Chapter 1

She was tired of it all. Tired of the infamy. Tired of giving those TED talks. Tired of being a hero to some, a hated villain to others. She was just ... done with it. She hadn’t dated anyone in a real sense in years. She hadn’t had a relationship with anyone in forever. That bitch Hillary had won, had gotten her revenge for what she, Monica, did with Bill Clinton, her husband. Monica just wanted sweet freedom and peace of mind, but how to get it and where? It seemed forever elusive and she badly wanted, no, needed to be loved, and yes, FUCKED, for once.

All over a few stupid blowjobs that she gave while a college intern at the White House in the mid-90s, when she was smitten and head over heels in love with her boss, the very popular President of the United States. Her love life, hell, her entire life, ruined, herself trolled endlessly and her name smeared and tarnished on the Internet as the first ever prominent victim of cyber-bullying. The TED talks and anti-cyberbullying campaign had helped, up to a point. But she wanted more. Why couldn’t she be happy for once? Why must she always just be a fat bitch in a beret and stained blue dress?

If only she could just ... stop caring? If only she should shake the guilt, the shame, the embarrassment, etc. If only ... if only. Monica cried into her hands again, tossing back a glass of red wine and staring at the computer when she saw an ad listed on a news site. She squinted her blurry eyes to make sure that she read that one right. Bimbo Tech? What the fuck was Bimbo Tech? It sounded intriguing enough, to be sure. What services could they offer her, because something about them stood out, as if an instinct told her that this was her ticket out of her own personal hell.

Monica couldn’t help but click the link. Her hands shook, trembling for fear that she might have unleashed a Trojan or spyware or malware virus on her PC. She might even have given some compromising data to these strangers. They could be scammers, too, ready to rip her off her hard-earned book royalties, which were her main source of income these days. Yes, she was a writer, but not a novelist. She wrote non-fiction, as opposed to the fiction spouted by Bill and Hillary these days. As if Hillary even gave a damn about the affair except for the public humiliation. Yeah, well, the old bat had returned that humiliation and then some in spades, hadn’t she?

There it was, the contact number for Bimbo Tech Limited Liability Corporation. Of course, they would be an LLC. Any smart entrepreneur these days was. Especially with Monica’s old frenemy, Robert Shapiro, doing his Legal Zoom stuff to make it so much easier, too. Monica smirked as she realized that things like that would get Shapiro forgiven for the OJ Simpson defense, but she would never be forgiven a few stupid blowjobs that a starstruck younger self gave the most powerful man in the world. Those bitches were just jealous that she, Monica, got to suck that Presidential dick, that’s all. It was just a bunch of catty women who wished that they could have sucked Bill Clinton’s cock and had his cum stain their clothes!

Monica’s hands really shook as she picked up her cell phone and dialed that number, the contact number for Bimbo Tech. A friendly voice answered the line, though she could have sworn that the accent was Brazilian. Maybe it was! Anyone and their uncle was leaving Brazil these days with that old Jesus Freak Bolsonaro in charge. Talk about your killjoys!