The Naked Interview

I always had a lot of sympathy for Bill Clinton during his Monica Lewinsky scandal. We're not of the same party, but as a healthy and vigorous man, I know how easy it is to get caught in the web of attraction that good-looking women cast out—whether they plan to or not.

I had my own experience in that line, and I would like to tell you about it. For reasons that will become obvious, I can't identify the state or the town where this took place, but I can assure you that it is all true.

I developed an innovative software system in a state in the Midwest, and no one was more surprised than I when the business became a huge success. We were making more money than I ever dreamed possible, and since the business, with the aid of a good manager, was pretty much running itself, I began to look around for other things to do. One of those things was the idea of running for governor of the state.

The existing governor found out that he had a serious case of pancreatic cancer and would not be able to run for a second term. Developing a new and passionate interest in politics, I decided to hire a personal assistant and a PR firm and spread some money and publicity around to get my name known. I had never run for any political office before, so I had to overcome that liability. On the advice of the PR firm, I spread my charity money around to the places where it would get the most attention: Boy Scouts, Girls Scouts, scholarships for needy students, etc. I didn't give a rat's ass about any of them, but I liked getting my picture taken as I handed out the checks.

I started making a lot of speeches around the state about what I thought the state needed. My PR firm dreamed up what they thought would be the most effective and the most popular ideas, but frankly, I didn't give a shit about any of it; I just wanted to be governor; I liked the idea of power. Everyone was asking me if I was going to run for governor, but I held off the announcement, acting as a press-tease as it were, knowing that I would get more attention that way.

My next speech was to be at the state university, where I had graduated 30 years before. I had decided to spend a couple of days there renewing old friendships, and my PA Dennis had secured us a comfortable suite at the local Marriott.

"The editor of the journalism school paper at the university wants to know if they can get an interview with you this afternoon, before your speech tonight?" Dennis asked. The university was famed for its journalism school, and the small daily paper there was called The Eagle.

"Is there any real value in it?" I asked.

"Not really, their only circulation is within the school, but it would be good PR in the community."

"Okay, I'll do it. Set it for one p.m., right after my lunch."

"Okay."

Once I saw the journalism student who was going to do the interview, I was sorry I had ever hesitated about it.

"How do you do, Mr. B-------------?" she said. "My name is Noel Wilkerson (not her real name), and we really appreciate your agreeing to this interview."

"Anything for the students," I said in my warmest manner.

She was absolutely beautiful: about five-eight, 110 pounds, silky straight blonde hair and a runway model's figure; in other words not much in the tits department but a really cute figure otherwise. She had apparently "dressed up" for the occasion, in the sense that she was actually, unlike the other students, wearing a dress: a black clingy woolen thing with brass buttons up the front. The traditional "little black dress", I guess. She did not appear to be wearing stockings, just low black heels, and she wore very little makeup, didn't need it.

The reason why I am giving this much description of her is that I have always fancied myself to be a ladies man—and have a considerable number of notches on my belt to prove it. I had married young—at 23—for the sake of my wife's money, but now we had been married for 30 years, and I was bored with the fat bitch. The only reason we stayed married was that she wanted to be the governor's wife, and I thought it was important to be able to display to the voters a stable and loving family. We also had a cocker spaniel—which I despised. I had always been a sportsman, and as a hunter, the quarry I was interested in the most was young quail: and here was a perfect example of it. I began to wonder how I could get into her pants.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, walking over to the bottle of bourbon on the dresser.

"I'm only nineteen," she said with a smile. "That's below the drinking age in this state."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you would like a drink."

My response seemed to surprise her. "All right," she said.

I poured two half glasses of bourbon and handed her one. "Sorry I don't have any ice. Do you need some water?"

"No, this is fine." She took a sip.

I pulled two chairs over from the round breakfast table and motioned for her to sit in one of them. "Dennis!" I said, calling in my PA from the other room. "The interview with this young lady will take about a hour, so why don't you go out for lunch? I know you haven't had any yet. And pick up the afternoon paper on your way back."

"Okay." He left, and I sat opposite Noel. "You're a very pretty young lady," I said to start off on a pleasant note. "Unusual for a journalist."

