Deepfake News

Author's Note: Here's the Reader's choice from August's poll! Admittedly, this turned out a little differently than expected as I started writing it, and ended up about 50% longer than I expected with a slower build, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came together. I think it all works. Enjoy.

Two brief subject matter disclaimers: politics are a sensitive topic these days for good reason. I deliberately steered away from hot button issues, but if this story isn't your cup of tea because you're a fed-up American, hey, I get it.

Also, maybe it goes without saying, but: the politics are the setting of this story, not the point. Please don't confuse any specific view or political affiliation espoused by any character as my own personal beliefs; I wrote it to be sexy, not to persuade anyone to a particular political view, or to lampoon a view I disagree with.

---

I settled in to watch closely as the ad played.

"Sick of the same empty promises from the usual suspects in Washington? Us, too."

A variety of images moved across the screen; a confident, gravelly man was doing the voiceover.

"We deserve fresh perspectives. Someone with energy. With the right values. We need a fighter: for our communities, for our families. For Texas."

Now it flashed up a variety of images, rapidly: Vanessa, serving in a soup kitchen. Vanessa, high-fiving a ten-year-old boy. Vanessa, looking serious and nodding as she spoke to a few veterans. Vanessa, gun in hand -- with good muzzle and trigger discipline, I noted, pleased -- smiling as she spoke to a few law enforcement officers at a shooting range. The cops were smiling back.

"Veteran. Entrepreneur and business owner. Daughter of legal immigrants. And, most importantly, Texan."

Vanessa, in a cowboy hat at a Longhorns game, throwing up the Hook'em Horns.

"She's not beholden to the agenda of some political party. She understands what really makes America great."

"Nice," I acknowledged. The voiceover and visuals landed exactly right.

I watched as the screen faded from the final image -- her, behind a podium, looking intense as she delivered a campaign rally speech.

"And she'll fight for it in Washington. So vote for her on November 3."

The ad closed on Vanessa's campaign sign: Vanessa RAO, her last name in big block print, her first name smaller above it, a message saying Vote on November 3, and a link to the campaign website.

"Hey, great work, guys." There was a reason I'd gone with this firm. They had my preferred ingredients: high-quality work on a quick turn-around.

It was worth the rate they charged. Which, admittedly, was exorbitant.

Good thing Vanessa was crushing it on fundraising.

The ad guys looked pleased. Brent, the lead ad guy, spoke up. "Thanks Larry. But c'mon, you've always got a few notes. We can make edits quick and still have this going live tomorrow if you want."

I broke into a grin. I'd worked with them dozens of times over the course of my career, and they knew me well; it was one of the reasons I liked them.

"Only one note, actually. That last shot of Vanessa? Way too sexy, guys. Not enough gravitas." I knew I could be frank; we were all professionals, it was our job to be honest, and it wasn't the first time I'd had to say something like this to someone -- that's why I was advising Vanessa on this campaign.

The two of them glanced at each other, considering.

I elaborated.

"We need to close with her looking less like a fashion model, and more like a U.S. Senator, okay? Let's get an image where she's got more statesmanship -- uh, stateswomanship, I guess. Otherwise the ad is going to land wrong with some key demographics. I'm looking for seriousness, conviction, dignity, presence. Maybe a shot from her speaking at that church a few weeks ago, or one of the ones we got of her looking at the Washington monument earlier this year?"

Brent blinked, digesting that. "Think so? Hmm, okay. We were trying to end with her youth, energy, and dynamism -- but we can pull something that communicates gravitas instead, if you're sure. I know she likes that shot, though."

I could tell he wasn't thrown by the way I was talking. He just didn't agree. But I was the client, and I'd been doing this my whole career, so it was my call.

But, hey, they knew their job, so I gave it a second look, rewinding the ad to pause it on the shot we were considering.

Vanessa looked hot in that photo. There was no other way to put it. Bright red lipstick stood out against her mixed Indian-Irish features. Her long dark hair was appealingly windswept. She was leaning forward slightly, hand raised like she was midsentence saying something.

But that wasn't the part that bothered me. It was this...little sparkle, in her eye, in the way her lips were parted. She had charisma, no question. But she just looked a little too sensual. Without the podium in front of her, it could've been a perfume ad. Hell, it still could. Scandal, the fragrance would be called. Everyone likes the allure of power, the ad voiceover would read. But not everybody gets to wear it.

I shook my head, clearing it. Looking at the still frame again only confirmed my opinion.

"She's gonna be one of the youngest U.S. Senators in history, guys. Everything about her already communicates energy, youth, vigor. Everyone knows that. We also need to emphasize that she's not some pretty young thing; she's got the chops to be in the room with all the octogenarians who've been doing this for fifty years."

Brent nodded. "Okay. You're the boss, Larry. We'll edit it and get you the final."

"Thanks guys. Really great work."

---

A few hours later, it was the end of the day, and I needed to get a few more things done before tonight's event -- I had a fundraiser or campaign event nearly every night this week. While the final weeks of an election cycle had a familiar cadence to me at this point in my career, it didn't make it any less exhausting.

I was just about wrapped up and ready to head out, when I walked down the hall past Vanessa's office on the way to the printer. I gave her a friendly wave as I walked past. I knew she was making fundraising calls, and wasn't about to interrupt. She was on her cell phone, but beckoned me in.

She was nodding enthusiastically. She pointed at the phone, and mouthed Scott. Then held her index finger up to her lips.

Then put the phone on speaker.

"Look, Vanessa, I've been extremely supportive. You know I think the world of you."

Scott Gaskins. An Executive Vice President at one of the bigger oil companies in Texas.

And Texas has some big oil companies. This was an important call.

Vanessa gave me a wink, and jumped in to respond before Scott could get further. "I know you have, Scott! That's why I thought I'd call you first. We're in the home stretch, now. You know my opponent's pulling out all the stops to keep his seat, so we need all the help we can get."

"I know, I know. I'm just not sure I can do another fundraiser for a few weeks. I'm really sorry."

Vanessa leaned back, and put her feet up on the desk in front of her. "Scott." Her drawl deepened, her voice took on a teasing note. "C'mon, now. We all got the same stock tickers on our phones these days. You and your good friends over there are crushing it. I know you're good for it. We've got stiff competition, but that just means we need to be stiffer."

"Yeah..." I could hear some reluctance in Scott's voice, but not irritation at Vanessa pressing him, at least. "I'm just starting to get some pushback from close friends, y'know? We've been making a lot of asks on your behalf this cycle..."

