Monica snapped out of her daydream as words penetrated her hearing. In some respects she was glad it was a daydream and nothing deeper. She had right to be pleased that the severity and frequency of the fugues seemed to be lessening. She was feeling that maybe she had given Harcourt a hard time, he had, after all, seemed to have tackled the problem. Monica pondered that without his intervention she might be suffering hours of living as Monique whilst her body decayed. She dismissed the image she had had in the early days of her ending up in an institution in her dressing gown staring into space as in her mind she cavorted clad in designer fashions as her alter ego, Monique. Harcourt might be wrong about some things, but at least he had removed that possibility from her life. Then again, Monica felt a little glow of pride thinking that she would make a good little case study for his book and imagined him sending a copy with a chapter on ‘The Fugues of Patient M’.

“Sorry?” Monica looked up abruptly realising that she was spiralling off into thoughts rather than addressing what had roused her initially.

“Erm.”

It was Glen one of the new temps, a man around Monica’s age who had returned from teaching English in Japan and was apparently, from what Sandra had said, working to fill in before taking some advanced course in it. Glen was a slender man with unruly hair who looked uncomfortable in a suit or maybe it was simply the fact that it was a new and cheap one that caused that. On seeing him and hearing about his background, Monica had envisaged him dressed in some simple Oriental outfit, all tight and buttoned up to the collar, like a character in a spin-off from ‘The Matrix’.

Monica smiled, suddenly recognising in Glen someone who had the same sort of lack of confidence with phrasing things that she did. With her smile, Glen blushed and she realised that he was probably saying something that was personal rather than work-related. She wished she had been more attentive, not only because she had missed what Glen was saying but also she was conscious of appearing to be drifting off in case Mr. Blackburn walked by her desk.

“Er, ah, I was just saying I liked your outfit. Is it new?”

“Yes, yes, I was just enjoying my last burst of freedom on a Saturday so treated myself.”

As Monica said it, she felt a hint of the sensations she had had whilst shopping, stray into her. She looked down a little proudly at her ensemble. She had raided the back of the wardrobe for the black cotton jacket and the court shoes she had bought for a wedding two summers back and never worn again. These went well with one of her new skirts and the wrap-around top which she had pulled tight to press the silk underwear against her. Looking back she must have been in a reckless mood when she dressed this morning. Since she had started expanding her range of outfits, up until today, she had intentionally held back from wearing any of them to work, fearful of them provoking a ‘Monique incident’ as she was now calling them. Given her daydreaming, maybe she had been right, but given the interest the clothes had provoked in Glen, maybe her first impulse had been the correct one.

“So, you’re one of those slated to work Saturday mornings? It seems very Mr. Scrooge and it’s not even Christmas.” Glen smiled nervously, apparently feeling guilty at indirectly criticising Blackburn.

“Well, I tend to be a slacker in the week, so it allows me to catch up.”

“Right.”

Glen hovered nervously and Monica recognised he was fighting with what to say next.

“Would you like to meet for a drink on Saturday night?” Monica heard her voice saying, “A consolation for me having to work.” She added quickly as an excuse.

Glen smiled broadly and his blush evaporated. “Yes, yes, that would be great. Where would you like to go?”

Monica thoughts raced, she knew her answer would communicate so much. She had little idea about the pubs and bars in the area; takeaway outlets were more her speciality.

“Do you know Bar Marc?” She had seen it from the bus; it was a wine bar-cum-café which she thought better than a noisy pub filled with flashing fruit machines.

“Yes, yes. That’s a good idea, right sort of place to talk. 7.30?”

“7.30 Saturday, that’s a date.”

Monica slipped in the last phrase knowing it could be interpreted either way, but wanting to signal clearly to Glen, that, as was becoming apparent to her by the minute, she was interested in him. She was amazed what effect him suddenly putting himself into her realm of possibility could have.

Monica had found that the day had passed quite quickly. Despite what Mr. Blackburn had said the previous week, he had not been in the office after lunch, as often happened he was out visiting a client and he probably had gone straight home from there. Monica had hesitated for a while wondering if he would turn up at 6.20 to check up on her, but she took a gamble and had left at her normal time. She guessed it would be tougher once his modern version of a clocking-in machine was installed, but she knew she had a couple of weeks’ grace. She had a secret smile when she realised what Mr. Blackburn seemed to have overlooked: that a system like that was designed for flexi-time and she imagined once he had had to wrestle with staff suddenly disappearing on a Friday afternoon after a week of turning in ahead of schedule, he would soon abandon it. She felt she could rely on Derek, one of the junior partners and Nina the deputy personnel manager and their love of a good lunchtime drink to effectively undermine the system without Monica having to do much towards it.

Monica collected the clutch of letters on the doormat. Most were advertising something, one was a re-assessed water bill, something the company seemed to send out every other week. However, it was the smart white envelope with ‘Maskell HD’ franked in red which insisted on her attention. She tore it open to find the confirmation that she was being offered the job as claims counsel with the company. Up until now she had been able to lodge any consideration about what to do at the back of her mind. She guessed if she did nothing they would simply assume she was not interested. However, given what they knew about ‘Monique’ and her travels, they might be more patient than another employer dealing with a different candidate. Monica wondered if it was better to end this here and now and call them to turn the offer down. All the thoughts of taking it for the money had fled her mind. Monica knew she lacked the bravado to pull off a stunt like that.

Monica tossed the letter aside and went and made herself some tea before going to the small spare bedroom where her computer sat. She knew it was nothing on the ‘office’ that Monique had in her flat, but she found it cosy and reassuring. She fired up her computer and began typing a rejection letter. She decided to keep it terse, it would minimise having to think up lies and provoking more questions that she knew she was ill-equipped to respond to. There was no hurry though, she knew. They would not expect an immediate response, she was sure. Monica decided to wait until the right time. For now, she was excited about her new boots and what they were for, the first date she had had in such a long time. Carried on by speculations about Glen and how she should handle the evening to try to reach that all important second date she headed to the bedroom to perfect the outfit she would wear that Saturday.

“Blackburn wants to see you.” Sandra said the words in a loud whisper. “Helena Phillips, you know, from Personnel, she’s in there too.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. He just told me to send you in.”

“He didn’t say what it was about?”

Sandra shook her head. “I don’t know what’s got into him, he must have piles. The last couple of weeks he’s been so irritable.”

