King: Cocksure

Chapter VIII

The Obama Gambit

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

Quite suddenly, the stakes had been dramatically raised.

Buchner’s sudden introduction and possible marriage to Claire. Westbrook’s sudden violent death. Loyola’s unsolicited warnings. The mystery porn party with an unknown sponsor. Now a movie planned by the Republicans to influence the election subliminally. Buckner’s “wife” showing up on site to film a porn scene. The interlocking coincidences were piling up too fast and furiously not to make me suspicious, if not paranoid.

Claire was understandably upset to learn that the man she was thinking about marrying already had a wife.

“I’m scared, Brad, do you mind if I fly out to California tomorrow until we figure out what’s going on,” the Russian model said.

“No, I think that is the prudent thing to do,” I said. “Get on the first flight back here as soon as you can. Creech will arrange the tickets. I think it’s time to get all the ships into protected port. We’re heading into rough weather.”

After I got off the phone with Claire, I called down to the MILF shoot downstairs to check on the woman who’d introduced herself as Gustav Buchner’s wife. I was informed the that after finishing with Antonio and Rufus, Mrs. Buckner had filmed a “real” scene with two young stud puppets playing her teenage sons. Then she summoned her chauffer, got her check and left. I arranged to have the raw video transmitted to the terminal on my desk.

The video had not yet been coherently edited but showed the alleged Mrs. Buckner performing fellatio on the two “teens.” Then she took simultaneous anals from both, all without removing her white gloves or 40’s style hat. It was a pretty accomplished performance for a woman who claimed no prior porn experience.

Later, Creech and I prowled the internet looking for information about Buchner. Creech had been closer to Westbrook than even me and she was still tearful while she flipped from link to link on the computer.

“You know, I talked to him virtually every other day,” she sniffed. “He’d bring gifts when he was in the office. I kind of think he liked me. Now he’s gone…”

“I know, baby,” I said. “I can’t believe it either. He told me he really did like you. I wish there was something I could say or do. I’ll miss him, too.”

“Do you really think this Buchner had him murdered?” Creech said.

“We’ll know more after we get the accident report, but Westbrook was a great driver and I can’t believe that he died in a wreck on his way here to tell us something about Loyola. There has to be a connection.”

“Shouldn’t we tell the police,” Creech said.

“Tell them what,” I asked, “that we think a private detective working for a pornographer was murdered by an even bigger, globe straddling porn empire to prevent us from getting information that would expose Loyola and Buchner?”

“No, I guess that wouldn’t fly would it? But we have to do something…”

“Yes, and we are. Just as I expected, everything I have seen here on the internet indicates Buckner does not have a wife.”

“So you’re telling me it’s okay for Claire to marry him?”

“No, I’m telling you I need you to get Red Herlihy on the phone this minute.”

“Red, I have decided to make Mr. Exeter’s movie,” I told him as soon as I had him on the phone.

“That’s great, Brad,” I said. “That was a lot quicker than I expected. What changed your mind?”

“You did,” I said. “I am going to put a lot of faith in what you say and how much I can trust you. When all is said and done, you may not like the way we do the movie or why, but it’s the way it has to be done, or I’m not playing.”

“I guess I have to trust you. Don’t I?”

“Yes, it’s mutual, but Miss Marin can’t know anything about this until we finish shooting.”

“What?” Red said. “We can’t keep her in the dark. She’s the one who will deliver you the money. Without her, there is no project.”

“Oh yes there is and we start shooting tomorrow at my expense initially. We will deliver the movie by Saturday morning. She was the one who said it didn’t have to be great footage but we’ll give them what they want and ask them to pay us when we deliver.”

“So we start shooting tomorrow on your studio sets. What time should I get there?”

“The cast addition I have planned doesn’t get up real early any more. If we start by 10:30 a.m. tomorrow, we’ll be lucky…real lucky.”

The next couple of days were filled with furious activity. I had a lot of script revisions to make and we shot scenes on a very private sound stage away from all prying eyes. Red came in and performed his scenes flawlessly. I was happy to see that the rumors I’d heard about his honesty, integrity and professionalism were true. I really came to like the guy.

“You know,” he told me. “I see now that this is really the only way this could be done, the only way.”

Keeping busy at an undisclosed location helped with another potential problem.

