monica
Monica was pissed. Of course, when you’re named Monica, you have plenty to be pissed about. The endless ‘withholding evidence’ jokes, (implying you’d swallowed and digested presidential sperm and cowpers fluid, as well as some key secretions from the prostate and seminal vessels), the endless requests to see your thong, “have you gained some weight, chubby?”, etc. Since the mid-nineties, existing as a Monica was, by default, existing in a state of hate.
However, our Monica, Monica DeMarco, was not radiating hate due to her namesake’s willingness to settle for a shitty sex/stained dress swap. It wasn’t even the long standing hate she had for her parent’s love of alliteration. No, our Monica’s brain chemistry was exuding hate for entirely different reasons.
Her boyfriend, a not so charming individual and grown man who went by the the name of Freddy had just proclaimed to the group that he was a lesbian trapped in a man’s body.
Monica, who had spent a good 5 years as a lesbian, was dissatisfied enough in the relationship to instantly focus the all powerful eye of lesbian rage on Fred, ignoring the possible hypocrisy of using the all powerful eye of lesbian rage on a man she fucked most weeknights.
Our heroine’s tunnel vision aside, she did have a point. Fred’s love of having his dick sucked by a face without stubble hardly qualified him as a lesbian. First up was his immunity from the social stigma inherent in declaring your gayness to the world and avoiding a whole class of people who want to kick your ass because they liked it when their wives stuck a thumb up their asses a little too much.
Second, and more fresh in Monica’s mind, a week ago she expressed interest in fucking Fred with her prototype sapho strap-on™, a prospect at which Fred balked. While not all dykes made use of “the hardware”, Monica thought it a poor lesbian who wasn’t even open to the idea of trying.
So, Fred’s statement, combined with 13 months of bad sex, led Monica to the conclusion that it was time to move on,
A mature individual would have calmly explained her rational and reasons for leaving in a private moment.
An immature individual would have throw a hissy fit then and there, creating a scene as loud and ludicrous as possible.
Monica, who’s maturity has never been successfully recorded by instruments scientific or otherwise, choose to excuse herself to the rest-room, leave by the back door, buy a train ticket to Portland, and sleep in the station until morning.
Originally Posted September 09, 2006