I’m standing at the White House podium in the James Brady Press Room without a stitch of clothing on. My hair is down and board straight like I wore it to the gala. I’m fielding questions from the media as if I’m Evan instead of me. I brush off some queries and give thoughtful answers to others. I crack jokes, hoping that my humor will camouflage that I’m naked in a room full of people. While I’m in the middle of a rambling answer, Graham enters the back of the room. He doesn’t slip in. He strolls into the room with purpose. Our eyes lock together. Forgetting myself and that I have an audience, I rub and tweak my nipples, and move my body as if I’m performing a private dance for just him. I step out from behind the podium so he can have a better view. The press is silent, watching me—staring at me. But I only have eyes for Graham. When my left hand moves from my breast southward, Graham unzips his worn jeans and pulls out his massive erection.
What do You think about The World: According To Rachael?