“I know, tell me about it. He’s got me coming in on Saturdays now.”

“It’s not right.” Sandra muttered and with that headed back to her own office.

Monica felt her pulse racing. She tried to think through what might have provoked Mr. Blackburn’s anger. From what Sandra said it seemed she had not been the only victim of his bad mood, but she felt, probably because she worked more directly to him, that she was bearing the brunt of it. Monica took some deep breaths and stood up, smoothing her skirt before she walked slowly to Blackburn’s office.

“At last.” Blackburn growled as Monica walked in.

“Please sit down, Monica.” Helena said a little more warmly.

Helena, the personnel manager, was in her early fifties, a smartly dressed and efficient woman, Monica knew. However, there was something about her, probably since she had become a grandmother, that meant she positioned herself like an aunt to her staff, especially the women and Monica was glad that she was there to take some of the fire from Blackburn’s undoubted rant.

“What is this about?” Monica asked nervously.

Monica felt that at least if she could get an idea about what the complaint or supposed complaint was against her, she could begin building some kind of defence. For now she was struggling in the dark. However, Blackburn simply gave a scoffing grunt as response to Monica’s question.

“It’s your resignation.” Helena said, apparently ignoring Blackburn’s attitude.

“Is that what Mr. Blackburn wants?” Monica asked hesitantly as her mind began to spiral through all the scenarios.

Now Monica assumed that Blackburn had had enough of her and would only be satisfied if he could bully her into resigning. They both knew that doing that would reduce any chance of Monica seeking payback for his approach. She was surprised that Helena was involved, but she guessed that the personnel manager could equally be intimidated by Blackburn if he set his mind to it.

“I’ve already got it.” Blackburn snapped, tossing a letter across the desk at her.

Monica picked up the letter which was dated on Monday. It was written tersely but not in a hostile manager, simply saying she wanted to terminate her contract with Blackburn & Frost forthwith. Monica felt suddenly dizzy wondering how she had done this and what her future now held. Resigning meant she would not be entitled to any unemployment benefit for six months and she envisaged having to sell her flat to provide sufficient income while she struggled to find a new job. For a moment Monica wondered if Blackburn had written it, but she noticed her own rather overblown signature at the bottom. For a moment she wondered if it was faked and Blackburn had copied her signature from something she had signed some time during the past four years. Then, suddenly, she felt a pang of doubt and remembered buying things she had no memory of ordering. Could she have written this while in a fugue? For the moment such thoughts fled as her boss lunged forward. Monica shrank back, but he was halted at the desk and simply scored its surface with his fingernails.

“You ungrateful bitch.” Mr. Blackburn seethed.

“Mr. Blackburn, remember what I said. Tread carefully.” Helena warned her boss.

“Don’t expect a reference. I’ll make sure you’ll not find work in this business.”

“Mr. Blackburn, be careful. Please think about what you’re saying, remember what I told you about employment tribunals.”

Blackburn scowled and slumped back in his seat.

“Monica, it’s alright. It’s your choice; you’ve handled it correctly. The thing is, you have to leave now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have taken so little leave since you’ve been working here and Mr. Blackburn’s permitted you to roll over more than the maximum allowed, that you need to leave now to stop accruing any more leave, otherwise you’ll still effectively be being paid by us for weeks to come. You don’t need to work your notice, otherwise that will simply add to your leave total.”

“Okay. Erm, right. So you mean right now? I’ve got to go?”

Helena nodded, giving her a quick smile. Monica shot a glance at Mr. Blackburn who looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. She stood, feeling rather dazed by the morning’s events. Helena rose too and reached out a hand, Monica shook it.

“Monica, I wish you all the best for the future. You’ve worked excellently in your time here, sometimes possibly a little too hard, but don’t think you’re efforts have gone unnoticed…”

“What are you talking about? She’s been a lazy bint since the day she came here. Always sneaking off early; never makes the coffee for me…”

“Mr. Blackburn, please. Miss. Chase has never been late, she works longer than her contracted hours and I have never had any evidence of her work being amiss. It is not in her job description for her to make the coffee for anyone.”

“But she’s the secretary.”

“Legal secretary, and anyway what is your point? Secretaries do administration, catering staff do the drinks.”

Blackburn grimaced and returned to look at the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing the two women from his presence.

“We’ll leave Mr. Blackburn to his work.” Helena said putting a shielding arm around Monica and ushering her from the room.

Helena closed Blackburn’s office door and smiled at Monica. “So, where are you off to, is it a promotion or are you taking a career break?”

“Erm, er, well Maskell HD.”

Helena laughed. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it is Maskell HD, I was interviewed there last week; erm for a claims counsel post.” Monica added the last point as the truth of that realisation dawned on her. “I’ve got no other option.”

Helena seemed a little put back, reluctant to accept Monica’s response but encouraged to do so by the force of how she said it.

“Well, erm, that’s excellent. It’s clear Mr. Blackburn was under-estimating your abilities far more than I realised. Did you come to work for us for personal reasons?”

“Erm, yes, I suppose so.” Monica said, uncertain now why she had come to the company. “I felt grass roots experience was vital for my career.” She dredged up something she remembered from her interview. “However, a lot has been changing recently, and I guess, something deep inside me decided it was time to move on. I can surprise myself sometimes.”

Monica felt she was putting a positive spin on things. Inside, though, she was cursing her inability to stop herself making decisions which had such an impact without alerting her conscious self to the facts of what she was doing. Though the fugues may have declined, she knew she had to make an appointment with Dr. Harcourt to begin to unravel this latest stage of what was going on in her mind and in her life.

“I wish you all the best.” Helena said charitably, though clearly put out by being uncertain whether Monica was lying to her or she was actually going to be earning more than twice a personnel manager’s salary.

Monica returned to her desk and closed down her computer. She packed the few small items she had into an old box file, wishing that she still had the voluminous bag she used to bring to work rather than the compact leather one she now had.

“So, what happened?” Sandra asked with a tone of excited curiosity.

“I’m leaving. I have to go now.”

“They can’t just sack you.”

“No, I resigned. Apparently that means I can’t stay a moment longer otherwise I accrue too much leave. Yes, I know, it seems mad.”

“Why did you resign?”

“Erm, I’m not certain, but I’ve got something else lined up.”

“Good on you. I’ve noticed you’ve been taking things more in hand recently. It’s probably a good idea to get out of here the way Blackburn’s been behaving recently. You’ve left us no time for a collection though.”

