The Travails of Monique Ch. 02-03

II. A Detour to Journeys Past

As there were no direct flights, my itinerary required that I first board an Air France flight to Tokyo, Japan, where I would then have to catch a connecting flight to Manila, the capital City of the Philippines. A journey, that would take me thousands of kilometers to the other side of the world and around eighteen (18) hours of flying time to complete.

No, I was not able to get myself off at anytime during the trip since, to my chagrin, Robert had booked me to fly economy, and the cramped conditions there simply did not afford the privacy it required. I knew I should have just upgraded my ticket to Business Class when I first saw it, but did not do so, to my present regret.

A couple of hours into the flight I I started to get restless, as I was not used to just sitting around for a very long time. Standing up, I began making my way up and down the aisles of the plane, determined to get as much exercise while on board.

Just as I was about to make my turn when I reached the partition dividing the Business Class section from that of Economy, the curtains suddenly drew open and out marched a tall, dark haired woman with a fluted crystal wineglass in hand, who barreled right into me. She obviously watching where she was going , since she was looking over her shoulder at the time, conversing with someone behind her. Luckily I was able to avoid getting splattered by her drink when the collision occurred.

At first shaken by the encounter, I failed to immediately give her a piece of my mind for her inconsiderate behavior, as I would have normally done under the circumstances. Instead, I just managed to stand there dumbly looking at her. On the other hand, far from being contrite, the other woman had an irritated and bored look on her when she slowly turned to face me.

For a time, we just stood there, sizing each other up and staring the other down, in silence. With me, impatiently expecting no less than a sincere apology from her for almost bowling me over; whilst she had nothing but the most confident and smuggest look on her, as she stood before me, with hands on hips, defiantly awaiting my next move.

(For all those movie buffs out there who may want to set this on film, this scene would probably be reminiscent of the final showdown between Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda in the cult spaghetti western classic “Once Upon A Time In the West”, but you must make sure to get much prettier to play our parts than them, especially mine. You should also consider retaining the same skirling background music in the movie’s soundtrack, rather than the jazzy tune wafting over the plane’s sound system at that time. )

It took about a minute into our Mexican stand-off, before I realized that I knew the woman confronting me. Although years may have passed since I last saw her, I was finally able to recognize her beautiful face.

It was Monica Carstairs. The one person in the world whom I would have least expected to see on this trip, or ever wanted to see at all, for that matter.

Monica Carstairs. The most self-centered, selfish and egotistical bitch of a slut on the face of the earth, and my former best friend and sometime lover.

Her sudden appearance before me in no less than living color, brought back distant memories from the past.

About four years ago, Monica and I worked in the same company I am still employed in. She was a ravishingly beautiful girl with luxurious black hair and enticing green eyes. She was also very tall (standing 1.78 meters in her stocking feet) and had the svelte body of a super model like Rebecca Romjin (although I think she looked more like Elizabeth Hurley in the face), which made her the object of every man’s fantasy and the envy of other less fortunate women, present company included.

From what I about her life, she came from a very wealthy English family that spent most of the summer months in the continent. It seems then that Monica loved her sojourns in Paris so much while she was young, that she decided to live here as soon as she came of age, to her parents’ displeasure.

Like me she was assigned to public relations. And, being English, she handled most of the company’s English or American clientele.

Despite our similarities, Monica and I had one basic difference when it came to our attitude towards work. Whereas I would try my utmost to remain strictly professional and maintain a distance between myself and the client; Monica had no qualms about getting intimate with them and do whatever it would take to keep them happy, including bedding them, if necessary; which she willingly and often did.

On some occasions we even got to handle a client together, with me providing the professional services required by his business; while she concentrated more on providing the “professional” services his personal needs required. We made a pretty good team and had a lot of fun in the process.

As a result, it was through Monica’s efforts that a lot of foreign contracts were landed by the company and in appreciation thereof, a number of bonuses and promotions made it easily her way.

I too was no slouch either, by the way, and was able to keep pace with her, despite my not having to do some of the things she did with clients. Pretty soon, we became the company’s top two public relations officers, always garnering the highest points in customer satisfaction ratings.

Just for fun, Monica and I sometimes even engaged in a little friendly competition of our own to see who would score higher during in our performance rating; with the loser having to treat the winner to an evening out. Again we almost seem to always come out neck and neck, as we totally dominated the chart, and alternately took first place. We eventually decided to drop this pointless contest and agreed to just share all expenses equally.

Despite all the competition, Monica and I have remained the best of friends and even maintained a close social relationship outside of work. We were always seen doing the clubs and other party scenes together, that friends and colleagues started referring to us collectively as EMINEM, as we were that close and inseparable.

At times, when we were joined by Monica’s childhood friend Melanie Rhys - Williams, another equally tall, fiery red head with a voluptuous figure, we three came to be known as the “M & Ms”, not so much for our sweet dispositions; but I think it had something to do more with the hairs on our heads coming in different colors ( yellow for Monique, black for Monica and red for Melanie) just like the famous candy of similar name.

Monica was also the first and only woman I ever made love with. Having always been into men, I had never shown any interest whatsoever in another woman until Monica came along. For some strange reason I found her beauty and bearing simply beguiling the moment I first saw her.

