First Lady's First Lady

The sparkling Christmas decorations that adorned the thick columns of the White House's employee entrance sent tingles down the spine of Syria Ngabo as she nervously made her way into the most recognizable residence in the world.

"You've come a long way... Damn," the 23 year old fitness trainer gasped to herself as she tapped her fingers against the plastic guest pass that was pinned to the outside of her red, white and blue jacket.

"Thought the colors would be a nice touch," Syria said to herself, knowing in these times of heightened Patriotism, wearing red, white and blue on her first trip to the White House would be appreciated.

Syria could see in everyone's faces, as she passed, that they were slightly taken aback by her appearance. She had thankfully become rather use to that reaction however. Even though her mocha brown features and thick African accent set her apart from the majority of people she came into contact with, the youngest Daughter of a Lebanese Mother and a Kenyan Father, Syria was in many ways a shining example of what was good about America.

Slipping her five foot 10 inch 120 pound frame past several security checks to meet Laura Bush's personal assistant, Syria could literally feel the famished stares of the men that worked the checkpoints. Looking around at the white bread surroundings that the Bush's' had created inside tier home, Syria immediately knew the people working there weren't quite use to seeing someone as exotic as her. The fact that she was a Muslim in the post September 11th climate also made it feel a bit more awkward as she slowly worked her way through the seemingly endless maze of security checks.

When the White House had inquired into finding a personal trainer for the First Lady at the upscale gym where Syria worked, the last person the gym's manager thought of suggesting was the 23 year old Kenyan and Lebanese grad student.

With an early winter flu bug tearing through the nation's capital along with many of his female instructors returning home for the holidays however, Syria Ngabo suddenly became the most qualified and available option.

After numerous background checks because of Syria's religious beliefs, the spinmasters at the White House finally decided that it would be a quaint idea, for publicity purposes, to have a person of the Muslim faith be actively involved in something as important as being the First Lady's exercise guru.

* * * * *

For the wife of the most powerful man in the world, the stress that followed in the weeks and months after the attacks of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon proved to be a difficult burden to bare. On every level of her human comprehension: Wife, Mother, Christian and American, Laura Bush faced a deluge of angst and uncertainty that nearly drove her to the edge on a daily basis.

Adhering to the image she had created for herself, of a strong and stable rock for her Husband, was all Laura could do to meet the constant pressure and uneasiness she felt gnawing at her at each and every turn.

One of the few successful outlets George W. had found to diminish the frustration that welled inside his body and soul was the regimented exercise program his doctor had put him on in the weeks following the attacks.

After seeing the cathartic effects the exercise program had on her Husband for the hour or so everyday when he retreated to the privacy of the White House's gym and the way he was able to leave the world's problems for that little while, Laura Bush decided to do the same. After getting her staff to contact the same health club that supplied her Husband with a series of trainers, Laura was finally set up with one of her own.

* * * * *

Being led through the maze of White House corridors, Syria felt a dizzying sense of nervousness swirl through her lean and trim frame as she approached the sprawling and state of the art basement gymnasium, still numb from the realization that she was standing inside the world's power center, getting ready to help the Wife of the President of the United States with her setups and stomach crunches.

Syria couldn't help but think of her parents and her modest upbringing as her tennis shoes silently echoed down those marbled hallways. The Daughter of a Kenyan businessman and Lebanese accountant, Syria by no means grew up poor, but in a country where wealth is defined as having more than one square meal a day, coming to America and seeing the vastness of luxury in comparison, made the 23 year old girl's heart skip a beat.

By the time the First Lady's handlers had guided Syria downstairs to the basement workout area, the young girl had to wipe her hands off on her shorts several times, not wanting Laura Bush to feel just how nervous she was when they were introduced.

With the Secret Service guards posted to each side of the entrance, Syria cast each a tedious smile as large doors swung open. As soon as Syria gazed forward, she instantly saw the First Lady standing no more than 10 feet in front of her.

"Good.... Good... Good Morning.. Mrs. President... Mrs. Bush... I mean... ," Syria clumsily stammered.