"Thank you." She smiled as she took a notepad and a small tape recorder from her purse. "Do you mind if I tape this interview?"

"Yes, actually, I do mind. I don't like mechanical devices, so I would rather you did not tape it. I'm willing to trust your memory—and your notes." My real reason was quite a bit different than that.

"All right." Reluctantly, she put the tape recorder away. "I do though have to start off with the most important question that everyone wants to know: Are you going to run for governor?"

"Let me be candid with you, Miss –Nickerson, was it?"

"Wilkerson."

"Yes, Wilkerson. Because of your paper's circulation and the age of the students, this interview is of very little importance to me. But it could be of great importance to you if you come back with the excusive answer to that question, right?"

"Yes, I guess that's right."

"Then I'll make a deal with you. I will submit to this interview if you're willing to do it in the nude."

She looked up from her notebook. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. There's only the two of us here. If you take off all your clothes, I'll do the interview."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding. I'll give you a minute to think about it. This is your chance to go back with the scoop of the year in this state."

She looked down at her notebook for a silent minute. Looking up, she said: "I thought you stood for moral values?"

"I do. From other people. But not from me."

"And you'll answer that and any other question truthfully?"

"Of course."

"But not on tape?"

"No."

She sighed. "All right. But needless to say, I've never done anything like this before." She put down her pad and stood up. My God, she was actually going to do it! Without looking at me, she unbuttoned the brass buttons, which numbered eight, took off her dress and folded it over the back of the chair. She was wearing a white bra and a white half slip. She reached her hands behind her back, unhooked the bra and draped it over the dress. Her breasts may have been small, but they were absolutely beautiful, with penny-sized pink nipples.

"Everything?" she asked.

"Everything."

With another sigh, she hooked her thumbs into her half-slip and her panties underneath it and pushed them both down until they fell around her ankles. Then she bent, picked them up and put them on the chair. Finally, she pushed out of her shoes. "Is this what you wanted?" she asked with her hands at her sides and making no effort to cover herself. Her thin and sandy-colored little muff proved that she was a real blonde.

"Yes, that's what I wanted. We can continue with the interview now."

She sat back down, crossed her legs, and instead of asking the important question, she began with a series of very minor questions. I think she had forgotten where she was at in the interview. Finally, she got to a good one. "Do you really believe in moral values—or is that just a pose to get votes?" she asked.

"Well, that's a good question, so I think the honest answer ought to be worth at least a blow job." I smiled as she stared at me silently.

"A blowjob?"

"Yes."

She thought about it for a minute. "All right," she finally said. She put the notebook down, got on her knees and crawled over to my chair. I unzipped and took out my already semi-erect penis. "Nice-looking cock, isn't it?" I asked.

She did not reply but took it in her mouth.

"I want to come in your mouth," I said, "So do a good job."

And to my surprise, she did, swirling her tongue around it and sucking hard—until I finally spurted into her mouth. She choked a little but did manage to swallow it all. Finally she stood, walked back to her chair, sat and got her notebook.

"And the answer to your question is—Yes, I believe in moral values. For other people."

"But not for you?"

"Right."

She wrote it down, then looked up. "I want to end this interview, so I'll ask you the last question: Are you going to run for governor?"

"Well, that's such an important final question that I think the answer to that ought to be worth a good fuck."

She stared at me silently. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

"You're old enough to be my father."

"Yes, isn't that nice? If you would like to lie back on this table here and draw your legs up to the edge, I think I could give you a very nice fuck."

Once again, she thought about it for a minute, then stood, put her notebook down, drank the rest of the bourbon in her glass, walked over to the round table, turned and laid down on the table, face up. She raised her legs so her feet were on the edge. What a pretty sight her little blonde pussy made. It looked good enough to eat.

"You're probably not lubricated enough for a good fuck, so you'll pardon me if I add a little to the lubrication." I scooted my chair over so that I was between her thighs. Then I dipped down, licked the lips of her trimmed pussy and finally thrust my tongue in her. She drew in her breath sharply.