“Yes, Gloria, Mr. Cocksure is in town but he’s busy on a special project,” I heard Creech say into the phone one day as I passed through my office briefly.

Claire arrived in town on Wednesday and I personally picked her up at the airport. We had a great dinner that evening and she slept cuddled up next to me that night. She didn’t seem too broken up that her impending “marriage” had evaporated so quickly.

“You know I really miss laying in bed and listening to your heart beat,” she said. “I miss Devin and Piglet and the rest of the cast from Laguna, too.”

“Well, move your silly ass over and let us in bed,” Piglet said with a laugh. She and Devin had entered the bedroom quietly in the dark.

“I invited Devin and Piglet over because I knew you missed them,” I told the delightfully surprised Claire. “However, we now must call Piglet by her new name, Minnie the…“

“Mouse,” the former Piglet finished for me. “Pooh had some unpleasant connotations I hadn’t considered. I still want to be an anal whore but Minnie the Mouse is a lot more pleasant, don’t you think.”

“I don’t get the association,” Claire said. “Because you cut the cheese? You’re an anal rodent? You give a rat’s ass?”

“No, she’s Disney for Dick,” Devin explained, as if it should be obvious.

“Yes, and right now, Mr. Cocksure, I just want you to know that my bum has healed and I would like you to use that crow bar you call a penis to pry it open,” Minnie/Piglet said.

“I guess that makes three of us,” Devin said.

Loyola called the office looking for me several times. Creech told her I was busy shooting her movie with Red and that she and Mr. Exeter should be ready to pick up the movie on Friday morning. She was also told that she should wire the money to a special account by Friday or forget ever seeing the completed video. She protested vehemently, but in the end, agreed to have Exeter there on Friday morning and to wire the money if Exeter liked it.

“$10 million dollars for a 45-minute video, Mr. Cocksure,” Exeter said on Friday morning when he and Loyola showed up to view the video Red had made. “Even for a disgusting reprobate like you, isn’t that highway robbery?”

“Representative, you are asking for a video that might give the Republicans the election in a year when they don’t deserve it and have every probability of an historic loss,” I said. “Plus, there is considerable risk to me if it should come out that I was a part of this dirty trick. No, this video is cheap at the price.”

“Very well, then, let me see just the first part of the movie,” Exeter said. “Being here disgusts me. Loyola can watch the rest. If I like what I see, I will call the bank and have the money transferred. You can then deliver the video to Miss Marin and our deal will be concluded.”

“Okay, let’s go into our mini-theatre here to view the video,” I said, showing the way. “I have some people I want you to shake hands with.”

Once inside the theatre, I took Exeter and Loyola over to a distinguished looking man with a sly grin puffing on a cigarette.

“Rep. Exeter,” I started, “This is Michael Kilarney, a disguished director here at Cocksure Industries. He helped direct your project and made other important contributions.”

“Yes, yes, Kilarney,” Exeter said, avoiding Kilarney’s extended hand. “I don’t shake hands with people I meet here. As far as I am concerned, you are all a bunch of filth merchants. No telling what diseases you carry. But Kilarney, you do look vaguely familiar. Should I know you from somewhere?”

“Mr. Kilarney is a proud elder statesman of our industry,” I explained. “You may have seen his movies?”

“Yes, Exeter, I’m 73-years young and still get a woody on command,” Michael rejoined. “Can you say the same?”

“No, never watched your movies and don’t care to,” Exeter said. “Kilarney….is that Irish or something?”

“Black Irish,” Kilarney said, “just like Mr. Herlihy over there.”

Red stepped up and greeted Exeter.

“I think you are going to like what we’ve created here, Representative,” he said.

“I hope so,” Exeter said grumpily. “But I just want to see that you have created something…then I am out of here.”

“Here’s someone else I want you to meet,” I said. “Or perhaps you met already. This is Dez. She runs our Minnesota club. She’s out here on vacation with her friends and their daughters. They just arrived this morning.”

“Yes, I think I did meet her briefly when I stopped by the club planning the convention party. How are things coming along? You know the convention is just a couple of weeks away.”

“Yes, and I am just so happy, Representative, I am ready to burst,” she said. The little crow’s feet around her eyes were a little more pronounced than usual but she was smiling brightly.

“Are you sure she should be here, Cocksure?” Exeter said. “I thought you understood this was a top-secret, need-to-know-only project.”

