Date: Mon, 12 Jan 1998 03:40:52 EST
From: QuayleSex <QuayleSex@aol.com>
Subject: Known in the GOP

  This is a work of original fiction, is not archived anywhere else, and is
intended for readers of legal age only.

"KNOWN" IN THE BIBLICAL SENSE
by Bill Richards

  J. Danforth Quayle absolutely hated fundraising. He hated the constant
jetting around the country, he hated kissing up to people, he hated dictating
the thank you letters to his secretary, and he hated the endless standing
around and gladhanding that left him sore and beat. Worse of all, whenever he
told Marilyn how much money he had raked in, Marilyn got very flushed and
aroused and wanted lots of lovin', just when he had the least energy. No
wonder Dan Jr. (as he called Dan Coats, his successor) was quitting the
Senate. General Patton had had it all wrong...fundraising was hell. 
  Thank God noone would have to see Coat's shitty toupee anymore on CSPAN!
  Dan sighed and resigned himself to the usual ride home and the usual ride on
Marilyn, as his shoulders slumped. His neck and upper back were so tense, and
she gave such lousy back rubs, gouging with her nails and pinching and going
too fast. He thought for a moment how nice it would be to have a gentle man
with broad warm hands do it instead and then shook his head. Don't think those
thoughts, Danny, he told himself, just a little longer and you can be
president and live in the White House!    
  He decided he would go to the 24-hour gym first, the one where all the
happening A-list neocons hung out. It should be nice and quiet this late and
he would be able to sink into the jacuzzi buck-naked and relax those muscles
against the jets of water. There was the added benefit that if he stalled long
enough, Marilyn might even give up waiting for him and go to sleep and he
would get some rest when he got home. 
  As the chaffeur let him off at the front door, he turned to survey the
parking lot. Good, it was empty even for this late. He'd have the locker room
to himself. If he wanted he could probably even crouch half-upright in the
jacuzzi and find out what the jet felt like pulsating against his asshole, or
whack himself off in the steam room.
   He almost bounced up and down as he went to change in the locker room.
   Goody goody goody. 
*********
  He didn't have much of a workout...he ran a few lazy laps around the track,
watched a little tv on one of the monitors while he stretched out on the
treadmill. Then a Murphy Brown rerun came on and he heard some snickering from
a couple American Conservative Union types on the Stairmasters behind him and
he decided to leave. That tramp Murphy Brown always had to ruin everything!
  Someday, Dan thought, someday I'll be president of the whole wide world and
go whhhheeeeeeeee way up high in an airplane, and none of those kids will
laugh at me on the playground anymore, or I'll tell the Secret Service to rub
their faces in  doggie doo. Then I'll make them eat it too! Doggie doo, doggie
doo, doggie doo...
  He moved over to the weights room and went through his bicep and deltoid
reps before realizing that Rich Tafel of Log Cabin Republicans was over on the
Roman chair giving him a funny smile. As Rich lifted his legs on the chair to
work his lower abs, Dan caught glimpses of the hot-pink bikini underwear Tafel
was wearing, and felt strangely hot and confused. Rich winked at him. Those
damn perverts were always hitting on him! What did they think he was, stupid
or something? Dan blushed and decided to do the bench press tomorrow instead.
  Time to retreat to the shower room, already!
  As he was heading for the locker room, he saw a short man with neatly
cropped dark brown hair and a pale complexion lugging a gymbag that looked too
big for him toward the locker room. 
  Oh shit, he thought, it's Ralph Reed that used to work for Pat Robertson's
Crisco Coalition. What the hell is Babyface doing here so late? He looked like
the type that still goes to bed in pajamas at nine o'clock with a warm glass
of milk.
  Then Dan reminded himself that Ralph had killer instincts and that he
cultivated that choirboy look to put people off guard. He was dangerous...and
Dan found his groin stirring and swelling oddly at the thought. Down, boy!