As I was to learn later, the attraction was mutual. Unbeknownst to me then, Monica was bi-sexual in orientation and that she had wanted to seduce me the first time she laid eyes on me.

However, rather than rush in and chance scaring me off, she took her time and patiently ensnared me in her intricate web of seduction that, in the end, it was I who begged her to make love to me.

It took her a year to seduce me. Starting out slow, she began her conquest by striving to be my friend and nothing more.

As we continued to spend more and more time together and got even closer, she started to become more of a confidant than just a friend, and I was able to share not only my joys and sorrows with her, but my deepest and most intimate secrets as well.

It was only later when she felt that I was totally comfortable with her that she took our relationship to the next level.

Never blatant nor crude, Monica was able to introduce sexual innuendoes into our everyday lives so subtly, that I failed to suspect her ultimate intention, which was to initiate me to the forbidden world of sapphic love.

For starters, Monica tried to pique my attention by dressing more sexily even when we were alone. As a result thereof, I could not help but be bewitched by her beauty and charms, seeing as she kept flaunting them incorrigibly. Pretty soon, I started to appraise her with a man’s eye, as she continually turned up dressed (or undressed) for my viewing appreciation. Like I said, although I may have found Monica attractive even from the very start, it was her provocative fashion lately that drove me to obsess her.

What’s more, the innocent pats and comforting hugs she used to dispense as a friend soon gave way to ever more sensuous caresses and tightening embraces, which left no doubt of the path she wished to take me. Especially as I could not help feel the firmness of her breasts and the smoldering heat of her loins, molded against my own.

So too did her kisses evolve, from the once chaste pecks to the cheeks or lips, we now partook of torrid French kissing full on the mouth, which left me utterly breathless and hungry for more.

Finally driven delirious with desire, I begged her to make love to me.

She obliged.

And, and we found ourselves naked atop my bed, gently caressing and secure in each others arms while doing the things expected of lovers, even if neither of us was a man and we were both women.

Perhaps, had Monica remained the gentle and generous lover she was when we first made love I would have been forever content to live with her, happily ever after. Unfortunately, such was not the case, since in the real world fairy tale endings do not necessarily come true.

Being the more aggressive of us two, Monica exerted her control of our relationship soon after we started making love. Seeking my permission at first, Monica began introducing aspects of domination and role playing games into our lovemaking which seemed to always have her play the role of the dominant alpha female who always lorded it over me, the subservient bitch.

In hindsight, I now know I should never have allowed myself to partake in those games in the first place. However, since at that time, I was kind of excited at the new frontiers Monica would take me, I freely gave my consent, with nary a protest.

To my demise, Monica took my silence as an acquiescence to my assuming a more submissive role in our relationship, and as a license for her to totally dominate me, sexually or otherwise. And, she immediately set upon to cajole, bully and completely control me that in time, she was able to imperiously dictate how I would dress, act and even where and when I would cum.

Under the new regime, I was now required to always get naked whenever I was with Monica, who in turn now mostly remained completely dressed even when we were having sex, as a way of manifesting her total domination of me. Gone are the days then when you could find Monica and I mutually naked and making love entwined in each other’s arms. Instead, one finds it is now I alone who am the only one shamefully naked and being fucked by a fully clothed Monica, till I am allowed to cum. (Monica confessed that she took such perverse delight in her total domination of me, and she would often orgasm herself in the middle thereof, without need for me having to service her.)

From her inamorata, I found myself relegated to the status of a mere plaything, to be used and abused together with her other toys.

I can still remember the particular events that finally drove me to put an end to our relationship, as vividly as if it had taken place only yesterday.

Just like any other day, Monica had barged into my apartment unannounced one afternoon and ordered me to strip completely, as soon as she got through the door. She then gagged me with the undergarments I had worn and made me get on all fours facing my dresser mirror. Whereupon, without prior warning, she proceeded to violate my derriere for the first time with a strap-on, which she had just slipped on over her jeans.

My muffled howls fell on deaf ears as she was enraptured and completely lost to our grossly obscene images reflected on the mirror. She was likewise totally unconcerned with the anguished look evident on my pitiful face nor of the copious tears flowing thereon, as she seemed to revel in my sufferings. Once done playing, She just stood up and left, discarding me like a broken sex doll on the bedroom floor, not caring at all whether I came or not.

Monica’s callous treatment of me that instance left me no choice. Her ever growing dominance had not only caused me bodily pain but it had started to psychologically affect me as well. To my growing horror and shame, I was starting to get aroused from the escalating abuse heaped upon me. I knew then, that unless I would be able to nip this in the bud, I would soon lose myself completely in my enthrallment to her, something that my yet rational mind sought to avert.

Thus resolved, I started making plans on how to end our relationship and plotted my revenge on Monica, as well.

Ironically, it was Monica herself who provided me with the wherewithal to finally rid myself of her. Always the promiscuous bitch, she had continued to maintain her dalliance with others even after we started seeing each other. In fact, she never bothered to hide them from me and often even crowed about her exploits even while fucking me.

