The intimate life of Monica P. ebook i audiobook

Author: P.D. David

Translated by: Sebastian Macieja

Proofread by: Michael Gannon

Cover design: E. Raj

Typesetting: Wielogłoska

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED WARSAW 2024

EDITION 1

This book is dedicated to Celine – my friend who has stood by me through thick and thin.

This story is based on facts…

…Mostly.

Some native American tribes believe that people are more complex than we normally realize. According to these beliefs, we actually have three souls instead of one. The first is the metaphysical part, the second is our bodily life. Nothing can beat the third one, though; it leaves the body when we’re asleep to wander through astral realms or – if you prefer – the world of dreams and returns unexpectedly. This third soul brings us wisdom and experience that few people can put to good use. Native Americans have believed in the extraordinary power of ancestral spirits since time immemorial. Some even continue to believe in it today…

That story has nothing to do with the book in front of you.

1

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” I muttered in a faint voice, humbly lowering my gaze. I was kneeling on a cushion, but I still felt pain in my knees.

“What evil deeds have you come to confess, my child?” a male voice sounded from behind the curtain.

“I’ve been really naughty,” I said. My awkward position only made me realize how unfit I was. “I disobeyed my husband, faked a headache, avoided intimacy…”

Silence. I could hear a slow breath that gradually accelerated, becoming shallower.

“These are grave sins,” he finally replied in a melodious voice.

“Can I hope for forgiveness?” I asked, knowing the answer was a foregone conclusion.

“That depends, little girl. You’ll have to do something for me.”

This time I could clearly hear a rustling sound as the man’s breath became more feverish.

“Anything you ask, father…” I squealed like a lit­tle girl.

“Open your legs, you sinner!” he called out as he tore off the curtain that separated us.

It was my husband, Adam, dressed up as a priest. He pulled up his cassock and threw himself at me. Clearly aroused, his cock was rock hard as usual, so he had no trouble ramming it inside me. Luckily, I’d used some lube, or I’d be in pain now.

The whole show lasted all of three minutes, but it took even up to a week to prepare for. Adam was no ordinary man, and he loved role-playing. At first, the novelty of it turned me on, too. By now, I’ve played a maid, policewoman, librarian, nurse, hooker, lawyer, doctor, accountant, too many parts to count, really. However, his ideas have been getting a little bizarre lately. The other day, he made me dress up as the fucking mother of dragons. He even wanted to come to the sound of me crying ‘dracarys’.

Yes, Adam is a complete moron, and I’m even more so for playing along! Anyway, I’m fed up with his fetish, but I can’t just say that to his face and break his heart, right? As I mentioned, preparations for the – what should I call it? – ceremony would stretch for days, and outfits had to be ordered from a rental or tailor-made. Nothing left to chance there, it had to be handled like a military operation. Sometimes I took the easy way out by buying a ready-made costume from the store, happy that he at least paid for everything.

“Almost there!” he groaned, shutting his eyelids tight.

I nearly forgot we were in the middle of a bang. And there he was, close to completion after a rapid two-minute hump.

“Me too!” I sighed with mock relief.

I knew this would speed up his release, and it did. Ifaked an orgasm just so he’d finally get off me. Even if I told him I was still a long way off, he wouldn’t be able to go on. He’d just roll over, snuggle up to me and ask awkward questions like: ‘What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you like me anymore? Did I do something wrong?’

Oh… for fuck’s sake. Yes, in fact, you did everything wrong! I’m not a machine and can’t come in two minutes because someone pulled a lever. And I don’t appreciate all the hoops you’re making me jump through.