Sit! he told his pocket rocket.
   Dan ducked behind a big potted rhododendron and decided he'd have some fun.
He wanted to see if he could find out what the hell Reed looked like naked. He
wanted to catch him all wet and naked as Adam in Eden, with no Eve in the way.
There would, however, be a serpent involved. A very long hairy one.
  "Wanna piece of forbidden fruit, little boy?" he grinned to himself. He
followed into the locker room, pretending not to notice Ralph as he passed,
noting only out of the corner of his eye which locker Ralph had selected. He
went into a toilet stall and sat down for a few minutes. He heard someone
grunting loudly in the weights area overhead and then the crash of weights
being lowered wearily to the floor. He tried not to let it arouse him. Not too
much, anyway.
  Once Ralph was off to the workout area, he came back out and emptied his own
locker, moving everything to a different locker strategically located right
across from Reed's.  Then he went to the juice bar to order some food, and he
bought a copy of the Washington Times. Not that he could read the damn Moonie
rag, it's just that he had to fit in with appearances here. He hated reading
the Times, let alone George Will, because they always put in lots of big
grownup words he didn't know and he felt like they were laughing at him. It
made his head hurt. Thank goodness Daddy pulled some strings or he never would
have gotten that law degree....
   Bored, he decided to go back up and watch Ralph work out. He found the idea
of Ralph sweating oddly appealing and hard to imagine. Of course this meant
he'd have that Log Cabin perv tailing him. He just hoped that Tafel kept his
hands off him. 
  There were just a few people here working out, as the number of cars in the
parking lot had already told him. Damn. Some days it was so packed full of
beefy guys in tight spandex and cutoff Tshirts it was almost like going to one
of gay old Malcolm Forbes' pool parties. 
  He looked around and couldn't find Reed anywhere. Short guys tended to
vanish into the white-grey forest of Cybex and Nautilus. Wait a minute, there
Ralph was, belly down on the hamstring machine, his pert butt up in the air as
the legs strained to curl the weight. Danny licked his lips, and sat down at
one of the other machines, keeping the lat pull machine between the two of
them for cover. He wanted so badly to go over and lie down on top of Ralph and
dry hump him, his weight pinning the little squirt down helplessly. Who cared
what the staff thought? They used to let Bob Packwood do whatever he wanted
when he worked out here, so why couldn't he?
  Ralph stood up and looked over in his direction, his icy face giving no hint
of acknowledgment.  Quayle pretended he hadn't seen him, dodging over to the
water fountain for a moment. Maybe that would turn on ol' Jailbait, seeing his
lips all wet and kissable...As he leaned down to drink, he felt a broad manly
hand sweep down his back and stop just short of going for his butt. He choked
on the mouthful of water and coughed and sputtered.
  He turned around and there was Mr. Log Cabin himself. "Hello Dan, just
wanted to say hi." A long thumb massaged his lower back, the nail dipping
between the muscles to scrape down his backbone. A shiver ran down Dan's spine
and headed for his buttocks. He clenched his buns reflexively and chanted his
mantra.
  "The Republican party has no place for people with no family values," Dan
sniffed haughtily, turning away, shrugging off the affectionate gesture. 
  "We're just as human as you are..." Rich shot back defensively, but Dan was
already striding over to another part of the gym.
  Dan ran lap after lap AFTER LAP around the track encircling the whole
workout area, waiting and waiting like an orbiting spy satellite for that brat
to finish his workout. It seemed to take forever. Reed must be what the
bodybuilding world called a "hardgainer"; he worked out this much and he was
still that scrawny? Unbelievable.
  Then he heard a familiar annoying voice behind him, and the sound of preppy
feet trying to catch up. OH shit. 
  "Hi, my name is Steve Forbes, I've got lots of money and I'd like to talk to
you about the flat tax, flat tax, flat tax, flat tax...." A bothersome hand
grabbed his wrist to stop him as the Anopheles-like whining continued at his
ear.
