A Dangerous Affair (Lesbian Story)

The curious case of Miss Kristen Wyland: Ethics

16 October 2016
Sunday 22:13pm
3 Days before debate day

Entering the pristine home of the Mitchells' residence and Kristen could taste the old age money and privilege that oozed from the pores of the sunny yellow.

The third generation money stank in the hotel-like foyer, lined with 2 Damask printed Victorian chairs.

While the privilege stared back at Kristen as she walked past the large, greek-relief, framed mirror sneering at her like the roach she was in this home.

"You don't belong here!"
The fresh rose filled centrepiece spat at her, as it sat perched atop the Oakwood cabinet.

The amber and olive green Persian rug scoffed at her as she dared to walk across it.

Self-consciously Kristen moved out of its way, choosing to leave her peasant pawed boot steps on the polished wooden floorboards instead.

However, self-conscious as she was, Kristen wasn't here to be intimidated.

She wasn't the least bit fooled by the tight lipped fake-smile filled greeting she'd receive from the perfect Democratic candidate.

Nor was she fooled by the dragged out sing-songy "Hiiii," belted out by the perfect candidate's perfect wife.

The reporter wasn't even fooled by the stiff armed: "Have a seat," uttered as they made their way upstairs to the lounge area.

The Mitchells' did everything with ease. That's why they were running for presidency. They did everything with the confidence of an individual who had always gotten their way.

It annoyed and scared Kristen at the same time. Here she was clearly amongst power.

The governor's wife sat poised, legs crossed at the ankles, near the edge of the leather two seater.

Her usually comb-backed, teased hair replaced by a more conservative loosely tied ponytail. She did cut an inviting image in her white, tea dress and pearl earrings.

Like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Beside her, a very strangled looking governor in a maroon, Pringle, cable-knit cardigan and pale chinos sat clearing his throat every two seconds.

Gosh did these people not have sweatpants!

Kristen thought, observing the contrast of what a normal Sunday night outfit looked like for her.

Amongst the trio was the campaign's attack dog, Andy Bates, skulking in tense observation near the fireplace.

"Well dear. We're glad you could make it at such a late hour." Eleanor Mitchell began with a plastered smile on her face.

"It must have been a long commute from...?" Eleanor looked at Kristen expectantly. "I'm sorry dear, where'd you say you were from?"

"Uhmm, I didn't."
The reply was uncertain as Kristen's nervous energy manifested itself in her habitual bouncing foot on the napped rug.

"Right." The perfect wife replied with murder behind her smiling eyes.

"Well, how 'bout I grab you a plate before y'all talk business then?"

"I've eaten thanks."

"Oh, then how's about a drink?"

"No thanks." Kristen shook her head and squashed her hands between her thighs to keep from bobbing her knees.

The copper zing of blood that Kristen tasted on her lip let her know she'd broken through the skin again from biting it.

But she couldn't help it, she was uneasy and starting to feel like this meeting was going to be pointless.

"Well what about some tea, you look like you could use a cuppa to take care of that bounce?" Eleanor prodded.

"I said no thanks." Like a flame doused in paraffin, the reporter spat out her nerves in an angry rebuke causing the room's tension to sprinkle itself over the occupants.

Andy grabbed his pudgy chin and squeezed it while pouting. He looked as though he wished to speak but stayed on the side of caution.

The governor's wife stared mouth slightly ajar with a scoff of disbelief stuck in her throat.

The governor, looked over at his wife and slightly at his campaign manager and cleared his throat once again.
"Look, uh, Mr and Mrs Mitchells, I don't want us to waste each other's time." The mousy reporter started.

"Now, you invited me over here, I assume you have something for me?"