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Mitt, whose real name was actually Willard, felt a shiver of excitement run up his back. He loved horses and horseback riding. This particular horse had cost him almost a quarter of a million dollars, but it was no matter. He assured it had an easy gait and there were few things he loved more than the sight of a horse's perfect ballet moves in dressage.

He didn't just love it. Those things turned him on in a way that a woman couldn't. It wasn't something he'd admit, but watching those perfectly executed dance moves on a beast so majestic gave him an erection. When you lounge about for a living, running for various public offices, there were few things that could excite a man of such taste.

And now that he was running for President of the United States, it was difficult to find time to watch the sport, let alone get one of those powerful steeds between his legs. Especially since the liberal media had such a heyday making fun of him for his passion. Those people, the average Americans, were just too simple-minded and poor to understand so elegant a sport. NASCAR was more their speed, infinite left turns. Taking a red-state NASCAR fan to a dressage exhibition would be like dragging a punker from a rock concert into the Opera.

They just wouldn't get it.

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