  Dan turned around and glared at him. Damn, if Forbes didn't look like one of
those animatronic robots he'd seen at Disney before the Baptists said he
couldn't go to Disneyland anymore.
  Dan shoved him hard in the face, causing Forbes to fall to the jogging track
and sending his glasses sprawling.
  "Go pork your polo pony," Dan snarled. Forbes started to sniffle.
  "You'll be sorry," Stevie Forbes started to cry. "I'll buy all the airtime
on all the tv stations so nobody can watch tv anymore until they elect me
president of the whole world. My daddy left me lots of money. I can buy
whatever I want. Mommy said so!"
  Dan shrugged. It's not like he and Forbes were friends anyway. They were
already rivals in the presidential race and Steve had always gotten on his
nerves at those parties. 
  He was starting to break a real sweat, and he decided to give Ralph a bit of
a show. Even though towels were available, he mopped his face with his shirt,
showing off his firm, shiny belly and its trail of dark hair leading
seductively down toward his...
   Oh yeah. He was pretty sure Ralphy boy was looking at him now, even tho he
had to limit himself to sideways glances. Dan went over to the hamstrings
machine and lay belly down. It was still warm from Ralph, which threatened to
give him a hardon.
There was even a drop of sweat from Ralph's forehead. Dan darted out his
tongue like a lizard and lapped it up.
  Ewwww, gross! What the hell did I do that for? he thought. It might not even
be Ralph's sweat! Then he felt Ralph's eyes still on him. He decided to give
Ralphy another little thrill. As he lifted the weights by curling his legs, he
subtly moved his hips up and down and around in a sexual manner.
  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a barbell slip from Ralph's hand, saw
the rightwing munchkin slip his hand down his shorts. 
  Oh man, Dan thought, I'm getting him hot. 
  No, he's just scratching himself...never mind. The hell with this, he was
going to the jacuzzi. He could always lie awake at home later and pleasure
himself with thoughts of Ralph's white smooth legs later, when Marilyn was
sound asleep. Maybe there was a restaurant open late that he could haunt for
an hour or so. He looked at the clock between the television screens in the
aerobic machines area. Just past 11, so the Trattoria Alberto and his other
Italian favorites would be closed. The Monocle was open an hour later than
most, til midnight. A little pricy, but that meant he didn't have to put up
with those disgusting average Americans. The crab cakes and chocolate
cheesecake would be sooooo good.
  He headed down for the locker.
  As he went, someone Danny hadn't noticed, very much noticed him. Oh man, he
had had the biggest crush on Quayle ever since he was fresh meat in the Senate
in 1980. And that crush had never really gone away over nearly two decades...a
beefy hand lingering on the white railing, he watched from the balcony as
those firm Quayle buns and legs trotted down the steps, golden hairs glinting
here and there even in the fluorescent lighting.
***************
   Dan shrugged sensuously out of the Tshirt stickily plastered against his
skin, his hairy chest dewed with it, his pits garlic-pungent. He cocked his
head and heard the sound of a single shower faucet running, and grinning
eagerly.
  He headed for the toilets to take a whiz. This would take him past the
shower stalls and give him a good glimpse of Ralph's bare ass. A little sneak
preview before the real fun...
  Then he saw Ralph stepping into the running water, and gawked in disbelief.
  The prim little prude was wearing a shower cap and an old fashioned bathing
suit that covered his whole torso. As he waited for the running water to get
to the right temperature, he set aside a towel for drying off. He was setting
up a little removable shower curtain and a curtain emblazoned with a great big
cross.  Only when the curtain was drawn did Ralph take off the bathing suit
and hang it over the rod.
  Who did Ralph think he was, the Pope or something?
