“Trump Crashes Wedding and Kisses Bride”
– 850 WFTL News Talk
“Will he really come?” she worried.
Nearly 4:00 a.m., and Kaitlyn had suddenly awakened beside her husband of less than a day. Jason had drifted into a deep sleep following a tear-the-sheets night, consummating their marriage vows in the grand bed in the Seigneur Suite at the Trump Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach.
Of course, Kaitlyn and Jason had been living together in Columbus, Ohio for a year before they decided to marry, so it wasn’t the classic first-time. But still.
What a wedding it had been! One of the reasons she had asked Jason if their special day couldn’t be at a Trump resort was that she had heard that sometimes President Trump made a surprise appearance. And though she wasn’t very political, she so admired the President.
And it actually happened just like that!
It was after dinner and after the first ceremonial dances. In swept POTUS with his security detail. Resplendent in an expensive tuxedo, his orange-haired presence unmistakable, and holding two red Make-America-Great-Again caps—even more impressive in person than on TV.
The small band struck up “Hail to the Chief” as he strolled to the podium. He grabbed the mic and called Kaitlyn and Jason to him.
The president made some gracious remarks and popped a MAGA cap on the bride’s head. As he joked with the audience and put his arms around the bride and groom, the photographers, videographer and guests all snapped away.
She had thought his hand ventured a little high along the side of her chest during that big threesome hug, and as he changed poses to stand right behind her, she distinctly felt his stiff thingy press against her bottom. She blushed.
“You’re making me great again down there,” President Trump whispered into her ear. “Perhaps I’ll drop by your suite at 4:00 a.m.” Unsure what to say, Kaitlyn tried to smile and nodded a little. After circulating with the guests, the president returned to give her a good-bye kiss, whispering, “’Droit de seigneur,’ you know.”
She’d been to college. She knew what he was saying. The right of the first night, the right of the lord of the manse in some early medieval societies to deflower the bride.
Now she wondered, was he actually going to come to their room? What should she do if he did? Had she led him to think she wanted him to? Did she?
Jason was dead asleep. She slipped on her negligee and put her gauzy nightgown over it. She went quietly into the living room, and as she quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, she heard the door lock click.
Of course, as owner, Mr. Trump would have a master key. He entered, wearing his familiar large black overcoat and carrying a bottle of champagne.
“You can’t open that now,” Kaitlyn said in a hushed voice. “The pop will wake up Jason. Are the Secret Service men outside?” He approached, opened her gown a little and pressed against her.
“No, I slipped them . . . This is my place, I know the secret ways in and out. No one know more than I do about in and out.”
He put the bottle down, opened his overcoat and smiled. He wore nothing underneath.
“You can call me ‘Mr. President,’” he said, pulling her to him. He ran his hand under her negligee and along the crack of her buttocks.
“But . . .”
He kissed her. She hadn’t told him right away that he must go back out. Now she wasn’t clearing up the confusion. She was sending the wrong message.
But he’s the President of the United States of America. He is making our Nation great, and I can’t just insult him or make a fuss or support his enemies . . .
Oh, hell. It is a kind of traditional thing that’s done, or was done anyway, in the old days, in the Old World. She felt a little throb down there. What a thing to be able to tell . . . someone, some day.
POTUS shrugged off the coat, confronting her with his large flabbiness. His penis was flaccid. He is kind of an old guy, she recalled.
They resumed kissing and after a time he drew her hand down to his still-soft dick. She worked at it and pressed it between her legs, but to no avail.
“Didn’t you take one of those pills?” she asked.
“Melania makes the doctor give them all to her, and she keeps track of every one in a ledger.”
He went back to his overcoat and pulled out a ping pong racket. “Sometimes paddling helps.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Kailyn said.
“No, I meant you spank me.”
He leaned over the sofa, and she wacked his ass a couple of times. His flesh moved in waves after each swipe.
“It’s too noisy,” she whispered. “It will wake Jason up. How about this?”
She laid down on the sofa and, drawing him onto her, she inserted the handle of the racket into his anus. As she wiggled it, she felt he was finally starting to become firm.
How much more am I supposed to do for my country, she wondered.
Impatient, she pushed the racket all the way in and the president cried in pain.
“Shhh!” she said.
A moment later, Jason opened the door.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s not what it looks like Jason.”
“It looks to me like Trump is playing ping pong with his ass while he’s fucking you. Nice he can do two things at once.”
“He can’t even get an erection, Jason.”
Jason pulled Trump off of his wife, smacked his face and watched Trump crumple to the ground.
“Let me get my cellphone. I’m going to post a movie of this shmuck with a ping pong racket up his ass.”
“No,” said Trump. “You can’t do that. My base wouldn’t understand. Ann and Sean wouldn’t understand.”
He reached around and tried to pull out the racket. He gasped in pain, then clutched his chest.
His face turned a strange color and he became sweaty. His eyes closed. In a few moments, he stopped moaning.
“Jason, he’s having a heart attack. Call 911!”
“No, I’m not going to have the world know my wife was being fucked by the President on our wedding night.”
As they struggled over the phone, Trump became blue and still.
“Oh God, he’s dead,” said Kaitlyn. “What are we going to do?”
Jason sat stunned. The room had grown very quiet. Then he went over and uncorked the champagne Trump had brought. No one would be wakened by the pop now.
“We’ve got to think this through. We can’t let them find him here.”
He filled two flutes and gave one to his wife. He sat next to her.
“Jason, I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. I . . .”
“Don’t talk about it now, honey. It’ll be okay. I know it was just his charisma.”
He went to the balcony. They were on a third story suite close to the edge of the property. He looked down and saw two crocodiles on the grounds nearby.
Jason finished his glass, went to the deceased president and dragged him toward the balcony. It was like moving a dead walrus. The weight was too much for Jason to get over the balustrade.
“Kaitlyn, you’ve got to help.”
“Shouldn’t we take the ping pong racket out first? No. We wouldn’t want it found up here.”
“Live by the paddle, die by the paddle.”
Together they lifted and tipped him over the edge. There was a loud squish as he landed, and the crocs had been awakened. Jason and Kaitlyn turned away.
“Maybe,” said Jason, “he should have built his wall around Mar-a-Lago.”
Mitchell Zimmerman is an attorney who devotes much of his practice to pro bono work. He is the author of Mississippi Reckoning.