Vanessa pursed her lips, disappointed. "I get that, Scott. I'm not trying to sour any friendships. A few weeks, huh? Tell you what. What if we did a fundraiser at your place next Friday?"

There was a long pause before Scott's reply. "Well...that's pretty soon..."

Instead of saying anything, Vanessa was silent. Let them sit in the uncomfortable silence. It was a basic principle of asking for contributions. She crossed her legs and put her heels up on the desk, waiting.

It was impossible for the movement not to draw my attention; standing just inside the room, I had a great view. She was wearing a navy sheath dress; she had another fundraiser to speak at in an hour or two, of course. My gaze wandered along the coffee skin of smoothly muscled thighs, the toned calves, down to the heels. She'd kept up her running regimen even during the campaign season.

"Well, let me check with the wife..." Scott's grudging comment pulled my attention back, and I rubbed my eyes, blearily. I was tired.

Vanessa, on the other hand, seemed to have boundless energy. She laughed -- it had the kind of animated, friendly flirtatiousness in it that wouldn't have been out of place in a College Station bar. "Sure, Scott. Thanks for considering it. And, hey, tell Maggie I say hi."

"I will." He brightened, clearly considering that an olive branch. "Say, any interest in coming over for dinner next week? She'd love to see you, and i imagine you could use a night off."

"Well aren't you tempting. I could use a night off, that's for sure," Vanessa said. "But the election is pretty soon, and I really want to beat the pants off this old guy, y'know? Well, not literally. That'd be gross. But you know what I mean."

Scott snorted. "I hope when you get elected you keep your sense of humor, Vanessa."

"I'm planning on it, but I still got a few more weeks of work to do to make sure that happens, Scott," Vanessa said.

Scott sighed. "I know, I know. Let me talk to Maggie."

"Sure. Thanks for being in the fight with me. Bye."

She frowned as she hung up, disappointed.

"Nice work," I acknowledged, with a commiserating smile. "I think he'll come round."

"'Course he will. I'd just hoped to hook him on the phone," Vanessa said. And then she waved away her disappointment, all amusement again. She was one of the few politicians who genuinely seemed to enjoy these calls, who didn't turn on their charisma for the fundraising and then turn it off afterwards. This was just...who she was. All the time.

And then my phone rang. I pulled it out. And held it up to show Vanessa the caller ID.

Scott Gaskins.

"Well how about that." Vanessa gave me a curious grin. "Guess you'd better answer." She pulled her purse up onto the desk, started rooting through it.

I swallowed. I knew what kind of call this was going to be, and it wasn't one I wanted to take in front of my boss. But I didn't see that I had a choice.

"Hey, Scott, what's up?"

"Hey, Larry. Could use one of your seasoned political takes."

This was the only reason Scott ever called me. His affect was completely different than it had been moments ago; clipped and business-like.

But then, I wasn't in the running to become a U.S. Senator.

"Sure, about what?"

Vanessa motioned for me to put the call on speaker, like she had. She pulled out the makeup kit.

Internally, I winced. I knew what Scott was probably about to ask: this was a due diligence call.

And I knew, roughly, what I was going to say.

The steps to this dance were extremely familiar; I'd just never danced it with Scott. And I didn't really want to dance it in front of Vanessa.

But I thought it would mostly make me look good. So I put the phone on speaker.

"Do you think she's gonna win?" Scott asked the question matter-of-factly.

He didn't have to say who he was talking about. I paused, seeing if he'd add anything else.

After a moment, he continued. "And I know you're on payroll with her right now, but be honest, Larry. I've put a lot of money into her campaign. I can do more, but...this is gonna be the move that pisses off the other guy. If I get more involved at this juncture and she loses, any company I'm involved in is gonna have a target on its back. The shareholders aren't going to like it one bit."

Vanessa was watching, curiously, even as she started applying eyeliner.

I played for time, gathering my thoughts. "Hey, I get that. Of course, if you do give more, and she wins, the shareholders will just praise your brilliant foresight, right? That's how this always works." I took a breath. This was what I'd expected. "Happy to give you my take, though. Remember when we met?"

Scott laughed. "Are you asking if I remember a junior campaign staffer drinking what was way more than his fair share of one of my best bottles of whiskey at the end of a campaign event for a state senator twenty years ago? The details are fuzzy but I do recall the broad strokes, yeah."

I grinned. "Do you remember when you asked me why I work in politics? And a younger, much-more-idealistic-me said that I did it because eventually, I might help somebody win a race that really changed things? For the better?"

"Yeah..." Scott could clearly see where this was going.

I pressed on anyway. "Well, I was less jaded. But this is that race, Scott. And you know I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. I've never said it before, and how many races have you seen me work? Vanessa's the real deal. You know the situation in the Senate. She'd be the swing vote in D.C. on a dozen different things. And she'd swing the right way. You want the country to go in the right direction? Well, there's a clear candidate to support. The stakes here are as big as they'll get."

Vanessa raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Scott sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Look, can I ask you something else, man-to-man?"

I blinked. This was a curve ball, and I now regretted that I was on speakerphone. "Uh, sure?"

"She's a charmer, there's no question. But d'you think she...trades a little too much on her looks?"

Vanessa's surprised eyebrow crept up another fraction of an inch.

"...What're you really asking?" I asked, guardedly.

"Well, she's a pretty young thing, and she's single. No skeletons in the closet or other scandals we're going to find out about at the last minute, are there? I caught an earful from disappointed friends after the scandal with those bikini pictures came out last month..."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, went back to applying her makeup.

"C'mon, Scott. Her getting photographed in a bathing suit when she was a twenty-five-year-old enlisted on shore leave from the Navy is not a scandal." But I understood his worry; I'd had to get past it myself. For all her strengths as a candidate, I often disagreed with Vanessa's political instincts.

Scott harumphed. "I mean, it was a pretty revealing bikini..."

My eyes were on Vanessa. She was applying lipstick, now. She glanced at me, and pouted her lips, but otherwise just kept going. She liked a bold lipstick; this one was a deep, earthy red that popped against her skin tone.

I shifted, uncomfortably. Having her in front of me just served to underscore Scott's concerns. He was right: she was pretty. And young, for a candidate.

And it had been a revealing bikini.

She knew she looked good. Whether that was trading on looks too much was a matter of perspective.

