The Candidate

Tom was clueless as to how he got on the ballot. He even tried to withdraw his name. But once I threatened no sex for 6 months if he did, he promptly forgot all about quitting. My action reminded me of a T-shirt I once saw,

"She, who controls the Pussy, makes the rules." I guess that's been true for eons.

Tom's campaign dragged. He just didn't have the public recognition to gain in the poles. It looked as if he wasn't going to make it.

It was at this point that Tom's best friend and mentor, a retired Democrat, died and Tom was asked to present the Republican tribute to him on a TV special. Because he was a candidate for Governor he was slated to speak next to last, just before the incumbent Governor.

On the night of the tribute, everyone spent most of their allotted time knocking the Republicans and, indirectly, Tom. I could have cried, they were making him appear the fool. When Tom's turn came to speak, he walked on stage carrying his speech. That speech was written by the top speech writers, and approved by the party leaders. When Tom reached the podium, he carefully placed the speech down, yanked one of the microphones out of its holder, and walked to the edge of the stage and sat down with his feet hanging off the edge and started by introducing himself and said,

"John was my best friend. And I sure will miss him. I'm a Republican and he was a Democrat but we never let that get in the way of being friends".

Well the audience loved it. They applauded for at least a few minutes before allowing Tom to talk. He then talked about his friend with love and affection in his words and voice for about the next hour. Well he didn't actually talk for an hour; he spent a lot of that time waiting for the applause to stop so that he could continue speaking.

His eyes were bathed in tears.

He ended the eulogy by looking to the heavens and saying,

" John, when my time comes, I hope you will allow me to continue being your friend. And if they allow it up there, I'd like to continue our after dinner brandy and cigars".

He ended by saying, "I'm going to miss you a lot old friend".

At that point Tom lost it and started sobbing, I ran on stage and wrapped my arms around my husband and almost carried him off stage. I think I never felt more in love with him then at that moment.

The crowd took about another 10 minutes to settle down, before the Governor could begin his speech. The Governor's speech was a typical "Chicken in every Pot" with little dedicated to John life.

One month later my husband was elected Governor, while not exactly by a landslide, it was close.

++++++++

The sun is up and the curtains are leaking all that light in waking me. Only it's no longer Mary but my "Brandy" personality that had taken over and was in full flight mode.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and began my day. The only thing on my mind is getting to California and raiding my "Brandy" storage shed to complete my transformation. I know deep down that I can never return to my past life and family. I pack a back pack with my meager possessions, and start walking to the bus station. I leave my "Mary" personality behind in that room. Never to be needed again.

+++++++

My "Brandy" persona has "starred" in many porn movies.

In between pictures, I work as a stripper/nude dancer in upscale clubs. It supplies the money for my booze, and my connection for my cocaine habit.

At some of the clubs or on various "shots", the subject of that "poor Governor" and his slut wife comes up; "Brandy" never joined these discussions, but listened closely. The general opinion is that the man is a hero, too good for any mortal woman, and if his slut wife is ever found, she should be "tarred and feathered", her tits cut off,(slowly), and her cunt sewed closed.

I guess you get the picture, women can really be cruel.

I silently agree with them. It all should be done to me. I deserved it.

I read everything the press prints about my former family. I even keep a small scrap book with clippings and pictures of them in it. Every time I open it, "Brandy" cries, usually ending in a deep depression. Her sleep on those nights will only arrive after I drink at least a quart of something alcoholic. I am not very selective in what I drink; the cheaper the better.

I only want to kill the pain.

I slowly lose weight and become useless for the porn movie circuit. (Too skinny and always high) I start my downward spiral from upscale gentlemen's clubs to the lower class beer joins and dives where the dancers not only strip, but act as prostitutes between turns on stage.

"Brandy" has aged. It is a hard life that I have been living. I am now in my 40's and not looking very good anymore. My only saving grace was a boob job I got when I was riding high. My "Brandy" self is now the proud owner of a pair of "EE's". They keep me getting work, both on stage and in the "back rooms."

It was in one of these bars, we find "Brandy" dancing. I was just finishing my turn on stage and wearing only my "F" me heels. I haven't been feeling too well the last few of weeks. I have stopped drinking; only doing the $20.00 "drinks" served when a customer buys. And we all know there isn't enough alcohol in those drinks to count.

I have also reduced my coke usage to just a "maintenance" level, using only enough to prevent withdrawal.

I just feel weak and tired all the time.

I am doing a back bend showing the customers everything that makes me a woman as the music ends. I struggle back up. But instead of stopping when I'm' upright, I continue forward off the front of the stage and into the stage front audience, almost blacking out.

A bouncer, thinking I'm wasted, runs over to drag me out the door, planning to take me outside and slap the shit out of me for being screwed up again. But it seems that this is my lucky night, the customer, whose table I landed on, is actually an undercover police officer. He takes one look at my yellow skin color and my eyes, starts dialing 911, and flashes the bouncer his badge.

The bouncer turns around and volunteers to stand at the door and watch for the ambulance.

At the hospital, the emergency room doctor takes one look at me and realizes I'm in real trouble.

Epilog: Tom's Story

My political opponents had a field day. They held all sorts of news conferences. They called her, "The First Whore, The President's Personal Porn star. " They only stopped when the polls showed they were doing themselves more harm than me.

The public was still on my side.

They switched tactics. They tried attacking me for having her moved to the top of the transplant list. That backfired on them also. It seems she was the only person on the transplant list who could use the donor's liver. No other person, who needed a liver, was a match.

The public raised an outcry against these politicians. My political advisors felt that those complaining Politian's would not win reelection.

On the day of her transplant operation, the street outside the hospital was so plugged with well wishers that the police shut down all traffic on that road.

It was a long operation; I guess they were taking no chances with her health. I was so nervous that I was just wandering around the hospital trying to take my mind off what was happening.

I found myself standing inside the front doors of the hospital looking out at a sea of humanity in front of the building.

Before the Secret Service could stop me, I was out the doors and in the crowd.

Someone handed me a megaphone and I explained that the operation was still in progress and they had told me that everything was looking good, but I was still scared for her.

A big black guy walked up to me and hugged me.

"We're here to support you bro'. You're the man." At that he started yelling the Lord's Prayer. It was soon picked up by the crowd and everyone was reciting those verses.

While we were saying the prayer, a nurse in scrubs came running out the door. She was crying. I looked at her and she shook her head "No."

I felt a terrible pain in my chest and the world went black.

+++++++

It was one year later; I am sitting in my wheelchair talking to my wife. Well actually, I was talking to her headstone. When the weather is nice my driver and nurse would bring me out to her grave side so I could visit her.

God, I missed her. We were so close to being together again, when the operation to replace her liver failed. You know the old saying, "The Operation was a Success, but the patient Died."

I had felt that we could work out all our/her problems together with the help of a good counselor. People may hate her for all she had done to me, but I still loved her.

I almost joined her the day she died, but I guess having a heart attack in the parking lot of a hospital was not the best place, if I wanted to join her.

But today is different. I have been having chest pains for two days and they were getting worse with every breath.

I wish I had said goodbye to my children, but they would have put me back in the hospital.

All I want to be was with the love of my life.

I turned my head and looked at my nurse and the driver. They were talking and paying no attention to me. My eyesight is getting fainter. I thought I can see her beautiful blue eyes watching for me.

The pain started to fade away. Maybe now I would be able to ask her, "Why?"

The End