"Just call me Laura.... I'm pleased to meet you," the perky and polite older woman offered.

After exchanging a cautious and restrained handshake, Laura and Syria filtered away from the Secret Service agents and assorted hangers on, making their way casually over to the far corner of the exercise room.

Feeling vaguely out of place from the moment she stepped foot on White House property, Syria correctly sensed the older woman's awkwardness bubbling just underneath her outwardly polite and friendly exterior as they made small talk.

"The security is a real hassle.. isn't it?" Laura smiled.

"Yes.. yes it is," Syria replied. "But considering the state of affairs in the country right now.. its certainly understandable. "

The two continued to make general conversation as Syria led the First Lady through a series of basic stretching exercises to warm up the older woman's tight muscles.

"So... Mrs. Bu... Laura... do you have any goals with this... pounds lost.... toning parts of the your body?" Syria clinically asked.

"Ah.. well.. any weight loss would be great.. but actually.. the main reason I'm trying this is just to help relieve some stress... my Husband keeps bugging me to join him but I really think I need to do this at my own pace," Laura sighed back.

30 minutes into the workout, a strange a calming sense of normalcy seeped into Syria's psyche as she led Laura Bush through a series of stretches designed to ease the tension in the woman's 55 year old muscles.

"Just like any other job," Syria told herself as she dutifully marched one of the most powerful women in the world through her warm up routines. "Just like any other job. "

* * * * *

>From a political standpoint, Laura knew it wouldn't look right in the conservative White House to have a male personal trainer, so she was insistent that a female be provided for her services. Still, as a woman, one of Laura's biggest fears when she committed herself to the exercise program was that she would be forced to endure the workouts with a young and perky woman that would make the insecure First Lady feel completely inadequate before she even broke a sweat.

Without wanting to make a big issue out of it, Laura never made known her deep seeded hope that the health club would send an older woman, possibly somebody close to her own age and physical level to work with her.

Laura Bush's heart sunk with disappointment when she saw Syria walk through those doors the first day, looking stunning and as finely tuned as a B. B. King guitar string.

As if measuring herself against a girl half her age wasn't enough, Laura also had to deal with the awkwardness of having all those male Secret Service agents watching from behind their dark sunglasses, knowing all the time they were internally licking their lips at the sight of Syria in her tight spandex outfits.

By their third workout together, Laura had finally convinced the agents to stay outside the closed gymnasium door so she and Syria could have a level of privacy for their hourly sessions, thus alleviating the stress of those men's glaring gazes for the young girl and, even though Laura would have never admitted it, so she wouldn't have the added stress and embarrassment of being measured side by side with Syria.

* * * * *

After a month's worth of bi-weekly sessions, Laura couldn't help but be impressed by the progress she had made. She found herself sleeping much more peacefully at night, eating only when she was hungry instead of to calm her nerves and for the first time since she was a teenager, she could run her hand over her belly or down her arm and actually feel muscles living underneath the skin.

Over the course of that month, through a lot of sweat and sore tendons, Laura and Syria had also built up a decent repertoire.

Laura had found out that Syria's family had moved to New York City when she was 16 and that while attending Long Island University, Syria had stumbled into a swank health club that her Mother had done some tax work for and put in an application for a job. Over the course of her four years at the New York club, Syria had worked with the likes of Janet Jackson, several of the professional female athletes that lived in the area, not to mention helping out a girl named Britney Spears lose a ton of babyfat before anyone in the world knew who Britney Spears was.

Laura also discovered that after Syria had got her undergraduate degree from LIU, she had decided to move to D. C. to get her Masters from George Washington. With her background in the exercise field, Syria had latched on to a part time job with the gym the White House dealt with.

Syria, on the other hand, had discussed openly with Laura the definite clash of their religious and cultural backgrounds. Once there had been a trust level established, Laura freely admitted to the young Muslim girl that she was initially leery when they first met. Being a small town country girl who married at an early age, Laura simply hadn't been exposed to a wide variety of people while growing up. By the time she became immersed in a life of politics and government, it further shielded her from having to deal with people that were different than her. Until she became First Lady, Laura told a wide-eyed Syria, she had only left the country once in her whole life.