Monica smiled. “Well, besides you, oh, and Helena and the partners, no-one here’s really known me that long.”

Sandra threw her arms around Monica and gave her a warm hug. “Well don’t forget us, will you.”

“No, I’ll come back and visit.”

Within fifteen minutes, Monica had packed up and left the building. She stood on the street outside looking up at the anonymous windows of the office block, numbness at the morning’s events managing to stay the worries that were nagging at her about the future.

“Monica.”

Snapped from her thoughts Monica looked to the source of the voice to see Glen.

“Hello.” She smiled, reminded of one more certain aspect.

“You’re leaving.”

“Yes, the holiday regulations and all that have made it a bit more sudden than I had expected.”

Monica smiled. That was a real understatement but she could hardly confess that she had sleep walked to write her resignation.

“But we are still on for Saturday.”

Glen made it sound more an assertion than a question and Monica was surprised to find that she welcomed that.

“Yes, yes certainly. I’ll be better company, I’m sure, not having had to work that morning too.”

“That’s good. The office is a buzz of rumours, but Helena said you were on your way up.”

“Yes, erm, to Maskell HD.”

“Sounds good, I look forward to hearing about it on Saturday.” He glanced back at the windows. “I’d better get back. Good luck with the week.”

Glen had lent in and kissed her on the cheek with no time for her to get embarrassed. Then he was gone and Monica was left once again, even more dazed than she had been a few minutes before. She decided that the best thing was to get home. She could hardly wander around with a pilfered box file of official letters and desk ornaments. Feeling almost light headed and certainly uncertain what to do next, Monica headed for the bus stop, half-a-day earlier than she had expected.

In forty minutes, the traffic being far lighter at this time of day, Monica was back at her flat. On this day of surprise, she found she had little left to cope with another letter from Maskell HD. She had expected it to be a demand for a response, but of course, she realised as she ran her eyes over the words, her fuguing self presumably had written to accept the post when it had resigned her from Blackburn & Frost. She pulled her purse from her handbag and found that not only two stamps but the whole book was missing. Of course she could have dropped them, but it appeared increasingly likely she had sent off letters to all kinds of people. She just hoped, that for the moment, she had kept to altering her career and nothing else.

“Monique, you sounded rather urgent when you telephoned yesterday.”

Monica led Dr. Harcourt through to her living room where she had positioned the two armchairs at right angles to reach other ready for this morning’s session.

“Well, yes. It’s just I’m a little worried that I’m fuguing more when I’m asleep or at other times and I’m just not remembering it now.”

Monica took up her position in her favourite armchair while Harcourt sat down in the other.

“Okay, that’s possible. It’s been nearly two weeks since we’ve last met. You had the interview last Thursday, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t call me until this week. I assumed that was because you hadn’t gone to the interview or you had but either way, as a result, the fugues were coming less frequently or less severely. However, from your tone yesterday morning I assume that is not the case.”

“Well, kind of. Erm, yes, I only really only had one fugue that I am aware of.”

“Was that when you went to Maskell HD?”

“Erm, well, that was one but very mild, I did not really slip into Monique’s life, she er …”

“She slipped into yours?”

“Well, I guess you could say that. For a bit I thought that was a good thing as I seemed to have gained a bit more control over it.”

“Yes, that must have been reassuring.”

“I’m not sure, though, whether that was what really happened.”

“Okay. Well, let’s run through it from the beginning. You went to Maskell HD and there was no other Monique Chase except you?”

“Yes. It turned out that I must have applied when in a fugue, not the real Monique. I guess that was what you expected doctor?”

“Yes. So what did you do?”

“Well, I could hardly walk out, and I thought they might give away something about Monique. However, with all the changes I doubt they were there when she was.”

“When you were there before, you mean? Yes, that would not surprise me. So what did you do?”

“I went through the interview pretending to be her. Well, of course, I couldn’t pull that off and then the fugue took over and I felt she was sitting there and was providing the answers. I even saw myself dressed as her, but there, there in this interview, not one four or five years ago.”

“Oh, well, that is an excellent step. I really feel you are beginning to reconcile who you were with what you were made into.”

“Is that really good?” Monica asked insistently. “It’s caused chaos for me.”

“How so?”

“Well. As I had the day off, and you know, taking these days off really angered Mr. Blackburn…”

“Why, surely you are entitled to take leave?”

“Well, you know not all employers see it that way.”

“I’m sure you were in your rights. I imagine I don’t have to tell you that, you’re the lawyer, I’m the medic.”

“Well, it caused problems at the time.”

“Okay. We’ll come to that. You were telling me about the day of the interview. After the interview.”

“I went to see that flat I’d been inside in the fugue, Monique’s place in Docklands.”

“Yes?”

“Well, it was empty, up for sale in fact. So I pretended I was a potential buyer and went back on Saturday and had a look around.”

“Did you buy it?”

“Ha, a Docklands flat? Do you think I’m made of money?”

“So you didn’t get the Maskell HD job?”

“You’re jumping miles ahead there.”

“So you did get it?”

“Yes, I did, but how, I have no idea and that’s the key problem.”

“Why? Wasn’t it just like the job you had four years ago?”

“Look. It was the job I had a vision that this Monique had four years ago.”

“And even now you can’t see that you were her? This company might not recognise you, but it recognised you had the same skills and abilities.”

“But I don’t.”

“Well, you say that now, but, yet, you still acknowledged that you can do the job. You went for the interview, you accepted the post…”

“Yes, but how do you know that? And I didn’t accept the post, well I did but I only wrote the letter while I was asleep. I sleep-wrote it or whatever is the word. I sleep-resigned from my real job. I was not conscious of any of this and that is why I called you here today, because I am now in a situation where I am doing things, major things I do not remember.”

“Okay, okay. You need to calm, you need to rest a little and take this slowly.”

“Yes, I accept that but it’s scary.”

“I understand that. However, you are making such great steps. I am really proud of you. I think you should have arranged to see me right after the interview.”

“Yes, I agree now. However, I was happy, I seemed to be getting a handle on it all. The fugues seemed to be decreasing. Well, kind of. I thought that I had brought the one at the flat on my self and I was a little embarrassed to admit that.”

“Was that fugue shallow, like the one at the interview?”

“No, it was deep and it was kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“Yes, well me, erm, I mean Monique, was dressed in a leather corset and boots…”

“The clothes shocked you?”

