While she was living in the White House even.
“Which one, Grandpa?” your grandkids ask.
“Which what?”
“Which First Lady?” they ask.
You’ll never tell. That’s your gift to her. Your expression of gratitude for those few months when she visited your two-room apartment and surrendered her body to you. She had the leader of the free world at home waiting in her bed, but she came to you. She shared her skin, her lips, her legs, her touch, with you. She once even stamped your pelvis with her “Property Of The Office Of The First Lady Of The United States” stamp.
“I didn’t wash my body for weeks,” you tell them.
“The first lady carries around a stamp like that?” your grandkids ask.
“Sure,” you say.
“I don’t think she does,” they say.
“Sure, why wouldn’t she?” you say, growing less sure.
Your grandkids say, “It’s not that we don’t believe you, but maybe you should tell us which president she was married to. We won’t tell.”
You don’t want to betray her, but you don’t want your grandkids to think you’re a fraud. You can trust them.
“Fine,” you say. “It was President Lumpkus. Perhaps you heard of him? And his wife, the first lady, Jenny Lumpkus, was my lover.”
Your grandkids don’t know how to say this to you.
“Granddad, you really didn’t keep up on current events,” they say.
You know the truth without them laying it out for you. You probably always knew.
“No President Lumpkus?” you ask.
“Never was one,” they say. “Not yet.”
“Dammit!” you exclaim. “Why do broads always have to lie to get into a guy’s bedroom?”
Tonight you’ll lay in your bed looking at the photo of Jenny Lumpkus that she gave you to remember her by. She still gave you a few months of erotic bliss. And you got to live most of your life feeling special. Important.
If only you’d died before you learned the truth.
Happy You Used To Date The First Lady Of The United States Day!