I wanted to yell it in his face, but couldn’t get up the nerve. I don’t know why. We didn’t have any kids. I’m still young, I could certainly get a divorce and settle down with another guy. Except… what good would that do? I’ve heard all men are twisted in some way…

My best friend Angela had been cheated on countless times. She wouldn’t believe even when people told her they’d seen her guy groping another woman. Finally, I talked her into installing a spy app on his phone. Have you ever heard of spy apps? I hadn’t, either, until I googled them. The app was simple to use but had some amazing features: it could copy files from the infected phone, track the user’s movements, take secret photos, and record calls. All you needed to do was open the app’s website. Best of all, it could hack every messenger and retrieve history logs for websites viewed in incognito mode. A brilliant invention!

Back to Angela: when she discovered that her guy was dating other girls, she confronted him. He predictably denied it, so she showed him proof. He then said he knew all along it was a set-up, he was aware of the spy app and deliberately faked an affair. He claimed he only messaged and talked on the phone with other women, but they never went out. Silly Angela swallowed the story hook, line and sinker, then forgave him. She finally came to her senses and broke up with the jerk when she caught gonorrhea a month later.

Do you want more examples? No problem! Sarah, my next-door neighbor, divorced her husband of twenty years after he made her lick his feet, a routine they kept up in the bedroom for the longest time until she couldn’t stand it anymore and simply threw up on him. Then, she got up and announced she was filing for divorce. It’s actually amazing that she took so long to make the decision. It had me wondering what I’d do if Adam told me to lick his feet or – let’s just go all out – his anus! Eww! My stomach is turning!

Another example is Maya, a friend from college days. She hooked up with a guy who had no balls. I mean, literally! She explained that his testicles were smaller than peanuts without the husk. ‘Is that even possible?’ I asked her on more than one occasion. ‘Maybe he had some kind of surgery or experienced childhood trauma?’ But it wasn’t that. Apparently, it was genetic. It must have been pretty damn upsetting and embarrassing for the guy – his sense of masculinity shrunk to nothing, especially in bed. That was also the reason why she eventually broke up with him. I felt a little sorry for him. Poor guy, so brutally marked for life by the size of his testicles…

Now, you’re probably thinking that I have total bimbos for friends and that I’m a bit on the dumb side myself, judging men solely for their performance in the sack. But have you never done this? Haven’t you dreamed of a superman who will give you multiple orgasms, one after another? Why not? Why should it be a male thing? Are they the only ones allowed to let their imagination run wild? True, this is how we were brought up. A woman was supposed to take care of the house, give birth and raise kids, have sex only in the missionary position, under blankets, with the lights off. A woman in her thirties should know better than to be a promiscuous single. An old maid, at that age? It’s a downright disgrace!

However, I am different. I like to watch porn, even though it’s made for guys, not women (again, I feel excluded). Don’t you feel like anything that’s enjoyable is reserved for men? Sex, drugs, social position, and even hierarchy in the Church! Why can’t a woman be Pope? Apparently, it did happen that a woman became the head of the Catholic Church, but only because she fooled everyone by disguising herself as a man.

Back to me: I don’t have typical female hobbies, and it has never been my goal in life to give birth and raise children. I respect people who sacrifice their career, education and passions to start a family. But the fact remains: I’ll never be like that. But I digress… Let me give you another example of how discrimination affects women at every turn. Let’s take drinking. When a drunk guy is coming back home on the bus, everyone has a great time making light-hearted fun of him, as long as he’s not aggressive.

When the same situation happens to a woman, it’s not so funny anymore. Have you ever wondered what others think of her? ‘She probably let someone fuck her for a drink, the alcoholic! The state she’s in, the tramp! She’s the worst! I feel sorry for her children…’

Worst of all, it’s other women who have these kinds of thoughts. It’s like we’re short-changing ourselves!

Forgive me for going off on a rant like this without even introducing myself. You’d probably like to know something about me. My name is Monica, I’m thirty-two years old, childless, married for six years to Adam; I’m a teacher but currently working as an editor in a publishing house. I live in Poland.

I would like to give you my opinion about the world and, if you allow me to, take you for a ride. I promise it will be a short one. Would you like to take that rollercoaster ride with no holds barred? With me?