As you mull allowing witnesses to testify for the Impeachment trial, please know I am willing to testify about the contents of my forthcoming book, The Room Where It Happened: A White House Memoir.
However, my testimony may not reveal what you hope, as this book is mainly a collection of White House fantasy erotica based on my time in the West Wing.
Yes, I took copious notes of my time working for President Trump, but they represent the daydreams of a man writing the Great American Erotic Novel. The heroine, Mary Anne, is a zealously hawkish White House staffer in her late-20s who drafts war plans with Iran which never quite climax, but her sexual plans always do.
Yes, Mary Anne is a foil of sorts for me. Like me, she operates as if the feelings and lives of others come second, be they foreign or domestic. Mary Anne drop bombs in the lives of her sexual partners and then leaves them to clean up the mess.
Many details from the novel have leaked regarding my interactions with the President on various issues like Ukraine, Venezuela, North Korea and his general friendliness with foreign autocrats. But these issues simply frame Mary Anne’s story: one of a woman on the warpath who also enjoys coitus in semi-public locations. For example, here’s an excerpt I will gladly read aloud on national television:
Drawing a deep, silent breath, Mary Anne’s body pulsed with pleasure as she neared completion. She and Brandon could only express their rapturous feeling with their bodies, being mere feet from the Oval Office. She never looked her lovers in the eye, for fear of revealing too much.
As she drew her next breath and thrust upon him, she heard a voice next door.
“I would like you to do us a favor though because our country has been through a lot and Ukraine knows a lot about it,” said President Trump. “I would like you [Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky] to find out what happened with this whole situation with Ukraine.”
Was he withholding aid? Yes, but she respected it. Withholding, particularly of one’s body, is a special kind of power. Desire—for money, sex or both—drives the hearts of men and women.
This isn’t low-grade, PG, airport-bookstore, Harlequin novel nonsense. I actually take the time to develop character and foreplay. The only fetish found in my writings is for sex in semi-public locations. Oh, and war with Iran. Nothing gets me more rock hard than the idea firebombing Tehran. Economic sanctions are the blue balls of jingoistic foreign policy.
My novel is for the man or woman who derives as much pleasure from discreet, yet dangerous, sexual encounters as they do Donald Trump having his finger hovering over the nuclear launch button. It’s about the danger, other lives be damned!
I look forward to testifying. The opportunity will provide further material for Mary Anne’s adventures as she moves up to Chief-of-Staff for a high ranking Senator.