I’ve been following Justin Trudeau for a while now, and recently, I’ve come to the conclusion that I dig the guy. Actually, I don’t just fancy him. I want to fuck him real bad. But I don’t want to feel his hands down my lace panties for the same reasons, let’s say, my mother would. I’ll admit to his undeniable charm, and to the dreaminess of his piercing blue eyes. His hair is perfect, from his luscious brown locks to his thick eyebrows. It’s all very nice. Plus, when he carefully forgets to shave for a few days, his scruffy face reminds me of a young revolutionary leader who’s about to start a love-making war across the country—one that would render the Canadian soil so damp and oh, so wet. The truth is, my sexual impulses don’t give a fuck about his good looks. My pussy quivers for Justin’s profound desire, and failure, to be cool.
I understand how difficult it must be to follow in his father’s footsteps. Pierre-Elliot Trudeau was the ultimate Canadian stud. He was genuinely hip and had celebrity friends. There was even a time where Trudeaumania was a thing, and women would feel compelled to throw themselves at PET. I know Justin is just trying to be just as cool as daddy Pierre.
The problem is that Justin goes to great lengths to show Canadians how much of a relatable and edgy guy he is, and it’s often a huge fail. Last year, he willingly took off his shirt, showed his small yet firm physique (OMG, is that a tattoo? I must masturbate right now) and challenged a former Canadian Conservative senator to a boxing match. He told people it was for charity, but in my opinion, he just wanted to prove to Canadian women what a tough guy he is.
Then there was that one time where Justin kissed a gay talk-show co-host on national French-Canadian television. It was very endearing. Perhaps he meant it as a big fuck you to conventions. Maybe he was just saying, “I’m not gay, but I’m not afraid to kiss another man. I’m a liberal.” But all I saw was a cry for attention, a giant “Have you seen this? I kissed a guy on TV. That makes me a cool dude.” I don’t know if it ever crossed his mind that, maybe the co-host didn’t want to kiss him. But then again, we’ve all seen Justin’s face, and let’s be honest, who wouldn’t want to hit that?
There’s something so off about everything he does, and that’s what makes me want him. I know that boning Justin would be one of the weirdest experiences of my life and I would probably never climax. However, I know it would be fun. He’d probably show me some of his “special moves.” I’m hoping he’d try to execute a monkey face on me or try anal on our first date, simply because he heard that’s what young Canadians are into these days.
Justin Trudeau, tumbling down a staircase.
I also remember seeing another interview he did on French-Canadian television a little while back. In yet another one of his attempts at showcasing his “party animal” side, Justin threw himself down the stairs—a funny act he regularly performs at parties to make people uncomfortable. It’s one of the most awkward moments in political television and it turns me on in more ways you can imagine. I love a funny guy, but if that jokester manages to perfectly combine creepiness, weirdness, and humor, I may just rip my clothes off and immediately throw myself at him. I want Justin to make me feel uncomfortable in the worst possible ways. My uterus is boiling just thinking about how weird our sex could get. The recurring image in my mind of his naked body is unsettling. I can picture the way in which he’d unbutton his shirt, while slowly tossing his mane with the artificial confidence only children of famous politicians can nurture (hey there Ben Mulroney, call me!). He’d probably attempt a few jokes to make me feel more at ease, but it would—without a doubt—have the complete opposite effect. Yet, that would not stop me from wanting to feel all of his Northen-Gateway-pipeline-hating, marijuana-decriminalizing essence inside me. I recently noticed a post on the Liberals’ website, “Win a BBQ dinner with Justin.” The lucky winner would have the chance to meet the Liberal leader in person. I initially thought this was a weird thing to do for a national politician, but then again, it suits him. What better way to connect with voters than to stuff a couple weiners down your throat and drink beer. Unfortunately, the contest is now closed and so I lost my opportunity to finally meet the great sexy weirdo, Justin Trudeau.
But if you ever happen to read this, Justin, I want you to know that I appreciate your dedication to being hip—however inappropriate and uncomfortable it may come across. I may never vote for you, but I will throw my bra and panties in your direction as long as you can keep this faux-coolness up.
Follow Steph on Twitter: @smvoyer
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