Chapter 5: Intimate Friends

Private political meetings often had some low-level sexual interest and tension. I remember talking with one of our group, who was one of President Nixon’s personal secretaries. Above all, Miriam DeRuyter was extremely competent. She was also one of those women for whom flirting is as natural as breathing. When she went to work at the White House, the Director of Oval Office Operations told them that they certainly could be fashionable, but not extreme. In practice, that meant that she usually wore business suits with a hem a couple of inches above the knee, or what some people called moderate mini -- enough to see that she had thighs, but not to display them as much as usual.

Xaviera Hollander, the “Happy Hooker”, a Dutch woman, was prominent in the news as a successful, high-end madam. Miriam and Xaviera had a striking resemblance, with white-blonde hair in bangs, bright blue eyes, and curvy figures. She enhanced a naturally ruddy complexion, outside the office, with bold blush and extensive lip makeupp She showed off full, even slightly heavy, legs in her shortish skirts.

This chat was after dinner. We had adjourned to a conversation area in the nearby lounge.

Miriam confided, “Mr. Nixon is a great boss, at least for other than the policy level. I won’t get into detail, but sometimes he yells at the senior advisers or cabinet officers. He couldn’t be nicer to the administrative staff or housekeepers, although the housekeepers wish that he wouldn’t try to help clear the table. The rumors about his being clumsy are true. He usually breaks dishes when trying to help.

“Anyway, I’m careful about appropriate behavior when I’m at work, but I don’t erase my personality. I absolutely don’t try to seduce, but I do some friendly flirting with staff -- smiles, licking lips, letting my skirt ride up a little. But I remember a time when I was sitting in the Oval Office, and found myself wiggling, as I often do, showing off some leg.”

In her lounge seat. Miriam crossed her legs and smiled, as her hem rose a bit. “The President gave me a very puzzled expression. Before I realized what I was doing, I pressed my shoulders together and my bust rose. My skirt rose an inch or two. I realized that he noticed, but he simply didn’t react -- in fact, he was studiously ignoring what might be a wardrobe malfunction. Over time, I realized that he’s effectively asexual, but also realized he didn’t mind some suggestiveness around his people, as long as it didn’t embarrass him.”

Lynda met Miriam’s eyes, and crossed her own legs, showing more. Only the three of us were in the group of chairs, but I did notice some people walking by, and either slowing or stopping briefly to enjoy the view. I realized that I definitely liked watching Lynda show off and be admired. The two made one of those female group runs to the rest room, giving me a nice rear view as they turned in that direction. I’m sure it was deliberate, and that they continued a bold walk on the way.

“Mr. Nixon professionally appreciated some female White House advisers although none were at the highest level. He had a party nomination challenge, where our friend Olivia managed his challenger’s campaign although she still respected him. No one in the know thought of her as other than a skilled political technician, never eye candy or a distraction.”

When we left, Lynda laughed. “I watched you first look at Miriam’s leg show, which, frankly, didn’t threaten me in the slightest. I thought it was fun. Your face was wonderful when I started flashing back. I can’t speak for Miriam, but I’m turned on. You’ve got some work to do at home. Until then...” In the car, she put my hand on her thigh. I had to concentrate on driving, but slid it a bit higher, feeling more heat than I might normally expect in that position. “Oh, yes, dear. When we went to the bathroom, we took off our panties, but didn’t make a big show or expose ourselves when we came back--that would have been inappropriate in that place.”

I thought about being in a place where it was OK to display and found myself even harder. When we got home, there were no preliminaries. Actually, I swept her up in my arms and put her on the couch. As I dropped in front of her, we were both pulling up her skirt. I buried my face in her groin, which was both thermally hot and delightfully fragrant. In Lynda’s mental state, it didn’t take long for my mouth to bring her to climax.

“Thank you, dear. I was feeling so naughty and needed that. I also was thinking of watching you do that to Miriam, with me watching and approving. We’ve talked abstractly about open relationship, but I realize that would be one thing with which I’d be entirely comfortable. Now, your turn. Want to do it hard and fast? Stand up and fuck my mouth?”

