The girl journo had that look in her eyes. The look Monique saw on some wives at business dinners at which Marc sometimes displayed her. The look that said ‘slut’ as their grips tightened on their men’s arms. She had gone on to ask,
“How long have you been together?”
“Ten wonderful years, Marcus is as loving now as when we first met,” she lied.
We were never out of bed at first, now he rarely touches me and when he does there's no heat.
****
They were kissing, soft lips and hot tongues eating at each other, exploring the moist silky smoothness. Claudine had asked her to describe her dream. As she described all she had seen and felt, she was aware of Claudine's long cool fingers stroking her bare back. Talking softly, she became more aroused recalling the detailed images and raw emotions of the morning. Her breathing was shallower, the thin cloth of her dress brushing her aching nipples. Her thighs grew slick with the hot flow of excitement. Sometime during her tale, Claudine had slid her cool hand under the side of her dress, cupping feathery fingers around a resilient breast, and said, “Are you OK with this, Mona dear?”
Monique: The Venus
By Essemoh Teepee
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 smotp©
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Monique: the Venus
Monique was drowsy; her eyelids heavy behind the designer sunglasses as she soaked up the mid-morning summer sun. A magazine full of celebrity photo shoots and brief snippets of gossip slipped from her fingers to the warm grass below the sun bed. The magazine had arrived in the mail only that morning and it was the reason she had stood in front of her dressing mirror reappraising her appearance.
Thirty four but looking twenty nine; five feet seven inches, not too tall or short, brush cut copper redhead for the present.
Monique looked straight back into her pale grey eyes, the hazel veining very clear close up and ran her hands over her nude body.
An all natural thirty eight, twenty five, thirty six figure; I’m still pretty hot even though I say so myself. Regular workouts that hurt and a good diet keep the stomach flat and the long limbs firm.
She had said just that to the reporter from the magazine now on the grass. The lengthy interview had been reduced to some short paragraphs of bland text. The three pages had centered on the photos of her draped around the house; raunchy glamour shots verging on soft-core. Her last thoughts as she slipped asleep were;
I had forgotten just how little they had asked me to wear for the shoot.
****
“You have a degree?” the reporter had asked while the lighting was being set up.
“Yes, Comparative Anthropology.” Monique had seen the young woman's eyebrows crawl annoyingly up her forehead.
“So how did the model career happen?”
“I was alone and I had to pay the bills; some agency assignments, conference and exhibition promo work got me through university. After graduation they just kept on paying,” Monique explained.
A little extracurricular work paid for the luxuries, but she isn’t going to know that.
“How did you meet Mr. Van Burgh?” the Reporter asked.
Ah, the Big Question.