The clock radio turned on at 9:00 AM, playing jazz from WBGO Radio, 88.3. Bill Clinton opened his eyes. The jazz made him feel warm and fuzzy, and it was a good way to start the day, particularly the incredibly dreary days he had been spending lately. He slowly got out of bed, feeling every muscle and bone complain. As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, he felt his gut ball up, filling like a hard rubber balloon. He had to piss real bad, but he also had a fairly nice erection going on. He briefly thought about masterbating, but then decided against it, fearing it might drain the day of one crucial life fuel he had left. Clinton also had a talk to give later that day at Hunter College with Political Science students in Manhattan, mostly young women, and he had found that a bit of abstinence increased the libido and made his talks more interesting and enjoyable. He struggled to the bathroom for a shower and shave.
Bill walked downstairs wearing a bathrobe, clean shaven, hair brushed back and wet, planning to have a nice big cup of coffee. The large house was empty. Hillary was gone, after a long night of heavy breathing. Clinton had the heart operation, and yet his wife sounded like a wild boar at times during the night. As he came down the stairs, it occurred to him that he did not have much to look forward to. What was there to do next? Just more speeches and talk shows? Becoming a professor was like announcing your burial. He had thought about acting, but Hillary had said no to that. And to top it all off, his presidency, his legacy, was totally stained by, well, by that very thing. He smiled at the irony but felt a sharp pain in his belly.
As he walked through the living room toward the kitchen he was startled by a man sitting on the white couch. He was wearing a grey suit. It was soiled with dry blood, and the man looked like he was missing a quarter of his upper right head. He had a hole in his neck, as well. Then he recognized the man. It was John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
"Hello, Bill," said JFK.
Bill rubbed his eyes and tried to focus them again on the man with half a head.
"Yes, it is me. Ex-Presidents can sometimes talk to each other, even after they have passed away," said JFK.
"This is a trick. Is FOX News behind this? Is there some hidden camera here?" Bill asked.
"There is no reason to be concerned. I mean, look at me. This is how I looked when I was last alive. But I am not here to talk about how I died. I will let others do that. I would like to talk about how lucky I am, or was, and how you totally screwed things up," said JFK.
"I don't really need to hear this. Not right now," said Bill.
"We are cut from the same cloth but came from different backgrounds. I came from money and power. You came from white trash. But the cloth is the same. We both liked women." JFK forced a smile through his discolored face.
"Don't use the past tense when referring to me, Mr. President. I still like women." said Bill.
"Yes. Yes. Of course. But consider the women you had, Bill. I was picking fruit from the top of the tree. You were digging in the dirt pulling out rotten mushrooms," said JFK.
Bill re-tied the terry-cloth strap around his bathrobe. "Oh, Judith Exner is further up the tree than Monica Lewinsky? Give me a break. Monica was a legitimate intern in the White House. Exner was some mob slut. So really all you are talking about is Marilyn, right? Marilyn Monroe is all you got on me," Bill said defensively.
"Ah, yes, dear dear Marilyn." JFK said this as if he was remembering.
"So, how was she? Marilyn, that is?" asked Bill.
"Lively. Eager to please. She had nice hands and used them well. Marilyn was very strong on the outside, a tough broad that had totally broken apart just below the surface. It made her work hard and allowed me to take what I wanted. She would eventually collapse into a deep coma. A rag doll." JFK said this with pride, without a hint of shame.
"Wow." Bill was entranced with the thought.
"She snored, though." JFK interjected.
"She snored. It sort of soils the memory, and the rag doll thing lost its appeal. I moved on to others. Others you do not know," said JFK. With that, JFK slowly rises from the couch and walks to the front door, which he opens.
"Wait. I have more questions," yelled Bill.
The light from the open door was blinding. "Another time, Bill. I shall stop by another time." JFK walked out and closed the door.
Marilyn snored. Hillary snores. He needed that coffee. Bill walked into the kitchen to start his day.