GOP Convention Hookup (29m/20f)

Ok I’m probably crazy to post this, but I’m home alone, drinking, and it’s a throwaway so what the hell.

Who am I? 29, 6”2, a little extra meat on the bones but I’m told that I’m a generally good looking guy.

I didn’t come to the Republican National Convention thinking I’d get fucked. OK, that’s not completely accurate. I was hoping to get fucked. But I assumed I wouldn’t. It seems like straight hookups are a lot less common than gay ones at GOP get togethers, for some reason.

I came to the RNC to cover the circus, along with a million other press types, both new media and old. I’m on the old media side, a segment producer for a national network. I’ve actually been on the Trump beat since his official announcement in June of last year. There were three of us, on-air talent, camera person and yours truly, who followed Trump around the country. At first we assumed it be a short gig, but it didn’t take long for those of us embedded with the campaign to realize his staying power.

Anyway, so here I was. It’s been a long 13 months. And while there have been a few hookups along the way, mostly with other press types (including a hot blonde on-air personality who loves taking it up her sweet ass while cursing out liberals. She’d say stuff like “you libertards love to fuck us up the ass, huh?” and “Obama wants to fuck me but I’d never let that traitor touch me so I’m letting you.” It was insane. I won’t say her name specifically, but her first name is a misspelled guy’s name and her show is on the interwebs), it’s been drier than usual for me.

It was Monday and I was thinking about the text I had gotten from a cute producer of a rival network asking me if I wanted to join some others for some debauchery after that night’s festivities wrapped up, while we taped a few segments with some Republican politicians in our temporary studio in the Cleveland Convention Center. I looked over the well coiffed politician being interviewed by our well coiffed reporter and idly wondering what each of their budgets were for hair maintenance and how it compared to my salary when a cute girl caught my eye. She looked to be around 20, about 5”6, shoulder length blonde hair, high cheekbones and full lips. She was wearing a sleeveless lime summer dress that showed off a plump, curvy figure, her D-ish breasts straining against the dress.

The girl caught my eye, winked and moved closer to me. “If it isn’t Mike Jones,” she whispered with a smile.

My brain tried to place who she was. I glanced over to the woman she had been standing next to and then the politician being interviewed and it fell in place. “Lindsay Lastname. Jesus, it’s been what, 8 years?”

Her hazel eyes sparkled. “You remember!”

Indeed I did. 8 years ago I was still in college and the editor of my school’s newspaper. I had written a feature on local politicians’ kids. Lindsay was 12 and a geeky little awkward girl who parroted her father’s talking points well.

“You’ve certainly…grown up since then.”

Her grin widened. “Are you saying you think I’m hot?”

I glanced over at the interview, which was wrapping up, as if worried her father, a much more powerful politician now, would hear me. “Well, yes, you certainly are,” I admitted.

Lindsay put her hand on my arm, and I felt a spark of electricity. “Well I thought you were hot 8 years ago and you still are now.”

I flushed, embarrassed.

“Maybe we could hook up later?”

I gawked at her forwardness and involuntarily laughed. “Wow, you just went there, huh?”

Lindsay shrugged. “No point in beating around the bush when we can…y’know.” She made a big show off glancing at my crotch. “Besides, this shit ends in a few days. Not much time to be wined and dined.”

The interview was over, and admiring her candor, we quickly exchanged numbers and I promised to text her.

The interview was our last of the afternoon, so we packed up our stuff, talked with HQ about our plan for the evening and got an early dinner at a local pub. Once done we set out on foot for the Quicken Loan Arena, avoiding the unwashed crazies protesting everything under the sun, as much as possible.

When we got there and set up, Lindsay had texted me, telling me to blow off the speeches that night. There was a picture of her finger in her pussy. Fuck. I called my boss, who was also at the convention and said I felt sick, like food poisoning.

The cameraman knew better when I gave my excuse. “Going to get fucked?” He leered through his goatee. I ignored him and hurried back to the convention center to drop off some equipment.

“Where r u?” Lindsay texted.

