Sexting hadn’t been invented yet, of course, but raunchy emailing was all the rage — at least in my world. I’d spent half my work days that week firing off provocative emails to my boss. We’d been flirting voraciously for months, and the day of the party I decided to ratchet it up a notch. “If I bring X tonight, will you take it with me?” His reply was instantaneous: “You know it.”
CUT TO: 2 a.m., the two of us, on Ecstasy, are going at it in the office on top of the conference room table. Best sex of my life.
The next day, most of the staff were nursing hangovers and a bunch of my female friends in the office went out to our favorite hangout, an Irish restaurant/bar, for a lunch that would sop up the alcohol, and to compare notes on the party. There was a TV on in the corner, and there was Bill. Lying and denying his ass off. The bartender turned it up just loud enough for the entire place to hear the now infamous line: “I did not have sex with that woman.”
My colleagues launched into a furious debate. Most of us agreed that his testimony was CYA bullshit. All of us agreed that Monica was a cow. But a super-heated argument broke out over two questions: Is it wrong to have sex with your boss? And — would you do Bill? I didn’t dare weigh in much on the former. No one knew what the boss and I were up to — and I loved my job too much to screw it up by spilling the beans. But I had no problem on the second point. Yes. I would absolutely do Bill! No question. Fifteen years ago, I too would have gotten on my knees right there in the Oval Office to do Bill. And today, on his 67th birthday, I’d gift him with a quickie if I could.
Ever since he busted out the Ray-Bans and the saxophone on Arsenio Hall during the ’92 campaign, I’ve had a thing for Bill. People who’ve met him say his sex appeal comes from one thing: his uncanny capacity to connect with absolutely everyone he meets. No matter what pandemonium is going on around you when you are in a room with a United States President, when Bill speaks to you, he touches you, he locks you in and, in that moment, he makes you feel as if you are the only two people in the world.
But for me, it’s something else. The only thing sexier in the world than someone with great intelligence is someone whose great intelligence is matched by great lustfulness. If I had argued with my work friends that day, I’d have argued in favor of unbridled lust. That’s why I went for it with my boss. There’s not enough unbridled lust in the world.
Bill is so dirty, it’s just impossible sometimes for him to conceal it. You can see it in so many photos — Bill ogling Kelly Clarkson at Obama’s inauguration, Bill with his arm around a Louisville cheerleader at March Madness — and you could see it during his show-stopping speech at last year’s Democratic National Convention.
I tuned in to the DNC that night to see how Bill was holding up. Thinness has aged him, and ever since his 2004 quadruple bypass surgery, he’s looked pale to me and weak, so I was relieved when he walked on stage and the crowd was electrified. The camera panned around the room and you could see something amazing in the faces of the women. They were in ecstasy. There he was — white-haired, wrinkled, pale — and the women were squealing with glee.
Then came the best moment of the speech, the best moment of the week. “I’m voting for Obama,” Clinton said, “because he had the good sense to marry Michelle Obama.” The words themselves were innocent enough. But delivered in that raspy drawl, the way he looked over to catch Michelle’s eye with that unmistakable gleam in his, you saw it. In front of millions on national television and the cheering masses in that Convention Hall, for a split second, he and Michelle were the only two people in the room. She blushed and beamed.
Bill’s got it, still.
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