1 comments/ 22418 views/ 1 favorites The Travails of Monique Ch. 01 By: SASHA109 Part 1 The Journey Begins : My name is Monique. I come from Europe, and I am in my mid twenties and stand about 1.53 meters in height and weigh only 49 kilos. For my height, my limbs are very long and shapely, especially my legs; and have what I would like to believe, a devastatingly sexy body, which I have managed to keep lean through a healthy diet and constant exercise, leaving me blessed with a flat trim waist and proportionately full breasts and hips. People say that I have the look of a young Catherine Deneuve, what with my golden blonde locks and pretty face; but, I am sure they exaggerate, since I doubt whether I even come close to looking as good as her. I work as a public relations officer for one of the bigger companies in the European Union. As a public relations officer, it is my job to look after the needs of our company's important clients so that they remain satisfied and will continue to do business with us. In the course of my work, I have had to deal with a number of foreign clientele since my company does a lot of business worldwide. One such client was an Englishman by the name of Robert, an IT (Information Technology) expert who eventually became my boyfriend. Unfortunately for us, due to globalization Robert was assigned by his company to head their Call Center/Business Processing Outsourcing (BPO) operations way out in the Philippines a year and a half ago and has been stationed there since. Needless to say, with me in Paris and him half way around the globe, our relationship suffered terribly. I was always on the verge of ending it were it not for the wonder of cyber telecommunications, which allowed us to see and profess our undying love to each another on live feed every day. "Cyber-dating" for want of a better term. Although to be honest, the propensity of Robert's image to continuously hang in mid-sentence on screen was often comical and took quite a bit of romance from the moment. Anyway, from our conversations, I learned that the Philippines is a tropical country located in south east Asia. It is an archipelago, meaning that it is composed of numerous islands (around 7,400 during high tide / 7,401 at low), and as such has countless beaches and marine attractions which makes it one of the most popular tourist destinations on earth. In fact, Robert even claims that the best beaches in the world can be found in the Philippines, citing Boracay, El Nido, Amampulo and Panglao Island, just to name a few, all being world famous for their pristine clear waters, vibrant marine life and fine, powdery white sand. How I truly envied his posting. Robert also told me, that the Philippines is the only predominantly Catholic country in Asia and has a deeply religious as well as extremely conservative population. He said this was on account of its having been colonized by Spain for around four hundred years prior to its annexation by the Americans at the turn of the last century. In fact, he said that even a magazine as staid as Playboy is considered pornography and its sale there even to adults, constitutes a criminal offense. As you may know, we have had a dreadfully cold winter this year. Since I have been feeling extremely sorry for myself lately for having to bear it alone, I had just about made up my mind to move on and finally break up with Robert, during our next up link. However, before I was able to bring the matter up, Robert pulled a surprise by inviting me over to spend the long Easter Weekend with him at an exclusive beach resort in the Philippines. Although I was at first ecstatic at the invitation, my enthusiasm quickly waned when he told me that we would not be alone there, as he and his group had booked the resort not to really take time off from work, but to do a little brainstorming for an up coming project. In any event, whatever resistance I may have had initially proved no match for Robert's tempting offer of endless sunshine and sultry tropical weather which he promised would thaw the numbing frost that had by then latched deep within my weary bones. Nor could it overcome the utmost joy I felt at the prospect of being finally able to experience Robert's touch once more, having been so cruelly deprived the warmth of his embrace, for the longest time. Of course, truth to tell, it was Robert's gallant offer to shoulder all my expenses for the trip, including shopping money, that made up my mind for me. :- ) (n.b. Just kidding. I would have gladly paid for the whole trip myself and more, just for the chance to be with Robert , the foul weather at home notwithstanding.) Anyway, as soon as I made my acceptance known, Robert gave a loud whoop and did a little jig on the screen. This drew immediate peals of laughter from me, as his jerky image on screen while skipping about, came out downright slapstick and simply hilarious. After calming down , Robert asked me to take at least a week off from work which would enable me to spend the 5th to the 8th of April with him at the resort. He reminded me to bring only light clothing to wear since