“I don’t know. They were no more than the clubbing gear she had worn in Paris. They felt good, but I guessed I was feeling the way she did about them. She generally looks good in what she wears.”

“And you don’t?”

“Erm, I don’t know, I don’t wear those sort of things.”

“But I must say you dress very differently from when you first came to me. You’ve changed your hairstyle and your make-up too.”

Monica looked down rather self-consciously at the new clothes she wore: a black pair of skin-tight jeans and the matching scooped top she had bought to go with them. Patent stiletto-heeled ankle boots, another part of her post-resignation shopping spree, poked out from beneath the tight jeans in the place of the over-sized slippers she used to wear around the flat.

“I suppose so. Maybe having the fugues was a little like a kind of taster of what some other things would be like. They felt comfortable, sexy even, so I thought maybe I could try something similar. But the things at the flat were too much?”

“Erm, I guess so. They felt good; the boots were nice. I never worn a corset, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She was playing this game with this man, she chained him up in the flat and lashed him…”

“Yes, very common. I imagine she was the mistress, not in the sense of an affair, but her being in control. Do you know the term ‘dominatrix’?”

Monica flushed. “They use it sometimes in newspapers and Monique was thinking about it too.”

“Do you think you can read someone’s thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I suppose not. I sort of know what Monique’s thinking.”

“If you can’t read people’s thoughts how can you do it with Monique? Aren’t you just remembering what you once thought?”

“Well, in this case, I can certainly say no. I never think like that.”

“Because you’ve been firmly told not to.”

Harcourt paused seemingly to allow his words to sink in. Then he continued. “Behaving like that, dressing like that, then, was really abhorrent to you; an anathema?”

“No, I didn’t feel that. I was curious to see what it was like and…”

“And what? You found you enjoyed it?”

“Well, when I came out of it I was snogging the estate agent. It was all very embarrassing.”

“Why do you think you were doing that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would Monique have behaved that way?”

“I guess so, she’ll shag anything that moves. No, I’m doing her a disservice, she likes sex, but she’s quite choosy too.”

“Would she have ‘snogged’, kissed, that man?”

“Maybe.”

“What are your concerns?”

“Well, two things. First, as I said, that I am doing things with no knowledge of them.”

“But are these bad things in your life or things you would secretly wished to have done?”

“That’s not the issue, it’s that I want conscious control over everything I do, whether it is good or bad for me. Who is to say that something I do might be good for me and yet bad for someone else. If I have no control I cannot have any moral judgement over my actions, you must see that.”

Monica noticed Harcourt seemed genuinely chastened by her comment. She guessed that all medics were in danger at times of becoming too focused on what they were seeking to achieve to see the bigger picture. She remembered what she had heard about doctors suffering from the ‘God syndrome’, but maybe that did not hit the mark fully, after all God was omniscient and no doctor was. Perhaps ‘tyrant syndrome’ was a more accurate description.

“Okay. We are moving to that anyway, by reducing the fugues. I think you will find, that the sooner your actions are more in step with what you really want, which, to a great extent, you have been denying yourself, then the sooner such incidents will cease. It is your denial of your true nature which means it can only come out when you are not conscious of your actions. Fully engage with what you really feel and you will have all the control you need over what you do.”

Now it was Monica’s turn to feel her point had been parried and reposted.

“Alright,” She conceded, “but that brings me to the second point. I am worried that the life of Monica is being superseded by that of Monique.”

“Of course. I explained that right at the beginning. That was always inevitable once the artificial construct imposed on you by the mind controllers began to crumble. Monica’s life was not yours; it was one someone built for you to inhabit, with the intention of barring you from your true life. Until you accept that you are Monique, you will not be able to resolve this situation. I accept that, to you, being Monica appears ‘more real’ but as I am pleased to note, the closer that life comes to being like your old life, the better things will be. I do not expect you to rush these things, but neither do I want you to struggle to cling to this artificial life as firmly as you seem to be doing. We talked about a gradual, staged process. That is advancing, don’t try to inhibit it.”

Monica sat back and thought about Harcourt’s words. It was scary to give up what she knew, but partly it was exciting too. It was still too difficult to envisage herself behaving fully in the way that Monique did, but a few weeks ago it would have been impossible to think of herself having resigned from Blackburn & Frost and working for Maskell HD even for a short period of time. It would have been equally as difficult to see herself in the mirror with lovely long sleek hair and dressed in stylish and figure-hugging clothes, but these things now seemed to natural to her. If Harcourt was indeed right, then a few months from now she would think nothing of breaking into a Paris park and having sex with a man there.

“Okay, so even if I am not overly happy about this, I have to face the fact that I am going to change. If I bite the bullet and go with that, then I am going to avoid my sub-conscious writing any more resignation letters?”

“Yes. You have to remember that you have a base morality that’s not going to permit you to rob or murder. Remember Monique is a lawyer not a thief or a prostitute or a drug dealer. Even if she was, many of them have reformed themselves. And anyway, you’ve not told me of anything in her personality which implies she is criminal.”

“Well, breaking and entering, and she is promiscuous.”

“Yes, but those things are being viewed through a rather dated set of values, not those which are prevailing in twenty-first century London or Paris. If this was Nashville, Bamberg, Tehran, somewhere like that, I would accept your views may be in step. Do you have really qualms against those things: sex outside marriage, a woman not dressing demurely?”

“Erm, I don’t know.”

Monica realised she had not really thought these things through. She supposed that that was partly what these sessions were about. She did not really think of Harcourt as a psychotherapist in the way that Americans used them: to talk through her problems, rather she had gone to him with a specific mental condition and he had been tackling that. However, she realised that she had ignored what he had said about her attitudes possibly adding to the condition, partly dismissing it with everything he had mentioned about sexual persona. Monica recognised that she had seen her visions as a simple problem with some solution out there that was easy to apply. However, she knew the mind was complex and it was clear that there were many things going on in her head, whether imposed by one of these ‘mind controllers’ four years ago or not. She realised that there were tempting voices inside her saying ‘let go’ and to allow herself to fully become Monique and all that meant in terms of lifestyle. After all was she really that different from Monica?