From her own mouth, I was able to compile a dossier that chronicled her various trysts and indiscretions, complete with all the lurid details of past and present affairs, not only with company’s clients but, with other married company officials whom she saw on the side, as well.

Somehow, a copy of the said dossier found itself in the e-mail of our straight laced company president who, based on the information contained therein, caught Monica in flagrante, engaged in a menage trois with the head of our company’s sales department and one of our leading suppliers, in a least used room during office hours. (This incident and its aftermath came to be known as the Monicagate, for obvious reasons, and became one of the most favorite topic of gossip for years to come. Especially considering that a copy of the said dossier again found itself circulating among the staff who could not help but be titillated and somewhat disgusted by the acts of debauchery recounted therein.)

Copies of the said dossier also managed to land in the hands of the wives of some of her more prominent clients who, needless to say, were not at all pleased by Monica’s services.

To avert a scandal and the possibility of a lawsuit, the company immediately fired Monica lest it be accused of engaging in unethical business practices by tolerating such immoral behavior. It also had her all but deported as she was declared persona non grata, and threatened with arrest the next time she set foot on company property again.

As an added bonus, the company had reassigned most of Monica’s clients to me, hoping that my renowned reputation for professionalism and circumspection when it comes to work would be able to mollify the wives of our client’s who fell victim to Monica’s wiles. This was how I got to meet Robert who was one of her few clients whom she had not bed. At least I don’t think so.

Monica did try to see me once in the aftermath of Monicagate. She came quietly knocking on my door one night asking if we could talk. When I opened the door, I noticed that she definitely came out the worse for wear from the experience. Gone was the brash, confident and domineering mistress that I knew; and instead what was standing there outside my door was a mere shell of a woman, lost and bewildered and still in shock at the unfortunate events that befell her.

However, rather than be sympathetic to her plight, I completed my revenge and immediately told her, in no uncertain terms, TO GET LOST, raining curses and insults at her in the process. I could not help but relish her utter look of shock and defeat at my angry words and savored even more the sight of the bitter tears streaming down her face, for a change. I ended my diatribe by nastily calling her a LOSER before I slammed the door on her.

That was the last time I saw her till now.

( I learned later that in the aftermath of the whole sordid affair Monica slinked back to England and wound up in the comforting arms of her friend Melanie, and they have remained thick as thieves since then. I even read from the tabloids that they are known as EMINEM in the party circuit, a vile name that I would rather forget.)

An Intro

(Which may or may not be included in the film’s screenplay):

For those who may no longer recall what had transpired so far . . .

We left our heroine (Monique) aboard a plane on her way to join her boyfriend (Robert) in the Philippines. Incidentally, her boyfriend (Robert) used to be a client of her former best friend and one time lover (Monica), who now happens to be her (Monique’s) worst nightmare and implacable foe. Her erstwhile friend had this penchant of engaging in illicit sex not only with her clients, but other “off-limits” (i.e. married) company officials as well, which led to her dismissal. (Please refer to the previous chapter for the details.) Monique believes her boyfriend (Robert) was one of the very few clients the bitch (Monica) did not have any sexual relations with.

On the plane Monique ran into (or to be more accurate, was ran into) and is just about to lock horns with a beautiful brunette; who turns out to be none other than her arch nemesis Monica.

However, before they came to blows, we (the readers) were treated to a brief (well may be not that brief) sojourn into events past, as they came flashing back in the mind of Monique. This interlude allowed us (the readers) an insight into the social dynamics existing between the two combatants, and provided the necessary background for Monique’s deep seated, animosity towards the other woman.

Anyway, having put us back to speed, we can now proceed with the present journey, and so its now BACK TO THE FUTURE. (Sorry I couldn’t help putting that in.)

Part 3 The Journey Continues:

At first totally stunned by the realization that it was indeed Monica standing before me, I was further distracted by the bitter-sweet memories that just kept popping-up unbidden in my mind. Accordingly, I could do no more but stand frozen in place and return her glare with equal venom, as we continued to wage our private war of nerves, in stony silence.

In typical fashion, it was Monica who broke the impasse and took the offensive.

Just as our face-off had reached its second minute or so, Monica suddenly dropped the dagger looks she had heretofore been giving me, allowing her beautiful face to once again take on its more familiar haughty and self-assured mien. Then, eyeing me in the most condescending way, she spoke in the clipped tones of her upper class English accent, of which I had first found adorable, but now came to hate with a passion.

“Well . . .well. . . if it isn’t Monique. . . I see your still with X X X , seeing as you’re flying economy.”

(Picture Posh Spice delivering those lines and that’s how Monica sounded.)

Having been caught off guard by her opening salvo, it took me about a second to digest the underlying insult in her snide remark. However, before I could come up with a riposte of my own, as I was still undecided whether to respond in kind or with something more physical other than words, Monica again kept me off balance by pulling off another coup.

In a totally unexpected move, Monica’s beautiful face once again transformed after having uttered those spiteful words and broke into the sweetest smile possible. Then, to my surprise, she took me into her arms and buzzed me on both cheeks the continental way, like we were dear old friends greeting each other in public. Once again caught flat- footed I could do no more than mimic her actions, like an automaton without a will of her own.