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She began to kiss at my neck and myarms dropped to my sides, my breathing deepened. She had me. I was hers. Her kisses became stronger, rougher. My knees felt weak. She ran her armsaround me, her cool flesh penetrating the weave of the bodysuit, then coveredmy eyes, my face with her hand. It smelled like old wool and camphor, smellsthat I found intoxicating. I kissed those fingers, and tried to raise myarms to touch her, but the sleeves had some how become caught on the fabricof the bodysuit, and I could not raise them. I tried but they were fast atmy sides, and I did not want to tear the suit, the suit that felt so close tomy skin, I could feel it on my neck, in the crack of my ass, wrapped aroundmy toes.Her kisses became more insistent , and I rolled my head to the side, to giveher my neck, breathing in the smell of her fingers. And then she bit me. Itfelt like passion at first, and at last, but some where in the middle Ipanicked and tried to wrench free from her grip. . Veneshia was pleased with the work she’d done, and she knew her boss was, too. This was a big day for her, as she seldom had any reason to display pride while growing up. Her black father, a Staff Sergeant, had died when she was young, but she was never told how he had died. Her French-Vietnamese mother struggled to support herself and her daughter, but hadn’t received any help from either side of their family. In school she was too smart, too black, too Asian - she was always too ‘something.’ Now, because these meetings were being televised, the whole country would soon see the results of her work, and its value. For once, she was - almost - ‘too happy.’Everyone was cordial to Jason as the two entered the room. This cordiality disappeared very shortly after the President called the meeting to order, and informed everyone parliamentary rules would be used today to more easily maintain order. “Madam President.”“The Chair recognizes the Representative from Harlem.”“Thank you, Madam.
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