  Slowly, sooooooooo slowwwwwwwly, the little wheels creaked and ground in
Dan's head and he realized that he could swipe not only the towel but also the
bathing suit hanging over the towel rack. Then Ralph would have to come
running after it, begging for it back, whining, his cute little weenie
flopping. Dan grinned. He hadn't had this much fun since he'd bought that
fertility idol in the Caribbean with the great big weenie. He'd secretly hoped
Marilyn would use it as a substitute and stop demanding so much sex from him,
but instead she had scolded him about THOU SHALT MAKE NO GRAVEN IMAGES and
about NOT BEING A GOOD EXAMPLE TO THE NEXT GENERATION OF YOUNG REPUBLICANS. 
   Dan lunged for both of them and ran. He thought he heard something from the
steamroom nearby, then shook his head and moved on. Then he sat down on a
bench in the locker area to wait for the show to begin.
  Sure enough, the water stopped and there was a tense silence for a moment,
broken only by a slow dripping. Then Ralph came out, still unflappable, and
STILL not nude. He was still wearing a regular swimsuit underneath and was
taking off the bathing cap.
  Dan grinned innocently at him. He looked so boyish and soft and sweet and
white, little rose dime-sized nipples standing up a bit. He couldn't wait to
pin Ralph down and lick em.
  "Did you take my swimsuit, Quayle?" Ralph demanded coldly with a fake smile,
showing no anger except in his eyes. It was the kind of expression he had
probably given Barney Frank or Ted Kennedy many times in passing in the halls
of Congress.
  "Oh, I'm sorry," Dan replied, taking the swimsuit from behind his back. "I
thought maybe someone had forgotten this. I was just taking it to the lost and
found."
  Ralph reached for the swimsuit and the taller Indianan --er, make that
Arizonan, now --gleefully held it above his head, out of reach. Ralph was
getting a little perturbed in spite of himself. It had been a long day and he
was a bit sore from working out...he was not in the mood for this. But noone,
I mean NOONE, could be ever, ever allowed to see Ralph get upset. Let alone
naked. Ralph jumped for it, and Dan patted his head patronizingly while
lifting it out of reach again. Mm, his hair was so nice and soft.
  "Keep away, keep away!" he teased.
  Ralph shrugged and said, "Don't expect a Crisco Coalition endorsement next
time you run" and headed back for his locker after getting a new towel out of
the bin.
  "You're not in charge of the Crisco Coalition anymore, and they're not
allowed to endorse anyway. The FEC says so!" Dan retorted, following Ralph,
watching the hints of well toned buns shifting beneath the fabric of his
trunks. Oooooooooooo la la.
   "Make me laugh! We Republicans cut their budget so much they'll never catch
up with their backlog of cases. As if!"
  Dan sat down across from Ralph's locker. "What a coincidence, Ralph, our
lockers are practically next to each other!" he grinned.
  Reed turned and gave him a withering glance, his face still impassive. Once
he had his locker open, he wrapped the towel around his waist and pulled down
the trunks while using the towel for cover. Like, what a total prudissimo,
Quayle thought. He couldn't believe how frustrating this was becoming. He
reached for the towel but Ralph calmly slapped him away. Then they got in a
little slapping match for a moment. 
  "Having a tiny penis is nothing to be ashamed of," Dan said, giving him a
pity-face.
  Ralph scowled and turned red. Dan had pushed his button. He dropped the
towel and stood before Dan utterly naked, hand pumping his cock into erection.
  Dan shrugged, pretending not to look at it. 
  "I knew you had a tiny one. Everyone says so. It's ok, Ralph. Accept it!"
  "Wh-h-Who says so?!?  Noone is allowed to see...I can make it lots bigger!"
Ralph insisted peevishly.
  "Big as mine? In your dreams!" Dan taunted him. "I'm at least nine inches
hard."
  "You're lying," Reed shot back, his eyes betraying him by lowering eagerly
toward the hint of golden curls peaking over Dan's waistband.
   Then Danny Boy tugged his shorts and athletic supporter down to his ankles,
and Ralph sucked in his breath. 
  "Now you know why they called me Three Legs Quayle in high school!" Dan
said.
