Earth In His Ballsack

It was after a speech to the Berkley audience that Al Gore retired to his dressing room and started to think about things for a while.

It had been some months since Tipper and he had been together. It's not that she was unloving, but she was scarcely equipped as of late to cope with his "secret."

The lonely vice president decided it would be for the best if he went on a college speaking tour about global warming, and direct a movie about the subject. The movie was, trademarked so it's either we lose the title here or I never get this damn story published, and it was an instant success on college campuses across the nation.

And so Gore had come to the UC Berkley campus to give a speech. The crowd was with his every last breath and syllable. He loved giving speeches on friendly turf, and so was not about to scrap that formula in favor talking to a bunch of yuppies in Orange County.

But no matter how much the vice president tried to focus on politics, he couldn't get his mind off his loneliness and his little "problem." He dwelled on it for some time when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Gore said.

The door opened, and before him stood an absolute prize of Berkley college campus beauty. She was no taller than his chest, with a cute, innocent face and piercing blue eyes. Her blonde hair was dread-locked and tied back behind her head, and the opening door wafted the overpowering smell of her patchouli perfume.

Gore drew the smell in deep and was intoxicated. This was his type of woman. She was slim too, with a tight, exposed mid-section and subtle breasts. She wore sky blue flowing clothes with a bare midriff. Gore began to . . . get in the mood. And this worried him.

"Uh. . . Can I help you ma'am?"

"Hi, my name's Flower, and I just loved your speech today, Mr. Vice President," the young hippie girl explained with excitement.

"Why thank you, young lady. Please, close the door and come on in. I would love to discuss the matter with you. Global warming is one of my favorite topics." Gore said in his usual, monotonous tone.

Flower closed the door and entered the room. She took a seat on a sofa in the dressing room, one situated frightfully near the vice president. The very nervous Gore shifted around a bit, and awaited the young woman's response.

"Mr. Vice President. . ."

"Please, Flower, call me Al."

She giggled and blushed a bit, Gore just got more nervous. "Okay, Al. Anyway, I loved your speech tonight. Global warming is such a horrible problem for the earth, and it just touches my heart to see a man fighting it. I wish more people out there were like you."

"Thank you, Flower," Gore said, his voice unfluctuating despite his heart pounding a mile a minute.

This was a groupie, just like that last one at Columbia. He was scared. That one fled the room screaming when she saw his - - little issue - - and he was petrified that this one might do the same.

Especially this one - - whom he felt an especial liking for. He couldn't explain it, her face, her hair, her choice in politically correct and olfactory repugnant fragrances, this woman was just special.

"Global warming is a very important issue, not just for me, but for the entire world. Did you know that rampant cattle production has, over the past 50 years, doubled the level of methane in the earth's atmosphere?"

'Oh my God,' Gore thought to himself 'I'm giving her statistics, I'm totally blowing it with this girl.'

"My goodness! When will these people ever learn the horrible effects of their way of life." She was totally enthralled with it.

"Yes. I've gone to great lengths to suggest some solutions we might engage in to solve this problem."

"Oh my goodness, yes, I read all of them in your book! We could so totally solve this problem if we just tried the suggestions you listed."

Wow, this girl was really into it. Gore decided to make a. . . move of sorts. He tried changing the subject. "So, what do you major in here at Berkley?"

"Oh," Flower replied, totally disinterested in this topic. "I major in Womyn's Studies."

"Ah, I am quite familiar with that major. Simply amazing. Tell me, are you more of a Dworkinite, or more of a Steinemite?"

"Well," Flower replied, growing more bored with the topic. "While I respect Dworkin's work, I guess I really just side more with Steinem. I mean, men are scum but I'm really just not prepared to suggest they need to be collectively castrated I guess."

It was boring her, he could tell. Gore had to retrench. "You know, I've often felt if we were a more environmentally conscious world, we would all get along, man, woman, black, white, drowning polar bear."

"You know, I've so totally thought the same thing!" Flower perked right back up.

Gore and the young hippie talked for hours. He was hitting all the right points with her, and his little vice presidential heart was skipping a beat every time she spoke. For a little bit, he was beginning to think that this could be the sort of woman he could really get into.

Then, he recalled his little "issue," and started to remember that he just couldn't have meaningful relationships with women with that horrible burden hanging as it did. His tone started to take a turn for the dour, which was especially noticeable as Al Gore has no natural inflections in his voice.

Gore eventually had enough, and let poor Flower know with the utmost of depression, "Flower, it has been a real pleasure speaking with you this night on the dangers of global warming to this planet. But, it's getting late, and I think we'd best get to bed now."

Flower giggled. "Oh Al, I could talk to you all night if you wanted."

"That would be really nice, Flower, but I think it would be best to call it a night."

"Okay. . . But," Flower's little hippie face blushed three shades of red, and she stared at her hands to avoid looking at his face.

"What is it, Flower?" Gore asked.

"Oh, it's just that you have really pretty eyes," she said without looking up.