the weather in the Philippines would be extremely hot, as it would be in the middle of summer when I arrive. He even emphasized to pack a lot of swimwear, as this would be the best time and place for me to work on my tan. He later admitted that since its been a year and a half since he'd last seen me in the flesh, he'd really like to take this opportunity of literally "seeing me in the flesh", so to speak. Robert even made me promise to take only my briefest of swimsuits for the trip which I was to wear as often as possible , so as to allow him maximum access of my body to view. I teased back by telling him that maybe I should just come all covered up in a "burqa" like a good Arab woman , since he made it sound as if I would be headed for the desert instead of a tropical paradise. I loved it when his face immediately collapsed when I said this, but loved it even more as it instantly lit up when I told him I was only joking. I promised him that I would arrive properly attired. He may not have known this, but I was in an aroused state when I gave that promise. Needless to say, I was on cloud nine by the end of our (cyber)date. I was so excited, that I was unable to sleep and spent most of the night restlessly fidgeting on my bed, imagining in all its graphic details, the things Robert and I would finally be able to do to one another; after having only being able to just talk about them, for so long. During the course of my ruminations, my body felt flush for the first time since Robert left, as it could not help but react to the lurid imagery wracking my brain. ( n.b. Yes, I have remained faithful and loyal to him all the while he has been gone.) Spurred by unbridled passion, My mind lost all its ability to consciously control my actions at some point, paving the way for the body's primal instincts to take over. Unable to help myself, I frantically shed the bedclothes and blankets I had heretofore been swaddled in, so as to cool the raging fires emanating within me, leaving me naked and totally exposed to the frigid night air. Even my hands came to life and of their own accord took separate and divergent paths - the right going south to caress the soft folds my now smoldering nether regions, while the left headed north to flit about the twin peaks of my already engorged bosom – but with the same end in view, which was to provide the for me to attain the carnal release , which my cruelly deprived body so desperately craved for. Les orgasme. Les petite la morte. Mercifully, I fell into a deep and refreshing slumber immediately after I came. After waking from my much needed rest the, I applied for leave from the office. Fortunately, this was approved without question. I also went about fixing my passport and other papers as well. After confirming the travel arrangements Robert had made, I decided to make good use of Robert's generosity and went shopping for new swimsuits. I'm sure Robert would have been most pleased with the outcome of my quest. In deference to Robert's wishes, I bought five of the skimpiest string bikinis I could find. Of the five (5) purchased, three (3) were daring thongs in red, white and black, with tops that only covered the front of ones breasts, and bottoms which left the front part barely covered but ass cheeks somewhat exposed. The fourth (4th) was more daring flesh colored micro bikini which even offered less covering than the three, with the back portion of the bottoms being only a little thicker than the string. While the fifth (5th) was the most daring of the all, being a mini-micro bikini composed of miniscule triangles of cloth and thread like strings which left ones nipples and only the entrance of her sex barely covered, leaving ones ass totally exposed. The 5th had some printed design on it, but due to the scarcity of the material, I failed to discern its pattern nor colors even. No doubt, the bikinis I chose were definitely risque even for European standards. In fact, I doubt whether even the bravest of women would have been able to feel comfortable wearing any them out in public, especially the 5th one, unless she was in the middle of a nude or clothing optional beach, where there would be other less clothed women about, to deflect attention from her. To make matters worse, I even purposely got them a size too small, knowing fully well this would cause whatever little material there was to stretch out tautly across the expanse of my bare skin. In doing so, I had been fully prepared to endure a full body wax which would be necessary in order for me to wear them, and to continue to remain completely shaven down there; which was, to my mind, a small price to pay in exchange for the utmost pleasure Robert would surely derive from the view. Of course, my being completely bereft of all body hair, would surely provide Robert access to even more of my flesh for not just his eyes to feast upon. In a foolhardy move, I did not bother try on the bikinis first before I purchased them. Deluding myself into believing, that I had the necessary looks and shape to wear them with aplomb, I bought them on sight, with nary a thought