“Who are you voting for?” My fingers were touching his fingers.
“I’m not answering that.” He pulled his fingers away. We were laying in bed. Nude. Post-coital.
“We just had sex. You can’t share your pick for senator of our state?”
“I don’t feel comfortable.” He had a harsh tone.
“We just had sex.” I reminded him again.
“Stop saying that.”
I stared at the ceiling. “What would make you comfortable sharing your political views?”
“Really? You need more time to reveal whether you’re a Republican or Democrat? Wait. Are you one of those wishy washy undecided people?”
He pursed his lips. “I need more time.”
“There may not be another time.”
He looked at me with surprise. “You didn’t like the sex?”
I covered my face with my hands. “I want to know whether a Conservative dick or a Liberal dick just poked me?”
“Now you want to know? Why didn’t you ask before sex?”
“Because…you bought me dinner and drinks…I felt obligated…it’s a weird thing with me.”
“You’re a liberal,” he said mockingly.
“I knew it.” I stood up and looked for my clothes. “This is Texas. I knew you had to be a Republican. God…you wore a suit to a date. That should have been a clue.” I roughly pulled on my jeans. “Ted Cruz won’t win. Beto all the way.”
“Ha. You liberal slut. Don’t trip on the assault rifles on your way out of my expensive condo.”
“Blah, blah, blah….” I headed into the living room and he followed in a silk robe.
“Are you going to the police to make an allegation against me? Are you going to Tweet your own #MeToo moment?”
“No.” I had my hand on the doorknob. “I hate Republicans. I hate our President. I am liberal. But…”
“But what?” His voice was now as silky as his robe.
“The sex was good. Maybe…maybe we can funnel our political animosities…”
“Into more sex?”
“Do have any beer?” I asked sweetly.
“I like beer. I’ve always liked beer. I like beer. I drank beer in high school and college. I like beer. I’m glad you like beer.”
“You sound like Brett Kavanaugh. I’m going to tie to the bed and torture you.”
“Fuck that’s hot. Will you pour beer over me?”
I didn’t answer. I took off my clothes. “I’m still voting for Beto though.”
“Good. I’m voting for Ted.”
“You disgust me. I love the Clintons.”
“You disgust me. I hate the Clintons.”
We slammed into each other in a mock fight and rolled around the varnished floors like dogs in heat.
Out of breath and dizzy with passion, I whispered, “You will have to be a secret.”
“I like secrets.”
“Of course you do you awful Republican.”
I left in the morning, exhausted and worn out. But I still made it in time for a Planned Parenthood march.
“Are you okay?” asked Elsie, one of the organizers.
“Wonderful. I think I just fucked Brett Kavanaugh.”
So much for secrets.