“Dez is a proud Republican, a true patriot and one of the key figures in our organization,” I said. “I can assure you that she is entirely trustworthy. Of course you know my secretary, Creech.”

“Hello again, Representative,” Creech said. “I just had to see this video. I even wanted to be here when they stick it in for you.”

“Stick it in?”

“Yes, in the Blu-Ray player,” she said.

“Oh, yes, of course. Now can we just view the damn thing so I can get out of here?”

The lights dimmed and the video appeared on the large HD screen at the front of the theatre. The first shot focused tightly on Red’s face. I didn’t think he looked all that much like Obama , but he gave a great impression of the candidate. I guess if the plan was for people to view the video subliminally, then an exact match to Obama was not all of that important. The dream-like resemblance was what counted.

“My fellow Americans, it is time to change America for the better,” Red as Obama was saying as if giving a speech. “To change things in Washington.”

The camera pulled back and Red was standing at a podium in front of seven naked white girls on all fours with their rear ends thrust prominently up in the air.

“And I plan to change from white ass to white ass to white ass as often as possible cause we black folk are in charge now,” he roared.

“Oh, please don’t hurt us, Mr. Obama,” the girls wailed.

“Hey, that Christianne and Ruby from the club,” Dez whispered in my ear.

“Yeh, all the girls’ screen tests went very well this week,” I said.

“Get ready to surrender your white booties school girls, cause I am now the man.” Red was saying on screen as in big red letters, the words, “Insane Hussein!” appeared.

Red as Obama hopped off the stage and began sodomizing each girl with breath-taking furiousness.

“Praise be to Allah!” he screamed insanely. “Who needs 72 virgins in heaven when you can fuck their booties on earth?”

The permanent grimace on Exeter’s face was growing more pronounced.

“Stop it! Stop It!,” Exeter said. “I can’t stand to see black men copulate with white women. The very thought is abhorrent to me.”

Red pushed the button to stop the video and turned on the light.

“Representative Exeter, as much as I am insulted by that statement, there are another 40 minutes of video like that you paid for that you really should stay and see.”

“No, no, I’ve seen more than enough to turn my stomach for the rest of my life,” Exeter said. “Just give me the video and I’ll be on my way. I’ll give it to the boys back at the processing lab to begin slipping it into all films released the rest of this summer and fall. They also will see it get distributed on television subliminally. I have change my mind, however. I want the video handed to me personally.”

“Creech, would you hand Mr. Exeter his copy,” I said.

Creech slipped a DVD case into a manila folder and began to hand it to Exeter.

“No, now come on, Mr. Cocksure, what kind of fool do you take me for,” he said. “Give me the DVD in the Blu-Ray player. How would I know that this copy is just a blank or one of the other pieces of filth shot here? I want the copy I just witnessed with my own two eyes.”

“Very well,” I said. I ejected the DVD from the player and slipped it into a case and then into the manila folder after removing the copy Creech had inserted. I started to hand the folder to Exeter but stopped.

“What kind of fool do you take me for?” I said. “You are forgetting something, too.”

Exeter thought for a moment.

“Oh yes, the money,” Exeter said.

I nodded.

“Yes, the money.”

“Well, you can’t blame a politician for trying,” he said.

He picked up his cell phone and made a few calls.

“This is yours as soon as I am sure we have received the money in our account,” I told him.

We waited a few minutes, Creech standing by a phone. There was a startling ring and Creech picked up and said a few things into the speaker, then hung up and nodded affirmatively, silently to me.

“Okay, then I guess this is yours,” I said, handing him the package. “Enjoy it in good health.”

“If you want to come along, Miss Marin, you can,” Exeter said. “I don’t want to subject you to watching this distasteful filth. I have what I came for.”

“No, I’ll stay and watch the rest,” Loyola said. “I want to make sure all the goods were delivered as promised.”

“Have it your way, Miss Marin.” Exeter said. “I will see you and I guess, Dez, over there at the convention, I presume.”

“Mr. Exeter, I will just love seeing you at the convention,” Dez said, through gritted teeth.

Exeter was gone and Loyola said, “Well, start the video. I want to see the rest of what you did. I can’t tell you how pissed I am that it was done without my involvement and behind my back. But I guess we at least gave them what they wanted and have the evidence we need to destroy the Republican dirty trick machine.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly collect the evidence you wanted us to collect, Loyola,” Red said.

