“Occupied!” Jen said again from inside the stall.

“Ma’am?” the Korean intern said softly. “Are you in there?”

“What is it?” Jen snapped. “Bathroom time is Jen’s time!”

“The press pool is trying to come in, ma’am,” the girl said. “They say this is all part of the process.” Jen listened to the dull roar outside.

“Fucking fuckers,” Jen muttered. And then, “What is your name again?” Jen felt a hot flush creep up her face. She should have learned the name of a girl she had shared so many intimate moments with by now.

“Ukpi, ma’am,” the girl said.

“Ukpi? Is that even a Korean name?”

“Well, I’m Korean and that is my name.”

Jen sighed and wiped herself off. “Can they get in here, Ukpi?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just the right-wing reporters anyway. Jim Acosta is crying and Kristen Welker is using her baby to fight them off.”

“Acosta only wants to bottom in bed, you know,” Jen said. “I bruised my pubic bone with a dildo trying to please that pathetic excuse for a man.”

“OK,” Ukpi said uncertainly. The battering at the bathroom took on a rhythmic quality, like the beating of some enormous heart.

“It’s all going in my memoir,” Jen said and farted. “All of it. Finnegan and her plantation slave play obsession. Joe trying to smell my pussy. Kamala’s drinking. ALL OF IT!”

Ukpi listened as Jen flushed and then flushed again. “Trump couldn’t even get these low-flow toilets fixed! Orange shit-sucker!”

“Ma’am?” Ukpi asked, after a minute of silence.

“Just come in the stall, the door’s open.”

Ukpi looked in. Jen was still sitting on the toilet, her expensive panties around her ankles.

“Shut the door behind you,” Jen said tiredly. “White House security is not what it used to be.”

Ukpi fidgeted in her intern uniform, blue jacket and skirt, stiff white shirt, a lanyard heavy with passes, IDs, and keycards. Jen leaned forward on the toilet and press her face into Ukpi’s stomach.

“I see why Joe likes this,” Jen whispered. “Stroke my hair, tell me everything is going to be alright.”

“Everything is going to be alright, ma’am,” Ukpi said, stroking Jen’s hair. She took off her jacket as Jen held her and hanged it and the lanyard on the hook on the door. She then took off her shirt and pressed Jen’s face into the soft flesh of her stomach.

“No bra?” Jen asked.

“I’ve never needed one,” Ukpi said, stroking her own small breasts lightly.

“They’re perfect,” Jen whispered, covering them with her hands. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ukpi said, shuddering.

“Stop calling me ‘ma’am,’” Jen said lightly. “You make me feel so old.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ukpi whispered.

Jen slid her hands up the back of the girl’s legs and cupped her small buttocks. “You’re just so tiny,” Jen told her. “I just want to throw you around.”

Ukpi leaned over and touched Jen’s swollen vulva as it hovered inches over the toilet water, running two fingers along each side of her clitoris. Jen sighed and bit the flesh over Ukpi’s hip as the bathroom door came crashing down.