  Ralphy licked his lips. No wonder Quayle was so fucking stupid --supplying
this monster organ probably didn't leave enough bloodflow for his brain! 
  The two faced each other, hands making soft little slap-slap noises up and
down their Elephant Trunks.
  Ralph's high tenor, his little smug smooth freckled face and his short, slim
little body sure brought out the chickenhawk in everyone. How many closeted
Bubbas had gone to one of his book signings and watched the little old ladies
pinch Ralph's cheeks, and wish they were pinching Ralph's other pair of
cheeks?  How many wrinkled old Southern senators had longed to romp nude with
Ralph and plow him in the midst of a sun-warmed tobacco field, to slam him
again and again into the warm Southern clay? How many NRA members had
fantasized about shooting their big love guns up Ralph's inner sanctum? And
now he should be mine, Danny thought, all mine! 
  It was just like Dan's secret forbidden fantasy from pubescence, about
Howdie Doodie becoming a real boy (like Pinocchio did) and making love to him.
Oh how he'd run crying from the room when the tv sang, "It's HOWDIE DOODIE
TIME" knowing it would never be Howdy Doodie Time for him. Running into the
woods to weep bitterly among the towering milkweed and pokeweed and forsythia,
great wrenching sobs as he pumped his budding penis. He'd had so many wet
dreams over that damn puppet. He'd tossed and turned and soaked the sheets
with sweat and...
  He swore Ralph looked just like that bastard. Maybe he could tie Ralph up
with some strings now that he had him out of those Bible thumper clothes.
   Ralph let his baby blues roam over Dan's magnificent body. The rich sweep
of chest hair, the light freckles across the broad shoulders, the sexy touch
of frost at Dan's sideburns. All this and it was wasted on that drab old bag
Marilyn and her bad stuck-in-the-50s hairdo. What a waste of perfectly good
elephant-meat! Why, Citizens Against Government Waste should do an expose on
this. Marilyn ought to go shack up with that motormouth butch Bay Buchanan and
leave the boys to play!
  Dan was so tired of that supercilious, smug expression frozen on Ralph's
face. Dan reached out and slapped him good, and Ralphy yelped, putting a
little hand up to the red mark it left. Good, Dan thought, James Dobson was
right, corporal punishment never goes out of style. Grinning evilly, blue eyes
glinting, he lunged forward and grabbed Ralph hard by the wrist.
  Ralph struggled to get lose, but he was weaker than Quayle and had also worn
himself out more than Dan had working out. Quayle turned him over and got a
good handful of firm, globe shaped Fundamentalist ass.
  Then Dan manhandled the struggling Reed into position on his lap, Ralph's
stiff little thing poking into Dan's own hairy crotch and bumping up against
the much bigger Quayle phallus. 
  "Smack! Smack!" Dan's hand came down again and again, reddening the
buttocks. He found it positively addictive watching the firm little globes
shudder with each impact. He spread them apart, and Ralph squirmed again in
panic. So Dan used the old trick he had read in James Dobson's Dare to
Discipline and twisted Ralph's ear good and hard.
  Ralph had the tightest hole he had ever seen, it seemed no amount of
tickling and spreading and coaxing and blowing would convince it to open. It
was totally shaved and primly clean. Dan reached over for his gymbag and
unzipped it. Inside was a tube of Vaseline gel. How did that get in there?
Potato Man wondered. Oh well.
  Dan kept working in more lube and told Ralph to push out, and finally his
finger went in.
  Ralph almost fainted and his heartbeat became panicky. Not even Mrs. Ralph
Reed was allowed in there!
  "I've got my finger on the little red button," Danny Boy said, blindly
fingering Ralph's coy little prostate. "Go ahead, make my day, you commies!"
  "Oh....oooooo...yeah, push it! Push it til I explode!" Ralph was now riding
up and down on Danny Boy's long, thick finger, imagining the sheer power of it
all. He imagined that this stupid cornfed boy who couldn't even spell potato
was the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth and it was all the doing
of him, Ralph Reed!   
