Vladmir Putin and Donald Trump have maintained a loving friendship ever since Putin called Trump a “brilliant and talented leader”. Their blossoming relationship inspired Lithuanian street artists Mindaugas Bonanu to paint the world leader and glorified salesman swapping spit, which in turn inspired Above Average to draft erotic fan fiction between the larger than life figures.
CHAPTER 1: The Meeting
Strong Putin sits at the hotel bar of Trump Tower wearing nothing but a trench coat and satin speedo. He sips his dirty martini nervously tapping his fingers to the tune of “For The Love Of Money”, the Apprentice’s Season 1 theme song.. He is waiting for something… or is it… someone?
The bartender gives him a sultry look. She’s usually not attracted to her repressed patrons but it’s rare to find a man so intense pounding cocktails on a Tuesday afternoon. Maybe it’s his soulless eyes, or his intimidating silence, but the bartender knows Strong Putin is different. The two exchange eye contact as the air swells with lust. Then, suddenly the bar phone rings.
She hurries to pick it up, repeating “yes” several times before hanging up.
“A man named John Miller, not to be confused with Donald J Trump, is ready for you,” she reports to Strong Putin.
The mysterious stranger downs his dirty martini and leaves 7 rubel on the bar.
“That’s not how much alcohol costs,” the bartender calls but Strong Putin is long gone… That is if he ever really was there.
Strong Putin briskly walks up all 34 flights of the hotel stairs, his heart beating like a war drum and his mouth dried from expectation. He gets to the penthouse suite. A racist butler guards the door.
“We meet again Strong Putin,” said the racist butler.
“Да,” said Strong Putin.
The racist butler peels back the ornate doors to a room so gauche it’s fit for Liberace. A golden rug in the shape of a toupee lined the floor. Mounted heads of Tammy Lee, Bowie Hogg, and Bill Rancic– forgotten stars of unscripted television’s past– adorned the 15 foot marble walls. A full length mirror covered the entirety of the ceiling. It was a wonderland of seduction and distaste.
“John Miller or Donald Trump?” whispered Strong Putin in a croon so sweet that history between the old lovers permeated the air.
“BOTH,” yelled Big Trump. The blinds were drawn.
The rose gold sun kissed Big Trump’s hairless thighs. Putin slowly unbuttoned his trench coat. His pectorals were covered with the silver coat of a man that knew famine, pain, and KGB state secrets.
“My desires are…,” Strong Putin whispered, “Unconventional”.