I was silent for a moment, eyes on Vanessa, before I collected my thoughts for a reply.

"Look, I know there was some pearl-clutching from the religious types. Vanessa is provocative. You know that, Scott."

"Yeah..."

I'd addressed this point enough times over the last month that my fielding of it felt automatic. "And it was a Texas flag bathing suit. The woman bleeds red white and blue. The opposition is basically just doing our job for us if that's the best they've got. And we're deep enough in the campaign that I think that is the best they've got."

"Alright. Look, I had to ask."

I wasn't going to let the call end on that note. "But hey, I didn't answer your question. You wanted to know if I thought she was gonna win?"

Scott laughed. "C'mon, I know you think she will. You work for her."

Hook, line, and sinker. I'd been hoping he'd say that. "No, Scott, she might not win." I was emphatic. "I hope she will. But it is absolutely not guaranteed. There are a bunch of people asking themselves the same questions you're asking yourself right now. And most of those people don't have my phone number. So I'm hoping you'll stick with us; we can't afford to lose the folks like you in this moment."

"Mm. Yeah." He sounded cowed, thoughtful. "Okay. I take your point. I told her I'd talk to Maggie first, but you can just tell Vanessa we're in for the fundraiser. She can pick the date. Have your people shoot me an email and we'll figure it all out."

"Thanks, Scott." I hung up.

Vanessa was giving me a slow clap. "Wow. I'm impressed. Maybe you should run for Senate."

"Hah. No thanks." I realized I was sweating; that was, probably, the single most important call I'd field this entire campaign cycle, and two minutes ago I hadn't even known it was coming. Mostly I was behind-the-scenes, focused on strategy, and didn't have to handle calls like that. I breathed out a sigh of relief. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

She gave me an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Larry. There were a lotta kind words in there for me."

I shrugged, gave her a much shakier smile. "Eh. It's what I think. If you do have some skeleton I don't know about, keep it under wraps until after the campaign, so Scott doesn't kill me, alright?"

"Okay." Soberly, she said, "I'll make sure nobody knows about my secret lesbian lover until December. Or my secret Russian children. Or the Indian marriage I've kept hidden all these years. Or my torrid liaison with the President -- or was it the billionaire? It would be nice if I could have a torrid liaison with someone under the age of 60, admittedly, but I'll try to wait until December for that, too."

I started laughing halfway through the list. She was quoting tabloid headlines from the last few months, each more ridiculous than the last. Say nothing else about Vanessa Rao, she had a sense of humor.

She gave me a gratified smile, and stood up. "Anyway. Thanks. I'm lucky to have you on the team, Larry." She stepped around the desk and hugged me.

God, she really was gorgeous. The positive attention from her, the closeness, was intoxicating.

I pulled away before the way I was feeling about the hug got too inappropriate. "No problem, Vanessa."

Vanessa clapped her hands briskly. "Now. We're both heading to that fundraiser, yeah? You can ride with me, Abby will drive us. I just need to review the ad our TV guys just sent along."

She pulled up the final version of the ad I'd looked at earlier in the day. I watched over her shoulder.

It was the same, with the exception of the final image I'd offered feedback on. They'd replaced it with an image of her at a church she'd been at a week or two ago, looking sober, hands folded in front of her, listening to a sermon.

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. That closing shot looks like I'm at a funeral. They should replace it with something else."

It was so predictable that I laughed, before I could stop myself. She looked up at me, surprised.

"I had them change it," I admitted. "Their first try was a great photo of you, but you look like a magazine model, not a Senator. We need to show you've got gravitas."

She frowned. "I've got gravitas, but we talked about having ads that showcase who I am. I've got drive, passion. That I'll work hard for the state. Can't we go with something more...provocative?" She smirked, re-using the word I'd used on the phone with Scott.

I flushed, but tried to marshal my arguments. "Look, Vanessa. Voters know who you are. They've been hearing about you for months. The closing argument -- for the next three weeks -- has to be that you're Senate material. The incumbent's really focused on showing you're not."

Thinking quickly, I added, "Scott's question about those bathing suit pictures is exactly what we want to avoid more of. They know you've got plenty of Texas attitude and energy. We want to make sure they know you can be sober and authoritative in the spotlight, too."

I could see her waver; she could be stubborn, when she wanted. But then her expression relaxed, and she laughed, the sound easygoing. "Well, this is why you're advising me. We'll do it your way, Larry. See you at the car in a minute."

She brushed past me on her way out, the soft skin of one arm sliding along my hand.

I shivered.

---

Two weeks went by in a blink. Takeout food, long nights, busy days, endless calls and emails and conversations. I began to hear the words can we count on your support this November in my sleep.

But hey, Scott's fundraiser had broken records for Vanessa.

Vanessa was appearing on one of the more popular podcasts based out of Austin. I arrived a few minutes late -- I'd been talking to a journalist and it had run over. They'd already started filming when I arrived. Vanessa glanced at me, and surreptitiously gave me a thumbs-up -- she thought it was off to a strong start. Good.

I settled in next to one of the show's producers to listen in and intervene if needed. Vanessa's scheduler and driver, Abby -- an intense, nervous young woman who'd been her assistant prior to the campaign beginning -- was her only other staffer present. But even she looked reasonably relaxed.

She leaned over to me. "He's been flirting with her," she murmured.

"Shit," I muttered back.

Abby gave me a concerned glance. "What? He's lobbing her nothing but softballs. I figured it'd be a good thing."

I leaned close to whisper the reply. "She's running to be a fucking Senator, not a youtuber or wellness influencer. An interview where everybody thinks she was handled with kid gloves because some podcaster has a crush on her is just going to confirm that she's just a pretty face."

Abby nodded, thoughtful. She was green, but smart -- it reminded me of myself at the start of my career, actually.

The host was a generically handsome, well-built man in his late 30s -- Eli, I recalled. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said LIFT HEAVY. BUY CRYTPO. on it. Personally, I thought he seemed detestable. But there was no denying that his show was a big platform.

He'd made his money picking a number of winning meme coins before starting an investing advice podcast. Over time, it had morphed into a commentary/current events podcast that topped the charts, with a variety of guests; he'd interview anybody in the public spotlight.

He'd already interviewed Vanessa's opponent last week.

As we were talking, Vanessa and Eli resumed whatever exchange they'd been having. It seemed like pretty typical interview stuff. Their conversation meandered through her background, her policy platform, why she was running, and so on. Lots of focus on crypto, on AI -- all the favorite hobbyhorses of the podcasting circuit.