  Dan swirled the finger around inside him, and then there were two fingers
stretching him, and Ralph's breath came in hot gasps.
  Strong arms lifted Ralph's hips and then he felt hot breath blowing against
and into his tight little velvet vermillion, verily virginal vent-valve.
Fevered hands kneading his buns like two round little balls of dough. Then the
excruciatingly wonderful stretching again, and he realized there were three
fingers inside him now. A strong tongue pushing at him.
  Well, it was a little icky, Quayle thought, but not too different from
fundraising from the sugar daddies, come to think of it. 
  "Oh, you're so good! You're so good!" Ralph wailed, heels flailing Dan's
shoulders.
  Dan started rambling and talking dirty and was surprised at how naturally it
came to him. It was probably all those bad pornos he had had to watch with Ed
Meese for the commission on pornography back in the Reagan years.
  "Yeah, you know you want it, slutboy. I'm gonna make you beg for it, I'm
gonna make you cry, and if I don't make you cum buckets, well my name isn't
spelled...isn't spelled...uh, hmm... K-W-A-I-L! I'm gonna give you the Far
Right treatment...I'm going to shove my hard hot cock Far up inside you, Right
up your love tunnel!"
  Then he put his cockhead against Ralph's hole and felt it quiver against
him.
  "Want a condom?"
  "Naw, condoms are a communist liberal plot to reduce our birthrate so the
Democrat-voting nonwhites and the  Commies will outnumber us. Just give it to
me already!"
**************************
  At this point, Congressman and former Seattle Seahawk Steve Largent (R-
Oklahoma) was coming out of the steamroom, his football build still trim after
all these years, his horse cock dangling invitingly like an overripe banana.
With a pole like this, I should have played baseball, he thought smugly. I
should've shown that Molinari chick this when she was getting photos of me for
that Republican Hunks calendar. Yeah, they all want ya, Stevie babe. Steve was
so smitten with himself, he wished he hadn't let the Crisco Coalition talk him
into voting for that ban on human cloning, 'cause he wanted to make love to
himself. Only the best for you, Stevie boy.
  Locker rooms always got him horny because they reminded him of the hush-hush
things he had to do for the Seahawks to motivate them to win the game. There
was more touchy feely mano-a-mano stuff goin' on there than a stadium full of
sweaty Promise Keepers. He started thinking of all the nice tight-packed buns
over the years on the centers kneeling in front of him to pass the ball. Oh
man...Heavin' Steven was just about to get in the shower stall and lube
himself up with some shampoo when he heard some muffled cries coming from the
lockers to his left. He wrapped the towel around his waist and padded quietly
over to investigate.
***************************
  Dan Quayle was leaning over Ralph, one strong hand muffling Ralph's squeaks
and moans, the other holding his squirming arms down. His strong legs were in
place keeping Ralph's slimmer legs pried apart. Not that Ralphy was really
struggling to defend his virtue, mind you (as IF, girl!), more like he was out
of control enjoying himself. Dan didn't want the brat poking his eye out.
  Largent moved to an angle out of Dan's sight and his jaw hung slightly open
as Dan's narrow muscular glutes clenched, as Dan pulled back his long, hard
lubed-up MX missile and thrust it deep and slow inside Ralph's tight little
missile silo. Ralph's eyes clenched shut and he gritted his teeth.
  Danny shoved his musky damp athletic supporter into Ralph's mouth as a gag,
and Ralph bit down with a muffled moan. It was hard to tell whether it was a
happy moan or unhappy moan, but Dan didn't give a shit. His big balls swayed
in their fuzzy sac, slapping against Reed's pearly ass like two heavy poe-tae-
toes. 
  Ralph shifted his legs over Dan's shoulders and convulsions started to take
him, his head slamming uncontrollably against the locker room bench as he
envisioned Dan filling him with babies, lots of little future Republicans good
for a $500 tax credit each! Oh man...
