Chapter 41

In typical Washington fashion, the round robin of social events was designed
just like a cutthroat style athletic competition, where everyone tries to
screw everyone else in order to advance to the next round.  Yet all the time
smiling and nodding as if enjoying themselves.  I suppose some people could
actually enjoy it, but it seemed a bit bloodthirsty to me.  It was, however,
apparently the system the people inside the Beltway were most comfortable
with.  I figured screwing other people was the only way they knew how to do
anything.

The format for the competition was that the first big bash would be for
everybody.  From that event, a selected few would advance to another, more
exclusive event the next night.  The larger group, the losers, who would
never know of the more exclusive function, attended a formal dinner
scheduled the next evening.  They would return home the following morning,
fat, happy and none the wiser.  They just might be active voters, after all.

At the exclusive function, the cattle would again be judged and from this
event, even fewer couples would be selected for the next level, this one
with lofty personages who, although technically called public servants,
never seemed to find time for either the public nor to serve.

The winners of the judging at that semi-final event got to mingle in the
same atmosphere with the highest of the land, the President and First Lady
and their guests of honor, usually heads of state or Nobel Prize winners.
From the gene pool selected for this particular cattle drive that Nicole and
I were attending, it was obviously not anticipated that there would be any
winners for the grand prize, but rules are rules, so there was an outside
chance of a winner.

Scoring at the first big bash was varied and was based on pretty much what
you would expect for a beauty contest.  Could they walk upright, was their
fly closed, was there any spinach stuck between their teeth?  Bonus points
were given for complete sentences, the more consecutive sentences strung
together, the better.  Humorous anecdotes received a huge bonus, unless they
were old ones everyone knew or were obscene.  A well-told titillating
off-color story scored extremely high, however.

The scoring at the each successive level was a magnitude tougher than at the
previous level, as was the determination for the grand prize tougher still.
One had to be careful not to appear more intelligent or debonair than the
guests of honor, those with whom one was being allowed to hobnob at each
particular soiree, while still appearing interesting and post-Cro-Magnon.

Nicole took to this atmosphere like crabgrass to my lawn in spring.
Probably 99.9% of the people there had no clue what was going on.  Nicole
not only figured it out, she spotted the scorers.  I had never seen her so
vitalized, so challenged, so French.  This was her element.  Apparently they
taught this stuff in kindergarten in her country.  Her countrymen and
countrywomen had invented this little game that was being played all around
us.  She went after it like it was matter of national pride to win the gold
medal.

Within ten minutes of entering the ballroom, she tugged me urgently to one
side, out of earshot of the other guests.  "Lawrence, you did not tell me.
What is the prize?"

I looked at her only slightly less blank than I was still bedazzled by her
beauty.  When she saw I truly didn't know what was going on, she succinctly
and patiently explained the contest, the rules as played in the French
aristocracy, and again demanded to know what the prize was.

Still without a clue, she finally asked who was important, who was in town?
A president, a king or Shah?

I wracked my brain, sifting though the news I had heard, both on the public
news stations and what I had heard through the Agency grapevine while I had
been there for my physical.  I had heard some disturbing news while I was
there related to Gary, but nothing about an alert for a bigwig being in
town.  I told her no one.  Then I asked her if Gertie had mentioned anything
to her the day before.  That brought her up short.  She had known the answer
all along.

"Oh, dearest Lawrence, we must win!  Gertie said she was meeting with some
scientists in town and that the president was seeing them later in the
 week."

Good old Gertie.  She always seemed to know everything.  I asked Nicole,
"So.  Who are they?"

She looked at me as if I was a stupid child.  "Does it matter?  We must
 win!"

Well, excuuuuse me!

We slipped back into the general hubbub of the ballroom, but now, as I
looked, I could see the gentle manipulation and orchestration of the flow of
the attendees.  We were being gently herded as lambs to the slaughter so
that all the players moved by the unobtrusive outposts of the scorers.
Nicole allowed us to be moved along, but she positioned us at a point for
optimum advantage as we came in range of each station.

It happened so quickly, I had to pinch myself.  A witty quip to me, a
fairytale laugh, and we were by the judges, who were lurking like hunters in
a duck blind.  Maximum points.  Timing was everything in this event.  Now I
was the one who was terrified.  This meant so much to Nicole, and I didn't
want to blow it.  She seemed to sense my dismay and looked up at me.

"Lawrence, do not worry.  Just relax and enjoy it.  This part is women's
work."

The twinkle in her eyes was all the reassurance I needed.  I had a sudden
urge to pick my nose, however, which I resisted by putting my itching finger
in the small of Nicole's back, along with the rest of my hand.  She took
this a sign I would follow her lead, and Nicole was off to the races.  We
must win!

We made the rounds of the scorers for about 90 minutes, then she pulled me
off to the side, out of the fray.  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining
brightly.

"Why are we out here, Nicole?  Are you feeling OK?" I had to admit this was
kind of fun.  The cotillion had a style of combat all it's own, with all the
feints, attacks and counter-attacks of a major battle.  Something told me it
was not always bloodless, either, with this much emotion at stake.

