Suddenly, you wake up, however you lay still and you keep you eyes shut, focusing on your surroundings. It’s a noise. Someone walking on your hard wood floors and it sounds familiar… almost as if you’re remember something from a dream, and then it hits you like a truck. Those same footsteps *are* from a dream. The same dream 5 years earlier, and you haven’t forgot a single detail. Obama’s dress shoes click-clack across the floor slowly. Could this be the day? Could this be the time that he finally reaches you? You’re trying to gauge how far he is away by the sound. 12 feet. 8 feet. Five feet. 2 feet. You feel a weight on the couch of someone mounting you, and you spin around, eyes open and wild, angry and scared at the same time. And finally, you see him, Obama right on top of you, his disgusting, cold leer staring through your soul. You clench your fists. This time you’re fighting. You’re not running, not freezing out of fear like you did in your dream so long ago. You’re ready to wipe that smirk off his face, and you swing. You’re pounding him over and over, however he doesn’t seem fazed. Every time you hit him he looks right back at you, grinning like a demon. You keep punching him, your arms burning and your hands on fire. It seems like every time your fist collides with his face, it burns, like you’re putting your fist onto a stove top. Finally, exhausted, you stop and look at your fists, third degree burns all over them. That’s when he moves. He grabs your wrist and your skin immediately starts to sear, and your joints lock. You can’t move, you can’t scream. All you can do is stare at him as he cooks your wrists to a crisp. You have no idea what’s going on or why your frozen, but that’s when you get the idea to push him off with your boner. If you can make it as big as it was in your dream so long ago, you can push him off. You think of the most sexual thoughts you can, but it only grows to your normal 5 inches and pokes Obama in his right nut. You frantically search through your mind in search of erotic thoughts but none seem to do the job. Suddenly, you get a surge of anger. Pure, unfiltered, fury that goes raging through your body, fueled by years of unchecked hatred toward Obama. This seems to do it. Your dick immediately grows almost 10 times the size it was before. Obama, for the first time since you’ve seen him, loses his smile and his eyes go wide. He frantically lets go of your wrists to jump off, but your your now massive peen is too fast. It shoots up like a bullet, penetrating his dress pants by sheer force and lifting him up off the couch by his ass. Obama’s arms and legs go wild, and when you look up at him, he looks like a cockroach on a stick, limbs flailing, or maybe a chocolate kebab. With one last wide eyed look at you, he explodes. A dark brown gelatinous mass going in every direction. Even though every pour in your body is filled with Obama’s remains, you’re satisfied. Knowing Obama was gone, your penis shrinks to it’s normal size. You have a pang of loss knowing that you would never get your massive dick back, but it’s ok. You were free, at long last FREE. You holler and run through the streets like a schoolboy, yelling that you were free from Obama’s shackles, your normal size peen flapping about in the wind as you run. You did it you filthy bastard. You did it.