Laura Bush's candor during their workouts together put Syria at a calming sense of peace as she steadily came to see the woman whom she had seen a thousand times on TV as just another person. Syria often compared her job to that of a bartender whenever one of her clients would go on and on about what was happening in their personal lives. To actually have the First Lady of the United States opening up however, was completely off the charts.

* * * * *

Knowing she would soon be facing the Christmas Dinner gauntlet that came with being married to the President, Laura decided to increase her exercise regiment to three times a a week in an attempt to offset all the food she knew she'd be forced to eat.

Loving the increase in pay as well as the cachet that came with being able to brag to your friends about working with someone so famous, Syria was more than happy to oblige to the extra day of work with Laura.

Kneeling on the mat, right beside Laura doing sit-ups, Syria filled with a definite sense of pride seeing, in a strange way, how far they both had come.

"That's it Laura... 51.. 52... 53.. were gonna get to 100 without any problems today," Syria beamed positively. "Remember when we first started... it was a struggle to get to 50.. you're doing great... 61.. 62... 63...!"

"Yeah," Laura grunted back, her sweaty body working back and forth as Syria carefully spotted her.

As fatigue started to set it, Laura's upwards rocking motions became more and more disjointed and by the time she had reached sit-up #80, each time the exhausted First Lady would drop backwards to the floor, her shoulder would gently graze the front of Syria's chest.

So consumed in her job, Syria didn't even notice that Laura was brushing up against the front of her tight spandex top until she casually looked down and saw that her right nipple had become slightly erect.

"Ooopps," Syria thought to herself as she pulled back an inch or so to give her client enough room to finish her last few sit-ups.

Standing up as she watched Laura roll over onto her stomach to do her 25 pushups, Syria felt her belly roll slightly as she snuck a peek back down and saw her nipple was still visible underneath her multicolored top.

Fascinated and a little taken aback by the sight of her strange arousal, Syria looked tentatively over both shoulders just to make sure no one else was there to witness it. Realizing no one was standing there, it suddenly dawned on the 23 year old personal trainer that there hadn't been a security presence inside the gym for her past few visits.

"Where are all the agents, Mrs. Bush?" Syria casually asked Laura as the older woman painfully trotted her way through the most difficult exercise in the routine.

"Oh.... I.... figured we'd both be a lot more comfortable.... without them peering at us... behind those sunglasses.. they might be on the clock but they are still men... haha... they're just on the other side of the door.. trust me we're safe... I just needed... a little privacy when I decided to try this," Laura huffed between pushups.

"Hey Laura.. you've got shorts on for the first time since we started doing this.. you can really see how the exercise is helping," Syria pleasantly noted as Laura bravely struggled through her final pushups.

"Thank You," The First Lady groaned back unsteadily. "Thank you... very much. "

"UURRGGHHH," Laura finally grunted when she was able to force her weight up for the 25th time before crumbling down to her belly so she could catch her breath and rest her tingling arms.

After several moments to gain her bearings, Laura finally turned on her side and looked up at Syria standing proudly above her.

"God.. she looks like a Goddess," the First Lady found herself thinking guiltily as the nearly six foot girl's shadow blocked out the gym's high ceiling lights above.

"Time for your leg lifts," Syria said, without missing a beat.

Leaning down over top of Laura's reddened body, Syria waited for Laura to turn over on her back before extending her hand down to the First Lady's feet to give her a guide when she raised her tennis shoes into the air.

"Now bring your feet up into the air Laura.. right up to my hand and hold them there for 20 seconds.. you should really feel the burn in your calves and then after a few seconds in your stomach muscles," Syria ordered in a friendly tone.

Holding her balance the best she could on her rock solid legs, Syria knelt directly beside Laura's tee-shirt clad torso to help the First Lady through her leg lifts.

"OK.. Laura... you're doing wonderful.. keep those feet steady right against my hand... that's it.. now try doing a few stomach crunches if you can," Syria smiled.