"Ah, Lawrence, so much fun I have not had in a long time.  Thank you for
bringing me.  But we must not, as you say, run up the score.  We have made
it to the next round.  See that horrid lady with the blue hair?"  Nicole was
referring to the hostess of the event and she was being kind in her
description of the old bitch.  Her silvery hair did seem to have a bluish
tint to it.  "She is giving the portly gentleman his instructions.  He
should be, yes, he has seen us."  She looked up at me, delightfully
pleading.  "We can stay an extra night, no?  I, I can help with the hotel
bill, perhaps?"

What man could refuse such a request?  I gave her another kiss on her hand,
bowing to her and her wishes as I did so.  I kept my eyes on hers as I
bowed, then lowered them to get a close up look at her exposed cleavage.
She noticed my close inspection of her bust and moved slightly to give me a
better view.  I swear she inhaled and held it to maximize their size and
shape for me.  My eyes flicked back up to hers, and I winked, a bit
lasciviously.  Her flush now extended across the upper slopes of those
luscious breasts I had just ogled.  She lowered her eyes from mine, then
closed them in happiness.

The portly gentleman, a long term Congressman whose effectiveness in the
House had been inversely proportional to the length of his stay in office,
cleared his throat to get our attention.  I instantly took a dislike to this
pompous lecher.  He spoke to me, but never raised his eyes above the level
of Nicole's chest.  Gritting my teeth, I graciously accepted the invitation
to a formal cocktail party at the house of a corporate magnate the following
evening.  I assured him we would not mind altering our plans and inquired if
we would get to see more of him the next night.  He indicated he and his
lovely wife, the blue-haired cow, would be hosting the scheduled dinner
party for the others attending, so unfortunately we would not see him there.
Ah, yes.  The losers.

When he was gone, Nicole said it would be OK to leave now, if I wished.  It
was not a great distance to the hotel and I asked if she would like to walk.
She laughed like a schoolgirl and nodded excitedly.

The evening was a delight, a warm early Spring evening, the cherry blossoms
just beginning to appear.  There was a hint of moisture on the grass as we
strolled through the park-like grounds of the nation's capital.  Nicole
slipped off her shoes and went barefoot in the grass.  I carried her dainty
heels for her, enjoying the simple pleasure of her company.

"You were jealous, Lawrence."

"What do you mean?"

"When that fat man stared at my breasts.  You were jealous."

I noticed he had gone from portly to fat, now that we had made the second
round.

I started to bluster a protest, but she stopped me.  "It is nice of you to
care, to want to protect me.  It feels nice.  But do not be jealous of the
looks.  It is the way of men and women.  Did you not notice when you looked
just before he did, how I helped you, encouraged you to look?  Did you not
notice I enjoyed your looking at me?"

I nodded my head that I had.

"And did you see me helping him?  I did not, but you did not notice, did
you?  You were too busy grinding your teeth or clenching your fists, no?"

I admitted she was right, on all accounts.

She took my hand and held it in hers as we walked along, fingers
intertwined.  She pulled back when she realized she had initiated the
contact, but I held her hand fast in mine.  It felt right.  It fit right.
She relaxed.

Later that night we lay in bed together.  She had come to bed in a frilly
nightgown.  It was incredibly sexy and I took great delight in removing it
from her body.  I wanted her naked, and naked she remained.  She sat
trembling as I caressed her, then laid her back on the pillows.  I snuggled
in behind her spoon fashion and held her, loving the feel of skin on skin.

Nicole was antsy and kept shifting.  I understood she was nervous and I just
held her, not making any moves to penetrate her or arouse her further.
Still she squirmed.

"Uh, Lawrence, Sally has told me of this position, that you favor it for the
cuddling time.  I did not believe her.  This is not the right time, is it?"
she asked finally.

"The right time for what?" as if I didn't know what she meant.

"You will not take me tonight.  Correct, no?"

"Correct, yes."

"I, I cannot say I am not disappointed, my love, but I will wait if I have
to.  However, this position, with your wonderful equipment poised right at
my entrance, well, it excites me too much to sleep.  I am always waiting for
your powerful thrust into me and I cannot bear the wait. Please, may I?"

With that, she flipped over to face me, so that we were both on our sides
facing one another.  With a gentle touch from her, I lifted one leg to allow
her to insert one of hers between mine.  She slipped her arm under mine,
trapping her close to my body, even in sleep.  Her breasts pressed
tantalizingly against my chest and my cock rested against the inner thigh of
her lower leg.  Our faces were almost touching and the sweet moist smell of
her breath filled my nostrils.  I felt her hand travel up my back and soon
her fingers were entwined in my hair.  I nearly shot off.

"This is much better, is it not, my Lawrence?"

I was at a loss.  "Where, uh, where am I supposed to put my hand, Nicole?"
waving my free hand in the air.

She giggled.  "Why, wherever you wish, Master!  Can you not reach everything
better this way?"  She tilted her head back in mock surrender.  "I am yours
to cuddle, oh my wonderful master!"

I took her up on it.  Several hours later, we slipped off to sleep in the
same position, much more familiar with each other's bodies.