on how wantonly I would be put on display, whilst wearing them. Perhaps, had I recalled what Robert had told me earlier about how Philippine society admonishes against public exposure and any form of lewd conduct , I would not have been so bold, nay foolish, to have bought the bikinis I had purchased. I was sorely tempted to likewise buy the latest in beach and other summer wear for the trip. However, against my better judgment, I convinced myself not to do so, resolving to just walk about sans a cover-up whatsoever; justifying to myself that it would not only greatly please Robert to see me parading myself so exposed, but that surely there would be others in the resort who would be in equal states of undress as I would be, if not even more so. How wrong I turned out to be. Calling to mind Robert's instructions, I packed lightly for the trip. Aside from my personal toiletries and the bikinis I bought, my whole wardrobe consisted of only light summer outfits and lingerie which I was able to fit into a small trolley suitcase, with much room to spare. For the trip out I opted for a chic pantsuit ensemble with closed -toed spiked high-heeled shoes, over which I wore a matching heavy full length coat, as it was still quite chilly in Europe at the time. I had intended to wear the same outfit on my way back. As arranged, I boarded my plane on the first day of April for the Philippines and, in all fervor prayed for a quick flight, impatiently hoping to find myself nestled in the waiting arms of my lover, at journeys end. Hmm. . . I wonder whether there would be a chance for me to ease the building tension in my loins on the plane? 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. The Travails of Monique Ch. 02-03 Following this exchange, Monica then took me by the crook of my arm and marched back towards the Business Class section of the plane, pulling me along, like a recalcitrant child being led to the principal’s office for punishment. As I crossed the line separating the classes, I quickly noticed and was envious of the change in the environment just as soon as I entered the threshold of the Business section. Definitely more opulent and spacious than that of economy, it felt as if I had entered a different airplane altogether and chided myself for not having upgraded my ticket. As I was led down the aisle, I could not help picturing myself in the role of the city mouse who paid a country mouse a visit, in a live action version of the famous children’s story; and feeling the stark contrast that existed between the squalor of urbanized tenement living vis- a – vis the clean and wide open spaces which living in a country manor provided. With me in tow, Monica resolutely made her way towards the front of the plane. She pulled to a stop when we came to another beautiful red head who was lounging on one of the wider seats found in this section and which was at the time, swiveled back facing towards the rear of the plane. As you may have guessed it was Melanie Rhys-Williams, another person from the past whom I had hoped would remain there. She was the friend Monica took up with in the wake of the MONICAGATE scandal and her presence here just confirmed that they have indeed remained tight and thick as thieves, ever since. Just like Monica, I see that time has been good to her as well, as she was able to maintain her beauty and figure despite the passing the passing years. Although, I suspect that a huge part of it was compliments to all the beauty enhancements her old rich family could buy. (I hope it didn’t sound too catty.) When I was presented to her, Melanie arched one of her brows in a quizzical way as Monica told her to guess who she found “slumming down in coach”; but later her face took on an indifferent look, when my identity was finally revealed. Immediately upon reaching her destination, Monica enthroned herself on the seat opposite Melanie, leaving me alone in the aisle. What followed next was one of the most awkward moments in my life as I had to endure a three way conversation with both Monica and Melanie, who were both comfortably ensconced on their seats while I was uncomfortably left standing on my feet. Neither had the graciousness to invite me to take one of the empty seats beside them. As I was feeling increasingly discomfited by the minute, Monica was able to dominate our little tete-a-tete from the very start. With feigned interest she inquired how I was and what I was up to lately, to which I laconically replied I was doing well and that I was on the way to visit a client based in the Philippines. She responded by telling me that they too were headed for the Philippines where they would be yachting with her fiance and some friends. We ran out of things to talk about soon after this exchange and Monica and Melanie started engaging in their own private conversation, effectively ignoring me in the process. During which time, I couldn’t help but feel completely left out, as they kept referring to each other by the moniker “M” or “EM” in their discussion, a term of endearment I held in the past, but was now no longer entitled to. I