We have some talented bastards and bastardettes here. Earlier this week I asked you to contribute your best Condi + Qadaffi romance fiction and you came up big.
First of all, let’s give a special round of applause to MrAnansi for his amazing paperback cover featuring a bit of not-so-subtle frottage. You are a photoshopping genius, sir!
Also, let’s not forget SummerofLove’s excellent book cover contribution. I can almost see what Qadaffi sees in Condi there! (Stab me now.)
Our third runner-up in the fiction contest is Miss Anita Manbadly, who wastes no time cutting to the chase:
The Arabian Cad’s Reluctant Countess
It was hot that day at the dunes. So hot the heat shimmered in waves over the sand, making Condi wonder what was illusion and what was real.
Muammar stood above her on the dune, sweat dripping from his furry near-nakedness. “You, Condi. You are my sophisticated panty-flashing half-alien girl who will do anything for chocolate. Anything at all. Won’t you?”
Condoleeza put down her magazine and looked up from where she lay on the sand. “Muammar, you are the one who will do anything for chocolate. Besides, you are also the pigtailed android vampire with high-tech underwear. I am the shape-shifting nymphomaniac office lady!”
“Of course, my … office lady.” Muammar paused. “Office lady? Really?”
“Oh, forget it, ” Condi snapped. “You really don’t have the hang of this role-playing thing at all. Let’s just go to your motel room.”
2nd runner-up is Homoviper:
Condoleezza’s ebony fingers tickled the ivory keys, playing a soulful tune. As she leaned into her playing the right strap of her dress slid from her shoulder.
Muammar adjusted his coiffure in the mirror, but he looked only at the reflection of his beloved.
“Leezza,” he whispered.
She did not answer, so wrapped up was she in her playing.
“Leezza, my darling.” He turned to face her.
Her eyes were closed, her brow tensed up somewhere between concentration and ecstasy. Muammar approached her silently and laid his hands on her shoulders. She stopped playing, startled, and looked up at him.
“I love you Leezza,” he whispered.
“I love you, MuMu,” she replied, leaning against him and taking his hands into her own.
He hooked a finger into her dress strap and slipped it down. In one quick motion, MuMu scooped Leezza into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. He lifted her into the air, and her foot rebounded against the piano keys, sending a shrill, dissonant chord into the air.
“Oh, MuMu,” she whimpered, nuzzling her cheek against his furry chest. “Take me to the bedroom,” she whispered, curling his chest hair around her fingers.
“My Leezza,” he growled. He strode to the music room doors and kicked them open, his darling clutched in his arms the whole time.
The long, shadowy corridor to the bedroom was littered with mangled bodies, but the lovers paid them no attention as they traveled dark step by dark step to their pleasure chamber.
1st runner-up is CubeRootofPi, who is obviously disturbingly familiar with romance novels!
Condi burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. She flung herself onto the couch, sobbing heavily.“Leezza, honey, what is the matter?”
Condi looked up as the tall, crinkle-faced man stood in front of her. Gently wiping the tears from her eyes, he enveloped her in his arms as he sat down beside her.
“Mu, please, it’s ok, nothing’s the matter…”
Muammar looked into her large, brown eyes as they welled up with tears again. Her luscious lips, the ones that he had wished to kiss for so long, quivered as her face scrunched into a sob.
“Dick and Rummy are being mean again! They don’t understand! I love George, I’d do anything for him…”
“Shhh….shh…..”
“I know he loves me, I do! But he won’t leave that woman Laura, I don’t understand…”
Muammar gently lifted Condi’s chin up and looked at her deep brown eyes. “Forget George,” he whispered.
“But… but…”
“Rummy and Dick hate you because they want George for themselves. Look at how that cadaver cunt looks at him. Forget them and forget George.”
Condi stared at him, aghast. “How, how can you say that?”
Muammar cupped her face in his hands. “Leezza, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a long time. When I first lay eyes on you, I knew that you were the One. The way you order everyone around, your perfect ebony hair, your lovely chestnut skin, those lovely boots in your lovely legs….”
“Mu, I…I don’t know what to…”
He pressed his lips against hers, kissing her fiercely. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back as they fell onto the couch. Suddenly, Condi pulled her head back, pulling herself away from Muammar as she stood from the couch.
“I….I can’t. George needs me. I can’t leave him, I…”
Muammar stood behind her, gently massaging her shoulders as he sent light, fluttery kisses down her neck. Condi sighed heavily as he slipped her jacket off her shoulders.
“Leezza, you are the most beautiful National Security Advisor I have ever known. I have and always loved you. Please, forget this George. Please, be my queen, even if it’s just for one night.”
Condi leaned her head back towards Muammar, slowly falling into his awaiting arms. As they fell to the floor, Condi lay her hands on his broad, manly chest and kissed him fiercely.
“Just this night,” she whispered as she tore at his robe.
Condi stepped into the bathroom door arms akimbo, backlit by the florescent lights in the cheap Days Inn. The setting wasn’t ideal, but at least it was low-profile, and besides, they both liked these encounters better when they were a bit on the tawdry side. “You like a little dirt in your sandwich, don’t you?” she’d asked one sweaty afternoon in a dun-colored room in Marrakesh. He was still catching his breath, but he hoped his wide eyes and slow, emphatic nod conveyed his feelings.Muammar lay on the bed with his arms above his head, his wrists chafing against the ropes Condi had scuffed up in advance of their tryst. She was always planning ahead, and that’s what he found so attractive about her. That and those big, soft eyes, and those big, soft pianist hands, and that Alabama accent she’d worked her whole life to suppress, the one that came out only in the throes of her wildest ecstasies. She was wearing thigh-high patent leather boots, black lace garters and fishnet stockings, a slate gray corset, and in her left hand, she held a riding crop. With the lights behind her, Muammar couldn’t tell if she was smiling, but he pretended she was; he closed his eyes.
“Please, National Security Advisor Rice, don’t leave me waiting,” he said, unable to keep from grinning. “I’m a danger to my people and my neighbors.”
Condi snapped her wrist down, the tip of the crop landing with a satisfying snap on the top of her left boot. “That you are, Colonel, that you are.” She walked slowly toward him, her long legs crossing one another as she moved and making her hips sway hypnotically.
“But you won’t stop me. You’ll never stop me,” he said, unable to wipe the smile off his face. The sting of a gloved hand on his cheek did the trick for him. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed the gloves.
Condi was standing over him now, dangling a blindfold languidly from her fingertips. “We’re in a new world,” she purred, and Muammar felt the tiny rips of fishnets brushing against his abdomen, the weight of her body coming to rest on his abdomen. It was slightly awkward because she was crushing his balls, but he didn’t dare speak up.
“There’s been plenty of ultimatums,” she continued. God I love it when she fails to use the proper Latin plural form, he thought. “One thing that we better be very clear about is that we can’t continue to have the kind of defiance of the United Nations, the defiance of the international community that we’ve had,” she said as she took one of his earlobes in her teeth.
Yes, he thought. Fuck and yes.
