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“It’s ogre, Shrek. We have to stop.” Trump spoke softly, ending their long, moist, lustful, stimulating, steamy, juicy, carnal, erotic, sensuous mashing of Shrek’s voluptuous green lips against Trump’s pale pink ones.
Trump knew he should have ended this affair of theirs a long time ago. It might have been painless, if he had gone about it correctly. If Trump was going to be honest with himself, this was the only way their relationship could have ended. It was doomed from the start, written in the stars; Shrek and Trump could never be together. Yet, despite how implausible, Trump allowed fate to pull him into Shrek’s life, his arms, and eventually his green lover’s bed. They had made love countless times in every possible way and position. Before the straw-blond knew it, they had grown close. Alarmingly close. Trump had to leave while he could still bring himself to say the words.
“... What do you mean?” Shrek asked cautiously. Trump looked up into deep brown eyes and watched as confusion and hurt threatened to flood them. Even a hint of fear was present. No, this was not going to be easy.
“You know what I mean... Us. We can’t do this anymore.” Trump tried to step away from the ogre, but Shrek was not going to make it as easy as that. He tightened his hold on the shorter orange man. Large green hands circled around Trump’s waist and held him so close that the former president could smell the ghost of onion-y breath. Trump turned his gaze away from Shrek’s imploring eyes.
“Shrek ‒”
“Donald.”
Oh, how Trump loved when Shrek used his name. He always said it like it was worth something, like Donald was worth something more than he truly was. Except maybe some of his more radical republican fans, there was no one else who spoke his name with such reverence. Trump hated that, because it only made his task harder. Then again, things related to Shrek were often hard.
“I love you.”
Trump’s eyes abruptly met Shrek’s. Those were the only words that remained unsaid between them. Upon seeing Trump’s expression, Shrek regretted not saying them earlier. He regretted that he was too scared to confess his true feelings to the glorified orange, but that was just as well. Trump would have surely ran the moment he revealed his affections, and there was nothing more terrifying to the onion-loving ogre. Maybe that’s why the words seemed to flow so easily for him. His greatest fear was already coming to pass, and the terror was causing him to grasp at anything that might stop the inevitable. Besides, now that Shrek had finally said it, nothing would ‒ could ‒ stop him now.
“Please,” Trump pleaded quietly, “Don’t say that.”
“No!” Shrek exclaimed, “You can’t deny it any longer, I won’t let you. I love you, and I know you love me too. I can see the way you look at me, when you think I’m not watching. You are the most stubborn and frustrating man that I know, but you are also the most determined and driven man that I know. That’s why I love you. You never give up, no matter what, and it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
“No ‒” Trump tried to inject softly, but Shrek was not done. He was not even close to it.
“I have never loved anyone as much as I love you, not even Fiona, before the divorce. Sometimes I can’t stand you and your more-stubborn-than-blond self, and sometimes, you frustrate me more than Donkey, but I can’t live without you. Can’t you see?! I need you in my life. I need you.” Shrek raised his large green hand and cupped Donald’s entire face in it. “Please, stay with me.”
Trump resisted the instinctive response to lean into the ogre’s touch. He couldn’t afford to indulge anymore. He couldn’t meet Shrek’s gaze. If he did, his resolve would have surely failed. Shrek looked so torn in that moment that Trump might have risked it all just to smooth out the wrinkles in the green man’s brows, to replace that frightened look with a look of ecstasy. Trump wished he could take Shrek’s large green rod and ride him until they were both coming so hard that nothing else mattered. But Trump could not, so he looked down at the floor again. Somewhere distantly in his mind, he noted the wear and tear of the cabin’s flooring caused by years of love. The spotless white tiles of the white house seemed so despondently cold in comparison.
“You know I can’t. I’m already risking a lot just by being here. If Biden ever finds out about us, he’ll kick me out of the white house, or worse. You know how much even a chance at another presidency means to me. It’s the most important thing in my life, and I don’t care if it means I have to be with Biden against my will. I can’t give that dream up for anyone. Not for my ex-wife, not for Biden… and not for you.”