Monica now began to think through where she stood on the issues that she had been raising with Harcourt. No, she did not think women should dress the way they had in Victorian times or even the way her grandmother had. At university she would have argued to insist that was to oppress women, they had to have their own choice in how they dressed and appeared. If that was in a sexy way, then all good to them, as long as they were aware of the implications, then it was their choice and no-one else’s. In addition, she reminded herself, sexy did not mean submissive, it could be an aspect of a woman’s strength too. So, okay, on that issue, she accepted Monique was on solid ground, she dressed how she wished and she was in control, very much so, of her image and what it communicated.

For some reason she felt that if she was going to hold her own with Harcourt she had to resolve her own position on these issues. Now Monica turned to the sexual aspects. She supposed that in Biblical terms she was a fornicator. She had never been married, well not that she was aware of, as Monica, so all of her sexual activity had been out of wedlock. She had never felt anything wrong about what she had done. Aside from on two occasions early in her time at university, she had slept with men she had had some kind of relationship with beforehand. She prided herself on never having two-timed, though Matt and Serge had overlapped a little. She guessed though, reviewing her life, especially as a student, people could claim she was promiscuous. Yet, she realised she felt no guilt at her activities then and more than that, given that both parties had come out of it satisfied on each occasion, she felt there was no need to feel any guilt for her actions.

Right, so where did that leave her in regards to Monique? Clearly she could not criticise her, so, then, was her unease simply an issue of jealousy? Was it just that Monique’s life and behaviour were unfamiliar to her, especially given the rather lonely existence she was realising she had manoeuvred herself into these past few years? Maybe that was simply it: prejudice against the unknown and she had always prided herself on not being prejudiced.

“No, I have no problem with it. I guess it was just challenging being dropped into someone else’s life. Very strange and you know, ‘otherness’ provokes unease.”

“Certainly. Yes, sometimes it is hard for the physician to really appreciate the challenges their patient is facing. You’ve gone through a great deal in the past few weeks and sometimes how well you’ve done may lead me astray. I have to remember that each step is a new challenge and may be difficult no matter how easily the previous obstacle was overcome.”

Monica felt reassured by Harcourt’s statements. She reminded herself he was not a bad doctor and had provided comparatively quick results. She counted herself lucky that she had run into him, rather than having to go through interminable tests at the hospital or facing the incomprehension of her local doctor when she first appeared complaining of these visions.

“Right, are you ready for today’s hypnosis?”

Monica nodded.

“Today, given your concerns, I am going to try something a little different. Rather than to simply tap into whatever has built up behind the dam and let that out, I’m going to see if I can find memories that will help address your twin concerns. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Right, it may not work first time, we may have to try again next week, but I’ll certainly try to go in that direction today. Look at the end of my pen, concentrate on it, follow it as it moves and there we go: twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seven…”

Monique glanced around her. She wondered why, of course she knew where she was. This was ‘Dominique’s’ a nice bar in one of the quieter squares in the West End. She was sat on a deep leather couch with a glass of champagne in her hand. It tasted good, she recognised it as brut Louis Roederer; she mentally commended the host, Adam Rhodes, for his choice. She looked down at her clothes, that nice tight black velvet dress she had bought the week before; stockings with a nice discreet pattern down the seam, patent high-heeled shoes with a lattice of leather across her in-step. However much she loved the feel of leather coating her body, she realised that it would have been too much now she was seated on this couch and anyway the way the velvet slid over the tanned skin was certainly a pleasing sensation.

The party had been good, a nice meal in a nearby restaurant before being ferried here. She knew Adam, he was a former client, but the others were newcomers to her. She had to confess she did enjoy meeting new people. She had especially liked the conversation with Emilia, an artist with a good knowledge, surprisingly, of both Dadaism and the Vorticists. There had also been Matthew who had interests in oil drilling in the South China Sea, but after a while of talking about these his interests seemed rather limited.

It had taken her a while but Monique had realised that to a greater or lesser extent the assembled party were in love with Adam. Some were in love with what he represented or what he owned, but of course he sat at the centre of those things. She felt uncomfortable because she now imagined that Adam thought she was part of this club. For Monique though, she knew she had the ability to adore, but that Adam was not the right kind of idol for her. She was drawn towards those with rich experience and a real engagement with life. That was qualified, further, she had recently realised, by something else, how broad their focus was. It was clear that those who were selfish in their interests put off many people, but she had found too that she could not cope with the selfless either: she was not one to be an apostle. To succeed there needed to be give and take and those who needed nothing were as unappealing as those who needed it all.

That brought her to Jaen, a Spaniard, and so not to be confused with a Jean. He represented the main reason why she had not already made her excuses and left. He owned some galleries across South-West France and into the Basque lands of Spain. He had been interested in her work but also had spoken with a real passion about not only the artists he was exhibiting but the regions he travelled. Monique wondered if there was an opportunity to go horse riding with him through some of the Landes landscape. Then Jaen re-emerged and she saw him talking with Adam and the woman who was trying to drape herself around him. Monique wondered if this was a precursor for her and him to move on somewhere else. If she knocked him back, he could leave quickly, having said farewell already, if she agreed with his suggestion, then she knew he could focus on her rather than the pleasantries of saying goodbye.

Monique knew that what was unfolding meant she had little more than a few moments to make up her mind. She did what she usually did to test her feelings and sought to envisage that evening’s candidate lowering himself into her. Though she knew that was not the only position they would adopt, that one, the one where she was effectively at the man’s mercy rather than being in greater control, was the one with which she could gauge her true feelings. Jaen seemed to pass the test. She found she was eager to feel his muscular body, ill-concealed beneath his loose jacket and baggy trousers, pressed against her.

Then he was beside her. She appreciated the fact that he did not loom over her, making it quite obvious to the assembled party that he was asking for a decision from her, rather, until the moment they were ready to leave, it would seem for those out of earshot that they had simply resumed their conversation. The moment Jaen sat beside her and his hand came out to gently nudge her bum, she realised something had changed. She was not averse to the touch, in fact she welcomed it as a signal that ‘the’ discussion would begin, it was more the vibes she now picked up from Jaen. His focus seemed to have become more distant and not through tiredness. His manner seemed more intense too. Casually she fingered the hand that touched her, making it seem like something reciprocating his gesture but in fact probing for debris, not wanting to find it, but increasingly certain it was there. She shifted a little so that she could study the knees of his trousers. It was clear that they had been under pressure and unless Jaen was doubling up as a rent boy between courses, it suggested that he had been on his knees for only one purpose. He had been good in removing the white powdery residue from around his nose, but Monique was knowledgeable enough not to need such blatant evidence. Her dreams of any, even brief, future with Jaen evaporated.

