Janice for President - Part Two
By Wanderer
Sometimes you need to do what you gotta do.


This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in
your country forbid you to do so. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

Earlier parts of this story are scattered all over the Wanderer bookshelf.
They should be read in the following order:

1. Who's In the Closet Now? (Parts 1, 2, and 3).

2. We're Back In the Closet Again (Parts 1 and 2).

2. The Engagement Party (Parts 1 to 5).

3. The Engagement Party-Epilogue (Parts 1 and 2).

4. The Engagement Party-Epilogue Two (Part 1).

5. My Big Deal Social Wedding.

6. Marriage Can Be Fun? (Parts 1 to 4).

7. The Board of Directors Meets My Wife.

8. The Executive Officers Meet My Wife.

9. Executive Officers Don't Get No Respect.

10. Security! Security! (Parts 1 and 2).

11. Janice-An Anecdote

12. How to Collect Bad Debts.

13. Who Will Be the Chief Executive? (Parts 1 and 2).

14. Janice for President (Parts 1 and 2).

Copyright 2005 by Wanderer

Once the Midwest newspaper cartoonist broke the ice there was an outpouring of
deprecating humor. Other political cartoonists picked up the idea and ran with
it. Late night talk show hosts couldn't resist making fun of the WIP party.
The topper came when a female talk show host appeared in a rather sexy outfit,
short shorts, skimpy blouse, a heavy leather belt around her trim waist, and
she had attached a coiled whip to the side of the belt. Well, her companion,
the male host, kidded her mercilessly about the costume and the whip. It was
all in good fun, of course, designed to be entertainment for the stay-at-home
moms viewing the show.

"You think you're going to be president?" he asked. "Over my dead body!"

"Well, that can be arranged," his female co-host said, unfurling the whip from
her side and giving it a snap so that the whip end gave out a loud crack. Then
the male host feigned terror and ran off the stage with the female host
chasing him and snapping the whip as she ran, the audience roaring with
laughter. Husbands who happened to be home that day and saw the television
show also found it humorous.

"Imagine," more than one husband said to his spouse. "A female in the most
important political position in the world! What a joke!"

"Women who had watched the skit with their husbands were offended. "Why do you
say that, dear? The United States already has women representatives and
senators in Congress. We could do the job. Some countries already have had
women leading their governments, and those countries survived."

"Yeah," he answered, "but those are pip-squeak countries. This is the U.S. of
A. We can't have some stupid broad heading up the number one country in the
world!" Secretly the wife resolved to herself that maybe it was time for her
to avail herself of the opportunity to buy a whip.

Matter-of-fact, suddenly whip sales in the United States soared. The few whip
manufacturers around, who had considered them a novelty, suddenly found
themselves overwhelmed with orders. Local chapters of the WIP party, when they
held their weekly organizational meetings, started mounting whips on the wall
behind the speakers' podium. Some chapters had whip experts come in to give
demonstrations on the proper use of a whip. It was even rumored that a
dominatrix or two were enlisted to give the demonstrations but that rumor was
never confirmed. No male viewing the proceedings on the nightly TV newsreel
was willing to acknowledge that he knew the female in the high-heeled long
leather boots, a tight black leather corset surrounding her voluptuous body,
as she expertly wielded the whip in demonstration of the proper technique to
be used in subduing a recalcitrant male and bringing him to heel.

Of course, the capper was at the nationally televised nominating convention of
the WIP party when Janice Witherington was nominated and unanimously confirmed
as the candidate of the party to run for President of the United States.
Janice appeared on the stage to give her acceptance speech, whip in hand and
expertly cracking the tip with a mere flick of her wrist. She had practiced on
me until she got good at it, and I have a few welts to prove it, but then if
my wife were going to be President of the United States I could give a little
blood for the cause. Well, the delegates present at the convention just went
wild. The chant began: "Janice, Janice, Jan-ice, Jan- ice, Jaaannn-ice! The
chanting went on for at least fifteen minutes. The TV networks had so much
time for commercials during that time that they made a whopping lot of money
that night. The networks loved her candidacy. She was unique and very
newsworthy. The male candidates from the two other major parties were the
usual political type candidates, dull and insipid, repeating each others'
phrases, as if they were presenting something new, pontificating and saying
nothing. Janice Witherington was a fresh face with fresh ideas, besides which
she was damn good looking and telegenic, whereas her male opponents were
droopy old men with graying hair and an already tired look about themselves.
They spent their time accusing each other of ineptness and malfeasance while
in office, and they ignored their female opponent, as if she was
inconsequential, while Janice's message was "Hey, let's get going, we've got
things to do!"

