As agent Scott Lively drove his high performance sports car over the bend in the deserted country road, he could see the smoking wreck of a van. The driver must have just rolled his vehicle moments earlier.
Lively stopped the car suddenly, executing a controlled spin in a confident and effortless manner. A man of action, Lively jumped out of the car, the cold gunmetal of his long piece glinting in the sun from its holster. The van was on its side, with wisps of smoke coming from the engine. It was about to explode!
He could hear shouts for help from inside the van! "The back door is stuck! I can't get out!" exclaimed a panicked voice from inside the metal box. "Please help me open my back door!"
Agent Lively sprung into action, and ordered the man inside to push as he expertly pried open the back door with his strong fingers. After several minutes of strenuous effort, punctuated by loud grunts, the van's back door burst open.
A tall dark-haired man in his twenties stepped out, sweaty and dirty from his experience. Dressed in a deliveryman's uniform, the driver was bleeding slightly, and his buttoned up shirt was open, revealing a muscular hairless physique. The young man introduced himself as Abraham, and thanked the handsome bearded agent profusely as he crumpled to his knees outside in the fresh country air.
"This van's about to explode! We need to find cover immediately!" directed the agent, as he glanced at the rising flames coming from the front of the vehicle. "Come with me now!" he commanded to the young man. Lively grabbed Abraham in his strong arms and half-dragged him behind a large rock formation just as a loud explosion rocked the lonely country road!
When he looked up, he could see that his sports car had been damaged in the explosion. Agent Lively and Abraham would have to find help and shelter from the approaching night. He scanned the horizon and spotted a farmhouse in the distance. They would walk that way.
Stay tuned for Part 2!
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
The Puckered Starfish - Part 1
Dashing bear-about-town Scott Lively was on his way home from a disappointing evening. He had been certain that his blind date had gone well. He had been his charming self, immaculately dressed, of course, and he had picked the perfect restaurant - one that served food that only existed in Biblical times.
His date Pauline was a sultry blonde with legs for days that he had met on ChristianSingles.com. She loved manly older men and disenfranchising sexual minorities. She was a vision in acid wash.
Their chemistry was nearly as spicy as the donkey tacos he ordered for them. Pauline seemed fascinated by Scott, hanging on his every authoritative word. He exuded masculinity and a certain Christian dangerousness.
Halfway through their third glass of sparkling grape juice, the dark haired young waiter had slipped Pauline a note, folded crisply in half. As the waiter turned, his round full buttocks flexing ever so slightly as he removed their plates, Pauline's face blanched with distress. Her thin lips quivered as she read, and then she suddenly stood, begged his pardon, and dashed out into the night.
"I'm so sorry Scott, this has truly been the best night of my life, but I'm putting you in terrible danger," she whispered as she grabbed the left-over breadsticks. Scott was once again left with a broken heart, and a bill for twenty-nine dollars and forty cents.
To be continued...
His date Pauline was a sultry blonde with legs for days that he had met on ChristianSingles.com. She loved manly older men and disenfranchising sexual minorities. She was a vision in acid wash.
Their chemistry was nearly as spicy as the donkey tacos he ordered for them. Pauline seemed fascinated by Scott, hanging on his every authoritative word. He exuded masculinity and a certain Christian dangerousness.
Halfway through their third glass of sparkling grape juice, the dark haired young waiter had slipped Pauline a note, folded crisply in half. As the waiter turned, his round full buttocks flexing ever so slightly as he removed their plates, Pauline's face blanched with distress. Her thin lips quivered as she read, and then she suddenly stood, begged his pardon, and dashed out into the night.
"I'm so sorry Scott, this has truly been the best night of my life, but I'm putting you in terrible danger," she whispered as she grabbed the left-over breadsticks. Scott was once again left with a broken heart, and a bill for twenty-nine dollars and forty cents.
To be continued...
Mattress Shrugged
It was a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over Washington DC. In his bed, Paul Ryan shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows.
Paul Ryan rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his chaps, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.
The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the sanctum sanctorum, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Paul Ryan's right made him gasp in shock. A body!
'Holy Actuarial Timetables!!' Paul Ryan shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's abs.
Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young Christian of the dirty South, a Representative by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 40 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with taxes. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Paul Ryan picked up the wounded Representative and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.
*****
'His situation is severe,' Ayn Rand said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.
Paul Ryan could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young Christian might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.
Ayn Rand sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'
'I understand,' said Paul Ryan. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'
With that, Paul Ryan turned and hurried to the room where the wounded Representative was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the Christian showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Paul Ryan with a defeated sigh.
'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'
Paul Ryan nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'
One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candle light, Paul Ryan dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured Christian's chest. Then, taking up the Representative's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.
*****
'Where... where am I?'
Paul Ryan jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The Christian was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.
'You are in Washington DC,' Paul Ryan told him. 'I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.'
'My name is Scott Lively,' said the Christian. 'I come from the dirty South. I was on an errand from my father, to deliver an important message to Ayn Rand in Galt's Gulch. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest when suddenly I was attacked by a group of Liberals. At least 40 surrounded me. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my AR-15 for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.'
Paul Ryan smiled at him. 'The stars must shine favourably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.' It was more than luck, too, that Scott Lively had wound up in Washington DC and Paul Ryan had found him. Now that they two were together, it felt almost like fate had lent a hand. Scott Lively was meant to be here, and Paul Ryan was meant to have found him. Why, Paul Ryan did not know. But it felt so certain.
It also did not hurt that Scott Lively was one of the most beautiful individuals Paul Ryan had ever seen. His sleek red hair contrasted with large, dark reddish red eyes set in a lovely face. And his sculpted body, half-hidden by the bed linens, was a further attraction. Paul Ryan could hardly suppress his desire to run his hands over that soft hair and perfect body. But he kept his feelings under control. Scott Lively had just barely survived a nearly fatal encounter. Now was not the time for romance.
*****
Within three days, Scott Lively had improved enough to leave his bed. Ayn Rand gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Paul Ryan's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in Washington DC, he had not seen Paul Ryan at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked Ayn Rand where his son could be, but Ayn Rand had no answer. Paul Ryan was gone without a trace.
Scott Lively desired to speak with Paul Ryan again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome Republican once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Paul Ryan, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power. He knew that Paul Ryan was someone special. Someone he had to see again.
It wasn't until the sixth day after Scott Lively had recovered that Paul Ryan returned to Washington DC. He rode up the same path where Scott Lively had been found, dragging a net filled with the heads of Liberals behind him. All 40 of them.
'Here are your Liberals!' he called to Scott Lively. 'I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here.'
Scott Lively stared in surprise, eyes going wide. 'You killed... all of them by yourself?'
'I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,' Paul Ryan replied. 'And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.'
Scott Lively could feel his heart pounding as Paul Ryan spoke. Paul Ryan killed those Liberals... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Paul Ryan and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the brave Republican on the beard.
Paul Ryan laughed in surprise, but did not pull away. 'What was that for?'
'Just a thank you,' Scott Lively said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Paul Ryan's eyes, the smile faded. 'What is wrong?' he asked, worried.
'Scott Lively,' said Paul Ryan, 'I have to confess something to you. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then, but I did not know how you would react.
Scott Lively gasped in shock. 'Kiss... me?'
'I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now...'
'Paul Ryan...' Scott Lively sighed his name. 'I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see you again.'
Paul Ryan lifted his hand to gently stroke Scott Lively on the cheek. 'I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.'
Taking a deep breath, Scott Lively said, 'Paul Ryan, there is something I have been considering over the past several days. I think we were meant to find each other. What happened to me... it was no accident of fate. I was meant to come here. You were meant to rescue me.'
A bright smile broke across Paul Ryan's face as soon as Scott Lively had spoken. 'You know,' he said, 'I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried an unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.'
Scott Lively took Paul Ryan's hand. 'So you think... we are meant to be together?'
'I have no doubt of it.' Slowly, Paul Ryan leaned in and kissed Scott Lively softly on the lips. 'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you too, Paul Ryan,' Scott Lively whispered in return.
THE END!
Back to Foolery
Paul Ryan rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his chaps, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.
The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the sanctum sanctorum, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Paul Ryan's right made him gasp in shock. A body!
