"FGOTUS has a Pinterest board."
Henry hears the lower-level staffer chuckle as he walks past him. He holds his iPad closer to his chest and wonders how else he's supposed to prepare plans for the White House Winter Holiday decorations.
Since Elizabeth was elected, there have been many attacks on his masculinity. His SNL impersonator acts him out as if he's an abused puppy who begs Elizabeth to peg him at every turn. 'Thank you, ma'am. May I have another?' has become quite the catchphrase. Late-night talk shows innuendo about Elizabeth being surrounded by men in uniform who can really give her what she needs. There are editorials, tweets, and TikToks calling him a trophy husband.
He usually lets them run down his back. He has, too. He reminds himself often that the First Lady has had to put up with so much more over the years, but he can't help but be weighed down by the insults to his masculinity sometimes. Not to mention, so much of the banter is much more offensive to his wife than it is to his sense of his masculinity. But the jokes do puncture through his skin and into his ego sometimes.
He looks down at his iPad. He was raised to work hard and to take pride in his work. He was a Marine and fighter pilot, well-trained and disciplined. He's an academic who knows preparedness is the key to success in every endeavor.
So yes, he does have a Pinterest board full of inspiration for the White House Holiday Decorations. Sure, it's messy and not well-themed; he's not an interior designer. There are multi-colored big-bulb old-school Christmas lights, silver and blue menorahs, and solstice-inspired garlands full of dried citrus and berries. He found proper kinaras with rich wood tones. He thought about his themes and motifs seriously, planning on his wife's administration's love of diplomacy and respect for diversity.
He takes his work seriously. He wrestled with his ego and identity before Elizabeth began campaigning. He understood his role as the First Gentleman of the United States. He knew he would continue to be her pillar of support, her rock, and her best friend. He knew he would keep her grounded, her mind clear, and her heart full. He would love her, respect her, and stand by her. He is her husband, and those things will always be true.
He also understood that being the first-ever First Gentleman would come with challenges. Just as the world has never seen a woman occupy the role of President of the United States, they have never seen a man occupy the office of First Spouse. He knows it's his job to set a precedence as much as it's Elizabeth's. The women who came before him have defined this role, just as the men who came before his wife. They've carved out expectations, duties, and responsibilities.
His role boils down to two words: hospitality and charity. He's a host and a humanitarian. Those are his jobs.
He sighs heavily as he walks into the residence dining room to see her already at the table with her head buried in the stack of briefings in front of her.
"People caught wind of my Pinterest prep for my meetings with the interior designers," he says in ways of greeting, trying to keep his tone light as if the jokes don't bother him. They shouldn't bother him. But they do.
She looks up at him, studying him for a moment. He's smiling at her, though after thirty years, she knows him well enough to know when it's a mask.
"What is it?" she asks, setting her pen down and giving him her full attention.
"The interns are laughing at me because I have a Pinterest board," he says, setting his iPad down on the table.
"Oh," she says, her brow furrowing and a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
He looks to the floor with a sigh, "I know it shouldn't bother me. I mean, look at all the misogyny you have to face every single day. It hardly feels fair to be upset about a few laughs from the young, lower-level staffers because of my Holiday decorations Pinterest board. But, God, laughing at me like I don't remember how to be a man just because I enthusiastically fulfill my role in your administration."
Elizabeth tilts her head, "Do you not think that attacking your manhood simply for being willing to carry out the traditional jobs as the President's spouse is misogyny? Because it is, babe," she says, giving him a sad smile.
Henry sighs, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't look at it that way, I guess."
She nods with a sad smile, "Yeah. I get it. It is easier to pretend that blatant misogyny doesn't exist. But, the fact of the matter is that just as I have a responsibility to set the precedence as the first female POTUS, you are also setting a precedence as the first FGOTUS. So, when they make jokes at your expense, think of how many young men you're showing that it's okay to be a feminist and support the women in their lives."
"Great point. I'll have to find a way to use that when they ask me about the whole pegging thing or tell me my wife needs to be fucked by a real man," he says sarcastically, misplacing his frustrations toward her.
Elizabeth sighs and rolls her eyes, pulling her reading glasses off her face. "You can't be serious," she says.
"Serious about what?" he groans, his brow furrowing.