It was going well, I had to admit. Yeah, a little flirty. But Vanessa had the kind of engaging presence that was infectious in this one-on-one setting, so I wasn't exactly surprised. I could see the host was pleased, enjoying himself on two fronts: he was enjoying the conversation, and he knew this was certainly going to generate views.

Especially video views, I suspected, watching as their camera guy dialed in the shot they had on Vanessa, making sure that enough of her upper body was in focus and looked good.

I imagined what Scott and his friends would say if they watched the video feed. Well, so what? We couldn't change how she looked, and she did look good. No way around that.

And then we came to the part of the interview we'd spent dedicated time prepping for. The tricky part.

"So. It's really refreshing to see someone running for office who's so young." He favored her with a smile. "But lots of folks seem concerned about whether or not you've got enough relevant experience."

"To be frank, I think a lot of those folks are having their worries stoked by my opponent: an old guard, political bureaucrat, who doesn't wanna admit that a young woman is running circles around him. No, I haven't been hanging around the Texas statehouse and Washington D.C. for fifty years, I'll give you that. But I've got lots of experience."

She leaned forward, earnestly, as she spoke. Vanessa was in what had become her unofficial 'campaign-casual' uniform: jeans, a branded scoop neck campaign t-shirt, and a blazer. The shift in the posture made the blazer and scoop neck fall away from her chest.

Eli's eyes flicked down, taking in the lush skin of her upper chest. "Yeah?" I could see that his brain was operating on autopilot with the view in front of him.

"Oh yeah." Vanessa's drawl elongated the first word just enough to make the implication about her experience suggestive. I wasn't sure if she'd done it on purpose or not.

But then she continued, "The right kind of experience. I served overseas. Started my own successful small business, sold it to a much bigger firm. I'm running because I know exactly what it's like to be a small business owner struggling to succeed..."

Vanessa rattled off our standard answers. I smiled tightly, with satisfaction. She'd gotten good at them.

"...And hey, I can say with confidence that all this gives me more insight into how to help help American businesses and families thrive than my opponent, I'll tell you that much. The last time he had to work for a living was in the 1980s. He's out of touch, and it shows. I mean, just look at his voting record." She finished, giving Eli a coy smile.

Eli laughed. "Ha! Well. Speaking of your opponent, I want to play you a clip from my interview with him last week, and give you the chance to respond."

They both looked at a screen off to one side. I knew what clip it would be; we'd prepared for this, too.

Eli on screen, this time sporting a GOD, GUNS, AND BITCOIN t-shirt. Across from him was Vanessa's opponent.

A jowly, grey-haired, political lifer of a Texan, stiff in a navy suit he'd worn to a media appearance he probably didn't understand. No doubt some communications intern had needed to explain to him that this millennial's podcast had more subscribers than the Wall Street Journal.

I took in the visual contrast. He looked positively fossilized; with Vanessa, in the same seat, the choice between age and energy could not have been more pronounced. I broke into a smile. Maybe this would go okay.

"So, tell me what you think of your opponent," Eli said, affably, on the video clip.

"Well, she's a spirited kid, I'll give her that," he responded. God, her opponent sounded just like he looked: tired. "But this is a serious job. I know it pretty well; I've been doing it a little while now."

On the clip, Eli laughed politely at the understatement.

The man continued. "And I can tell you that I'm not sure she's got the presence, the leadership you want in someone who's going to be in high-stakes decisionmaking. She's passionate, sure. But for this job, you want reliability. Steadiness. Leadership. Not some feisty firebrand, no matter how pretty she is. For example, in last year's appropriations package, we had to decide whether to prioritize..."

Eli cut the clip there. "A spirited kid," he repeated. "Feisty. Pretty. What do you say to all that?"

Vanessa snorted, derisively. "Well, for starters, I'm not sure I want advice on what it takes to be a Senator for someone who's been warming the same seat for more than two decades, doing things the same way. Eli, you weren't even born the first time that man ran for office. Just think about that for a minute -- the entire time you've been alive, he's just been sitting in our Statehouse or the Capitol. Don't you think we need someone in that seat who's a little more in touch with what life is like for the rest of us?"

Nice. She'd nailed our agreed upon line. Eli laughed in spite of himself. Good time to pivot.

"And, beyond that, I'll be honest with you, Eli. I don't especially like some of the implications behind his language." Vanessa paused, ran a hand through her mane of dark hair.

I frowned. This was not the thing to pivot to. I tried to catch her eye. Gave her a slight shake of the head.

She did return my look, briefly. Gave me a level gaze.

Then she shrugged out of her blazer, like a boxer taking off their robe before hopping in the ring for a prize fight. "I mean, look. Texas is a state full of spirited firebrands. The idea that he thinks it's a bad thing tells me he's been in Washington way too long."

"Sounds like you think he's underestimating you." Eli's reply was almost absentminded; he was studying Vanessa's body, the way the t-shirt clung to the swell of her breasts, the lithe bare arms now on display.

"Hell yes, I think he's underestimating me." Vanessa gave him a deadly smile. "But I like being underestimated. Won't be the first time a man's made that mistake, let me tell you."

"I can believe that." Eli's tone was admiring, now.

"I mean, Eli -- some men just don't know what to do with a woman like me. What was it he said? Passionate?"

"He said feisty and pretty, too," Eli added, helpfully stoking the fire.

"Well, he rattles 'em off like they're bad things." Vanessa winked at Eli. "But I don't think so. And I don't think most Texans do either. What do you think? I mean, I feel like we're having a good conversation, don't you? I'm not too pretty to talk policy with, am I?"

"Mmm." Eli, slightly flushed, made a sound of tentative agreement. Maybe distracted, maybe just not sure she was right.

Vanessa gave him a winning smile. "And, hey, I get that he's trying to score points. I don't look like his typical colleague in the Senate, that's for sure. If I had a dollar for every time someone suggested I run for Miss Texas instead of for political office, it'd fund my whole campaign."

I grimaced. Not good. She was just drawing more attention to her appearance.

But Eli was laughing appreciatively at that, and clearly happy to talk about it more. "I mean, you are a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. And the media's certainly been covering your looks closely. Does that ever get old?"

"Why thank you, Eli. You're sweet." She paused, giving him an approving smile. He blushed. Actually blushed.