But the WIP party wasn't for women only. Men were welcomed. The party was
organized to present to the American voting public an agenda that took into
account specific interests of women, as well as those of the country as a
whole. If men found the WIP party platform appealing they were welcomed to
participate. The vice-presidential candidate proposed by the WIP party was a
man, and a very handsome one at that. I was kind of jealous. I mean, if Janice
was elected president she would be seeing this guy often. But Janice reassured
me.

"What do you expect me to do, hon? Turn him over my knee and spank him if he
says something wrong? No, I'm comfortable doing that only with you. I might
have to discipline him if he displeases me, but I won't leave any visible
scars on him. His wife is an ardent feminist, and a member of our party. He
approves of our party platform, at the strong insistence of his wife. I have
heard she can be quite intimidating, being 6' 2" and two hundred twenty
pounds. Besides, with his previous experience as a congressman, he understands
politics. His knowledge could come in very handy when I have to deal with
Congress."

I blanched at the mention of Janice's favorite disciplinary procedure even
though I had become more obedient as our marriage had progressed and as I
learned Janice's very strict requirements of me. Nevertheless the mere mention
of Janice's favorite means of disciplining me conjured up in my mind images of
my body laid out across Janice's powerfully muscular thighs, my reddened and
aching ass sticking up in the air, Janice pounding my butt mercilessly to
relieve her frustrations. Even though these discipline sessions had become
less frequent as I learned my proper place behind my mistress, Janice still
found it necessary to occasionally remind me of who was in charge. I was a
couple inches taller than Jan and a well trained college athlete, but I
couldn't come close to matching her powerful physical development. And she
still had her anger management issues, of course. My hope was if she did get
elected president of the United States she would at least take out her
frustrations on some unfriendly country rather than on me.

"Don't you think it would be unseemly, if you get elected president, to
continue to discipline your faithful, loving husband in this manner? I promise
to obey your orders with all my power, but sometimes we all stray off the
beaten path, even if we have the best of intentions," I said.

"Listen, honey," Jan responded. "Even if I do become president I don't want my
political life intruding on our personal life. I'm going to have enough
problems if I get elected so I expect you may become more of a recipient of my
wrath than you are now. I'm sure some of those idiots in Congress are going to
piss me off beyond measure. Be patient. It will only be four years - well,
maybe eight," she giggled. I think I may just cast my own personal vote for
one of the other presidential candidates, not my wife.

The other political parties held their conventions and then their rallies.
"We're going to fund health care!" Big cheers. "We're going to fund
education!" Big cheers. "We're going to eliminate the deficit!" Big cheers.
Like we hadn't heard that before, every four years. "Do you want women running
the country?" The delegates in unison yelled "No!" Then a lone soprano voice
was heard loud and clear, over all the others, ""Yes!" Well, all of a sudden
there would be silence in the audience. Then another woman's voice would be
heard, "Yes!" And a chant began, low at first and then rising in crescendo,
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" And soon many of the women in the crowd were
chanting and shouting, "Yes! Yes!" Even if they weren't particularly political
and were just there to accompany their male companions they were incensed at
the implication of the question, "Do you want WOMEN running the country?"
Well, why not, a lot of the thinking went. We couldn't do a worse job.
Educational level of the country decreasing, deficits increasing, children and
adults dying because they can't afford health care, health giving drugs
unaffordable. Hell, women couldn't do any worse. And maybe we can do better.
We at least ought to give it a try.

There were plenty of couples who got back to their hotels or homes after the
conventions or meetings that night, prepared for bed, and the ladies would ask
their mates, "Why did you yell 'No' when the candidate asked 'Do you want
women running the country?'" The undiplomatic reply from the male would go
something like "Well, you women are too stupid to run the country." There were
many guys who spent the night on the couch instead of on the bed. And for many
nights thereafter, too. The smart ones would say, "Oh, I was wrong, honey. I
read her platform and I'm going to vote for Janice Witherington for
president." They got a lot of good sex that night. From that a lot of guys
figured out, "Gee, if Janice Witherington became president it might be this
good for the next four years. Maybe it's worth a try. How badly could she
screw it up? She probably couldn't make it any worse than it is already."

