And then, finally, the night of the fundraiser arrived.
“Happy birthday,” said my boyfriend, a large bouquet of flowers in his hand. He’d just returned from the coffee shop. He was coming along with us to the event, though without a clue as to what we were really doing there. He asked, of course. I deflected, of course. With my dick up his ass, of course.
“You still won’t tell me?” he asked with that aforementioned dick up his aforementioned ass.
I shook my head as I came and came and came some more. “Wish I could,” I panted.
“But you can’t?”
“But I can’t.”
He didn’t press it. Mainly because he was also coming at the time.
In any case, an hour later, the four of us were seated at a table in a large banquet hall, everyone around us old and stuffy and drinking heavily. The senator was on a dais, also surrounded by old, stuffy, heavily drinking people. That and one young person, namely my ex.