“Going to the CC. Where r u?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

We met in the almost completely deserted hall where national media had their offices (really booths like you’d see at trade shows). Just about everyone was at the arena to hear Melania Trump and the other big names. Lindsay had changed into a black knee length skirt that hugged her juicy ass and a white button down shirt. She followed me to my office, where i locked up the equipment in a huge rolling chest and when I turned, she reached up and we began kissing.

My hands moved to her tits as our tongues pushed together and Lindsay guided me to a table.

I broke off our kiss and shook my head. “Some of the big boys have security guards. I don’t want to get busted here. Come on, follow me.”

I grabbed Lindsay’s hand and we went through a maze of temporary walls before coming a stop in front of a booth that was empty, save a desk and two folding chairs.

“Foreign media area,” I said. “None of them have security guards.”

“And how did you know about this empty space?” Lindsay said with a big smile. “Am i not your first girl at the convention?”

I laughed. “No, I was wandering around earlier. Honest.”

“Uh huh,” she said before I interrupted her with a kiss. After a minute, she moved her hand to the bulge in my khakis and began rubbing. I responded by unbuttoning the front of her shirt, revealing a lacy bra with the clasp on the front. I quickly released her tits, which came pouring out of the bra. After some fondling, I bent over to kiss those soft tits. Lindsay groaned as her nipples hardened under my teeth and she fumbled with my belt.

I moved my hand under her skirt and felt her damp panties. I slipped a finger past this thin line of defense into her wet pussy. Lindsay had succeeded in unbuckling my belt and pulled my pants and boxers down, my boner springing to attention.

Lindsay made some polite noises over my medium sized dick and wriggled away and turned my hips until i fell into one of the chairs. She slid down to her knees and then with a smile buried my dick in her mouth. I gasped and sighed with pleasure as she worked her tongue up and down the shaft, rubbing it with her free hand. I grabbed Lindsay’s head and pushed her all the way down my cock. She took it without complaint and continued to pleasure me.

I’ll admit I didn’t last long. With a quick, “shit here it comes,” I exploded in her mouth. Lindsay continued to bob on my dick, her tongue licking the last of the cum shooting out of me.

I leaned back in the chair with a grown, as Lindsay released my softening cock and climbed onto my lap. We kissed some more as she ground her wet pussy against my cock.

“You know,” she said, as I kissed her neck and nibbled at her ear. “I had my first wet dream to you. I had never really thought about boys until that interview. That night, I dreamed about you fucking me,” she continued as I leaned her back to kiss her chest, my dick already beginning to harden again. “I woke up and I was so wet. I didn’t come that night, didn’t really know what I was doing. But I’ve dreamed about fucking you since.”

Lindsay squeezed her thighs against me, her pussy dripping, and I was hard again. “I’m honored,” I panted. I started to slip myself into her, but she shook her head. Not missing a beat, she reached into her purse and fished a condom out and handed it to me.

“Wouldn’t do for the Senator’s daughter to get knocked up, would it? Our last name isn’t Palin.”

I ripped the package opened and Lindsay lifted herself up to give me room to get the condom on. When i finished, she slid down slowly onto my cock, gritting her teeth as she went down slowly, like the puck on a high striker after ringing the bell.

I thrust my hips as Lindsay bounced on me, her tits and hair flying in my face. Her eyes were closed as she worked my cock hard, occasionally leaning in to kiss me. I fondled her tits and fingered her clit until she came powerfully, screaming into my mouth during a hard kiss. She bucked as the orgasm rolled through and we clenched each other tightly.

I let her catch her breath, hoping she’d be ready for another round, chatting about her college and my work when we both started to feel nervous about getting caught. “Go back to your hotel room?” She asked, as she re-clasped her bra and buttoned her skirt.

I shook my head. “Sharing a room with our cameraman. Your room?”

She shook her head too. “No, I have to share it with my dad’s executive assistant. That old bag would totally rat me out.”

We kissed and I lead her through the maze, not seeing another person. If anyone has heard us, they weren’t revealing themselves. We both promised to figure out a place to hook up again, but although we texted a few times, it never happened.

But I’m likely to be following Candidate Trump around the next few months and I’m sure we’ll swing by her home stastaor near her college, so hopefully it’s not the last I see of her.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/4ubiqu/gop_convention_hookup_29m20f