   Ralph could take it in silence no more and spit out the supporter. "Ram it!
Fuck me! Fuck me! Shove that 700-Club into me! Yeah!"
  Ralph bit down on a knuckle, starting to cry incoherently. Was that really
him saying that! 
  Yes, yes, Dan thought, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He had
done more than strip Ralph's clothes away. He had stripped him utterly of his
cold, calm reserve, his dignity, his inhibitions, leaving him a moaning,
sweaty, quivering love-oven quivering like a hot pudding around Dan's pounding
shaft and beneath his rough hands. A hot snug oven baking his sausage til the
juices were ready to spurt out...
  Then Danny boy pulled out, wrenching him, slipping snugly out, and Ralph
watched the beet-red cockhead pulse. He knew what came next but had never seen
it from this angle. Well, maybe that one time he sat down with Pat Robertson
and Jerry Falwell to watch a porno so they could all talk about how disgusting
and evil and sinful it was, wide eyed and transfixed. Or was it the time they
had seen one of Ken Ryker's pornos before the gay porn star-turned-
fundamentalist visited the 700 Club?
  He looked directly into the urethral opening of Dan's cockhead, and saw it
suddenly flare extremely widely.
  "Show me the honey! Show me the honey!" Ralph bawled.
  The hot pearly man-gravy spurted out, and Ralph gasped in awe. Looking down
at the warm goo on his chest, he could just picture each of those millions of
spermatazoa as a future Republican with the Right to Life, registered to vote
and trained to run for office and organized into precincts and districts and
phone trees and mailing lists...
  ...and the thought of all that power sent Ralph into his own orgasm, his
sphincter contracting with spasms.
***************
  Steve Large-cocked Largent shouted and let go of his joystick, and it bobbed
up and down on its own as it let loose, spurting like an oilwell in Steve's
own hometown of Tulsa Oklahoma, dripping hot rivulets here and there on his
strong calves. 
  Suddenly, a panel in the locker room ceiling came loose and fell, revealing
a videocam hidden behind it, the winking red light showing that it had
recorded all.
  Then an old man (well he looked 20 years older than he was) peered around
the corner at them, and Potatoe Boy recognized this man with pale blue eyes
and a balding head tilted at the end of a stooped neck. 
  He had served for a few years in the United States Senate with him, after
all.
  "Yew ain't never gonna run for no guv'mint job again," Phil Gramm drawled
gleefully, his yellow jack-o-lantern teeth standing out in a cowshit-eating
grin.
   Then Dan realized that the whole darn thing was a setup. Gramm was going to
use the footage not only to discredit him as a "family values" candidate but
also as part of the hardcore XXX sequel to Gramm's old softcore porn venture
"Beauty Queen." Gramm would sell the story to Newt to write into another of
his dirty books, and the profits would fund Gramm's next big-bucks run for the
GOP nomination. 
   Gramm started to gloat, thinking aloud about how he could recycle his
political campaign slogans into salacious subtitles on the porn movie's box
cover.
  "Ah want an America where every family is limited only by the size of its
wet dreams."
  "Ah b'lieve the 'merican people want smaller guv'mint and larger cocks. We
need fewer wagon riders and more cock riders."
   Quayle hung his head and started to get dressed. But then Steve Largent
came up and wrapped him from behind in a nice warm nude bearhug, chest hairs
tickling his spine, sticky remnants rubbing into Dan's skin, and gently
slipped a card into Dan's hand.
   Dan struggled and struggled to read it (we're talking Quayle, people!) but
eventually he realized it was Largent's vacation home phone number in the DC
suburbs.
  Danny smiled and his vacant blue eyes were happy once more. 
  Danny had a friend to play with.
  See Danny. See Danny run. 
  See Danny run to Steve's house.
  Run, Danny, run!

FINIS