KISS KISS

By BJ Keifer

Evie hadn’t seen Mike in a few years. The last she had heard of him, he had retired to a little ranch in some part of New Mexico; raising llamas or alpacas or some other obscure animal. She didn’t really care. They had their fun when she was barely legal and he was almost fifty. He taught her how to appreciate an older man, and how an older man shows his appreciation for a fine, young, woman by showering her with gifts, and knowledge. It had been good. But, good things end. People move on. 

 

Evie has been surprised by his phone call, but not by the fact that Mike tracked her down. He spent his whole career finding, and disposing of, people.

 

The old Moose club where he had asked to meet her had been closed for weeks due to the pandemic, but it was easy enough to break into. The cops wouldn’t be patrolling tonight anyway: they were too busy trying to enforce Social Distancing and the governor’s mask requirement during the Covfefe March downtown.

 

She met Mike at the Moose almost twenty years ago: she had been a bottle blonde with a bad dye job and fantastic tits, a tight ass,and a contrived stupidity that made men careless. At the time, she was putting herself through college with her pool shark skills. She had seen Mike; a tall, dark haired man with just a hint of grey at his temples, checking her out. She had flounced a little to jiggle her breasts and, as she bent over to take her shot, wiggled just enough to suggest a great time. She made Mike her mark. The old trick worked. He took her to the nicest hotel in town. She slipped a little powder in his nightcap and waited until his breathing slowed. She worked herself loose from his embrace and made a quick dash for his wallet. She was surprised as hell to feel a hand wrap around her mouth from behind, and her body pulled back to the bed. Oddly enough, Mike had not been angry then, only bemused. He found her little wicked tendencies endearing, and used them and her body throughout the rest of her college days. There were benefits: a much better hairdresser, grand trips. But she gained some useful skills as well: all the perks that comes when being trained by a CIA operative. Even though she was almost forty, the training and discipline Mike instilled her with were maintained.  She was blonde, beautiful and smart enough to know when to play stupid. She could still pass for 25. 

 

Mike had made it to the Moose first. He appraised Evie as she made her way across the floor to the bar and the pool table. “She will do” he thought, as he greeted her with a long, leering gaze and a broad smile meant to put her at ease. Evie gave the sweeping glance back in kind. Mike was still devastatingly handsome. A little more grey, a little more tan, but could pass for a well kept mid 50s instead of the nearly 70 he was. “How about a drink, doll? Rum and Coke, right? Ol’ Mike doesn’t forget.” Evie causally accepted the drink and took a few swallows before setting it on the deserted bar. “How about a game or two, for old time’s sake?” She agreed, and lost the coin toss. Mike broke cleanly and sunk a couple shots before missing an easy one. He often did this so he could check out a woman’s backside as she lined up her shot. 

 

“Let’s play until midnight. Loser has to to a little favor for the winner.” He crooned and ran his hand inside her thigh. 

 

11:57 came and they were dead even “One more shot honey and I’ll have to pay up” Mike grinned as he missed his shot one last time. Evie liked the stakes. At 11:58, Evie’s eyes glowed with mischief as she purposefully struck the cue ball and sent it flying off the table. At midnight, Mike sunk the winning shot. He dropped his cue and bent Evie over the pool table and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth. His hand went up her short skirt and he grabbed her by the pussy. “Now, about that favor. I need you to kill the president.”

 

“The hell?!?” She bolted upright, the stupor of alcohol and lust fading fast from his wild suggestion.”You are going to kill the president” Mike said matter-of-factly “I’m an asymptomatic carrier of CoVid-19.  I spit in your drink. I just kissed you sweetheart, and I remember your asthma. I have a cure, what the hell else do you think I’ve been doing in New Mexico all these years? Biological warfare at its finest. Do what I say, and you live, Don’t? Drown in your own juices.” He leered. “In 48 hours, park your car at the Ronald Regan building. You’ll be met there by the Ivanka Corp. Trumpy likes his whores to look and act like Ivanka. There is a party on one of his boats on the Potomac River.“

Forty eight hours later her car pulled up to the security check, and the guard bade her to step out of the vehicle. She was hustled into a waiting van while her car was parked. Inside, a team worked changing her make up and clothing until she was a clone of Ivanka Trump. 

 

When she emerged at the dock, she saw several Trump hotel catering vans loading steak, ketchup and her on the pleasure boat. The president didn’t make her wait long. He asked her to be a good girl and sit on daddy’s lap. She looked up at him with big eyes: “Daddy, can you kiss me goodnight?” He reached over, and jammed his tongue down her throat. It was his last kiss goodnight.

© 2020 by Travelin' Tim
 

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