Monique realised she had heard none of the words that Jaen had spoken. She just nodded and that seemed to please him. She guessed in his state now anything she did would advance his progress to happiness. However, she was selfish she wanted the progress to come solely from her and not to be sharing the bed with Jaen’s chemical friend.

“That’s great, my love.” Monique said. “If you just give me a couple of minutes, I need to visit the ladies’. I’ll see you back here. You finish the champagne. Okay?”

“Sure.” Jaen grinned.

Monique ran her hand over Adam as she made her way to the door. He glanced up and mouthed a goodbye. He could not accuse her of rudeness and Monique knew that a small note of thanks tomorrow would go so much further than an overblown farewell now. In the day of electronic communication she was pleasantly surprised how much impact something handwritten had on people. In moments she had collected her heavy long crimson velvet cloak and pulled the hood up over her head. Then she was gone, focusing on her entertainment for the rest of the evening. As she flagged down a taxi, she decided first on a re-read of Anaïs Nin’s ‘This Hunger’, so grateful she had been able to buy one of the original limited additions. Then, in contrast, she realised she wanted some really mechanical experience, that silver rod of a vibrator she had bought back in January, its form so far removed from the more human looking machines she used, but effective all the same.

Monique found her mind spiralling off into fantasies of the day she could summon a sexual robot to come and service her, programmed to plug every sensory point in her body, sustaining her on the fringe of orgasm until she shrieked for release. By the time she was climbing the steps to her flat, Monique knew she was so wet. In moments she was through the door and to her wardrobe to fetch her selected toy, then back into the lounge. She switched the blinds to open so that she could see herself reflected in the windows backed by night. Without removing her cloak or shoes she sprawled on the sofa spreading her legs wide and resting her heels on the arms. Then tugging her silk panties aside she impaled herself on the silver, buzzing rod, enjoying glancing towards the window to see herself as this blatantly sexual creature reflected and hoping that somewhere someone was watching her; her, Monique, as a woman in control of her sexual pleasure, knowing and getting what she needed.

Monique came quickly but none the less powerfully for all that. She stood, with the vibrator still clenched in her pussy and felt her legs buckle as she saw herself reflected in the window, a woman in velvet, so soft, so contrasting with the hard metallic toy that rode in her. On her knees, as if brought there by the remote control of some invisible master, she convulsed in orgasm again and slick with sweat beneath the layers of velvet contorted in pleasure across the floor, loving life and loving her life.

Finally, exhausted, Monique rose again and kept her eyes from her reflection. Her body quivered with energy and her nipples protested the inattention to them by pressing hard and excited to the bust of her dress. She knew they would receive attention when she reached the bath and she simpered as she remembered having Guillaume in the shower and how sensuous it was to be so glistening and slippery all over. In that moment, she decided she would appear so again. Discarding clothes as she went, Monique was soon at her bath and moments later standing before the mirror she was transforming her warm skin into that of the slick creature of her dreams: naked, accessible, ready for sexual use. She found she could not bring herself quite yet to climb into the bath and instead as she watched herself in the mirror she toyed with her shiny body again bringing herself to off with her firm breasts being pressed hard into the mirror as her fingers dextrously played her sex back towards orgasm.

Monica’s breathing was heavy as she realised she was back in her flat rather than Monique’s.

“Whoah.” Monica muttered.

Her body felt like it had truly been doing the things she had done as Monique. She realised that this time her own identity had had little input into the proceedings but she had enjoyed the ride. Maybe that was the result of Harcourt doing something different. As she shifted in her chair she realised that she too was sexually wet, but she guessed that was not unusual when you got aroused in a dream.

“I’m guessing that was another sexual exploit?” Harcourt prompted.

“Erm, yes. Why do you think that is?” Monica turned her admission back on him.

“Well, why do you?”

“I suppose those are incidents with a lot of energy and excitement and push their way through. I guess we all remember the sex we had far more than the stuff at work, the shopping, the laundry, you know.”

“Yes, I agree. I think also that it may be appearing because it is the one thing that is most different to your own life. You are changing jobs, soon you’ll be working for the descendants of the company you used to work for. You’ve altered the way you do your hair, the clothes you wear, to what I imagine is closer to Monique’s choices in your fugues, but I’ve not seen any evidence of sexual activity.”

Monica flushed again. “Yes, well, I suppose, I suppose that is true.”

“That is interesting, it suggests the block on you engaging in normal sexual activity was stronger than the other elements put into this mental construct. I imagine that stemmed from a wish for revenge on the part of your former husband. Many philanderers find it difficult to accept ‘their’ women replicating their own behaviour and sleeping with other men. We may have to work harder at eroding that aspect. Is it that you feel frigid or is it simply that you’ve had your confidence around men sapped?”

“Erm, I don’t know, neither, I suppose. It’s just I’m not as skilled or maybe not as driven as Monique is to securing sexual partners. I have certainly felt sexually aroused and I have arranged a date for this Saturday, with a colleague, well, a former colleague.”

“That’s good. Maybe it will be less difficult than I envisaged. I am sure it will go well.”

“Erm, yes, we’ll see.”

Monica walked a little apprehensively into ‘Bar Marc’. It had to be over a year since she had gone on a date and on that occasion she had simply worn what she wore to work. Tonight, in contrast, she had showered and brushed her lengthening brown hair before painting her face the subtle way she had learnt from Monique. She was not certain Monique would have dressed exactly the way she had done, but her inspiration was there. Monica was glad to have the opportunity to wear one of her new blouses under what had become her firm favourite, the leather jacket. However, she had not paired these tops with a skirt, concerned that it would too smart for what was a first date. Instead she was back in her pale blue skinny jeans. This had provoked more shopping as her suede boots had been too tight to wear over them and Monica had resorted to sprinting round the shoe shops once she had realised this and the result was the lower-heeled, black leather, knee-height boots she now wore. She was not fond of slouch boots and the greater rigidity of these felt good; they even had a pair of buckled straps at the top of each calf to pull them in that much closer.