'Holy Actuarial Timetables!!' Paul Ryan shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's abs.
Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young Christian of the dirty South, a Representative by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 40 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with taxes. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Paul Ryan picked up the wounded Representative and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.
*****
'His situation is severe,' Ayn Rand said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.
Paul Ryan could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young Christian might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.
Ayn Rand sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'
'I understand,' said Paul Ryan. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'
With that, Paul Ryan turned and hurried to the room where the wounded Representative was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the Christian showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Paul Ryan with a defeated sigh.
'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'
Paul Ryan nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'
One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candle light, Paul Ryan dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured Christian's chest. Then, taking up the Representative's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.
*****
'Where... where am I?'
Paul Ryan jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The Christian was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.
'You are in Washington DC,' Paul Ryan told him. 'I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.'
'My name is Scott Lively,' said the Christian. 'I come from the dirty South. I was on an errand from my father, to deliver an important message to Ayn Rand in Galt's Gulch. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest when suddenly I was attacked by a group of Liberals. At least 40 surrounded me. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my AR-15 for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.'
Paul Ryan smiled at him. 'The stars must shine favourably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.' It was more than luck, too, that Scott Lively had wound up in Washington DC and Paul Ryan had found him. Now that they two were together, it felt almost like fate had lent a hand. Scott Lively was meant to be here, and Paul Ryan was meant to have found him. Why, Paul Ryan did not know. But it felt so certain.
It also did not hurt that Scott Lively was one of the most beautiful individuals Paul Ryan had ever seen. His sleek red hair contrasted with large, dark reddish red eyes set in a lovely face. And his sculpted body, half-hidden by the bed linens, was a further attraction. Paul Ryan could hardly suppress his desire to run his hands over that soft hair and perfect body. But he kept his feelings under control. Scott Lively had just barely survived a nearly fatal encounter. Now was not the time for romance.
*****
Within three days, Scott Lively had improved enough to leave his bed. Ayn Rand gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Paul Ryan's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in Washington DC, he had not seen Paul Ryan at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked Ayn Rand where his son could be, but Ayn Rand had no answer. Paul Ryan was gone without a trace.
Scott Lively desired to speak with Paul Ryan again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome Republican once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Paul Ryan, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power. He knew that Paul Ryan was someone special. Someone he had to see again.
It wasn't until the sixth day after Scott Lively had recovered that Paul Ryan returned to Washington DC. He rode up the same path where Scott Lively had been found, dragging a net filled with the heads of Liberals behind him. All 40 of them.
'Here are your Liberals!' he called to Scott Lively. 'I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here.'
Scott Lively stared in surprise, eyes going wide. 'You killed... all of them by yourself?'
'I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,' Paul Ryan replied. 'And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.'
Scott Lively could feel his heart pounding as Paul Ryan spoke. Paul Ryan killed those Liberals... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Paul Ryan and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the brave Republican on the beard.
Paul Ryan laughed in surprise, but did not pull away. 'What was that for?'
'Just a thank you,' Scott Lively said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Paul Ryan's eyes, the smile faded. 'What is wrong?' he asked, worried.
'Scott Lively,' said Paul Ryan, 'I have to confess something to you. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then, but I did not know how you would react.
Scott Lively gasped in shock. 'Kiss... me?'
'I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now...'
'Paul Ryan...' Scott Lively sighed his name. 'I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see you again.'
Paul Ryan lifted his hand to gently stroke Scott Lively on the cheek. 'I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.'
Taking a deep breath, Scott Lively said, 'Paul Ryan, there is something I have been considering over the past several days. I think we were meant to find each other. What happened to me... it was no accident of fate. I was meant to come here. You were meant to rescue me.'
A bright smile broke across Paul Ryan's face as soon as Scott Lively had spoken. 'You know,' he said, 'I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried an unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.'
Scott Lively took Paul Ryan's hand. 'So you think... we are meant to be together?'
'I have no doubt of it.' Slowly, Paul Ryan leaned in and kissed Scott Lively softly on the lips. 'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you too, Paul Ryan,' Scott Lively whispered in return.
THE END!