"O... K.. ," Laura hesitantly replied, her face straining wildly from the ordeal.

Syria filled with pride and accomplishment as she watched Laura force her back off the floor time after time while simultaneously keeping her feet raised a few inches in the air. Syria couldn't help but crack a wide smile from ear to ear, causing her ivory white teeth to sparkle between her cherry red lips, as her most notable client clearly showed progress.

"Come on Laura.. this is your best workout so far.. lets see if you can bleed out ten more crunches without bringing those feet down... 9.... 8.. 7.. you're getting it," Syria sighed, perched above the older woman's straining body in a Motherly and comforting pose.

The soothing position the young fitness trainer had taken above her was not lost on Laura as she fought her screaming muscles to finish her workout. The fact that her breasts were bouncing around inside of her oversized tee-shirt like two rambunctious puppies was completely lost on the usually demure woman as she tried to grind herself through the last few crunches.

"4... 3... 2," echoed in Laura's ear as she felt the swelling burn overtake her calves, thighs, stomach, chest and neck.

"I think I'm gonnnnna... make... it," Laura winced, propelling her 55 year old body forward one last time before crashing back down to the floor.

"PPHHEEWWWW," Laura shuddered in relief when she finally was able to drop her shoes down to the floor and rest for a second.

Laying flat on the mat, Laura inhaled and exhaled as hard as she ever had in her life. An eerie but tangible sense of calm settled in the room, only to be interrupted every couple of seconds by the raspy sounds of air gushing in and out of the First Lady's sizzling lungs.

"I think.. by far... this is the best workout you've had so far Mrs. President," Syria beamed, patting Laura lightly on the shoulder as she continued to hold her position kneeling beside her exhausted client.

Rather than detaching from their stances the same way they had during each of their previous encounters, Syria remained at Laura's side for several seconds, simply staring down and admiring the older woman's hard work.

The blood raging through Laura's body caused her weight to feel like a lump of burning coal beside Syria as the young girl's knees rested gently against Laura's heaving side.

"Need a hand up?" Syria chirped as she slowly extended her hand down to Laura to help the tired woman to her feet.

"Thank... you," Laura replied, straining to raise her right hand up to meet Syria's.

A visceral electric charge went through each of their palms when Laura's sweaty hand disappeared inside of Syria's dark grip.

"OHH," Laura whimpered involuntarily when she felt Syria's strength pulse through her flesh.

It was as if each woman had become temporarily frozen in time as they held their positions. Laura, flat on her back with her right arm raised weakly in the air while Syria knelt beside her, looking strangely like a black knight, not in shining armor, but tight fitting spandex and Lycra as she held the older woman's pale, trembling hand.

For nearly 30 seconds neither moved as the First Lady's creamy white grip interlocked with Syria's dark caramel skin.

"You have soft hands," Laura found herself inexplicably saying, blushing immediately from her involuntary compliment as the young girl patiently towered over her.

So stunned by the surreality of the situation, Syria just knelt there, paralyzed by Laura's tightening grip. Finding herself rolling her thumb against the back of the white woman's soft sweaty hand, Syria's muscles shifted beautifully inside her chiseled forearm.

Instantly feeling the butterflies in her stomach turn to pigeons, a wave of paranoia washed through Syria, causing her to attempt to disengage from the unnatural embrace. Before she could lift her knees off the floor and pull away however, Laura's grip became an anchor, insistently holding the 23 year old Muslim grad student in place beside her.

Syria tried gently jerking her hand away once more from Laura's sweaty clutch, only to lock eyes with the seemingly hypnotized woman. Slowly tumbling down the awkward abyss, each woman blankly measured the other until they returned their gazes towards their interlocked hands.

Flexing her arm muscles once more, this time Syria carefully eased their joined hands down on top of Laura's quivering belly.

"I've never felt anything like this in my life," Laura silently mouthed, just loud enough for Syria to hear.

".. Me... either," Syria's fiery eyes seemed to reply.

After a deep breath, Syria pulled Laura's hand upwards and placed their interlocked, black and white fist directly against her rippled and jagged abdominal muscles.