I spent a lot of time tonguing her, and I actually think she was beginning to enjoy it. Finally, I stood, dropped my pants, and stuffed my engorged cock into her warm and wet slit. I had intended it to be a quick Wham-Bam fuck, but in fact, I was still fucking her tweny minutes later before I came in another big spurt. And I could have sworn that she came too.

Finally, exhausted, I collapsed back in the chair. But she remained lying on the table—with her cunt dripping.

"So, the answer to your question is: Yes, I am going to run for governor. I think that the people of this state deserve it."

"Thank you," she replied...without getting up.

Suddenly, the door opened. It was Dennis.

"Well, I'm back." He looked over. "Oh my God!"

I stood, pulling my pants up and zipping at the same time. "Ah Dennis, there you are. I believe Miss Wilberson is finished with the interview, so perhaps you would like to help her put her clothes back on. I see you have the afternoon paper, so I'll take that in the other room."

He stared at me in disbelief—as Noel slowly roused herself from the table.

I guess the dressing must have gone okay. I was busy reading the paper when she left, and she did not even bother to say goodbye or even offer a "Thank you."

"How did you manage that?" Dennis asked when he came into the living room. He already knew of my fondness for the ladies, so what he saw did not come as a shock to him but perhaps as a surprise.

"Well, she wanted to go back with an exclusive about my announcing officially my intention to run for governor. So I gave it to her—so to speak."

"But you announced that this morning to the regular reporters at the press conference in the lobby. It's right there in the afternoon paper."

I looked at the headline: B--------------Confirms Run For Governor.

"Oh yes, that's right, I forgot. Well, this will be a good lesson in journalism for her. Never believe anything you hear."

Dennis shook his head.

"Did you enjoy helping her dress?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. She certainly is very pretty. Not too friendly though."

"Oh well, you can't have everything."

We were scheduled to check out of the hotel at noon the next day, but I guess I was not surprised to get a call around 10 a.m. from the front desk.

"Mr. B-------------? There's a young lady here, a Noel Wilkerson, who says she needs to see you. She says it's very important."

"Very well, you can send her up."

"Should I leave?" Dennis asked.

"No, I would rather you stay—in case I need your help."

A minute later, there was a knock at the door. Dennis walked over and opened it. Noel was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt this time, the traditional university garb—and looked quite mad.

"You lied to me," she said.

"Really?"

"You had already announced your intention at a press conference in the morning."

"I must have forgot."

"I think you're despicable."

"Well, we can't please everyone."

"What if I go back and write the article exactly as it happened?"

"I don't think anyone would print it. After all, it's the word of an emotionally distraught college student versus a pillar of the community, "Man of the Year", according to the state chamber of commerce. Who do you think they would believe? Your paper wouldn't dare print it. Without proof, it's grounds for a libel suit."

She stared at me. "You are too much," she finally said.

"Well, I would hate to be too little. And I think you would be the first to agree that I was not. I'll tell you what. I really should make it up to you. How much do you make at that paper?"

"Nothing. I'm a student."

"With how much time left before graduation?"

"Three months."

"Well, I have a personal assistant here in Dennis, but I'm very much in need of a publicist and director of media relations. How would you like to have the job?"

"You must be joking."

"It pays fifty thousand a year. That's more than twice as much as you would make as a starting reporter. And it's a journalism position of some importance. You probably would wind up in the state house."

She turned and left.

Dennis shrugged. I poured myself a mid-morning bourbon. "She'll be back," I commented.

And ten minutes later, she was. There was a knock on the door. Dennis let her in.

"You would be willing to put that in writing?" she asked.

"I can have Dennis draw up the legal agreement right now, and I can write you out a check for your first week's work. Let's see, that would be about $960. We pay every week. The job would entail writing press releases, handling the media, and since I no longer have any physical relations with my wife, and since you're such a delicious little fuck, it also would entail—so to speak—an occasional getting-to-know-you time."

"You're disgusting," she said.

"Yes, I know, but I notice you're not leaving."

She was silent for about a minute, then she turned to Dennis. "Draw up the agreement."

"But leave out what I said about the sex," I added. And bring my checkbook."

So did I get elected governor, you may be wondering? Well, if I told you that, I would have to kill you.

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