"Why, thank you, Flower," he said in his usual tone.

"Yeah. . ." she said, nodding.

Gore was about to say something but, before he knew it, Flower had nearly pounced him and was ravenously pressing her lips to his and kissing him with all her intense hippie passion.

Gore was eagerly reciprocating, as he had been falling deeper and deeper under her spell all night long. They engaged in that embrace for several minutes, each with their arms around one another and carrying on like it was center stage at the Democratic National Convention. Gore's penis began to grow in size, and he began to push her away.

She wiped her lips and begged, "What's wrong? Was I not good enough?"

"No, Flower," the vice president began in shame. "You are a wonderful, beautiful warrior for mother earth, and I really feel like you are the sort of woman I could make some little senators with. . ."

"Is it your wife?"

"No, Tipper and I haven't been intimate in a long time. You see, Flower, I have a little problem that keeps me from forming meaningful physical relationships with women."

Flower kissed Al Gore up and down, and began to undo his belt. She pleaded with him, "Al, I would do anything for you. I would be your secret other woman, I would go for months without your touch. . ."

"Well, Flower, touch is the thing. You see, I have a little. . . Oh God, this is embarrassing to admit. . ."

"Oh Al," She lovingly consoled. "You don't have to worry about your size with me. I've been in love with you since the day I voted for Ralph Nader over you in the 2000 election."

"It's prevented me from having meaningful relationships with women all my life. Even Tipper can't stand to have sex with me anymore."

"Al," she consoled. "That's because they're girls, not women. Let me, please."

"Okay." Al opened himself to her, allowing her to finally know the truth.

She pulled down his zipper and slowly pulled off his trousers. She lovingly slid down his boxers, and upon seeing it, exclaimed, "Holy shit, you're hung like a sperm whale!"

"Oh Flower! Now you know. Just go. Just go and leave me to wallow in shame."

Flower lovingly kissed Gore, and stroked his well cut hair and said, "Oh Al, I said I didn't care about your size, and I don't."

"But this enormous thing has scared away every woman I've ever been with. Even Tipper can't stand it anymore, she just screams and begs for it to end."

"Like I said," she murmured, as she grasped his cock and began to stroke up and down on the full ten and a half inches of also-ran man meat. "That's because they were girls." As she licked his flagpole up and down, "And not women."

"Oh Flower, I've been looking for a girl like you ever since I won - - lost - - the last election."

Flower gazed at his eyes lovingly and gave him a passionate kiss. She then returned to worship his member. She licked it up and down, slathering it up with her saliva to lubricate her gently pumping hand motions up and down his overly huge cock.

Gore was going crazy with the stimulation, but totally unprepared for what happened next. Almost out of nowhere, her little hippie mouth stretched wider than a George W. Bush budget deficit, and she took in his throbbing member.

Slowly and lovingly she slid his enormous cock in and out of her mouth, interspersing this rhythmic motion with the pumping of her hand up and down his shaft.

Gore sat rigid and moaned in unitone, and the little blonde, dread-locked hippie pleasured him with her mouth. He was totally unprepared for what happened next.

She looked him in the eyes with a sinister expression, and drove her head down his shaft till he was deep in her throat. She pulled back up, and drove back down again.

Soon she stood up and began to disrobe. She pulled off her sky blue top to reveal her small, modest breasts. Her nipples were puffy and her figure was slim and muscular.

She unclasped her skirt, pulling off the folds, first left to right, then right to left like a toga from the Roman days. Her cunt was trimmed, and she soon maneuvered it towards Gore's cock. She slid it up and down the organ, moistened from her saliva, and soon re-moistened from her vaginal solutions.

She positioned the tip into her opening, and soon slid down on it. As she pushed it deeper into her, she began to wince from the sheer size of it. Gore began to worry. This was where all the others had run away. But Flower, loving him as she did, bore it and slid down on this huge penis as far as she could.

When they had bottomed out, she slid back up again, and then back down upon him. Gore took his cue, and began to pump rigidly in and out of her. His huge manliness pushed her to the extreme, but soon she was moaning in ecstasy at this great satisfaction. Before long, she let loose with a fierce orgasm, and Gore continued to pump through the orgasmic and post-orgasmic contractions.

Gore then got up and bent Flower over the chair they were fucking on. He entered her from behind and began fucking energetically.

Flower was soon in the thralls of another intense orgasm as Gore pumped away and grasped her breasts from behind. It wasn't long before Gore felt a sensation building in his prick.

He announced, "I'm coming. TAKE MY LITTLE PRIZE WINNERS!"

Flower whipped around and began sucking and jerking him off till he released. Gore let loose jets of semen upon her. She took what landed on her face, and savored and swallowed what graced her mouth. When it was done, her face looked like a Rorschach painting of cum and face.

Gore continued to speak, but his heart wasn't in it. His little flower child dropped out of Berkley and took up correspondence courses. Every night she satisfied his enormous prick in every way she could, and became his own little Monica.