“What do you mean? Without that evidence, they’ll be able to destroy Obama by showing that video.”

“No, the video he has will not do anything to Obama,” I said.

“I saw it myself,” she said. “Red here was in it. And after they destroy Obama, they’ll come after you, too, Brad. They will threaten to release it unless you close down operations here.”

“You saw what we wanted you to see, Loyola,” Red said.

“I have to find out where your loyalties lie,” I said.

“My loyalties,” she gasped. “My loyalties are with you and anything else that destroys the Republican dirty trick machine.”

“Then let me show you what’s really on the copy of the disk Exeter has,” Red said.

He inserted the copy of the disk into the player, dimmed the lights and pushed the start button.

Red’s face appeared briefly on the screen, then dissolved, replaced by an aging, white haired man speaking with hands raised.

“Why that looks uncannily like…” she gasped.

“John McCain,” I said.

“Michael Kilarney, to you. Miss Marin,” Michael said, with a theatrical flourish.

“Did you know, Loyola, that he’s black Irish?” Red said.

“Well, mama, I guess I’ll need some Viagara if I am to continue fucking up the country down the old dirt road,” the false McCain said.

The camera pulled back to reveal a woman in an expensive gown and a pill box hat standing beside him.

“Well, papa, don’t confuse those pills with your anti-Alzheimer’s pills,” the woman said.

“Why that looks just like…” Loyola said.

“Yes, Cindy McCain,” I said. “The look is uncanny, isn’t it. Of course, we had to dye her hair old slut blonde. But actually that is a woman who showed up here this week pretending to be a Mrs. Gustavus Buchner. You should see later how well she sucks cock and takes it up the ass.”

“But…” Loyola gasped again.

“Yep, that’s what I said. That old broad takes it in the butt like a champ.”

“You should tell the people you represent not to hire people so easily swayed,” Red said. “They always sell out to the highest bidder.”

On screen, “McCain” was going up and down a line of very elderly women, poking them in the pooper.

“I know you old bags need health care more than this,” he said. “But we Republicans are very good at fucking everything we can out of you…including your life savings, your home mortgages, your money for gasoline to fuel your cars. I don’t have a clue on health care.”

“Papa, didn’t you say you don’t know anything about the economy, either,” “Cindy” said.

“My, the fundamentals on this old broad’s ass are sound,” McCain said. “What did you say sweet thing?”

“The economy stupid,” Cindy screamed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” McCain said.

One of the elderly women “McCain” was fucking, pulled her sagging, vein-streaked almost blue tits from her blouse and held them for “McCain” to see.

“Mr. McCain, could you surge on My Rack?” she pleaded.

“The last time I saw something like that, I ran,” McCain said. “Hey, did you old broads know I was a POW and war hero. This is not the first time I’ve cum in a box.”

“Would you shut up about the fucking POW crap, John.” Cindy screamed from off camera. “You’re as hot for that shit as you are for MILF matrons in ugly glasses.”

“Stop, I’ve seen enough,” a voice screamed.

At first, I thought I was hearing Loyola’s voice. But when the lights came on, Gloria was sitting behind me. She’d snuck into the room in the dark looking for me.

“How dare you desecrate the honor of a fine Republican,” she screamed. “John McCain is a man of honor who sacrificed for this country.”

She popped out of her chair, turned on her high, spike heel boots and stalked out of the room.

“Well, I didn’t see that coming,” Dez said.

“Gloria is right,” Loyola said. “You can’t desecrate McCain’s legend any more than you can Obama’s. This is not right. And besides, they’ll discover your subterfuge. They’ll look at the video and demand their money back.”

“If you really thought that were true, you wouldn’t be so mad, Loyola.” I said.

“This is the party that nominated George Bush as president,” Dez said.

“Don’t forget Dan Quayle,” Creech added.

“You saw Exeter when he left. He’s no more going to look at that disk than he would shake the hands of a black man,” Red added.

“How many vice president and president choices have they nominated without vetting them properly?” Creech continued.

“My view is they’ll just give it to their techno flunkies and have them insert it between the frames of any theatrical release films and television shows they can get it into between now and the election.” I said.”I know those guys and they just do what they’re told. They won’t bother to check what the video is except maybe to verify the short picture of Red here at the very beginning.”

