First Obama story

August 3rd, 2009.

I was removing the leash from my cat Abner after a long walk around the city of Chattanooga, Tennessee when I heard a knock on the door. «Shave and a haircut–two bits,» was the rhythm; loud, strident, and confident was the sound. «That knock is the knock of an important person, someone like the President of the United States of America,» I thought to myself as I sent Abner on his way and opened the door.
It was. I ogled him while I hung the cat leash on its hook. Yes, there it all was. The wide, friendly smile, the large, listening ears, the trademark mole above the left nostril, the smart suit with the mysterious American Flag lapel pin–this was indeed Barack Obama, President of the United States. «Good evening, Mr. Barack Obama, President of the United States,» I said, bowing deeply. With my torso perpendicular to the ground, I noticed that the President carried a plastic grocery sack. Inside hung a chilled six-pack of Schweppe’s Tonic Water, several limes, and a large, frosty bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin. «I have everything we need to make gin-and-tonics, of which I, Barack Obama, make the very best in this Great Nation. I would like to make several gin-and-tonics for you this evening. All I ask in return is for you to draw my portrait and to amuse me by engaging in conversation I am not typically permitted to have, due to the grave concerns of national security. There are no limits to what we may discuss. Are you interested?» «Certainly,» I replied, remembering the pad of construction paper and the box of washable magic markers that I keep on hand for occasions like this.


«Please–call me Mr. President.»

«I am the President, so I am working under a tight schedule,» Barack Obama said as he entered my house. «So let’s get down to business. Lead me to your kitchen.»
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«It is this way, Barack, if I may call you by your first name.»
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«Please–call me Mr. President.»
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«Of course, Mr. President.»
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President Barack Obama seemed to know exactly where I kept my cutting board, knives, and glasses. «I commend the organization of your kitchen. It is perfect,» he said.
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«What’s mine is yours, Mr. President.»
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When we were seated in the living room with our gin-and-tonics, I began to draw a portrait of the President of the United States of America, probing the voluptuous landscape of his regal visage with my preternaturally keen vision and translating that to the rough-hewn surface of the construction paper via my Excaliburs, a set of Crayola Washable Magic Markers.
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«So tell me, Clark Williams,» said the President, in between sips of his gin and tonic. «Have you ever wondered about UFOs?»
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«Yes, Mr. President–very much.»
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«Keep drawing my face. I have much to tell you.»
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I could feel my heart begin to beat at an accelerated rate as I stared ever deeper into the strange and handsome eyes of the President of the United States. ⠀


Barack Obama loves my art!

«That is a god damn perfect eye.»


I showed the President of the United States my drawing. I had so far completed only one eye–the right eye.

«That is a god damn perfect eye,» I heard the President say. «Excellent work.»

Meeting the President’s gaze, I saw a tear emerge from the very eye I had just depicted and slide down the President’s slender cheek. ⠀

«Thank you Mr. President,» I replied, flattered, and wishing to break the silence.

In a moment, he began again. «The first night Michelle and I spent in the White House, we were drunk on triumph and champagne. Once Sasha and Malia were safely in bed we made love like untamed beasts…»

The President of the United States paused to sip from his gin and tonic, never blinking his eyes. He had already consumed half of his cocktail. Swallowing, he continued:

«…when a light of extreme brightness shone through our second-story window. Michelle and I ceased our celebrations. We sat upright in bed, squinting in the glare. I snubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray and emerged from bed completely naked. I declared to the light, ‘Who invades my home at such an hour?’ What I then saw, I will never forget.»


(Allowing the alien-robot-sex-creature to come into the White House)

«Best mistake I ever made.»

The President paused, his eyes consumed by memory. My cat Abner approached the President, purring, and rubbing his head on the Executive ankles. Barack Obama reached down and placed the orange tabby on his lap, stroking the contented tom-cat as he continued his tale.

«It was a face somewhat like a man’s, but much larger, with horns that grew on either side of his mouth like the tusks of a walrus. His forehead was shaped like the facade of the Parthenon, except it was bright orange and green. He peered back at me silently through my own reflection in the window. All of a sudden he began to speak in a fast, slurred language unlike any human tongue. It sounded like radio static, or the disarming chatter that you hear deep in the rainforests of Indonesia in the middle of the night…»

«Go on,» I said.

«Yes, but before I do, let me see how you’re doing there.»

«Certainly,» I said, turning my portrait so that he could see. Both eyes, the nose, and the mouth were now complete.

Barack Obama laughed. «Clark, the portrait is incredible,» he said. «But I was referring to your cocktail.»

I showed him my glass, which except for a few ice cubes was as empty as a mailbox on Sunday.

«Well I have a solemn duty to fulfill,» said the Leader of the Free World, rising from his seat. Abner jumped to the floor with a thud and resumed his slumber.

The President continued speaking from the kitchen. «So I could sense that this man-beast, whatever he was, wanted to come inside.» By the strain in his voice I could tell he was squeezing limes. «So I thought, ‘What the hell, I’m the President, I’ll let him in.» The Chief of the Armed Forces emerged from the kitchen, rattling the ice of our beverages. «Best mistake I ever made.»


«You are the fucking best.»

