at all, but fucking ‘well placed sources’ report that the fucking Governor is spending way too much time in Albany with his office door closed whenever Vivian Hawthorne is visiting.
What the fuck am I even bothering myself with this shit for? I’m acting like a lovesick kid in high school. Yeah, Vivian was a great fuck. She has a fucking smoking body, sure. She’s got tits you just want to grab and squeeze and suck. An ass you want to smack. Legs that go on forever. Jesus, even her fucking neck is beautiful. And that pussy. Jesus fucking Christ that tight pussy is worth its fucking weight in gold.
But at the end of the day, this woman knows what it's like out there. Hell, she’s played the field a lot longer than me. This is one powerful broad we’re talking about here. She used to be a fucking Democrat. Then she became a Republican. Then she went Independent.
Don’t look at me like that, okay? I did my fucking research on her after we fucked. I know what kind of person I’m fucking dealing with. And let me tell you; you do not want to fuck around with her. That’s for goddamn sure.
Of course I’ve learned it's important to know all about my enemies. I mean, they may not be enemies the way some of the people here had enemies when they went out to fight in wars. But if they’re like the people who were out there in the shale oil fields of North Dakota when I was first wildcatting, or the corporate boardroom snakes that I had to deal with, they were a whole different level of dangerous.
Too many fucking times, people came at me with a hand reached out for a fucking embrace while they smiled and hid a knife behind their back. The only that fucking saved me was knowing what they were all about. And I mean knowing every single fucking thing. What they liked, didn’t like, who they fucked, who they loved, you name it. So if another wildcatter was trying to steal me out of my claim to a piece of land, you can be damn sure I fucking knew that he had a mistress in Montana while his wife was waiting for him in Tennessee. A few years later, if a private equity banker was trying to take pieces of my company public and forcing my hand, I knew how to deal with him because I knew all his fucking deepest darkest secrets. I knew that he was visiting a fucking Thai massage place every other day during lunch for a rub and tug. I knew that he had incorporated himself to pay less in taxes. So when he did finally push too far, I knew exactly how to snap back against him.
That's how I know who I’m fucking dealing with Carter and Vivian. Jesus Christ, Carter Andrews is a real piece of work, you know that? Son of the real estate developer that built Andrews Estates in the Bronx. Yeah, that hell hole that cops were even afraid to go into almost 30 years ago. Sure, it’s cleaned up somewhat now, but it used to be a piece of shit. The NYPD had a fucking precinct office across the street because they were there every fucking night. Someone was always getting stabbed, shot, beaten up, or raped. They used to sell drugs in the stairwells. Hookers used to walk up and down the fucking walkways inside the Estates during the fucking day.
The bitch of it is, that the Estates were built in the 1950s as a place for returning veterans from Korea and all the other wars to settle down in. Have a nice, comfortable middle class life. And sure, it may have been like that for a while. But then like all fucking wealthy billionaires, the property was built, the city paid all the fees and shit that the developers charged, and then because it was affordable housing, people just forgot about it. And by forget, that means they forgot about the people who ended up moving in there too.
How do I know all this?
Because I fucking grew up there. I fucking walked past the Irish gangs that roamed the hallways, looking to recruit me. I used to walk back from school with books inside a pizza box so that the kids wouldn’t hassle me. Because if they saw me with books, they would have kicked my fucking ass.
But then I started growing up. I started working out. Playing sports. And I started getting bigger. That’s when it got even fucking worse. Now they wanted to pick a fight to see if they could beat me.
My parents both had jobs, mind you. They both worked every day of their lives, till they died. God rest both their souls.
But I never forgot where I grew up. And why it was like that. Because people stopped caring about the everyday American. And those people had no fucking voice.
Because of elites like Carter Andrews. And his father.
That’s why the fucking environment can kiss my fucking ass right now. People in this town need jobs. They need dignity.
But Vivian Hawthorne? Sure, she’s a blue blood. Family came over on the Mayflower. Dad ran a successful asset management business.
But from everything I can tell, this woman doesn't take any shit. She’s a strong, independent woman. She knows what she wants. And she goes after and gets it.
But along the way, she doesn’t put any skeletons in her closet either. She’s good. Too good.
But that’s the problem, right now. Because people who….
Wait, did you hear that?
I get up from the chair that I’m sitting in. I had thought that I would take the morning to relax with a cup of coffee in the library, but apparently that’s not going to happen now, based on the fact that I hear the sound of a car engine out in the driveway. I walk toward the front door, anticipating someone coming up the porch. I’m dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms. That’s all. I don’t give a fuck. Let whoever is at the door get a good look at my fucking ripped torso. If it’s a woman, she can have a nice long drool at my defined pecs and 8-pack abs. If it’s a guy, well, maybe he’ll get jealous. Otherwise he’ll get hard. Either way, I got nothing to fucking hide.
The bell rings, and I open the door.
I’ve never seen her before. She’s Asian. I figure from everything I know, I’m guessing Chinese? Slim. Nice pair of tits. Shoulder length black hair. Slender. Black pencil skirt.
“Mayor Jeffries?” she asks in perfect crisp English. I don’t know why I was expecting any different but I shake myself the fuck awake.
Since when do beautiful Asian women come knocking on my fucking door?
Well, actually, don’t try to answer that because I had this one reporter come through and knock I think maybe three weeks ago? Although she was Japanese. Anyways, came with some flimsy excuse about wanting to interview the youngest mayor in America. Ten fucking minutes. That’s how long before her skirt was hiked up around her waist and she was calling out to God as I rammed my cock into her fucking cunt. Made her cum so hard she was literally trembling.
“Are you okay?” the lady asks again and I snap out of whatever that was up there.
“Hi, yeah I’m the mayor,” I say to the woman, instinctively putting out my hand. “You are?”
