Lady’s Man

The following piece was presented at Jersey City Writers’ literary event – Steamy Summer Nights: An Erotic FanFiction Reading. Please enjoy.

“It’s going to be incredible!” Said Donald, high on opium, methamphetamines, lysergic acid diethylamide, a six-pack of Miller lite, and cheap vodka, as he stumbled across the deck of his yacht – the SS Crassus – completely naked except for MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN on his baseball cap, and tattooed on the head of his economy-sized model, barely poking through a nimbus of red hair. At 2½ inches, erect, it could’ve been mistaken for a large clitoris.

This didn’t stop him from bragging to male crewmembers on the yacht, “If your wives and girlfriends were here, they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off me.” As he made several attempts to reach for the tiny thing, before grabbing it on the fourth try, “That’s why I need the secret service: to keep all of them away. Do you know what my net worth is? I can have all the arm candy I want. I’m a feminist. Women love me. I’ve done more to women – I mean for women – than anyone.” Rocking his hips back and forth in a thrusting motion.

“What do you call it again?” A deckhand asked.

Donald said, “Him! Don’t be disrespectful.”

“What do you call him?”

“Baron von Bratwurst!” Donald yelled as he lurched his way to the edge of the boat. Hand clutched to the Baron, he whispered to it, “Women love me. Don’t they?” Almost falling on top of the portside ladder, he grabbed its handles, and looked down at the roiling ocean. “Don’t you? Donna, Jasmine, Kimberly, Samantha, Naomi, Alessandra? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Out of concern for his safety, Louis began to walk towards Mr. Trump, but the Chief Steward, Andrew, grabbed the crewmember’s arm, and whispered, insistently, “Let him go.”

“Do you see what’s in the water?” Louis asked.

Andrew said again, “Let him go.”

“A man loves his accessories!” Donald yelled, “Isn’t that right, bitches!?! Alessandra, I’m gonna wear you like a fine pair of Italian leather shoes.”

Andrew walked to the edge, looking down as his boss descended the ladder, “You have excellent taste in women, Mr. Trump!”

“Nothing you’ll ever get, loser!”

“You’re right! Only you deserve them.” Andrew said. And he meant it, because what the alcohol and drugs made Donald believe were a bevy of bikini clad supermodels was actually a school of Oceanic Whitetip Sharks, circling around the boat, attracted in large part to the bucketfuls of caviar thrown overboard, because Donald liked to show off his wealth, even if he was only showing it off to himself.

Andrew waved everyone to watch from the edge of the boat.

Now up to his neck in water, the Donald said, “Don’t mind the attention, ladies.” And looking up at the crew, told them, “Since all your wives and girlfriends can’t have me, maybe I can give a few lessons on how to treat a woman.”

Joe gave him thumbs up and smiled, “Make America great again!”

Donald said, “I’m going to build a wall using a really amazing company, negotiate the best trade deals–at gun point if I have to, cure cancer, eliminate the Department of Environment Protection and spray all over with DDT to eliminate the Zika virus, which is killing everyone, deport 100 billion immigrants, unless they’re hot and female, give everyone an AK-47 so you can shoot your neighbor if he’s suspected of being a terrorist, change the 1st amendment so people stop lying, add an extra year to high school and pay Trump university to teach every student how to be rich and love me even more—”

Andrew said, “America will be a better place—”

“—in about three months.” Donald told him, aiming the Baron towards a Whitetip.

“No. In about two seconds.”

A moment later, a baby Whitetip swam over and took off Donald’s penis, which like the removal of a small amount of skin, didn’t cause much pain. “Jasmine, I know you like to sink your teeth into it, but be gentle. A lot of women are depending on me to keep them satis—” Donald stopped talking and looked down, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Why am I bleeding? What’s going on?”

Terrified as he began moving his arms and legs frantically, he reached behind for the ladder, which by this time had been pulled up. One of the last things he saw was the crew, high above him, waving and smiling. Then, one by one, the sharks came, removing his left leg, then his right, then both his arms, and finally the Donald’s head was detached from a floating torso, though the shark did manage to spit out the hairweave before swallowing it whole.


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