The Don and I

It’s two forty five in the morning when the alert comes in. He’s awake. So am I. Excitement courses through my body as I groggily hook up. Hurry, hurry! He’s in no mood to take it slow today. More about “FAKE news”. Hot damn! I love it when he shouts like that.

I’m ready. I lay back, trying to stay calm but the anticipation is almost unbearable. Three thousand miles separate us but I can almost feel him laying beside me, his hot breath on the back of my neck. How can one man hold such power over me? Why must he tease me so? But, deep down, I think he needs me as much as I need him. And soon our realities will be one. Beautiful.


It hits me and oh christ does it feel good. Something about “CNN,” but it doesn’t matter. What he says never matters—it’s how he says it—and today, that fiery campaigner I fell in love with is back again in full force. Every word carefully selected for maximum impact, every exclamation point a bomb; he’s really letting them have it. Don packs more passion into each tweet than can be found in Jane Austen’s entire body of work, and while millions may follow him, none know him like I do.

I barely have time to collect myself before the next one hits. Holy fuck! Just when it seems that we’ve reached pleasure’s zenith, with but a few words, Don takes me to still loftier clines. It’s so much more than just physical passion though. Up here, time stops. Just him and I; no thought; no worry; and together, we are great.

When I come to, the first golden rays of dawn are peeking through the window. Three thousand miles between us, but for one brief moment, we were whole. I stare at my phone, hoping. No… my Atlas has work to do. Tomorrow, tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow. For he is Donald Trump, the most powerful man in the world. Donald Trump, my cyber lover.

Two years. It seems like forever.

He appeared like an angel, descending that golden escalator at campaign headquarters. Above the filthy mess, he stood alone.

His voice. He spoke to the people that day. No, he spoke to me. He saw my fear, he saw my hopelessness, he saw my loneliness, and he embraced me with the love of a father. And together, we were no longer alone.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind. He was thinking of me too. I saw it in his tweets. Whoever said there’s no such thing as love at first sight obviously never met Don. He doesn’t go slow. For him, the art of romance is the most weighty of affairs. And from that barrage of tweets, I knew that this was not just some fling—not just another one night stand in Manhattan. It was love.

But ours was a romance that few would ever understand. We were of different worlds: I, the urban coastal elite, and Donald Trump, the American everyman, the salt of the earth. How could two so vastly different people fall in love you ask, especially when they have never actually met or even talked to each other? But love always finds a way.

Yes it’s true that we’ve never met in person, and yes it’s true that we’ve never communicated directly, and yes it’s even true that Don doesn’t follow me on Twitter; and yet, who needs such things? There’s no intimacy quite like the intimacy of spooning late at night with Don’s twitter account, his every musing 140 characters of pure poetry #SweetNothingsInMyEar. Tale as old as time, true as it can be; oh Prince, take me to the ball.

Who is Donald Trump?

They didn’t understand him. They mocked him. They called him names. They said he never had a chance. But they could not touch him.

Our love only grew stronger as the campaign wore on. Even in the darkest hours of the darkest nights, when the presidency seemed almost out of reach, we had each other. Sometimes that’s all we had. It was more than enough.

We stayed up late, discoursing on politics and culture and philosophy like two starry-eyed undergraduates. In my gut, even back then I knew that something was fundamentally wrong with the world, but what could I do about it? That’s just the way things are. How can one man change anything?

Don showed me that I was wrong. He showed me the world. He opened my eyes. He put words to my fears. It was all so simple when he explained it. Don never bullshits around with political correctness. He speaks his mind, yet somehow seems to say exactly what I want to hear. Through him, I saw clearly for the first time, and what I saw was a whole new world, a dangerous new world.

But Don did not show me this without reason. He’s an optimist, a believer, a dreamer. And he wanted me to understand that together we could change things. He had the answers. It was all so simple. He could save us! How could they not see it? Why did they want to stop him? Eventually more people came around to this fact. The trickle became a torrent. The victories piled up and the rallies grew. And he was magnificent! So strong, so steadfast, and so selfless in his devotion to the cause and to the people.

Truth be told, I wasn’t always comfortable sharing Don. You see, I’m not like him; sometimes my anger and jealousy and pettiness get the better of me. Sad but true.

In time, I came to realize though that Donald Trump is God’s gift to man. Who am I to keep the world from sharing in his magnificence? And, even more so, no matter how much he means to me, Don is more than me, he’s more than any one man. Whenever I’m with him, I can’t escape a feeling that I’m just not enough. He gives so much and what do I offer in return? However much I love him, he loves me loving him that much more.

Don never let on that he was unfulfilled of course, but I could sense it. He needed them. They needed him. And once people saw and heard Don, they understood some of what I felt. He became a movement. And that’s when I finally understood: We are Donald Trump, and the Presidency is ours.

The election wasn’t the end of our relationship of course. These days, people often ask me: of what manner of lover is Donald Trump? Although I hate to kiss-and-tell, it’s hard to contain myself sometimes—and a bit of harmless gossip between friends never hurt anyone—so allow me to offer the humblest and most modest of glimpses.

Simply put, Donald Trump is the greatest lover ever. Period. Casanova, Don Juan, Ron Jeremy—Don easily bests them all.

Of appearance, while Donald Trump is undoubtably extraordinarily handsome as seen on TV, the unequaled radiance of his beauty only truly reveals itself on twitter. There’s no one like him. He’s a man’s man man’s man. His every pore exudes testosterone, his every exhale is heavy with excess Y chromosome, his every follicle a radiant display of virility.

And yet he’s a poet warrior in the classical sense. His enemies fear him not because of his manly strength, but because of his words. Even before he became President, with just a tweet, Don could upend economies, destroy lives, and trigger minor earthquakes. Being so close to this much raw power can be a little scary at times, like making love to a B53.

But Don also knows there’s been too much violence, too much pain. He doesn’t use his words for anger or hate, but for love. He loves his enemies, and if he loves his enemies, reason stands that he loves his lovers at least twice as good, maybe even three times. Who knows. Scientists can’t say for sure. They tried to measure it once but it was off the scales.

And physically, while much has been made of the size of Don’s hands—and, let me assure you, he certainly has nothing to be ashamed of in that department—his real skill is dexterity. His way with words—the way he runs his hands across a keyboard, exploring each and every key until you can barely stand the anticipation, before he firmly taps out a letter or two—is the work of a true virtuoso. Oh song of songs! When Don tweets, everything else melts away until it’s just you and him, surfing amber waves of infinite pleasures.

But let’s stop here, for now I am only boasting. I just wish that everyone could know what it’s like to love and be loved by the Don as I do.

The sun is up now. I can just picture my man, President Donald Trump, sitting in the Oval Office and already hard at work. President Donald Trump… the words are still music in my ears. Yes, it’s truly morning again.

But ohhh! why can’t we be together all the time? At least we’ll always have early morning Twitter. I still need him, and I know that Donald Trump will always have a special place in his heart for me, for I am his America.

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