That seemed a wonderful idea. Before taking her mouth, though, I kissed her deeply. “Mm. Nice. I taste me on you. I’m imagining tasting Miriam as well.”

When I stood and thrust into her welcoming mouth, it wasn’t long until I was spurting, and then flopped beside her on the couch. We kissed, knowing we were exchanging fluids. “Nice, naughty,” she purred.

The YRs were associated with several levels of sexuality, in that time of the Sexual Revolution. Their ordinary cocktail parties attracted people who weren’t politically active, but found them fine meat markets for young, upscale people. The political insiders sometimes mixed power with sexual attraction, although some seemed more interested in power than sex, or maybe relationships. Some of those did enjoy sex workers for no-strings-attached play, and I was aware of friendly acceptance of some people, mostly female, who were classy sex workers. Female-to-female interaction was generally accepted. Male-to-male, at least as a primary style, was much more closeted, although the in group was aware of it. It was no surprise, for example, that the ostensibly very conservative activist, Terry Dolan, later died of AIDS. Like Donald Trump’s mentor and counsel to Joe McCarthy, Roy Cohn, he was deeply closeted.

In 1970, Roger Stone, in his early 20s, was a nice guy. Paul Manafort has been consistent.

This was a style among Young Republicans during the Sexual Revolution: we played, and often hard when it was private. The rule was don’t embarrass the party. Female staff in some Congressional offices dressed a lot more provocatively than Miriam, but as high fashion, never cheap.

People rationalized a lot. I remember one conservative Southern senator that thought miniskirts were the work of the devil. He permitted pants, including stretch ones, as long as they were part of a suit. Some of his staff experimented with a look that took a suit jacket, some sort of blouse or camisole, opaque tights, and a very brief skirt, very carefully all the same color. The rule was that the jacket stayed on. To the somewhat nearsighted Congressman, the tights seemed to be pants. Color-matched pumps could have heels of four inches.

Depending on what the wearer wanted to do, on leaving the office, she might switch the tights for sheer pantyhose, with or without a crotch; or wear stockings. She might dispense with the jacket, leaving an interesting top, and perhaps remove her bra.

The Congressman didn’t mind substantial makeup, but the lady might heavy it up for the evening. For some activities, patent leather pumps with four-inch heels were quite sexy enough, or she could change at her destination.

We appreciated those looks when visiting Capitol Hill offices, or when some of those lovely ladies went directly from work to a YR social. Of course, they could transform amazingly if they simply changed from opaque tights to sheer hose. For those who did, it could be a pleasant guessing game: stockings or pantyhose?

Beyond the casual meetings, we had friends that could switch from the professional to the provocative. Some of the most interesting women were those who didn’t have to follow the dubious discipline of an office but could choose their own presentation.

We also started to learn that male attractiveness wasn’t always based on dramatic looks, but on personality. One of our friends tended to resemble a friendly bear, but, at a social, had lots of female interest. They often drifted away, feeling defeated, after seeing his wife, Olivia.

I was also experiencing much more female interest, for which I thank Lynda. Having her bonded with me makes me far more confident, without my sense of desperation in seeking a date. Women notice that I have a very hot woman in attendance, wonder how I attracted her, and want to find out. It’s rather like a bank -- they want to lend money to the people that don’t need it.

Olivia and John, our intimate friends

Olivia and John Frosting have become close friends. We met in a political context, the policy-oriented, liberal to moderate Ripon Society. Both are lawyers. Olivia was a lobbyist and campaign manager. John, as a civil servant, kept a lower political profile. Our first mutual attraction was being in the same political factions, but we soon found we loved intellectual and philosophical discussions.

Olivia has interesting challenges in politics. Bluntly, she’s gorgeous, and people initially assume that she’s eye candy or a playmate of some official. With a second look, noting her height and slender figure, they might decide that she’s a potential supermodel interested in politics. Lawyer doesn’t immediately come to mind.

In general, it can be hard for a woman to be recognized for her mind. In some ways, that’s harder for Olivia than a more plain woman, but she may have it easier in getting male attention.