She continued. "Of course it gets old. But, it also means that when I get to the Senate, it will hardly be the first time I've been surrounded by men who were all staring at my body. I've been in rooms like that my whole life."

She glanced around the room. Every man in the room shifted a little, me included. Next to me, I heard Abby let out a small, delighted laugh.

Eli laughed again too, though it was a little more uncomfortable this time -- perhaps recognizing that he was now being lumped in with them. "And you don't think your appearance is a distraction from the important issues in the campaign?"

She rolled her eyes, with a smile. "Ah, c'mon, Eli, you're living proof that a man can appreciate a woman for being beautiful, and take her seriously as a political candidate, aren't you? I mean, we just spent an hour talking about all my policy platforms before you started in on my looks."

"Uh...right." Eli was uncertain, now, perhaps aware that he was losing control of the conversation. "I mean, I wouldn't say I started in-"

Vanessa cut in, smoothly, leaning forward to make her point. "My point is just that I'm not here to be eye candy; I'm here to win for the great state of Texas. But I look the way I look. Men who can't handle it -- who are intimidated, who can't take me seriously, whatever -- won't vote for me. Everybody's got to make up their own mind on that point."

Without the blazer, leaning forward like this, the effect was devastating. The scoop neck fell away further, revealing a lacy black bra, full tits, that coffee-with-creamer skin. I wondered if the camera angle caught it. I was certainly staring.

So was Eli. "So you think..." he visibly tried to regain his equilibrium and failed. "You think that men who don't vote for you are doing it because they can't handle you?"

"C'mon now, Eli. You know I didn't say that." Vanessa chided. She leaned back again, poised. "I'm saying that men who are so distracted by my appearance that they can't take me seriously as a candidate won't vote for me. And I accept that. I think I can win anyway."

She gave Eli a cheshire-cat, canary-eating, self-satisfied, feline smile. "I mean, you're proof that not all men are like that, right Eli?"

You could see his Adam's apple visibly bob as he swallowed, accepting the lifeline she was throwing him. "Right. I mean, we had a robust policy discussion, I-I thought your points about the way small businesses would benefit from some limited crypto regulation and that might expand its usage were, uh, interesting."

"Right," she smiled encouragingly at him, a teacher's affection for a slow pupil who was finally catching up. "Men like you who give me hope for the future of our state, Eli. I know I'll win your vote -- or not -- on the merits of my arguments, and who you think will best-represent the state in the Senate. That's all I'm hoping for."

Well. She'd pivoted back to the answer I'd hoped she'd give, in the end. And I thought she'd come off okay in that exchange; there were a few things the opposition would turn into sound bytes, but that was always true. And she'd gotten a few zingers we'd use, as well.

Relieved to be off the topic, Eli turned to a few other softball questions -- current events, what sports teams she was a fan of, that sort of thing -- before wrapping up. “Well, that's Vanessa Rao for you, everybody. The woman making all of Texas sit up and pay attention. Thanks for coming by, Vanessa."

"Thanks, Eli. And hey, remember to vote on November 3. Ideally for me, obviously. But even if you don't. It's only We the People if we the people show up at the polls, y'all."

The interview wrapped and Vanessa peeled off her headphones, collecting her notes gracefully. Eli shook her hand, eyes lingering on her body. “You were really, uh, engaging.”

She pressed his hand warmly, leaned in and turned the handshake into a quick hug. “You're too sweet, Eli. I had fun.”

"Yeah, fun," he echoed, a little lamely.

I recognized the charmed, off-kilter look in his eyes as she stood up, walked over to me and Abby.

I recognized it, because, I had to admit, I felt a little entranced myself.

On our way out, I leaned over towards Vanessa. "Y'know, some of your answers were..."

Her smile was sly. “Aw, Larry. I knew you wouldn't like it. I was just being myself. And I think it turned out fine; Eli seemed to like me. Men are so predictable. What's wrong, worried the voters are all like those men I was talking about, the ones who can't handle women like me?”

He felt his cheeks flush. “No, I just—”

She spoke over me, voice low. “Larry, I feel like this is becoming a pattern with you. First the campaign ad, now this...” As she spoke, she shrugged back into her blazer. The movement caused her to hunch forward, treating me to that same view down the front of her t-shirt she'd given Eli earlier.

"The voters have to see me for who I am, Larry. And I think they can handle the real me."

God, her tits looked so good. I pulled my gaze up to her eyes only to realize she'd been watching me stare down her shirt. Shit.

But she just gave me a knowing smile. "Can you handle me?"

Embarrassed to have been caught staring, I had no reply. And then she smoothly slid in the car and pulled the door closed behind her.

I could still see her condescending smile through the tinted glass as Abby pulled away, driving her to her next appointment.

---

Another week later. Friday morning; the home stretch. Election day was Tuesday.

I had slept at the campaign office. A few of us had. I mostly didn't do that, but really late nights were unavoidable in the last few days, and while I preferred my bed at home, sometimes the only way to claw back a few minutes to relax in the final few days was to remove commuting from the equation.

It meant that, at around 4AM, when my phone started pinging with text messages, I was only ten feet away from my desk. The messages poured in: from campaign volunteers, from staff. From donors, even Scott. Worst of all, from one or two journalists I knew well.

Every message was some version of the same thing: Uh, Larry, have you seen this yet?

Fuck. It must be bad.

I got up, microwaved some leftover coffee from last night.

After that, I probably should've pulled up some of the news articles about it that were popping up. Started drafting a statement. Pulled together our press people to strategize, maybe. Called our lawyers.

But I decided I'd see for myself first what all the fuss was about. I pulled the blinds on my office, and clicked the link a few folks had sent directly, which simply read: Vote Vanessa Rao on November 3.

The video began autoplaying. Vanessa's perfect features were immediately onscreen: those full lips, her signature red lipstick. Dark eyes sparkling, jet black hair shining in the camera. The screen was focused on her face, neck up. The room behind her was nondescript.

"Hi there," she purred to the camera. "I'm Vanessa Rao, and I'm hoping you'll vote for me Tuesday. I'm wondering if we can come to an...arrangement...to make sure you do."

When had she filmed this? Why was she talking that way? Her tone was...well, seductive. There wasn't another way to put it.

"So here's the deal, fellas. I'm gonna give you a little show. If I get you to cum...I get your vote." She licked her lips.

Ah, shit. My heart sank. Now it made sense. Deepfake porn, the latest example of AI-driven election interference. Something like that.

