Stormy Daniels Describes Tryst With Trump, Hefner PJs and All

The sound you hear of gnashing teeth is coming from Right Wingnuttia because Stormy Daniels has gotten another cover, this time in New York Magazine. This will not sit well with Jenna Ellis, Alina Habba, or even Meghan Kelly, who have all publicly bemoaned the fact that Stormy Daniels has found herself on the cover of some impressive periodicals.

Whine away, bee-otches, Stormy’s got it going on and you don’t. And neither does Melania. It was that Vogue cover that really got them all mewing and sharpening their claws.

Yes, Stormy gets invited to do covers that Melania couldn’t get if she smashed all the piggy banks and safes in Mar-a-Lago, robbed a few local banks, and then sold Barron to Rumplestiltskin on top of it. That’s because Melania is a boring automaton whereas Stormy is one of a kind. Melania is the sum total of whatever adornments she has on at any given moment. Stormy, on the other hand, has a heart, a mind, and a soul, which all shine out through a great face and body. Stormy’s the earth mother and she’s sure made a hit with this culture way beyond her niche movies. Keep whining, bee-otches, you’re totally outclassed.

Now if your stomach can stand it, here’s Stormy’s description of the tryst with Trump. New York Magazine:

She was invited to dinner with him by his longtime bodyguard, Keith Schiller. She didn’t hide it. She told her boyfriend as well as several friends and work acquaintances also in Lake Tahoe. She declined Schiller’s offer to send a car to retrieve her and bring her to Trump’s hotel. She put on her favorite gold dress and strappy gold heels and walked over. Schiller directed her to enter the penthouse, one of those big suites with its own living and dining room, where she found Trump meandering in black silk pajamas. She was furious, she recalled. She mocked him, comparing him to Hugh Hefner, and told him to change.

He obliged. He returned, chastened, in his uniform of dark suit and tie. When he spent too much time bragging about himself and showing off a magazine with his face on the cover, she ordered him to bend over and “drop ’em.” He did. She rolled up the magazine and spanked him with it. It wasn’t sexual, she said. It was purely a battle of egos. She won, she thought. And they talked for hours about her business. He complimented her intellect. He compared her favorably to his eldest daughter, Ivanka, which Daniels insists was not incestuous sounding or creepy. He called her “a woman to be reckoned with.” He thought more people should know this, and, in fact, he had an idea: Daniels should be a contestant on The Celebrity Apprentice.

She walked deeper into the suite to the bathroom. Inside, she noted the toiletries: Pert Plus two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, Old Spice, and gold nail clippers. When she emerged, Trump was perched on the edge of the bed, stripped down to a white undershirt, white briefs, and socks. “I had a sense of a vacuum taking all of the air out of the room and me deflating with it,” she later wrote. “I sighed inwardly, keenly aware of two thoughts in that one moment. There was a simple, Oh f**k. Here we go. But there was also a much more complex, sad feeling that none of what he said was true. He didn’t respect me. Everything he said to me was bullshit. And I was mad at myself. How did I miss this? I have been stripping since I was 17. I can read a room. I never caught it.”

She didn’t say “no.” She didn’t say “yes,” either. To me, she said, “When I tried to step around him, he was like, ‘I thought you wanted to be a director. Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes.’ And I knew his bodyguard was outside the door.” She froze. She does not remember getting undressed, though she knows she must have. “It was an out-of-body experience. I was lying down on the bed with him on top of me, naked. I was just there, my head on the pillow. There was no foreplay, and it was one position. Missionary. We kissed and his hard, darting tongue pushed in and out of my mouth. I thought, He’s even a terrible kisser. I lay there as he fumbled his dick into me. I was surprised he didn’t even mention a condom … He wasn’t aggressive, and I know for damn sure I could have outrun him if I tried, but I didn’t.”

Much has been made of Daniels’s description of Trump’s anatomy. “His penis is distinctive in a certain way,” she wrote. “It has a huge mushroom head. Like a toadstool … I am sorry to report that it is not freakishly small. It is smaller than average — below the true average, not the porn average.” She called him “a guy with Yeti pubes and a dick like the mushroom character in Mario Kart.” It was, she said, among the least impressive “two to three minutes” of her life. (Trump denies all of this.)

I wonder how Trump remembers it? Does he recall himself as Clark Gable and Stormy as Vivien Leigh, or what exactly? Or, his Bogart to Stormy’s Ingrid Bergman? Maybe we’re better off not knowing. All I can say is that from this description Trump must have peaked as a lover in high school and it never got any better.

Through the next couple of years, Daniels and Trump kept in contact. He called often. She visited his office in Trump Tower and attended one of his pageants. When they were next alone, at his bungalow in the Beverly Hills Hotel, he made her watch “Shark Week.” He interrupted it to answer a call from Hillary Clinton, who was then seeking the Democratic presidential nomination. (Asked about this call in 2018, Clinton did not respond.) When they hung up, Daniels said, he announced, “I love her!” Trump and Daniels never slept together again, even though, she said, he wanted to and he used The Celebrity Apprentice as “bait” to keep her interested. They would need to rig the competition, he told her, which he was eager to do to keep her on the show; he would provide her with details of the challenges ahead of time, and together they would hatch a plan for her success.

The role (and the plot to cheat) never materialized, and soon Daniels stopped taking his calls. She moved on with her life. “It’s easy to move on from bad sex with a billionaire,” as she put it. Only when she came across his face on television did she recall their odd relationship. “I had sex with that,” she said. She felt bad about it, but mostly she felt nothing about it at all. It was simply not the most important thing or even an important thing about her.

This started in 2006 and Trump chased Stormy for ten years. Trump was 60 years of age and Stormy was 27 when they met. Melania was 36 and had given birth to their one and only child after marrying Trump in 2005. Truth be known, Melania was probably delighted that Trump was screwing around with other women, less of an obligation for her to have to perform that function. If that sounds cold, it’s because people who operate on this level do not impress me as having relationships which are too far beyond the transactional.

Melania has admitted as much and I give her credit for that. She was asked by an interviewer if she married Trump for his money and she replied, “If I didn’t look like this, would he be with me?” No, he would not and you wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t have the wallet. That’s the transaction, thank you for your honesty.

You notice that Trump kept the bait of the show biz career dangling with Stormy, even though Stormy was doing just fine on her own. I seriously wonder if any woman has ever gotten with Trump simply because she wanted to. Very probably not. And if that’s the case, I’ll tell you something: He may have billions of dollars, but there is truth in the saying that the best things in life are free. At least the yous and mes don’t go through life knowing that every single lover we’ve ever had was there for a paycheck or some kind of a break. Life is cold enough without it being that cold.

But that’s what it is for Donald Trump, evidently.

[photo: Politico screenshot APF/Getty Images]