She’s taller than Lynda, with a thinner figure. In some respects, such as being almost as tall, she reminds me of the actress Allison Janney, even more so in her high-authority West Wing role of Presidential Press Secretary, and then Chief of Staff, C.J. Craig. Her face and hair were more model-like than Allison, although still high-authority. She has a Nordic look, with light golden hair and nearly sky-blue eyes.

Depending on where she will be, she may dress very conservatively. When I first met her, she was in a navy blue business suit, the skirt at mid-calf. At a meeting shortly afterwards, where she was known, she wore a more form-fitting white suit, the hem an inch or two above her knees. In golden tan hose, it was clear that her calves were exceptionally well formed.

They had a townhouse close to Capitol Hill. John and I had been working together one day. He invited me there for drinks. I mentioned the recent Report on the President’s Commission on Pornography, which had obviously been biased to social conservatism. John laughed, jumped up, and retrieved a book from their bedroom.

The Illustrated Report on the President’s Commission on Pornography was a porn industry parody, inserting lots of illustrations in the public domain text of the real report. Most was quite high quality, although it seemed to be an excuse to show some generally rejected porn, such as pedophiliac and animal. “No, Arnold, I see where you’re wincing. I don’t like that stuff either.” He snorted. “I wouldn’t call it animal porn, but we’ve had our cats interrupt at unfortunate moments. Olivia took half an hour to stop laughing when we were enjoying one another, with lots of kissing and stroking, and I felt an initially pleasant tapping on my erection. Suddenly, I realized that for Olivia to be doing that, she would have to have three hands. YOU REMEMBER!” He pointed across the room at a most elegant and intelligence Russian Blue cat, Anastasia, at the side of an equally elite Siamese, Yul.

“Olivia and I aren’t prudes. In fact, we’ve gone to nude beaches and the Hedonism resort. We’ve never gotten into the DC swinging scene, but it crosses our minds.” He gave me an inquiring look.

“John, we might be more common spirits than we thought. We haven’t been together as long as you have, but we realize we both love it when Lynda stops traffic -- and we’ve had some damned nice times at strip clubs. We’re already close friends. Is there something we should be thinking about?”

“Arnold, what do you know about my job?”

“Not much. You’re on the staff of a Senate committee and have been a civil servant in the executive branch.

“True, but it doesn’t go far enough. Technically, I am on the Republican staff of the Senate Intelligence Committee. It’s one of the committees that prides itself on professionalism and interest in good government, rather than partisanship. The Joint Committee on Atomic Energy was another such committee, which never had leaks.

“We have a group that deals with government secrecy, security clearance, and so forth. Other groups deal with intelligence collection techniques, including human-source intelligence (HUMINT) and signals intelligence (SIGINT).

“I’m in a smaller team that does what-if thinking about security. This sort of thinking began in the Air Force, just before WWII, to develop training for aircrew prisoners of war (POW). Ideally, they could evade capture and return to friendly control. If they were captured, the first concern was for them not to give away secrets. Tactical aircrew don’t really have many secrets, as opposed to the later intelligence group, the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), which ran HUMINT and underground warfare in Europe.

“The Korean War brought something new: Asian Communists less interested in getting information and more interested in coercing propaganda confessions. Aircrew training was formalized as Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE). Contrary to some rumors, it didn’t teach infinite resistance to torture. The consensus of the Intelligence Community (IC) is that torture is not reliable as a means of getting information but can be used to get anyone to confess to anything.

“Well, that was the military intelligence consensus. CIA, especially with James Angleton’s counterespionage group, thought it had a role, for selected high-value prisoners. As a law enforcement agency, it tended to appall the FBI culture.

“FBI and Army Intelligence interrogators began to work together, developing ways to get reliable information by developing rapport, even friendship, with subjects.

“In those brainstorming sessions, sex came up. Is seduction and blackmail a viable approach? What if people in sensitive jobs were free to talk about, at least to security, about what they did in bed, which in principle freed them from the risk of blackmail?”