But the face looked like her. A little younger...maybe? Or maybe just good lighting. Was her makeup different? I wasn't sure, and if I wasn't sure, it had to be really accurate -- I'd spent more time with Vanessa over the last nine months than just about anybody else. Even her own parents.

And the voice sounded, without question, exactly like her. It had her characteristic twangs and drawl, the amused superiority, all of it.

"If you don't cum, well...I suppose if you want, you can vote for a geriatric man whose cock probably hasn't worked since before I went to college." She pouted, as if the very idea upset her, but then smiled again. "I think we both know what'll happen, though. So if you don't want to vote for me, you shouldn't keep watching, should you? You can just turn the video off, now."

Her words sent a jolt through me. What was I doing, actually watching this? I moved the mouse to close the window; I should stop it here. I'd seen enough to understand what the statement should say, there was no reason to-

Onscreen, Vanessa stepped back from the camera. She was wearing a bikini. A bikini with the Texas flag on it, the blue bar and Lone Star State's single star over one full breast; red and white bars over the other.

Just like the bikini she'd worn in those photos from last month.

My hand fell away from the mouse. I kept watching, openmouthed.

The bikini top was a little small for her; it put her on display more than it provided support or coverage. It didn't push her tits together because they were big enough, firm enough that they didn't need any help to be pushed together; the full rounded curves of each breast grazed each other enticingly all on their own, practically spilling out of the top.

Her stomach was flat -- tawny smooth skin interrupted only briefly by the skimpy blue-and-white bikini bottoms, toned, smooth legs flawlessly flowing down.

I could hear my own pulse pounding in my ears.

Vanessa gave the camera a knowing smile. "Now, if you're still watching, it means one of two things: either you're a hypocrite, who's gonna watch this regardless of how you've vote, or you've agreed to my little wager. And you're not a hypocrite, are you?" She paused, biting her lip and tilting her head to one side as if in thought.

The question brought me lurching back to reality. I should close the video. I'd seen enough. I should get to work on a statement, talking points.

I didn't.

"Mmm, I didn't think so," she purred, onscreen. "So you're taking the bet. Well, good. Get your cock out, then."

I managed not to do that, at least. For now. Although I could feel how hard I'd gotten, my erection straining against the confinement of my boxers.

"Maybe you're thinking," Vanessa said, conversationally, "That I've got a high opinion of myself. Maybe you're thinking that you take a lot longer than five minutes to finish. That this'll be easy. Maybe you don't like me, or my politics; you're thinking this is a chance to prove that I'm not all that."

Vanessa gave the camera -- the deepfake-AI-creation gave the camera, I mentally amended, clinging to the knowledge that this couldn't be real -- a wicked smile.

"But maybe you're wrong," she whispered, sensually. "Maybe you've never been with a woman like me. Maybe you have no idea what you're in store for."

God, this was fucked up. My cock was so hard now that it was almost painful. The need was so urgent, all consuming. Almost absentmindedly, I ran my hand down, pressing my palm against my hard shaft. I let out a small grunt at the pleasurable sensation. Fuck. It wasn't just how hot she was; the combination of shame and arousal was intoxicating.

I shouldn't be doing this.

I kept watching.

She gave a crooked smile. "Some of you are probably close to losing my little bet already. Some of you are just getting started, maybe. But all of you are hard, I bet." She winked. "Men are so predictable."

Jesus Christ. She'd said that to me after the podcast interview. This was so...so real. Maybe they'd used those tabloid photos as reference material, somehow? I didn't know enough about AI to know how they'd done this, except to know that it looked, spoke, felt just like her.

Just like her if she were urging me to jerk off for her.

As I watched, she brought her hands up to her breasts, squeezing them through the bikini. "My tits look pretty good in this, huh? Can't blame my old navy buddies for leaking those photos." She leaned forward, conspiratorially. "I have to tell you, though. My tits look even better out of it. You are stroking, aren't you?"

She giggled. I stared at her tits, at their obvious weight, the way the bikini strained to contain them.

Then she sat up again, pivoting so she was twisted to one side, her body in frame from upper thigh to her face. I stared at her silhouette in profile, the round globe of her ass on display, the way her tits looked from the side, barely covered by that bikini.

"Go on. Pump. Stroke for my body. Just because you're stroking doesn't mean you'll cum, right? I mean, you're in control, I'm just on the screen...it doesn't mean you have to vote for me."

She lingered in that position, shifting back and forth a little, showing off first her butt, then her tits, before moving back down so her face was in front of the camera.

"Of course, kind of embarrassing for you, if you're one of those guys who insisted that I'm just a pretty face, but here you are." Her perfect lips curved up into a arrogant smile. "Just can't stop yourself from pumping away."

I was barely restraining myself from furiously masturbating, but I managed. God, she was hot.

"Now, if you watched this far, I'm proud of you. You must be such a strong man. But you'd better be stroking it nice and fast, now. After all," she said, innocently, "You are a real man, right? You don't need to hold back just to last five whole minutes, do you? And I am about to take my top off, so you'll want to really enjoy this..."

Teasingly, she started toying with the strands of the bikini tied behind her neck.

I was breathing hard, I realized. Close to cumming. I knew if I started jerking off, it would take no time at all to finish.

So now not only did I feel guilty because I was watching the video. I felt humiliated too. Watching it was bad enough, but I was about to cum...and I hadn't even been jerking off. To deepfake porn of my boss. That I was watching four days before the biggest election of my career.

And I was sitting in my office, about to blow my load after just touching myself a little, through my pants.

It would be worse if I was actually jerking off to this, right?

The answer to that question turned out to be a definitive yes.

Because right at that moment, the door to my office opened, and Vanessa breezed in.

Fortunately for me, I was at a small desk, facing the door. As I saw it opening, I panicked, shutting the laptop. To my relief, the video's sound cut out immediately.

Vanessa didn’t say a word at first. It was still early, and she must've been on her way out the door for her morning run when she got the news that there was a crisis brewing; she was dressed in workout attire. It was an unseasonably chilly fall, and she was wearing black leggings and a tight, form-fitting long-sleeve black top. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

She closed the door behind her with a deliberate click. Turned, slowly. Which at least gave me a moment. The desk was small -- campaigns were notoriously cheap about furniture, and I was lucky I had an office with a door at all -- but from where she was standing now, it at least served to obscure her view of the incredibly obvious erection I was sporting.