Shrek could feel his fear give into pangs of hurt and betrayal, but he would not give up yet.
“Dump Biden! You don’t need Sleepy Joe. He treats you like shit, and you are worth so much more. You need to stop lying to yourself. You think you need him, but you got the presidency all by yourself the last time, right? You can do it again, because I know you. You won’t stop for anything. I know you can do it, and we can do it together. We’ll figure something out. Please, just don’t leave me.”
Trump felt a twist of guilt and shame build up in his stomach. Shrek was so good to him, so very kind. Shrek loved Donald despite all his flaws, despite the thousands of people who would love nothing more than to watch Trump’s downfall, and this was how Trump was repaying him. It tore Trump apart, but there were just no other options. Shrek was right in a way. Trump needed to stop lying to himself. The truth was evident, no matter how much it repulsed Donald Trump.
“I don’t have any chance at another presidency without Biden.” Trump was horrified to hear his voice crack. Hot, scorching tears threatened to spill from his eyes. It was a testament to his will power that not a single tear fell.
Donald was the very picture of despair, from his dull yellow strands of his weave to the defeated expression on his orange face. The anguish from Donald, who was usually too bullheaded to let his emotions show, was so foreign to Shrek that he got the distinct impression that he was looking at a complete stranger.
“Where is the man who was too stubborn for his own good, who would never admit such a thing? Where is the man who would never give up, no matter how hopeless things seemed? We used to talk for hours about how you’d win the election next year no matter how strong Biden’s campaign was. Where is that man? Where is the man I fell in love with?” Shrek yelled, and even though they were surrounded by acres of forest, not a sound interrupted the silence that followed.
“That man was delusional.” Trump’s voice was monotone and bereft of any of its previous emotion. “And now he’s finally opened his eyes to reality. I have to go, Shrek.”
“Look at me, Donald.” Shrek said firmly. Trump looked up. Suddenly, the orange man felt naked. He lacked any of his usual defensive walls, unable to hide his pain as much as Shrek was unable to hide his hurt.
“Say it to my face. Tell me you want to leave.”
Onion scent drifted into Trump’s nostrils. He could feel the heat from Shrek’s arms around his own. He could see every detail on the ogre’s face: his big, brown eyes, his nose, his plump, sensual lips, his peculiar ears that Trump loved to tease him for but secretly adored. He noted all these things and more. It was impossible to memorize every detail in this moment, but Donald tried very hard to savor everything.
Trump would never again feel Shrek’s warmth, nor cause a smile on those green lips, or be the cause of his happiness ever again.
Trump sharply shrugged off Shrek’s embrace and stepped back.
“I want to leave.” Trump didn’t mean to spit it out as harshly as he did, but there was no chance to take it back now. The damage had already been done.
Trump watched as shock rippled across Shrek’s face before a wave of anger covered his features.
“Fine! You want to go back to being a whore for your piece of shit boyfriend? Go be a coward. The Donald I knew would never have done that. You are a stranger to me. Go! Leave, and never come back. I never want to see you or your wrinkly orange face or your stringy ass wig here ever again.”
Shrek was fuming, and his once soft and tender green hands were now tightly curled in anger. No, Trump had seen Shrek angry. This was more akin to a hurt animal lashing out in every direction. Trump had always taken advantage of Shrek’s kindness, his patience, and Donald never realized what he would really lose if he lost Shrek. In this moment, it was difficult to tell who was a stranger to whom, and Trump found himself too stunned to move.
“I said GO! GET OUT OF MY SWAMP!!!” And that was all Trump needed. When he turned away, Shrek could feel his anger threatening to give way to fear and regret, but his pride desperately held on to any feelings of resentment or betrayal that he could muster. Even so, every stead Trump took further and further from him seemed to dig a special kind of pain into his heart. And once the door closed, Shrek could no longer repress the incorrigible wave of sadness. He fell to his knees and wept like he had never cried before.