“Olivia and I have been doing a lot of thinking about being sexually open and thus resistant to blackmail. She’s in private practice. Recently, though, she’s made what could be called a pass at some senior government people, with the caveat that it’s would be for mutual pleasure. She explained that she and I were sapiosexuals: turned on by powerful minds. If anything leaked, she would not hide it.”

Olivia comes home

“Maybe. Maybe. We should be talking about that, and about swinging.” At that moment, Olivia came home.

“That was a very satisfying working session. We had much substantive discussion, but I have to say that I enjoyed a couple of our female colleagues. Sally and Brenda both are married, happily as far as I know, but they very regularly look somewhat provocative. They were making passes at everyone in the room, including me. I don’t feel seduced, but more as part of a happy game. Well, maybe not seduced, but a little turned on.” She rather flung herself onto a couch. She wore a trimly tailored, navy blue, suit that normally had a hem slightly above the knee, but the skirt of which rose fairly high. “Am I embarrassing either of you by not pulling my skirt down? Arnold, I confess that if it’s not professionally or politically dangerous, I like being watched.”

John commented, “Olivia, John and I have been sharing some thoughts about sexual blackmail.

“Arnold, to be honest, I enjoy it when Olivia does that. She and I understand that she must be conservative in some venues, but, if nothing else, if she comes across as the hot professional, she won’t be ignored in a group. The first time she’s recognized, it might be to be courteous to a woman or even to make a pass at her, but she’s articulate enough to dominate the conversation when she gets talking.”

“In that case, thank you both. Yes, I’ve lusted after Olivia as well, so I’m delighted to get this better look.” With that, she wiggled until her hem bared her stocking tops. “Tasty, my dear.”

Olivia had an absolutely solid reputation as a political technician and campaign manager but looked as if she had just stepped off a high-end fashion runway. Her husband, John, was pleasantly rumpled. People sometimes called him a teddy bear, not just for personality but because he was rather bearish. He had a superb reputation as a constitutional lawyer.

Lynda joins

Happily for me, the doorbell rang, and Lynda joined us. The conversation was going in a direction where I wanted her participation.

Lynda had been working at her software distributor’s booth at a convention. She’s fully able to function as a nerd but had enjoyed dressing more as a convention “booth girl”. Men did doubletakes when they leered at her, asked her to get a “software guy”, but she answered their question in detail.

She had been wearing a variant on a clubwear outfit that she liked, a leather dress with lots of zippers and metal trim. For a convention, she reduced the hardware, but it still caressed her body. She brought along some accessories. When she saw that other women, including professionals, were wearing moderately kinky things, she went out to get some above-the-knee boots, with a high but stacked heel, which actually gave a fair bit of support for long standing.

“Lynda, dear, I love the outfit. John and I were going to suggest dinner, and some clubbing. Want to join me in our bedroom so I can get into an outfit as hot as yours?” Olivia licked her lips. Her voice grew huskier. “Or I could find things even wilder, for both of us.”

“Olivia, I’ve got stuff in the car. I have a suitcase in which I keep things for going to a show or club, which I take along for conventions. I have a naughty idea. Let’s go get it.”

Club plan

Before they disappeared, John reminded me, “You got me interested when you talked about strip clubs. Olivia, we’ve talked some about high-mileage clubs, which this sounds like. Want to do it?”

“I should add,” John told us, “That the FBI has done some very quiet checking on certain of those clubs. Some have connections to organized crime or otherwise aren’t good from a security standpoint. Others seem truly independent, such as Blue Curtain and Vivid.”

“How convenient, John!” I told him, “Lynda knows dancers, and even management, at Vivid. Let me make a phone call to check.” I reached Anna, my favorite club manager. “Hey, I’m with another couple, who are feeling adventurous. She’s gorgeous. We want to do some exploring with them. Got a couple of friendly dancers, and maybe both booths where they can be exhibitionists, and also a back room?” Anna enthused, “Lynda’s great on the piano or in a booth. If she has a friend like her, they can drive the club wild. Hell, she drove up our revenue last time -- you’re my guests and you might even get a cut.