Story of the Week: The State of Their Union

“How the fuck am I supposed to bang all this out now,” Sylvia hissed as she threw a heap of papers onto her already cluttered desk.

She was alone, as usual, and was told to “figure it out” by her speech writing partner Hank, before he and the Senator’s aides went out for an extended lunch at Applebees. Writing the Senator’s response for tonight’s State of the Union address was daunting enough, let alone in English and Spanish, but by herself? Granted, her Spanish was decent – she had studied for several years in college back in Ohio and even spent a semester in Barcelona during her sophomore year, so she considered herself to be proficient enough. But what with the Pope resigning and North Korea’s nuclear weapons test, there was just too much to talk about. She needed some help. She needed a…

“I hear thomeone thay thomethingth about the banging…”

Sylvia’s heart jumped out of her chest when she heard the deep voice with a familiar Castilian accent. She slowly turned around, clutching at the pearls around her neck. It couldn’t be…

“Well hello, Thylvia.”


“It hath been tho long.”

Pablo. Pablo was the young busboy she had met when she was studying in Spain. They fell for each other immediately and, despite the slight age difference (she was 20, he 15), and social status (she rich, he poor), nothing mattered but the lessons he taught her in the ways of love. She remembered the last time she saw him, after she had skipped class to make love to him behind Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia Basilica, how he looked into her eyes, placed his rough hand on her sweaty face and said, “Thome day, I will find you. Do not wait for me – your body needth to be pleathed by otherth. But jutht know, I will find you. And we will make love onth again.”

And now there he was. Pablo – looking absolutely dapper in a custom tailored suit; the knot on the tie creased to perfection. His hair was shorter and carefully slicked into place, a slight stubble on his soft dark face. And oh, those piercing green eyes.

“Pablo!” Sylvia could barely contain herself as she rushed into his open arms. “You’re back!”

“Thylvia. Yeth. I am only here for a few hourth. We mutht leave after the President thpeakths. But I must have a prethiouth moment with you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Pablo pointed to a pass clipped to his chest. Sylvia studied it – he was a high level chief of staff to a Spanish diplomat. That would explain why he only had a few hours. And oh, she would make it count.

Pablo gently pushed her golden hair from her face and leaned into her soft yielding lips when Sylvia suddenly pulled back.

“The speech!”

“The thpeech can go fuck itthelf, for no thpeech can fuck you like I can.”

Sylvia melted into Pablo’s arms and took his mouth voraciously with her lips. A warm, throbbing sensation rushed down to her loins and she remembered that no other lover had made her ache this way since Pablo.

Pablo smiled and gently lay Sylvia on the couch. She began to unbutton her top when he put a finger to her mouth.

“No. You will do nothing.”

Pablo stepped back and pulled his suit coat off. She could see his broad shoulder muscles barely restrained by his perfectly fitted shirt. And he made her watch, teasing her as he stripped all the way down to nothing. Sylvia could barely contain herself and placed her hand on her wet love mound, but Pablo stopped her.

“No. I will do everything.”

He knelt over her and kissed her everywhere, inching her clothes off bit by bit until she too was naked. Sylvia was about to explode as he lowered his head between her legs and did what he did best. After only a minute, Sylvia came so hard she saw stars on the inside of her clenched eyelids, trying her best not to scream with feral abandon. Pablo was now on top of her. She was so wet… she wanted him, all of him inside her. But he made her wait.

He traced his mouth along her earlobe, down to the nape of her neck and to her shoulders, kissing her tenderly. Sylvia ran her hands along his soft, strong back, aching for him to put all of his weight on her, and melt into her body. Finally Pablo pushed himself up for a moment and gazed into Sylvia’s chestnut eyes.

“I am going to make love to you now.”

“Oh, Pablo!”

Sylvia arched her back and squealed as Pablo grabbed her hips roughly and bore down into her, thrusting with his gigantic manhood. She could feel herself about to come again as Pablo’s rhythm got faster, and with a sudden, harsh groan, his magnificent body shuddered – releasing himself into her.

They lay there in silence. The sun was beginning to set in the evening sky. Pablo finally broke the silence.

“I have to be going. But I will be back again one day.”

“Pablo, I love you.”

“I love you, Thylvia.”

Hours had passed and Sylvia sat at her desk, playing back the afternoon in her head. She had somehow managed to finish the speech, although she had absolutely no idea if it was good or not. No matter. Because from now on, when she heard the words “immigration”, “drone strikes”, “North Korea” or “Bipartisan”, she would think of Pablo.