“They’re not that dumb,” Loyola said. “Your trick will eventually be discovered.”

“Don’t forget Sarah Palin,” Dez said.

“Sarah who?” Loyola was shouting now.

“The Republican governor from Alaska,” Dez said. “She’s so dumb she believes in creationism and opposes sex education for teens and abortion rights for women, even in cases of incest and rape. I read McCain is even considering her for vice president to win back his idiot fundamentalist base.”

“Oh Christ, Dan Quayle II,” Creech said. “I didn’t think they made women that stupid.”

“I don’t care what you say, eventually your trick will be discovered,” Loyola protested.

“Perhaps, but it might be a week, two weeks, three,” I said. “Exeter has already spent the money for this project and to get it re-budgeted and shoot the movie again and distributed in time to hurt Obama... Well, we’re 120 days give or take between now and the election. I doubt it would do them much good by then.”

“They’ll get their money back,” Loyola said.

“No, I don’t think so because the money went directly into one of Obama’s overflowing campaign chests,” I said. “We never even sniffed it as it passed through so it can’t be traced to us. I don’t think Mr. Exeter wants the publicity when he tries to withdraw his donation to the Obama campaign. If he complains, however, tell him we’ll be happy to publicize his generous donation.”

“On the DVD, I saw the video of Obama you were supposed to shoot,” Loyola said.

“You saw a one-time self-matriculating digital image that erases itself after the first play and is thereafter protected by a special algorithm only we know,” I explained. “Take my word for it. What Exeter has on that disk is nothing that could hurt Obama no matter how hard they try to decode it.”

“McCain doesn’t even know how to send e-mail, the ass,” Dez said. “When are you Republicans going to nominate someone who understands economics, technology, basic science? We can’t afford to have these brain-dead morons in power anymore. You pick them because they are easy to control and to fool your base into thinking you really care about them. McCain the Maverick? My ass.”

“I could pick up the phone and call, Exeter,” she said, picking up her cell phone.

“You could, but you won’t,” I said.

The lights suddenly dimmed again and there was Exeter on screen.

“No, no, I’ve seen more than enough to turn my stomach for the rest of my life,” Exeter was saying. “Just give me the video and I’ll be on my way. I’ll give it to the boys back at the processing lab to begin slipping it into all films released the rest of this summer and fall. They also will see it gets distributed on television subliminally.”

“Just before this he talks about how he hates to see black men ‘copulate’ with white women,” Red said.

“This never sees the light of day as long as you are quiet, Loyola,” I said.

“It’s blackmail and worse,” she complained.

“Worse than what you were going to do to Obama?” I said. “No, you know we’re right. This is the test, Loyola. You either pass it or you don’t.”

“Loyola, I hated to deceive you,” Red said. “You came to me first with the idea of exposing the Republicans. I trusted you then. I want to trust you now.”

Loyola continued to enter numbers into her cell phone.

“Loyola….you know we’re right?” I said.

“Let me hit that skanky bitch upside her head?” Creech yelled.

“No, Creech, it’s her decision,” I said.

“Representative, Exeter.” she said. “Yes, Loyola Marin, here. Yes, I’m fine. Just wanted to tell you that I watched the rest of the video and it was every bit as well produced as the part you saw. Bad? Yes, as bad as what you saw, but that’s just what you wanted, right? Great. Well, I wanted you to know it was safe to distribute. Thanks, and good bye.”

Tears were in her eyes when she hung up.

“How did the world come to this,” she said.

Creech turned to me.

“Now don’t you think you should go confront Gloria before she tells all of her Republican buddies?” she asked.

“On my way,” I said. “I’ll handle her. Unfortunately, it will take some manhandling, but I guess I’ve put this off long enough.”

“All of us will be so grateful,” Creech said.

I was never able to determine if the McCain video we made was distributed or how widely. Later that fall, however, there were strange reports in the newspapers about children running from movies theatres screaming because they saw a bad white-haired man doing terrible things to grandmas in the animated features they were viewing. Fox News anchors reported complaints from older Americans about the dreamlike images they saw of Cindy McCain and a dog every time Bill O’Reilly opened his mouth. Nursing homes report a spike in the libidos of elderly women. I can’t saw how it affected the election—if at all—but it sure helped spike up the economy and American life. After eight years of Republican rule, we needed it.