Glen was there with a glass of wine in front of him. He wore a tight dark green jersey over a white teeshirt, beneath were khaki trousers and thick sole shoes that Monica realised she liked. She was certainly not embarrassed to be seen with him. As he stood up and guided her to her chair, Monica remembered how much she had always enjoyed dates. It always seemed a shame to spoil that air of expectation and of possibility of dating a man for the first time. Maybe that was a characteristic that she shared with Monique. Though the Frenchwoman’s initial phase went a lot further, her desire for a range of partners chimed with a kind of restlessness Monica was coming to acknowledge in herself.

Monica ordered wine, not certain where her knowledge of what tasted good came from. In the past she had tended to go by price, but tonight, given the rarity of dates in her life these days, she was keen to make it memorable. Glen excitedly asked Monica about her new job and whilst she welcomed the attention, she was conscious that she did not know a great deal about it. Somehow her mind had shut it off as a topic to deal with later. She talked of what Parry had promised and that moved them to France, a country Glen knew well from his youth. As they shared childhood memories of some of the same locales, Monica felt a stronger nostalgia for the country than she realised that she had, but concluded, like Glen, that nowhere beat London for vibrancy.

Then the conversation turned to Japan. Glen could not conceal his love of the country, especially the dichotomy between the most high tech cities in the world and the very traditional rural locations; he adored it all. Once he had his qualification he was determined to head back. Monica had initially worried that such a sentiment would disappoint her through ruling out any future between them, but now, strangely, it seemed good, she could have fun with Glen knowing it was finite and there would be no opportunity for things to become staid.

Monica now realised she was finding it difficult to concentrate. She could not blame a busy week given that she had hardly been at work. She wondered if it was the wine. She was hardly a teetotaller, but it had to be a few months since she had drunk more than a single glass. However, as she assessed the impact it seemed it had only given her a nice glow. Then she realised it was something else: lust. Her body was both softening and hardening in anticipation that her mind and the words it produced were going to do something to bring it sexual contact. As she refocused she realised that her gaze was alternating between Glen’s eyes and his mouth. The poor man must think she was becoming stiff with boredom. Monica noticed also, that uncontrollably she was mirroring his actions, resting her hand on the table like his, sipping from her drink as he did from his glass.

Monica shifted awkwardly and sat more upright. She realised that she had lent in closer to him as the conversation had progressed. She struggled to be a little more distant; worried that being too forward would frighten Glen off and ruin the evening. However, Monica now began to find herself pondering what it would be like to see Glen naked; to feel his skin against hers. Then she realised her knee was rubbing the inside of his leg very gently. Her body was pleased by the fact she had taken to wearing tight jeans because now she could feel the warmth of his flesh as she pressed against him. She looked at his expression but there was no irritation, just the pleasant smile. Monica tried to put a brave face on things, but she felt she was a pilot struggling to maintain of the aircraft that was her body. She found she had crossed her legs, glad of the comparatively high, heavy wood table, but then realised this was simply so that she could dextrously move the toe tip of her leather boot along the inside of Glen’s thigh and dab gently at his crotch.

“Erm, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” Monica blurted.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I’ve been going on too long. You’ll be wanting to get home.”

Monica wanted to agree but she found other thoughts, other words coming to her. She wondered if Monique was again taking the reins to seek the outcome she would have been searching for.

“Only if you want to come with me.” It came out simply without affectation.

“Yes, that, that would be very nice.” Glen responded clearly surprised at how quickly things were shifting.

“Erm, it’s because,” Monica sought an explanation to cover something that she seemed to have minimal control over, “well, as you said, we only have weeks before you’re off on your course and, erm, well, I wouldn’t want to miss out on…”

Monica struggled to stop herself saying ‘screwing you’, ‘shagging you’, ‘sleeping with you’ and what she found she doubted was any better, though it sounded a little less blunt.

“… on enjoying you.”

“Yes, that sounds good. Very good.” Glen seemed himself to be struggling to rein in his enthusiasm and that heartened Monica a little.

“I like you, in fact I’m burning for you at present and I think it would be in both of our interests…”

Monica’s words were curtailed by Glen’s tongue sliding so deliciously into her mouth. Inside there was a sense of jubilation of a mission accomplished. Monica hardly felt it was her mission in the first place, but she realised she would be an idiot if she now walked away from what she, or possibly Monique on her behalf, had arranged. In a couple of minutes they had abandoned half drunk wine at the table and were heading to the nearest taxi rank. Monica tingled where Glen’s arm reached around her. Then he stopped and turned to face her. She pressed herself hard against him as if trying to squeeze out every iota of pleasure from being with him. She simpered as his hands locked around her bum and pulled her against the growing flesh at his crotch.

“When you walked in, wearing that top and those jeans, you looked so sexy I couldn’t think of anything else. You are so hot.” Glen rambled.

Monica shivered with a delightful sensation, cursing herself for missing out on this for so long. She felt that how she had dressed had not only made her appear a properly sexual being, but was enabling the intimate contact to feed straight through to her. Inside she laughed at the thought of how much she would have missed concealed beneath a thick sweater and one of her huge skirts, let alone the duffel coat.

It was not long before they were in the taxi and heading to her flat. For some reason she wanted to have Glen there, maybe so that she knew it was her who was truly experiencing what was happening, rather than lived second hand through Monique. She did wonder how far Monique’s desires had driven her actions this evening though. Even if she had not been fully herself, Monica could not pretend that she was not enjoying the outcome. She thought about Glen. She guessed in the past she would have passed up on him at the thought that he would only be around for a few months. Maybe her problem was that every time she went on a date she had sub-consciously been trying to catch a husband. After all, she was not thirty yet, there was a lot of time to settle down and anyway, did ‘settling down’ mean stagnation? She was sure that one day a man would come along with whom she would give up everything in order to trek with him to Patagonia, but it the meantime, why should she not fill her needs with the male flesh that came her way?

With those thoughts, Monica certainly recognised that she was aching to have Glen deep inside her. Now awakened after so many years lying passive, her pussy was growling for attention. In accord, her body was quivering; every nerve ending seemingly heightened and alert to the smallest movement and touch. The feel of Glen’s thigh beside hers, the warmth of his hand, the sensation of his heartbeat and the smoothness of his lips when he kissed all seemed to feed bright colours and giddying stimulus far into her.

