Mamie Geneva Doud-Eisenhower was the picture of post-war house-wifery. Born in Iowa, she met the General in Texas and eventually became first lady. She was well-liked, but it's long been whispered amongst the Beltway elite that former first lady Mamie Eisenhower had a secret lover. Enough time has passed that the truth can finally be told.
I, Sheldon the Wonderhorse, was that lover.
Let me first say, I'm not going to get into all the saucy details. I will tell you that she was quite well-endowed in the chest area. I started refering to her as Mammie (as in mammory), and the name caught on. We realized that it was not proper to refer to the first lady by a nickname for a breast, so we switched the spelling to Mamie - our first of many secrets. Many of those secrets will die with me. I will say, however, don't let appearances deceive you. Mamie was into all kinds of freaky shit and she rocked my world.
We met at a cotillion at Omar Bradley's, where she espied me from across the room. The chemistry was undeniable, the heat instantaneous. She cornered me over the shrimp scampi and the potatoes au grautin (little known fact: Ike loved cheesy potatoes), and seduced me on a pile of coats and purses. And yes, she never took off the pearls.
Over the years, we met on a weekly basis, our torrid affair ever more torid with each encounter. She would usually phone me on a Tuesday to set up our weekend rendezvous. From there, we would jet off to far-away lands and lose ourselves in each other. Exotic and erotic was the call of the day in such paradises as Akron, Springfield, and Sheboygen. Our sexual escapades were a whirlwind of excitement, and she made Betty Page look like a catholic schoolgirl. Let me tell you, the sight of Mamie in a pair of ass-less chaps in the middle of a Wisconsin winter is not something that you soon forget.
As time went on, our lovemaking became more experimental. Mamie showed up at the Roosevelt Motel in Evanston, Illinois one day with a suitcase full of whips and gags. This was even a bit much for me. When I refused to let her pour hot oatmeal on my balls, the begining of the end for us was now in sight. I told her "I don't care if you are adding raisins, leave my nuts alone". That weekend concluded with Mamie in tears and me questioning our future.
Something was happening to her. She was, if I may say with the utmost humility, becoming obsessed. If there is one thing I truly dislike in my first ladies, it is clinginess. The phonecalls became a daily ritual, and with that, the hang-ups, and the uncomfortable unannounced drop-ins. I eventually told her I needed to take a break. She accused me of "cavorting with that tramp Kennedy".
We had one more encounter, this time in Washington. She asked me to come over so she could show me the "Oval Office". I was pretty sure what she meant by that. Needless to say, after a couple of bottles of imported saki and some bad judgement, we consumated our love for a final time.
We fell out of touch. I commented on the Squirrel's blog a couple of weeks ago about running into Mamie & Ladybird Johnson at an opium den. It is sadly true. They both loved chasing the dragon at that point, and there really was no conversering with either of them. She tried to kiss me, all glassy-eyed, and begged for "one more ride on the Wonderhorse express", but I refused. I asked her to get help, turned and walked out of her life.
I still miss her, and think about her from time to time, but have moved on with my life. But the old saying is true:
You never forget your first First.
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