finally knew that I had out stayed my welcome when Monica signaled for more wine without even offering me one. To her credit, the stewardess politely inquired whether I would be having a drink as well after she topped off both Monica’s and Melanie’s glasses, but was told not to bother by Melanie, who told her I was just leaving. The stewardess just gave me an embarrassed smile before leaving us to resume her other duties. With my face burning at the humiliating manner by which I had been dismissed, I spun on my heels without saying goodbye and stormed back to where I belonged, to the cackles of the two witches whose company I was just with. As a parting shot, I think it was Monica who derisively called out how she enjoyed my visit and that, maybe, they would be inviting me over again later. They never did. And that was the last time I saw them, at least on this stage of the trip. Although to be honest there was a part of me that inexplicably looked forward to being summoned, this perverse side of me fortunately did not have the opportunity to manifest itself, as the dividing curtains between the classes remained firmly shut throughout the remainder of the flight. As there really was not much to do in my seat, I decided to take a nap. I was eventually able to fall asleep to thoughts of Robert and I making love on the beach. However, in the middle of my sleep, the gentle imagery of our lovemaking soon gave way to the raunchy memories of my sexual encounters with Monica. Pretty soon, my dreams took on a most surrealistic turn. From the equally naked Robert making love to me, it was now a completely dressed Monica who was the one fucking a still naked me on the beach with a strap-on; while an elegantly attired Robert and Melanie were looking on and enjoying a glass of wine, from the side. What was most disturbing, I must confess that I admittedly found the idea of Monica’s total sexual domination of me especially in front of Robert even more arousing and stimulating than that of his lovemaking, that more and more scenarios of this sort pervaded my dreams whilst I slept. I was awakened from my sleep just as we were about to land. Thanks to the lurid dreams I had been subjected to, my sleep was far from restful and I woke up even more tired than I was before. Moreover, as I had been unable to relieve myself of the mounting sexual tension that had accumulated, I was terribly frustrated and not in the best of moods. As I was only allowed a window of a couple of hours from the scheduled time of arrival to make my connecting flight, my mood deteriorated even further when I learned that our landing would be indefinitely delayed due to heavy air traffic. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, my fervent prayers to Our Lady of Lourdes for the plane’s landing were finally answered, and we began our descent. I quickly scrambled off my seat and took down my singular trolley bag from the over head bin before rushing off the plane to catch my connecting plane to Manila. I made it with just seconds to spare. However, in my haste to make my connecting flight I completely forgot the coat I had earlier worn when I got on the plane, but which I took off and stowed in the overhead bin along with my bag. It was only when I was well on my flight to Manila that I realized I had left it on the other plane. Needless to say, I immediately mourned its loss and berated myself no end for being so careless. The coat in question was my most prized possession. Made from the softest black leather, it reached all the way down from the top of my neck to almost the top of my ankles, and accentuated the sumptuous curves it kept hidden beneath it. Being lined with the purest of silk, it kept me toasty warm during winter and refreshingly cool even in summer, and looking totally fabulous all the rest of the year. To say that the coat was horrendously expensive would be an understatement. From what I learned of its history, it is one of a kind creation designed by a famed fashion designer just before he was killed by a crazed gunman. (It had the look of the long coats favored by Kate Beckingsdale and her vampire cohorts in the first Underworld film, but would definitely carry a heftier price tag than those.) I don’t know how Monica was able to get her hands on the coat, but she was the one who gave it to me as a present when we were still happily in love. As a joke, or probably more of a harbinger of things to come, she had the word MONICA’S embroidered on the tag sewn in its lining. This signified either: (1) That she was still the real owner of the coat and that it was only being lent to me. (the joke) or (2) That she was the owner of the heart and body of the person wearing the coat (the harbinger of things to come) which I think is more of the case, considering future events. Again, I knew I should have replaced the tag when we broke off, but it kind of slipped my mind as I had more important things to attend to. Now with the coat being gone, I wonder if I would ever be able to reclaim it once more, and swore to have my own name embroidered on it at the first opportunity.