One guy would say to another guy, "Say, you voting for that broad for
president?" The second guy would say, "What? You crazy? She'd get her period
and probably launch atomic missiles at some country. Who the hell needs that?"
And then each would go off and vote for the female candidate because they
figured they'd be about the only guy in the whole country to vote for a woman,
and then each could tell the wife or girl friend with a straight face, "Of
course I voted for her, honey, it's a shame she lost."

Only she didn't lose. In one of the greatest upsets in the history of American
politics my wife Janice Witherington was voted President of the United States.
She received the vast majority of the women's votes, and there were enough men
tired of the political conditions in the United States who voted for her that
she won by a landslide. It was a shock to the two major political parties to
have a third party come in and have their candidate achieve the highest
political office on its first attempt.

At the victory rally of the WIP party on election night the crowd gathered in
the ballroom of the party headquarters hotel went wild. President-elect
Witherington bowed, and clasped her hands together over her head in a sign of
victory. The crowd just wouldn't stop cheering, yelling "Janice! Janice!
Janice!" And then, "Madame President! Madame President! Madame President!" I
had been standing behind Janice, along with her brother Jim and my sister
Maddy, but Janice turned, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me forward to stand in
front of her. The crowd loved it. Now the chant went up, "First Man! First
Man! First Man!" I was extremely flattered to be receiving this recognition
from the crowd in the ballroom, and realizing that my picture was being
televised to the entire nation, and even overseas. Of course, I was quite
embarrassed when Janice, caught up in the exuberance of the moment, put her
hands on my hips and the soon-to-be president effortlessly raised me high over
her head, she being visible between my splayed-out legs. Well, there was a
moment of stunned silence, and then the cheering and yelling got even louder,
if that was possible. Hearing the approval she was getting from the crowd Jan
then set me on her broad shoulders and paraded me around the stage. "WIP! WIP!
Women in Power! Women in Power!" the assembled delegates and guests screamed.
"WIP! WIP! WIP!"

The press wasn't quite sure how to refer to me. Was I to be called the First
Man? The First Gentleman? Some referred to me as the First Goof-Off since I
spent a lot of time on the White House lawn putting green. Some took to
calling me the First Wimp, but those news agencies soon learned that their
press credentials would never seem to be in order for presidential news
conferences, and somehow they never seemed to be in line for those one-on-one
news interviews with the president, which seemed to be so cherished by
reporters and news agencies. It was interesting to see how suddenly I came to
be treated with great deference and respect. I was called a pioneer, "A
first."

As Janice settled into her new job one of the things that bothered her was the
decay setting in to the physical condition of America's youth, and especially
the girls. If they weren't being anorexic and bulimic they were eating junk
food, they were sitting on couches watching TV, and if their high schools
offered physical education classes they were doing their best to avoid them.
President Janice decided she would set an example. Pictures started appearing
of her jogging, then in the White House swimming pool. She has a spectacular,
physically fit body, and if seen from a distance she doesn't look all that
muscular. Then the press started to print pictures of her in the White House
gymnasium, lifting weights. There would be pictures of her sitting on a bench,
doing a concentration curl with a dumbbell. What is that - a bicep? A woman
has a bicep? Is that a big bicep? Does Madame President have a bicep? A big
bicep? Suddenly it became fashionable for a woman to have a bicep, maybe two
biceps, one on each arm. All of a sudden health clubs around the country were
overwhelmed with applications for membership from young girls. Girls would
come to their gym with a picture, and say, "I want a bicep like that." All
sorts of older women, seeing how gorgeous their president looked, started
spending less time in the beauty parlor and more time in the gym.