Vanessa eyed me. "You've heard the news, I take it."

I nodded, hoping she'd mistake my embarrassment for upset. I took a hand, and rubbed my face. "I-it's just horrible. A violation. It’s disgusting. I can't believe anyone would-"

"Have you watched it?" Her voice cut in.

I risked a glance her way. I tried to lean into anger instead of the arousal I felt thrumming through me. "Just enough to understand the gist. So we can know how to respond. I'm going to have comms draft a statement, then call our attorneys, they'll-"

I saw her gaze drift coolly from my laptop to my redfaced, shaky demeanor. "You seem pretty upset on my behalf."

I tried to hide behind outrage. After all, it was outrageous, wasn't it? "Did you watch it yet?" I countered. "No woman deserves that. I-it's horrible."

"Yeah, you said horrible already. You're obviously very...worked up, Larry, just repeating yourself. And yes, I watched it." Vanessa stepped closer towards the desk. "All the way through."

I shook my head. I was finding it impossible to regain my cool, so I did my best to look frustrated, furious. Anything to mask the humiliating ache I was feeling in my cock. I knew it wouldn't go away, not with Vanessa here, in front of me, in this form-fitting attire. "It's a deepfake, right? I-I can't believe-"

She laughed, and I lapsed into silence.

"Did you really just ask me that?" She took another step closer, crossing her arms, amused. "Whether it's a really deepfake? What, because it might be real? Larry, come on. I suppose I should be flattered."

The way she was crossing her arms tugged the fabric of her top even snugger, showing off her breasts. I pulled my eyes off them, and sputtered out, "I-I just meant, um...a-a really forceful denial is going to be important for the media, they need to hear that you-"

"Why didn't you watch it all the way through, Larry?" She took another step closer. If she got any closer, there was no way the desk would be hiding my erection.

"It didn't...feel right," I managed. My mouth was dry.

She took one more step. I felt my stomach drop, but she was still holding my gaze.

"Is that it? It didn't feel right?" She said the words quietly. "Or did I interrupt you? Or...were going to lose the video's little wager if you kept watching?"

I made a wordless sound of denial.

"You're hard right now, aren't you?" Slowly, almost lazily, her eyes drifted down my body to the crotch, taking in my erection with an odd kind of satisfaction. "You're sitting there, trying to act all shocked and angry. But instead you're just turned on. Not even for me. For a video clip. One you didn't even get to finish."

Well, there was no point denying it; she could see the evidence right in front of her.

“You know what this means, right?” She sighed. “You can’t work for me anymore, Larry. I need a campaign advisor who can handle all of this."

"Vanessa, no, wait, I-I wasn't...I swear-" I wasn't sure what I was even objecting to. I tried to pull myself together. "I can handle it," I said, more firmly. "Look, I've put a lot on the line for you, Vanessa. Remember the phone call with Scott? C'mon, we're almost across the finish line here."

She snorted. "Well you're almost across the finish line, that's clear."

I blushed.

The reminder of the role I'd played in closing the latest ask with Scott was clearly enough to give her pause, though. At least for a moment. She looked reflective. "Y'know Scott's son even texted me to ask if the video was real? I don't think I've ever even met his son. No idea how he got my personal cell number."

I tried to take the chance to go on offense.

"Look, this is campaign crisis PR 101. First, we need to work to control the narrative," I managed, thinking quickly. "Get you out there with a strong statement. You're furious but undeterred, demand that the opposition to condemn this sort of thing, maybe even propose some legislation you'd introduce to protect young women from similar-"

Vanessa held up a finger. "Personnel first, Larry. Get your management team aligned before crisis comms begin. Someone once told me that."

I'd told her that, early on in the campaign season. I lapsed into silence.

She looked contemplative for a moment. "How much of the video did you watch? And be honest with me. "

It was mortifying. "U-um. Like...like two or three minutes."

"Ooh. I must've walked in just when it was getting good, huh?" She pulled one of the other chairs in the room over, sat next to me.

"I-it wasn't like that, I-"

"Here's the offer. The only offer." She bulldozed right over my protestation. "Prove you can handle it. That you weren't about to blow your load for some video of me. If you can last two more minutes -- with me, right now -- I'll believe you've got the mettle for the next few days. You keep your job."

Oh, god. My cock throbbed when she said blow your load. The lewd words coming out of her mouth sounded just like the video.

"If you can't last, though...you're done. Fired," she finished. She raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to reply.

I hesitated. I doubted I could last. Was I really not going to even try, though? I debated, internally. Maybe I should just gather the shreds of my dignity and resign.

"You know, I always worried about whether you really had what it took for this work, Larry. You got rave reviews from some of the candidates you've worked with...but I knew I was going to have to run a different campaign. You've been...uncomfortable, for a while now."

Well, that made me bristle. "I-I'm not uncomfortable," I said, defensively. "You've been making mistakes. I just like to win."

Her smile turned amused. "We all like to win, Larry, but not everybody has what it takes. Do you?"

"Vanessa, please, we should be talking to-"

"Larry. Focus. You watched the video, took that bet, but you won't take this one?" Vanessa scoffed.

I lapsed into silence.

Vanessa crossed her legs, casually. "You know, I think a lot of men are going to struggle to talk with me about the video after watching it," she said. "All happy to pontificate about how I'm just a pretty face, not qualified for office. But how many of those men couldn't resist watching the video? How many of them were too weak to last while they watched it?"

Her dark eyes bored into mine. "I think you're one of the weak ones, Larry."

The room was suddenly completely silent. She waited for me to respond.

Humiliated, resentful, and still throbbing, I gave in to what I really wanted.

"N-no," I whispered. "I'm not. I can last." There wasn't a lot of conviction in it, but I wanted to try.

I wanted this to happen.

"Let's find out, then." She leaned towards me, reached towards my lap, and decisively unzipped the fly of my pants in one swift motion.

And then I felt her hand slip inside, wrap around me, free my cock from my boxers.

I groaned.

"Well aren't you're a sticky mess. You sure you haven't cum already?" she murmured, disbelief in her voice.

I bucked my hips, reflexively, in response to her touch. She was right; I'd leaked all over myself, and her fist slipped easily down the length of my cock as I shoved it up into her hand.

I felt her grip tighten around me, begin stroking -- slowly, almost gently. "You know what I love about that video? Besides how good it makes my tits look, I mean. Really flattering."

