Ann Coulter Makes Love To The President Of Iran
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad walked out of the bathroom of his hotel suite at the UN Plaza Hotel across from the United Nations. He wore a white terry cloth bathrobe. Mahmoud read the digits on the cable box clock: 9:08. The evening lights of Manhattan speckled through the floor to ceiling windows. The air conditioning was on, creating a consistent white noise that pleased Mahmoud. He had had an eventful few days in New York. Speaking at Columbia, where he made the University’s President seem like an ingrate. He was a tad irritated that his Farsi was misinterpreted. he had said that Iran did not have as many gay people as America, not that there were no gays in Iran. But this was not a problem. Americans were just primed to catch him in a verbal slip, even if they have to make it up. His speech at the UN was well received as far as he was concerned. So the trip, he thought of it as a vacation, was successful. Mahmoud thought that he would like to explore more of America at some point, but knew that if this was going to happen, it would probably happen only during his tenure as President of Iran.
Ahmad walked into the bedroom.
“She is here,” said Ahmad.
“She is early,” said Mahmoud.
“Should I send her in?” asked Ahmad.
“Yes,” said Mahmoud.
Ahmad walked out of the bedroom. Mahmoud felt his beard and opened his bathrobe a touch to give it a more relaxed appearance. And then she walked in.
“Hello your excellency,” said Ann Hart Coulter, wearing a simple black dress cut to above her knees, with a white pearl necklace and white pearl bracelet. Her very long pale legs were supported by black high heels just short of being stilettos.
“Please, call me Mahmoud.”
“Yes, of course. And you can call me Ann.”
“I understand you have expressed the opinion that Christians are perfected Jews. I agree with this,” said Mahmoud.
“Yes. The New Testament is a more highly evolved document than the Old Testament, a perfecting of the Hebrew Bible,” said Ann.
“Yes. And I might add that the Koran is a more highly evolved document than the New Testament,” said Mahmoud.
“Ahhh, Muslims are perfected Christians?” asked Ann with a smile on her face.
“Let us not dwell on our differences. Let us enjoy each other’s commonalities,” said Mahmoud.
Ann was surprised that Mahmoud’s English was so good. It had been an international secret that Mahmoud was fluent in spoken English, though he had difficulty reading it.
“The planet would be more perfect without Jews,” said Ann.
“I never said that. It is you who concentrate on the superiority of one religion over another,” said Mahmoud.
“So what are our commonalities, Mahmoud,” asked Ann.
“I understand you wish to make love with me,” said Mahmoud.
“What? I am offended. I am here to talk. To learn. Whatever made you think that I would want to make love with you?” said Ann.
“I am very sorry if I misunderstood your intentions,” said Mahmoud.
“You would not have sex with me anyway. You are a married man. And I am not a Muslim. So the point is moot,” said Ann.
“You do not know the Koran, a book that governs every aspect of my life. But there are varying interpretations as to the applicability of some laws when a Muslim man stands on non-Muslim ground,” said Mahmoud.
“Really. Like what?” asked Ann.
“I am permitted to have sexual intercourse with you in this bedroom right now,” said Mahmoud.
“Right now? You mean there is like a Koranic time loophole that has opened this evening,” asked Ann.
“Time and place,” said Mahmoud. “Please, remove your clothing. I would like to see your body,” said Mahmoud.
“I do not think so. This is totally ridiculous. I would never…”
“Please, please. You are very attractive. Iranian women do not have such blond long hair as you. I wish to see more of it. I wish to touch it. Consider it a place where our civilizations can come together. Do not be so prudish,” said Mahmoud.
“I am not a prude,” protested Ann.
“You are very thin. Your skin is very taught. Your eyes are big. And your voice quivers. May I touch your breasts?” asked Mahmoud.
“No. Absolutely…OK, look, you can touch my hair. You want to touch my hair?” asked Ann.
Mahmoud took a few steps toward Ann, who was six inches taller than the President. The President of Iran extended his right index finger and gently pushed Ann’s golden hair back behind her left ear. He then moved his face toward her and paused about an inch away. Ann’s eyes closed. Mahmoud closed the inch and kissed Ann on the lips. The kiss was long, and Ann responded by opening her mouth. Mahmoud’s arms slowly wrapped around Ann’s javelin frame and he pulled her tight as they merged their mouths as if eating each other. Ann placed her arms around Mahmoud. Mahmoud suddenly pushed her away and backed off. Ann’s eyes shot open.
“Never, never place your arms around me,” said Mahmoud.
“Sorry,” said Ann.
“Now we shall make love. Remove your clothes. Please, Ann. I ask you to share with me your passion,” said Mahmoud, recovering from his minor outburst in an attempt to salvage the possibilities.
Ann screamed and shot up in bed. It was a good scream, the kind that one would have if jogging themselves out of a wet dream, which is what Ann just did in the middle of the night in her bedroom. Wow, Ann thought. What a dream. She was breathing heavily and sweating. She turned to the digital clock on her night table which read 3:36 AM. Ann Hart Coulter let out a lungful of air and did not think she could get back to sleep. Not after that orgasm, which was one of the best ones she has had in a few years, she thought. Fuck it. She had to sleep. Ann was giving a speech tomorrow on the moral degradation of the Democrats and she had to look good and be on top of her game. Anyway, maybe if she was lucky she could return to that dream she was having. Damn that was a good dream. International sex, she thought, between two very intelligent and misunderstood people. Ann closed her eyes and lied back into her pillow and fell rapidly to sleep.
Stumble it!