John Edwards' secret sex tape

The politician, as you've never seen him before. (In a Travelodge, seducing to the strains of Dave Matthews)

By Don Aldrete
Published January 28, 2010 1:28AM (EST)

Former John Edwards aide Andrew Young has made recent headlines with his claims to have seen a sex tape filmed by his former boss John Edwards and his mistress, Rielle Hunter. Salon obtained a secret copy of the tape in question, a transcript of which is below:

The following takes place in a Travelodge off the New Jersey turnpike. Rielle sits on a plaid couch beside a camping stove. She wears a lacy negligee with a touch of -- could it be? -- moonbeams. Edwards enters, out of breath, and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

Hunter: Baby, I’m so glad you made it! I was worried you were stuck in Charleston.

Edwards: It wasn’t inclement weather that kept me on the tarmac, my sweet dream, my beautiful nightmare. I was getting you a surprise.

Edwards unzips his pants. Hunter's face lights up the dark hotel like a 1,000-watt bulb.

Hunter: You finally called the pubic-hair stylist! It looks good!

Edwards: Well at $5,000 dollars a pop, it better.

Hunter: Your pubes have never looked silkier, more anti-poverty, more poised to lead the free world.

Edwards: I know, they gave me the "Lou Holtz"! I dare them not to nominate me as A.G. now.

Edwards pulls his pants back up and glances over at the camping stove.

Edwards: It smells great in here. What are you cooking?

Hunter: Your favorite -- roasted orphan with hundred-dollar-bill sauce.

Edwards: Oh, baby, you are too good to me! Where did you find orphan on such short notice?

Hunter: I know a guy. His orphans are free range and totally organic. He raises them on pine nuts, cranberries and weed.

Edwards unties the strings of Hunter's negligee and gives her right breast a squeeze.

Edwards: That orphan smells delicious.

Hunter: Thank you, baby. I have to warn you, the ATM ran out of 100s so I had to make the sauce out of 50s. But I know it'll taste just as good.

They begin to kiss. Deeply. Yes, it's kind of gross.

Edwards: Wait: Is this sauce Atkins approved?

Hunter: You bet it is. Hey, speaking of anti-poverty, I was thinking, what if instead of attorney general, they made you czar of poor?

Edwards: Baby, I think I just sprang a stiffie.

Edwards leans in for another (gross) kiss, when he spies a video camera.

Edwards: Hey, honey, are you filming this?

Hunter: Of course I am, silly. I’m filming everything so your kids and our kids and our grandkids can see how new-Mommy and Daddy fell in love. Is there a problem?

Edwards: No, no, it’s just: If this tape ever got leaked ...

Hunter: Oh, baby, is that what you’re worried about?

Edwards: Well, I mean, my wife is dying of cancer and my kids are at home scared to death about losing their mother, and here I am shacked up with you touching your privates in a Travelodge. But also, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about this $5K pube cut.

Hunter: Oh, don't be silly. The only people who lose private sex tapes are total flakes or shameless self-promoters. Do I seem like either of those things to you?

Edwards: Baby, from the time you first read my aura for your low-rent Web show, I knew you were mad real.

Hunter: And if this tape ever did get leaked, do you know what people would see?

Edwards: That I'm a big dick? I mean, my really big dick?

Hunter: They would see two people who are victims of bad timing and circumstance. Star-crossed lovers.

A slow jam starts to play in the background. It's the Dave Matthew Band. They begin to sway, and Edwards starts to sing.

Edwards: "Hike up your skirt a little more. And show your world to me ..."

Hunter: Oh, baby, why can't the world see our love?

Edwards: I just don't want anyone to think we're monsters. 

Hunter: They never could! But later tonight, after dinner, let's do the thing where I straddle your back and grab your horns, and then you unfurl your wings and fly me around the room while I dig my nails into your back scales. That gets me so hot.

Edwards: Only if you promise to film it.

Hunter: You bet, but maybe we won’t show this one to the grandkids. Ha ha.
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Don Aldrete is the pseudonym for a writer who lives in a bunker on the border between North and South Carolina. He is an avid collector of pine cones and has been known to sport a "Lou Holtz" as well.


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