Forbidden Lover
It was a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over church. In his bed, Scott Lively shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows.
Scott Lively rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his necktie, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.
The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the the Oval Office, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Scott Lively's right made him gasp in shock. A body!
'Holy Ann Coulter!!' Scott Lively shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's beard.
Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young Democrat of the White House, a President by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 35 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with santorum. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Scott Lively picked up the wounded Pastor and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.
*****
'His situation is severe,' Jesus said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.
Scott Lively could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young Democrat might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.
Jesus sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'
'I understand,' said Scott Lively. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'
With that, Scott Lively turned and hurried to the room where the wounded Pastor was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the Democrat showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Scott Lively with a defeated sigh.
'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'
Scott Lively nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'
One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candle light, Scott Lively dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured Democrat's penis. Then, taking up the Pastor's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.
*****
'Where... where am I?'
Scott Lively jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The Democrat was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.
'You are in church,' Scott Lively told him. 'I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.'
'My name is Barack Obama,' said the Democrat. 'I come from the White House. I was on an errand from my father, to deliver an important message to Abraham Lincoln in Kenya. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest when suddenly I was attacked by a group of Tea Baggers. At least 100 surrounded me. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my super squirter for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.'
Scott Lively smiled at him. 'The stars must shine favourably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.' It was more than luck, too, that Barack Obama had wound up in church and Scott Lively had found him. Now that they two were together, it felt almost like fate had lent a hand. Barack Obama was meant to be here, and Scott Lively was meant to have found him. Why, Scott Lively did not know. But it felt so certain.
It also did not hurt that Barack Obama was one of the most beautiful individuals Scott Lively had ever seen. His sleek black hair contrasted with large, dark white eyes set in a lovely face. And his sculpted body, half-hidden by the bed linens, was a further attraction. Scott Lively could hardly suppress his desire to run his hands over that soft hair and perfect body. But he kept his feelings under control. Barack Obama had just barely survived a nearly fatal encounter. Now was not the time for romance.
*****
Within three days, Barack Obama had improved enough to leave his bed. Jesus gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Scott Lively's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in church, he had not seen Scott Lively at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked Jesus where his son could be, but Jesus had no answer. Scott Lively was gone without a trace.
Barack Obama desired to speak with Scott Lively again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome Christian once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Scott Lively, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power. He knew that Scott Lively was someone special. Someone he had to see again.
It wasn't until the sixth day after Barack Obama had recovered that Scott Lively returned to church. He rode up the same path where Barack Obama had been found, dragging a net filled with the heads of Tea Baggers behind him. All 100 of them.
'Here are your Tea Baggers!' he called to Barack Obama. 'I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here.'
Barack Obama stared in surprise, eyes going wide. 'You killed... all of them by yourself?'
'I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,' Scott Lively replied. 'And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.'
Barack Obama could feel his heart pounding as Scott Lively spoke. Scott Lively killed those Tea Baggers... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Scott Lively and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the brave Christian on the ears.
Scott Lively laughed in surprise, but did not pull away. 'What was that for?'
'Just a thank you,' Barack Obama said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Scott Lively's eyes, the smile faded. 'What is wrong?' he asked, worried.
'Barack Obama,' said Scott Lively, 'I have to confess something to you. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then, but I did not know how you would react.
Barack Obama gasped in shock. 'Kiss... me?'
'I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now...'
'Scott Lively...' Barack Obama sighed his name. 'I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see you again.'
Scott Lively lifted his hand to gently stroke Barack Obama on the cheek. 'I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.'
Taking a deep breath, Barack Obama said, 'Scott Lively, there is something I have been considering over the past several days. I think we were meant to find each other. What happened to me... it was no accident of fate. I was meant to come here. You were meant to rescue me.'
A bright smile broke across Scott Lively's face as soon as Barack Obama had spoken. 'You know,' he said, 'I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried an unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.'
Barack Obama took Scott Lively's hand. 'So you think... we are meant to be together?'
'I have no doubt of it.' Slowly, Scott Lively leaned in and kissed Barack Obama softly on the lips. 'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you too, Scott Lively,' Barack Obama whispered in return.
THE END!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)