Soon they were climbing the last steps to Monica’s flat and having quickly opened the door she pulled Glen inside. She was not going to let him go and pressed him against the wall, one hand probing the front of his trousers and then, with a dexterity which surprised her, she released his cock. She grasped the shaft in her hand as if it was of such value that she was loath to let it go even for an instant. Her body was crying out to have this inside her. Locked at the mouth and with Monica leading him by his cock, they manoeuvred awkwardly into her bedroom. Monica’s urges would allow no time for tentative kissing and fondling on the sofa, she was eager for penetration. She threw Glen backwards and tore at his trousers, stripping them quickly from him, painfully taking his pants with them. She had no concern for his discomfort, for now Monica felt driven simply to make him accessible to her body.

Glen was quickly tugging at his top and soon he was naked. He scrabbled for his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Monica smiled as he produced a condom and with seemingly expert confidence had quickly sheathed himself. Monica remained impatient and did nothing more than pull her jeans down to above her knee, her silk panties with them. With Glen pressed against the headboard she clambered on to him, kneeling on the bed. Then slowly she lowered herself on to his hard flesh, gasping with the sensation of impaling herself on this man. Her pussy was so sodden that it offered no friction and Monica’s body shuddered in delight of at long last welcoming the shaft into her. Monica shrieked as she lost control, her head and body tumbling on to Glen’s bare chest as she realised she was orgasming. Her mind seemed concerned that it had happened so fast, but the bright light before her eyes and the sensation that seemed to rise up from her hips told her this was genuine. As Monica breathed hard she mentally apologised for denying herself this for so long and swore never to neglect her senses this badly ever again.

Monica felt fired by the ecstasy provided by just this initial contact. Hungrily she feasted with her mouth on Glen’s nipples, his neck and his lips. Soon she was beginning to rock back and forth on the rubbered flesh which pinned her to him. He remained hard, to Monica seemingly still coping with the first sensations of the smooth denim thrusting back and forth on him and the delight of the home his cock had found deep inside this woman he barely knew.

Monica pulled away not wanting him to come too soon. Distantly she grasped the fact that she was going to experience more than one orgasm that night, but it seemed fantastical. Of course she had been there as Monique, but this was very different and every moment she was concerned that the bubble would burst and either she would wake up or Glen would see through her and make his apologies and leave. Then something told Monica to stop being so foolish, there was no way this man was going anywhere given what she had already exposed him to.

Monica shed her leather jacket and unbuttoned and discarded her blouse. She grasped her silk clad breasts and for a mad moment wondered what it would be like wearing a leather bra. Cheekily she pushed her breasts together and then held them underneath as if offering them as tribute to Glen. Monica realised that her inhibitions were gone and she felt incredibly playful. She leant back and pushed a booted foot up towards Glen loving the sleek line of her tightly held leg. She realised that simply looking at herself on display was making her hot and even more eager to put this body to use. Glen got the message and tugged off Monica’s boot. As she offered him the other she recognised that she was only steps away from wanting to sexually dominate this man and have him serving at her command, the way she had done with the handcuffed man in the fugue. This evening was revealing so many things about Monica’s sexuality to her and each of them suggested that she was far closer to Monique in outlook than she ever would have admitted.

Glen did not have to be prompted to drag off Monica’s jeans and she felt a tingle as she emerged from them. Now she was just in her silk underwear, sexier and more sophisticated than anything she would have considered trying barely two months earlier. Soon she had removed even that. Now naked Monica went in more softly, crouching down to prowl along Glen’s legs flicking out her tongue tantalisingly onto his body. Then she knelt up and as he reached for her she caught first one wrist and then the other and strongly held them back above his head. Wickedly she felt she simply wanted to use him as a tool for her pleasure, under her control with minimal input from him. Monica realised the initial sexual release had opened up so many pathways to urges and desires that she had been unfamiliar with.

Monica straddled Glen’s body again, gasping pleasurably as his hard cock slid back deep into her. She relished the fact that her body was so ready for this, her juices flowing so freely and her senses not flagging from the pre-orgasm plateau where she had soon returned. To get the sensation she required Monica bumped her body up and down on Glen’s so thrusting his flesh back and forth. She loved this riding of him and however much she admired him, she loved too, the fact that she had effectively turned him into her sex toy, incapable of escape and probably unable not to pleasure her. This time the orgasm was different it froze Monica to the spot and she slid sideways on to the bed, twisting Glen with her as the rippling radiated out from the core of her pussy leaving her gasping and speechless. Now she was determined there would be no subsidence and she stretched herself out, appearing, no doubt to Glen to be languid but in fact driven to achieve another climax.

As Monica had guessed adopting a more submissive pose prompted Glen to mount her. She felt sorry for the man having gifted her two good orgasms but as yet to have received nothing in return. However, Monica was sure her behaviour would have aroused him enough. With enthusiastic thrusts he was soon into the repeated grunts of a man frustrated by being made to wait but all the better pleased for having been so delayed. As Monica absorbed that it was her who was bringing this man so much pleasure, a sensation which replaced his voice with animal grunts, Monica again found herself shuddering with the passion and the ongoing ecstatic assault on her mind and body. This time she had no shame and just yelped her recognition of the intense wave of emotion crashing over her.

Monica slumped back on the bed, her body sticky with sweat, her formerly sleek long hair now simply congealed strands. Though Monica did nothing to continue the sex she realised that her body was certainly ready for more. How come she had never before recognised her avarice for orgasms and how many her body could handle without tiring? She guessed it was because previously the extent of her sexual activity had been defined by the man: one quick burst and then he rolled over for sleep. She had become conditioned to that. With the realisation that she had a real hunger for more stimulus also came concerns. Was it simply the result of her being celibate for so long? Was there in fact, a, what was it called, nymphomaniac side to her, only revealing itself as she matured a bit more? Had experiencing Monique’s appetites triggered off something in her? She imagined Harcourt’s line would be that she simply was recapturing the nature she had had when she was Monique.

Monica smiled to herself as she realised she could quite happily die this night satisfied with life. She guessed that was simply the happy chemicals running round her bloodstream brought on by the sex.

“Wow, to have seen you, I never would have believed you had so much in you.” Glen observed, genuinely astounded.

“Well, I don’t unleash the demon for everyone and you weren’t doing too badly in there yourself.”

Monica curled up beside Glen idly running her hands over his naked body. Every moment that passed she was sure she was going to come out of this and find it was simply one of Monique’s experiences and throughout this time she had been dozing in front of the television or even more embarrassingly sitting on a bench in the park. However, this one seemed to prove persistent and it was Monica who fell asleep with Glen.