A General Erection - Sex Stories

A General Erection

... nothing further to say.” “Home Secretary, are you going to resign?” ask a flood of Fleet street hacks. The Home Secretary, about to walk away returns to the mic. “As I said, I have nothing further to add.” She is pursued by the hoard of journalists but police are on hand to keep them at arm’s length and the beleaguered politician is bundled into a black limousine. “So quite a short sweet statement there.” “Yes, just how damaging is this, Sally?” “I think it’s potentially very damaging. It’s not every day the Home Secretary is caught with her panties down… allegedly.” “Okay, thank you. So that’s Sally Kirton. Now back to your schedule.” In the ministerial car her phone rings. It’s the Prime Minister. “Jenny. I just saw the interview. Well handled.” “Yes, sorry, Prime Minister. I don’t know where this came from.” “Can you bury it?!” “I’ll try. Is it going to blow up?” “It’s a shit storm, Jenny. You’re trending on Twitter; Facebook is all over it. I can’t imagine what the red tops are going to make of this in the morning.” “I know. I so don’t need this just now.” “That’s an understatement. I’m not going ask about the veracity of all this, Jenny. Just sort it.” “Consider it sorted, Prime Minister. *** Two days later… North Rogering and Rimming constituency office. Jenny Humpworthy is assessing the damage of the recent revelations of her personal life and looks at the latest polls. She leafs through a couple of newspapers and tosses them aside in disgust. She knows she needs to ...

... pour water on the fire and has called a meeting with Gerry Felcher, editor of the London Chronicle. Jenny is dressed in a short black skirt, hold ups and a shiny scarlet blouse, whose pearl buttons catch the sunshine as it pours through her office window. There is a knock on her door and she sits back in her chair. “Gerry, good morning.” “Hello Jenny. How’s things?” “Been better. Worse things happen at sea and all that.” She pushes her chair back, crossing her legs, giving a teasing flash of flesh. Gerry starts, his eyes flicking between be-nyloned leg and the headline on his paper. He is torn somewhere between lust and guilt. “Unfortunate headline, Gerry.” “Yes, well… the public like puns.” “Panty politics?” “So we’ve done better. We wanted to make the early print. Best we could come up with.” “I thought I might be worth a little more effort, that’s all.” “This isn’t personal. You put yourself on the parapet, you have to expect to be shot at.” “It’s a low blow.” “It’s journalism.” “Really? Tell me, will the full retraction have an equally bold typeface?” “What retraction?” “The one you’re going to write tomorrow.” Jenny scratches her leg with one hand and twiddles her top button with the other. She slides a finger under the top of her hold up and releases it with a distinct twang making Gerry jump. “I think I can persuade you that it’s not in the national interest to let this story develop.” “Oh. And how do you intend to do that?” Gerry runs a hand through his short, grizzled ...