Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of gay male sexual content.
*
"... All I'm asking is can we really trust a woman, a grown woman, who hasn't fulfilled her most basic civic duties?"
This came from the tall, silver-haired Kennedy Cooper, a political pundit sat at a roundtable in a television studio. The host of the show, a perfectly coiffed Shari Wainwright interrupted:
"I mean, what has Senator Avalon been doing out there in the Borderlands? Twiddling her thumbs?"
"Worse - twiddling herself!" Cooper chimes in.
Hearty chuckles from all those around the table.
"I'm just saying, Shari," continues Cooper, "is this the woman we want leading our Re-United States?"
Watching from her hotel room, Senator Melissa 'Misty' Avalon switches off the television in disgust.
She sits in the silence for a moment, studying her reflection in a mirror. Her golden-brown hair is in a chic chignon and her tasteful pencil skirt and cream blouse hug her curves. The outfit is bold without being audacious. Exactly the image she wants to project.
Avalon swings her long legs around the other side of her chair to face her campaign manager, Jack Switch, whose maple syrup eyes watch her with calm detachment.
"What do I do, Jack?" Misty asks.
"You stick to the talking points," he replies.
"Okay. I can do that. Wait, what are my talking points again?" She's only half-joking.
There are only a couple of weeks left on the campaign trail before the convention, and what had seemed like a slam-dunk primary season win for Misty is now precarious. In post-meteorite America, the single most important issue of national security is repopulation, followed closely by reclamation of the uninhabitable Deadlands.
When the meteors had hit, decades before Misty was born, those not killed in the immediate aftermath faced a decade of nuclear winter, disease, and hunger. A few pockets of civilisation, in the more western cities, survived with patchy electricity grids and ocean air to moderate the weather, and it was here - mostly west of the Rockies - that what was left of the nation was placed.
Now, a hundred years after the meteorites, people were dying young and, on the whole, faster than they could breed. There was no hope for civilisation if they couldn't kickstart the economy and reverse the population trend. Sex was the number one social good any one person could partake in, regardless of skills or intelligence.
Misty's popularity was based on her status as an everyman. She was raised by simple folk on the borders of the Deadlands, imaginatively referred to as the Borderlands. She knew the worst the meteors had wrought, she lived in the shadows of the hulking skeletons that were once buildings so tall they scraped the roof of heaven itself. She knew what it was like to try to eke a living out of dead soil and poisoned water.
Out there, in the Borderlands, the pressure to repopulate was negated by the pressure to feed those who already exist. But as a farmers' daughter, Misty Avalon was a woman of the people. That is, except for her glaring lack of reproduction. That could be overlooked, to a certain extent - but it could also throw into doubt her commitment to the ideals of the Re-United States.
"Your talking points," Jack said, crossing the room to stand behind Misty, leaving a whiff of cologne and musk in his wake, "you know these off by heart."
"Remind me," Misty pleaded.
"Alright. Number one. Economic investment in the Borderlands is the key to regenerating industry."
He kneads at a knot in her shoulder with his thumbs.
"Okay," he says. "Your turn. What's next?"
"R and D on meteorite-based technology will create jobs and speed up recovery"
"Good girl," says Jack, despite the fact the 'girl' is his boss and in the running for President of the RUSA. But Misty doesn't notice, she just leans into his hands as he continues to knead at the stress.
"Number three, subsidies for food producers in climate volatile zones, and for research into soil revitalisation technologies" says Misty.
"Yep, and last one?"
"Raise the incentives for reproduction and adoption for all biologically mature citizens, while doing away with nil-birth penalties."
"See," says Jack. "You got this. People just want to be able to relate to you."
"Yeah, but the baby thing..."
"The baby thing just makes people wonder if you're doing your part with repopulation."
"It doesn't come off self-serving?"
"What? Given that you'll be subject to the penalties if you don't manage to repeal them?"
Misty nods.
"There are going to be questions, sure," says Jack. "But it's nothing we can't handle."
Later, after Jack had gone to find a GovOrg, a government certified orgy — a fact that gave Misty an uncomfortable and unfamiliar twinge in her stomach — she goes over and over the talking points for the Wainwright interview the next day.
Shari Wainwright was the top-rated political affairs host on television, and she was incredibly influential. Even among the masses who didn't get television, Wainwright's opinions were quoted ad nauseam in the news-flyers and radio clips.
If Shari Wainwright really thought Misty wasn't doing her reproduction duty, then she would be very hard to win over. And if Shari Wainwright couldn't be won over, there wouldn't be much hope for winning the election.
#
That night, Misty dreamt she was at a Senate sex party, one of the ones they hold at the start and end of every parliamentary session. The very same-sex parties she's avidly avoided in her waking life.
Sometimes she visits GovOrgs in her dreams and she wakes up with the ghostly touch of dreamed sex still lingering on her skin. But this time, she doesn't want to be here among the decrepit 35-plus crowd that usually makes up the Senate sex scene.
She drifts through, while Senator Douglas of the North-Western Union licks his lips lasciviously at her and Senator Sweetie Grayson, the darling of the Democrats - as she's known - lowers herself enthusiastically onto his cock.
Gagging in the cloying atmosphere, thick with sex and hot breath, Misty stumbles towards a set of double doors, pushes them open, and takes in great big gasping lungs full of air. A voice behind her, and she turns to see Jack Switch there, something unrecognizable in his eyes. Is it surprise? Lust? Or disappointment?
"You're not supposed to be here," he says.
And she feels like she's betrayed him like she's done something wrong.
He holds his hand out to her, beckoning, but instead she falls backward off the balcony and into a writhing mass of bodies below. She sinks in, the Venus fly trap of naked flesh closing around her.
#
Television studio lights are always so bright, it's almost disorienting. And sitting in Shari Wainwright's studio is no different.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Misty wonders how many Borderlanders go without electricity and for how long to allow Wainwright Tonight to broadcast three nights a week.