«I was going on the assumption that the extraterrestrial was peaceful. Giving him the benefit of the doubt of course. There was a serious language barrier, yes, but his body language was…» ⠀

The President paused for what seemed like an eternity. ⠀

«…familiar. If not exactly human. I wasn’t afraid. Maybe it was the inauguration ego-boost, but I think it had more to do with his body language. He seemed like a cool guy, even if he looked kind of like Voltron.» ⠀

He gulped half of his gin and tonic. ⠀

«He pointed out the window at a rectangular prism of blue light, his spaceship. That was what had been so damn bright. Now that it was parked, it was tolerably dim, and beautiful.» ⠀

Barack Obama drained his glass. ⠀

«So Michelle was kind of wary of this guy. She said, ‘Barack, don’t let this weird guy in here, we don’t know where he’s from, what kind of powers he might possess…’ you know, valid concerns.»

The President removed his right shoe and began to stroke Abner, with his sock feet.

«But the extraterrestrial started to emit an electric hum that was very calming, very relaxing. When the First Lady and I felt that electricity our eyes just met and, well, we knew we were both thinking the same thing.»

«What were you thinking?» I asked.

«That this guy’s kinda sexually interesting. We want him in bed in with us, to put it bluntly. I’m gonna go make another drink, want one?»

Without waiting for an answer, the President returned to the kitchen and loudly prepared additional cocktails.

«So I asked him if he wanted to undress. He motioned to me with his arm-thing, like, yes, he wants his clothes off. So I had to figure out these utterly bizarre clothes, how to take them off. They were more like panels or window shades that went all around his body in a series of interlocking octagons.»

At this point, I had finished the first portrait, and I showed the President. ⠀
«You are the fucking best,» The President began to laugh loudly, becoming quite drunk. ⠀
«That’s me. Hello Barack!»


«He felt like a thousand leaves of sexy shadows.»

«Go on with your story, Mr. President. What did you find under the panels?» I asked, eager to hear the fascinating tale of the important man. «His body was…. (here the President displayed one of his signature lengthy pauses, sending Abner into fits of purring)…NOT a body.» ⠀

«Not a body?» I said, raising my pen.

«Nothing like you ever could have experienced. He felt like a thousand leaves of sexy shadows.» ⠀

The President paused for a moment, savoring the memory.

«I turned to Michelle. I was like, ‘Michelle come here.» He was slurring his words. «Ya gotta feel this it’s incredible.’ She gets out of bed, her eyes as wide as a couple ah…those dollar coins, you know?»

Barack Obama produced a handful of miscellaneous change from his pocket, and picked out a newly-minted dollar coin. «Like this one’s James K. Polk?…and so Michelle sticks her hand into his leg. She touches his shadows. And really, he has no legs, no arms, no feet–just a jumble of shadows under his armor. And Michelle says, ‘Oh my god, Barack. I never dreamed of this. It’s irresistible.'»

«Mr. President?» I interjected, tapping my empty glass with my green Crayola washable magic marker.

Barack Obama drained his glass, allowing the ice cubes to rest on his face for a long time. «Dammit Williams!» he yelled, shattering his glass on the wall and then kicking over a small table holding a lamp, which broke, on his way to the kitchen to mix more gin-and-tonics.

Abner escaped through the cat door. I could only smile.


«Two minutes of the greatest sex that has ever been had.»

Barack Obama returned from the kitchen with a fresh pair of gin-and-tonics. ⠀
«So Michelle, the shadow-being, and yours truly all got in the sack together and had two minutes of the greatest sex that has ever been had. Far beyond anything I have experienced before or since. It was weird, though. When the shadow-being reached orgasm, he vanished. We were in such ecstasy that it wasn’t until we got up to pee that we noticed that all the glass in the room–»

«I have completed seven portraits,» I interrupted, handing him the portraits. ⠀
Barack Obama looked at each portrait in silence. He looked at them for so long that I fell asleep and dreamed that I was riding a bus. When the President resumed his tale, I woke with a start.

«I turned to Michelle. I said, ‘Does that guy come every night?'» He was giggling, hunched over like a madman. He seemed on the brink of madness when he regained his famous composure. «It never came back again. But it was one of the best encounters I’ve had.» ⠀
«You have seen others?» I inquired.

President Obama smiled as he gazed deeply into his glass. He was mumbling quietly, but I could make out the words «Secrets…so many secrets.»

The executive looked me in the eye again, revealing deep wrinkles and unfathomable experience. «I thought I knew the world, its struggles, and I was ready to fix it all.» Barack Obama was weeping. «I knew nothing!»

The unmistakable sounds of helicopter blades filled the air. The President rose from his chair, dropping the portraits on the floor. My cat, Abner, lay down on them immediately.

«You, sir,» Obama said, pointing, «are a damn good artist. The United States of America–and the universe–are lucky to have you.» ⠀
Barack Obama made a swift exit out the front door, slamming it behind him. ⠀
I ran to the door and threw it open. There was Obama, climbing aboard the chopper, flanked by agents of the Secret Service. «Mr. President!» I yelled, waving my drawings in the air. «The portraits!»

«Sell them!» he yelled back. «Sell them for three dollars each!»

And he was gone. I looked down at my feet where Abner was licking his paws. ⠀
«Abner,» I said, «I feel very drunk.»