And of course Janice, in her role as President of the United States, had a
daily schedule that was overwhelming and exhausting, so she needed to stay as
physically fit as possible. Her sister-in-law, Maddy, set up a gym regimen for
her that she could do in one hour at the White House gymnasium, and Maddy
oversaw the training. It was such an effective routine that Madame President
didn't lose a single millimeter off her twenty-two inch biceps. Also, as many
recent presidents have done, Janice would run every day for cardio. In her
case she followed a three mile course, accompanied by the Secret Service, and
they had to treat it as a relay because Janice ran the course so fast that
they had to change agents every half mile. Only one agent was able to
accompany her for the entire three miles, and he had run a sub-four minute
mile while in college. Occasionally on her run a heckler would spot her. "Hey,
I need a job!" "Hey, how about lowering my taxes?" Janice would smile and
wave, and if she thought she could offer help to someone she would have a
Secret Service agent take a name and do an interview. The only time she would
get really upset was when a heckler would yell at her, "Hey, bitch, why don't
you go back to the kitchen where you belong!" Or, "Hey, cunt, why don't you go
back to the bedroom where you belong!" Now the Secret Service agents knew they
had trouble on their hands. The President of the United States would stop
abruptly, smile, walk over to the heckler and punch his lights out. One punch.
That's why newspaper people were not permitted to accompany Janice on her
daily runs. Can you imagine the headlines? "President of the United States
attacks bystander!" "President of the United States severely damages
spectator!" There were rumors, but nothing was ever confirmed. However, there
were a few hecklers around Washington, D.C. who gained a new-found respect for
a female president.

Janice appointed our French Maid, Alice, as ambassador to France. President
Witherington couldn't have made a smarter move with the French. As I mentioned
before, Alice is gorgeous, absolutely delightful, coquettish, and naturally
she spoke fluent French. What else would you expect from a French maid? Of
course, we didn't tell the French that her previous role had been that of a
servant. The French would have been highly insulted. So we made up a story
that Alice had been a secret agent and a confidante of the new president, and
the French found that to be highly acceptable. Alice's father was the
sommelier at the Witherington estate, so she knew her wines, and she could
discuss the subtle characteristics of a fine French wine with the best of
them. The French found that charming. Well, she was charming. She had learned
all the niceties of polite society from her father. And she was smart. As
Janice's companion on the Witherington estate they grew up together, and Alice
was exposed to the same private tutors that Janice was exposed to. The French
were absolutely overwhelmed by her, and almost overnight the United States
became their favorite foreign country, hard as that is to believe.

But not only did Alice charm the French at social events and State events, it
was rumored that she charmed the French Ministers of State in their bedrooms.
It was also rumored that those Ministers who still had negative attitudes
towards American policies also had their arms twisted - literally. I mean,
what Frenchman would want to be quoted by Le Figaro: "That 5'6"
French-American woman twisted my arm and threatened to throw me off my bedroom
balcony if I didn't change my negative attitude towards the United States. Oh,
and she also threatened to tell my wife what we just did in the bedroom!"
Under Alice's stewardship France became one of the best friends the United
States had in the World.

Of course I missed Alice badly when she was away doing her ambassador stuff,
as my wife always permitted me to share a bedroom with Alice when Janice was
away on affairs of State. Jan treated Alice as a twin sister, they having
grown up together. What was Jan's was also Alice's, including me. I wouldn't
have it any other way. Janice concluded long ago that it was much better for
her to know who I was sleeping with than to have me sleeping around. And, of
course, as the consort of the President of the United States I would have been
presented many opportunities. Whenever Alice returned home from her duties in
Paris the first thing she would do after she put her bags down was to bend,
throw me over her broad shoulder, and carry me up the two flights of stairs to
my bedroom, with President Janice giggling and applauding as she watched
Alice, our former servant, dominate her former master. I didn't mind. Alice
was almost as strong as my wife Janice, they having been trained together, so
I didn't resist her aggressiveness a lot, especially since she had that French
technique - Viva la France!

Janice went on to serve an amazing first term as president. She had swept into
office with her enough candidates for congressional office that she had no
fear of congressional opposition voting down any of her programs. Lawmakers of
the opposition parties, smelling the lay of the land, eagerly embraced
President Witherington's proposals as if they were their own. Insurance
reforms, health care, social security, taxes, corporate responsibility, every
proposal was met with shouts of "Yes! Yes! Great idea! I'm glad I thought of
it!" So guess what? She was almost unanimously swept into office for a second
four year term, one political party even refusing to nominate a candidate to
run against her since that candidate's certain overwhelming defeat would have
been an embarrassment for the party.

Midway through Janice's second term as President of the United States I asked
her, "So what are you going to do after this second term is over, Janice?"

Janice became thoughtful, and after a reflective pause she answered me. "Well,
some of the members of Congress have been talking to me about changing the
Constitution," Janice said. "So I'm thinking of running for a four year third
term."

Will the fun never end?

THE END