It was an uncomfortable day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue when the photos of Laura Bush hit the wires. The cool, composed former librarian had been seen as a civilizing presence in the White House, a conservative antidote to the Rorschach test that was Hilary Clinton. Laura Bush was the perfect politician's wife -- attractive, well coiffed, and silent on the major issues of the day. All that came to an end in December 2004. Somebody, probably a liberal, got hold of the black and white photos that showed Mrs. Bush in the altogether buck-nakedest photos you ever did see.

The Washington Post reported, "Nobody knows exactly when it started, but sources confirm that sometime in 2003, Mrs. Bush apparently began to find her job as first lady to be a crashing bore. She began to go for long walks around the streets of Washington, sometimes late in the evening. Some nights she'd score some coke, other nights she'd take a can of spray paint and tag a random building. She perfected the art of hiding in the back seat of the limo and jumping out at stoplights, running down side streets in her stocking feet before the Secret Service could react, then sneaking up behind them, yelling, "Boo!" She'd giggle as the agents fired randomly into the crowd."

Whether it was her husband's infantile amusements (he'd play Donkey Kong until well past midnight), or the stultifying reality of being First Lady, eventually Laura Bush wandered off the reservation, as they say in Crawford. One night a wealthy oil buddy of 41's was spending the night, stag, in the Lincoln Bedroom. At midnight the president retired to the residence. At about 1 a.m., Laura Bush made a surprise visit to the "gentleman with the big check," as she later referred to him. At 4 a.m., Mrs. Bush made her way back to the residence, wearing a sombrero and two artfully placed coconuts. The next morning, POTUS, (President of the United States) got the biggest donation ever given to a political campaign by an integrated oil company.

The President was thrilled. The White House issued a statement saying, "The President believes in energy independence. He looks forward to working with the oil and gas industry to increase drilling." At a news conference later, the president was asked about the close relationship between his administration and the oil industry. He responded, "What people don't understand is that you have to poke a lot of holes before you strike it rich. You never know which hole is going to be a gusher." According to reports, one oil executive standing behind the president began choking and had to be attended to.

Three nights later Mrs. Bush made another unannounced visit to the Lincoln Bedroom. This time she wasn't coy. She told the Hollywood mogul spending the night that it would cost him $5,000. She was tired of being the dowdy politician's wife; she wanted a little action, and $5,000 cash sounded like a good start. She didn't really need the money, but she couldn't rationalize not making a profit. After all, she mused, we're not Democrats.

The Hollywood big shot thought about it for 15 seconds, long enough to figure out which movie's advertising budget to hide the payment in, and readily agreed. For $5,000 he got the ride of his life. Somewhere inside the prim librarian's body was a flesh and blood woman dying for attention. Her husband's silly games of "Pin the tail on the donkey" no longer aroused her. She could only spank him so many times. He was always whistling, often to Neil Diamond songs. She needed a real man, any man, and this one was from Hollywood, so he probably knew some new positions.

For Laura, it was an awakening. She was "rode hard and put up wet" as they say in scrub country. She couldn't remember how many times she came, but at one point she yelled out, "Don't mess with Texas!" so loud that the maid knocked on the door and asked if everyone was alright. She hated to leave, but at 5 a.m., before the sprinklers came on and the servants came to work, she snuck back into her own bed, this time sans the sombrero or the coconuts.

After that, she became more brazen. She began to visit the Lincoln Bedroom nightly, often startling the occupant. Without knocking, she'd poke her head in to say goodnight. If it were a handsome man, she'd volunteer to turn down the bed, saying, "Lincoln loved this room, he called it his love shack." If the visitor seemed intrigued, she'd pretend to drop a book, usually Joseph Ellis's Founding Brothers. Mrs. Bush slowly bent over at the waist and held the pose, long enough so her thong-covered bottom would be artfully displayed. At that point she found that if she helped the guest untie his tie, slowly unbutton his shirt, and let her hands casually slide down his chest, the denouement was often swift and furious.

She stopped charging her conquests after a while, the money made it seem too sordid. She liked the freedom; she liked the power of the men who came to the White House. They were the movers and shakers of society. They were worldly and sophisticated. They knew how to both spell and pronounce the word "nuclear."

The photo taking started innocently enough. The day the Saudi Ambassador came to stay he asked if he could take a picture of her with his new digital camera. Later, at dinner, he whispered in her ear that she was more beautiful than any of his seven wives, and he would love to photograph her in private. Laura was embarrassed, but intrigued. She'd never been photographed by a lover. She was used to posing next to W at the ranch. He liked to take her photo posed next to a tree or with his mother. Occasionally she was asked to sit on a horse.

The ambassador's naughty suggestion piqued her curiosity. He was handsome enough, dark black hair, dark mustache, dressed like an English gentleman. No robes for him. Educated at Oxford, the dapper diplomat preferred Burberry suits and Cole Haan shoes to traditional Arab garb. That night she picked out some underwear she'd bought at the Georgetown Macy's during their Semi-Annual Lingerie Sale. She tried on a bra and garter thong from the Rampage Corina collection. She looked at herself in the mirror, and slowly ran her hands down her body. She had to admit, for a 45-year-old broad she looked pretty good. "Condoleeza, eat your heart out!" she thought to herself.

That night she wore the underwear under a conservative, beige wool jacket and skirt. She met the Ambassador in his room, bringing him a copy of the latest intelligence reports from Iraq, as he had requested. He complimented her on her taste in clothes, and repeated his admiration. "A man would give up all the riches of Farouk for one night with you, Mrs. Bush." She blushed, and sat demurely on the bed. He pulled out his camera and began to photograph her, taking picture after picture of her and the intelligence reports. He poured her a glass of cognac and convinced her to shed her jacket and skirt, to pose for him, to reveal herself to him. She felt the cognac slowly warm her, and she stretched out loosely on the bed, enjoying the feeling of being watched by this man. She felt desired, even worshipped. Finally she understood what Danielle Steel was talking about. Eventually she passed out, the victim of too much Remy Martin. The ambassador chastely tucked her into the bed and slipped out, flying to Riyadh with all the information he had come for.

The photos showed up first on the Internet, as they always do. Then the newspapers got hold of them. The Times claimed that White House Spokesman Scott McClellan, on first viewing, blurted out, "Too much bush! Way too much bush!" The Daily News ran the one with Laura wrapped in the American flag. The headline read, "Betsy Ross, you can have your flag back now!" The picture of Laura wearing nothing but a stovepipe hat and a smile crashed the servers of America Online. The Post banner headline read, "Honestly, Abe!" The one that got the most attention had the First Lady holding the Constitution over one breast and the Declaration of Independence over the other. Many scholars felt that she should have at least had the decency to be wearing panties. Newsday said, "Not since John Adams wrote Abigail from Paris have the founding documents of the nation been so thoroughly scrutinized." Jon Stewart joked, "Thank God there was no founding dildo!"

The Saudi royal family never did admit to releasing the photos. Some people blamed Michael Moore. The president went on TV and publicly forgave his wife. His popularity went up. Laura Bush wrote a book titled More than a Librarian, in which she wrote 500 pages and never once mentioned sex. She did however confess that she never cared for Neil Diamond. Outside Riyadh there is a brand new two-story sculpture, commissioned by the royal family. It's cast in bronze. The sculpture is of a woman, completely nude except for her cowboy boots. One hand is holding a book; the other is covering her sex. The nipples are quite prominent. Visitors are allowed to take photos. There is only one rule. No whistling.

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