My tryst with the Donald

I have never had sex with Donald Trump. No affair, no smooch, no nothing. You may find this hard to believe but never once has Trump felt overwhelmed by my beauty and started kissing me. Never once has he grabbed at my crotch. And I am realist enough at 60 to acknowledge that it’s not going to happen now.

Trump likes them young and taut of implant. Which is a pity because with retirement looming it would be good to have a bit of blackmail material on the President of the United States to bolster the pension.

But then this week two things happened to make me hope that it may yet not be too late to ease old age with a little hush money. First came Stormy Daniels. You will remember Stormy as the porn star who didn’t have sex with Trump. We know she didn’t because Trump said so, and because a White House spokesperson said so, and because Trump’s lawyer, Michael Cohen, said so. So that was that. Strangely, however, the National Enquirer didn’t publish the story.

The owner of the National Enquirer is the splendidly named David Pecker. Pecker is a friend of Trump’s. So it seems likely that Pecker’s reasoning was the same as Cohen’s — that something that didn’t happen can still cause damage and that Trump needed to be protected from the made-up stories of people who didn’t have sex with him.

Perhaps by now you will have spotted my angle. If these women can be paid off for not having had sex with Trump, why can’t I? Because boy, have I got a story to tell.

Like Stormy I’ve had a long and successful career in the adult film business. You didn’t know? You haven’t seen my name in the credits? That’s because like everyone else in the business I worked under a pseudonym created by combining the name of my first pet with the name of the street I lived in as a child. Does Rebel Wilmington ring more of a bell, perhaps? I thought so.

Stormy claims to have had ‘textbook generic’ sex with Trump. Rebel Wilmington doesn’t. Rebel had the sort of sex you just couldn’t make up, even though, as it happens, I ammaking it up. The key to sex with Trump was ego. Anything that made him feel important got him excited. Such as military parade sex.

For this Rebel would parade past Trump wearing only a commando belt and towing toy models of military hardware, while Trump stood naked on a dais eating Big Macs.

Every time Rebel wheeled out an ICBM Trump would award himself a medal which he glued to his flesh with hamburger sauce. When the parade was over it was Rebel’s job to remove the medals one by one, lick him clean, and, well, let’s move on to cabinet sex.

Here Trump sat on a golden throne wearing a wreath of laurels like a Roman emperor while Rebel pretended to be members of his cabinet taking it in turns to praise his achievements. The more extravagant the praise the more unmistakable Trump’s pleasure.

The climax of this game was the Pence Prostration. For this Rebel would sprawl at the president’s feet wearing a snowy wig and a G-string embroidered with

Biblical quotations.

‘‘O Mr President,’’ Rebel would intone, ‘‘who causeth the grass to grow and the sun to rise. It would be the greatest privilege of my life to…’’ but perhaps I’ll keep that last detail as a bargaining chip, along with the time Trump dressed in a pair of XXOS underpants with a mock-up of the nuclear button front and centre and … oh is that the phone? Mr Cohen, Mr Pecker, how lovely to hear from you. Take me to Easy Street.

With retirement looming it would be good to have a bit of blackmail material on the President of the United States to bolster the pension.