"W-what?" I managed, trying to keep the desperate battle for control out of my face.

"I like how it calls out the hypocrisy." Her voice was elated. "You know how many views this video has across all the places it's posted, now? How many views in Texas it has? All these men who say I'm trading on my looks, who pretend to be so above it...well, most of them are staring at my tits, my body. Willing to watch a video, to jerk off. Needing to cum even when the video says they've got to vote for me if they do."

She was picking it up now, her grip even tighter, pumping me faster. I let out a moan at the sensations.

“It's pathetic. And you're pathetic, too. Just like them. You've been so worried about me being too sexy, too passionate, too much. But I'm not too much; I'm just too much for you."

"N-no." The denial came out as a whimper.

She just shook her head, as if she knew better than me.

"You know my favorite thing of all about this video, though, Larry? You had to ask if it was a deepfake." She whispered the words out.

I could feel the orgasm that was about to be unleashed over me looming. I said nothing, bit back more moans, fighting with my body for control.

"It really looks like me. And because of that, when you're sitting at home, in your apartment, watching me win on Tuesday, you're gonna wonder. You'll wonder if it's really a deepfake. Maybe I made it myself, you'll think. That would be insane. But you'll never know, not for sure. And neither will any of the other guys who can't handle it."

I made another sound, a strained, disbelieving, grunt. It was all I could manage, as I tried to keep control of myself.

"You're going to blow your load. I've only been touching you for, what -- twenty seconds? Maybe thirty? But that video had you so close already."

Her hand was relentless. She was stroking my cock so vigorously now that her breasts shifted, wobbling a little with each firm, tight pump of her hand. I stared at her tits, entranced.

"You need to cum now, don’t you? Just go ahead, Larry. I mean, if you do, you lose your job -- not to mention your dignity -- but that's not important anymore, is it?” Her expression was neutral, but the smug smirk in her voice came through as clearly as if it was plastered on her face. "You need to get off for me. My face. My body. My voice, telling you how you won't even last five minutes. You and another half-million people in Texas, apparently."

"Oh god," I whispered, struggling. I was gripping the arms of the chair, digging my nails in, trying to hold back, trying to last-

"Just blow your load." Her eyes glittered, watching me grapple with my need, expertly jerking me off. “Do it. Cum.”

At the word, I exploded. There was no way to resist. Moaning, shuddering, I orgasmed into her hand, all the pent up humiliation, arousal, and frustration boiling up out of me on her command.

"Well," she said, looking down matter-of-factly at her hands, my groin, the mess I'd made. The mess she'd made. "Now we both know what kind of man you are, don't we?"

I was still recovering, and didn't respond.

Vanessa was all business once again, grabbing a box of Kleenex and wiping her hands clean with a wad of them, tossing them in the trash. "Clean up and get out. We'll give you the usual exit package for a senior campaign staffer who departs early. I've got a crisis to manage."

She strode out of the room.

It was the last time I saw her in person.

---

She was right.

She won, on election night. Not a landslide victory -- it had been close. Probably closer than she wanted. I could imagine her, lips pursed in disapproval as she watched the race come down to slim margins in a few key swing counties.

But she'd won.

And she wasn't just right about that.

As I watched her acceptance speech from my apartment, alone, I wondered.

She'd never specifically said that it was a deepfake. Not to me in our brief, final conversation.

And, I couldn't help but notice, not to the media either, in her replies. Never directly.

She had a lot to say, of course. She talked about the cultural objectification of women. The Texas good ol' boys club, the way they were cavorting over this video. How this was the natural result of men making so much much of her appearance on the campaign trail. A consequence of the embarrassingly juvenile arguments her opponent was using. A sick attempt, building on the narrative the incumbent had built, to discredit her on the eve of an important election.

She asked, insisted, that her opponent condemn it. Questioned whether he'd seen it, watched it himself. When he said he hadn't wanted to watch it, she suggested it was because he didn't truly care. When he then said that he had watched it, she rolled her eyes and asked what he thought of it. Her tone heavily suggested that she suspected he'd finished to it.

She carefully, artfully, implied that maybe his campaign was responsible for the video's release in the first place. Or at least the speed with which it had spread, the degree to which everyone was talking about it. Said we really ought to focus on the issues, like Vanessa had been saying all along. Said her first act as a Senator would be to introduce a bill that more strongly regulated AI as it related to identity fraud -- something the incumbent had failed to do for the better part of a decade, in spite of the obvious risks and growing concerns.

Several other sitting Senators -- from both sides of the aisle -- chimed in to indicate what a wise idea that was, and their support of such a potential bill. A clear demonstration of her bipartisan leadership, if elected.

It was, honestly, a masterclass in crisis communications. The professional in me was thoroughly impressed. Vanessa was booked solid on media appearances all the way through election day. I watched her talk about it for hours.

In fact, I watched her on talk shows almost as much as I watched the video clip itself. And I watched that a lot.

I played it, over and over. I searched for some definitive proof -- some imperfection in her skin that wasn't present in the video, some flicker in a frame, an oddity in her accent, anything that wasn't quite right. Or something that was an exact match, proved it beyond question to be a real video of her.

I found neither. Nothing. The only thing that I discovered, anew, was my own shame...as, watching it over and over, I'd eventually devolve from looking for clues to jerking off.

The media had AI experts on to discuss it. It hadn't been created with a commercially available AI model, must've been some kind of tailor-made technology. Commentators deconstructed techniques they suspected were used in the video, lamented the clear risks this posed to future elections. The video file itself had been carefully scrubbed of all evidence as to its provenance. But the experts all seemed to take for granted that it was AI-created, a deepfake of some kind.

After all, why would a candidate for Senate create and circulate a video of herself like that?

Conspiracy theorists were having a field day, of course, but there was no unified theory. Authorship of the video was attributed to every prominent technologist and billionaire on the planet. People blamed the President, a CIA covert operation, election interference from every other world power. And, yeah, there were some people who thought she'd made it herself, that it was real, but that appeared to be a minority view.

So in the end: I didn't know whether it was real or not. Just like she'd said.

I sighed. I muted her acceptance speech. I fired up the video to play again anyway, studying the swell of her breasts in the bikini, the shape of her thighs, the round peach of an ass as she twisted. Listened to that southern accent. My hand drifted down, towards my cock. I was getting hard again, staring at the screen.

I was looking for something, I told myself.

I just wasn't sure what I was hoping I'd find, anymore.

---