"Is your ego hurt over the Pinterest comment or the general assumption that you lack sexual prowess?" she asks, her eyebrow quirking and her lips twitching up into a smirk.
"You know what? It's not a big deal," he says, picking up his iPad and looking at his notes from his meeting with SecDef about the VA memorization bill.
"No, I think it is," she says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.
He groans and sets his iPad back down, "Okay, I'm embarrassed. Is that what you want to hear? That the twenty-somethings in the mailroom are talking about the way they perceive the power dynamics in our bedroom embarrasses me. The SNL sketches in which I use innuendo to beg for you to peg me while wearing my military dress uniform embarrasses me. The comments online of other men thinking I can't make you have an orgasm, but they would know what to do if they had a chance embarrasses me. Is that what you wanted to hear, Elizabeth?" he snaps.
"Hey, quit yelling at me!" she snaps back, her voice raised and her posture stiffening. She pauses and softens her expression, "I'm sorry you are feeling this way. I'm sorry that people are saying cruel things and that they're using it as a way to mock you. I'm sorry babe," she says gently.
"I'm sorry," he says, hanging his head. "I'm not mad at you. None of it is your fault. And I do know a lot of it is something I have to unpack. When you and I are alone together, like we are right now, it's the same as it's always been. We're equals. Partners. But the reality is that to the world, we aren't equals. You are the President of the United States—the most powerful person on the planet. And I am just your husband. I love being your husband. I'm proud to be your husband. I wish they didn't assume that because you are the one with all the power, it makes me less of a man. I was a Marine- a fucking fighter pilot, a spy. I'm not some weak-willed pushover who's been neutered."
She gives him a sympathetic look, "Too many people equate feminism and misandry. People can't imagine a man and a woman as equals and partners. Too many men and women alike think that if a man is supportive of the women in his life, he is less than other men. It's toxic. That's not real masculinity. I think you know that," she says, giving him a knowing look.
"I do. It's just hard to remember," he sighs.
"It is," she says with a nod, reaching for his hand. "But it's also worth remembering that we have an incredible opportunity to show them the truth. Over the years, I've found that the patriarchy doesn't change when you argue with it. I've had to earn respect repeatedly. Yes, I had to work harder at it than men do, and sometimes, I've had to demand it after I knew I had earned it. But I usually hope that for certain people, it is a catalyst for them to begin unlearning their preconceived notions of gender norms and stereotypes. I want them to think about how their behavior and beliefs have made the world a worse place. It's a long road. It will take generations, and there are plenty of people who will die without ever knowing anything different. But maybe we can change some minds. Maybe we can give the next generation a little less pain and a little more love. The patriarchy doesn't die because I got elected, but you and I get the privilege to help chip away at it and show the next generation the path forward."
"Well, aren't you philosophical today," he says with a sigh, letting her words sink into his bones.
She chuckles, "It's good for us to switch it up now and again. And for what it's worth, as someone who is extremely attracted to masculinity. You are one hell of a man," she says with a smile, her eyes twinkling and a blush coloring her cheeks.
"Really?" he asks, looking down at her and quirking an eyebrow.
"Of course," she says with a shrug, "Why do you think I fell in love with you?"
"Because you wanted a weak-willed, submissive trophy husband?" he quips.
"Oh, yeah, that's exactly it," she deadpans, "It had nothing to do with the muscular wannabe Maverick thing you had going on," she teases, biting her bottom lip.
"Wannabe Maverick thing?" he smiles.
"Mmm," she nods, "The uniform, the confidence. The way you made me feel safe and respected, not even to mention the things you made me feel in bed. If that's not a turn-on, I don't know what is," she says, a blush coloring her cheeks as a smirk graces her lips.
He looks at his wife with his head tilted, "Wanna keep stroking my ego there, baby?"
Her brow cocks as her smile widens, "Is that all you want me to stroke?" she asks, her tone dripping with innuendo.
"It's not all," he says, his gaze dropping down to her chest.
"No?" she asks, leaning back in her chair and uncrossing her arms.
He shakes his head, licks his lips, and shifts in his chair. "Suddenly, I'm feeling very manly. Do you want to go to bed a little early, Madam President?"
"Mmm," she hums, standing from the table, "That's one of the best ideas I've heard all day."