((Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted my story! I really appreciate all of the comments and encouragement. I'm glad you like this! This chapter is about America's favorite vixen: Miss Marilyn Monroe! I'd like to note that her name at the time this happened was still Norma Jeane Mortenson, and that's what America knew her as. ))

Hollywood, 1945:

The day had been cloudy and dim, the threat of rain looming over America's head. It was uncharacteristic for this town, but he didn't mind all that much, really. The end of the Second World War still brightened his country's outlook, although, he was feeling a little feverish. Feverish – and frustrated. England was supposed to meet him. They were going to celebrate together. America wouldn't admit to himself why England's cancelling felt so crushing. It was just drinks with an ally, nothing more.

Really!

He sighed to himself, feeling almost… Lonely. The evening was slowly becoming darker as he walked down the street, headed to his favorite bar. It wasn't crawling with stars, like the ones he passed, with long lines of hopeful young men and women who wanted to meet their idols. This one was a little dive that only he, some of his air force buddies, and few others knew of.

America draped his bomber jacket over the back of his usual chair at the bar. He gave halfhearted greetings to the other regulars before a tall beer was placed before him.

Not even a Samuel Adams could make him feel better, it seemed.

"This seat taken?" A voice asked. It came from a woman. Not a girl, not a female – a woman. Her curly hair, he could tell, had been recently dyed blond. Her full lips were upturned in a smile at him.

"Not at all," America said, gesturing for her to take a seat. "Alfred F. Jones." He introduced himself using the human name he had chosen so long ago. It was the name on his government paychecks, and his passport, but it wasn't his true name. His real name was The United States of America. But he couldn't introduce himself as that to such a lovely woman. She'd think he was crazy.

"Norma Jeane." She answered with a wink, taking a seat. "What's your deal? You look a little blue, there."

"Ah, a buddy of mine was supposed to be here to celebrate the end of the war with me. He… didn't make it." He gestured for the bartender to bring another round.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She looked at him with wide eyes. With pity. "He was a soldier?"

"No! Well, yes, but he's not dead. Just stuck in Europe." He smiled, sadly. "The guy hardly ever comes over here to the land of the free. He's England. I mean, English."

"Well, at least we're here." She said. "I, for one, am here to celebrate!"

"Oh?"

"I just signed with Blue Book Modeling. I got shiny new blond hair, and a fat paycheck." She smiled. It was a beautiful smile, full of excitement. "I can't believe it! A girl like me, and I'm gonna be famous." She held up her glass. "Only, in America, Mr. Jones! The land of opportunity! Pretty soon, the roads really will be paved with gold!"

"I'll drink to that!" America smiled broadly. "Things are looking up for me, that's for sure." He paused. "I still feel bad about what I had to do to Japan, though…" he trailed off, then shook his head, replacing that wide smile which had disappeared when he thought of the Manhattan Project. He realized how crazy he must have sounded, taking personal responsibility for the A-Bomb. "Uh. I meant we. The nation, not me personally. There's no way a person could represent a whole country, right? Haha!" He finished off his second beer, heart beating fast. He wanted to impress her.

Norma blinked at him. "You're a strange one, but I like you." She waved her arm and another round was placed before America.

They talked of patriotism and equality, freedom and opportunity. They talked for hours, and were more than a little tipsy by the time Norma smiled and suggested they take the celebration somewhere else.

In the morning, America awoke in a soft bed next to a perfect woman who smelled of roses.

They spent the next week together, living in the extravagant luxury one could only find in Hollywood. He tried to memorize every detail of Norma Jeane, down to the exact location of her beauty mark. America bought her gifts, and she returned the favor. His favorite, the one he held onto all these years, was a silk blue robe.

Eight years later, he smiled and laughed when he picked up a magazine off the rack. There, on the cover of Playboy, was the girl who captured his heart – both his beating, human heart and the heart of his nation - and his virginity. Norma Jeane Mortenson. Marilyn Monroe.

((I hope y'all enjoyed. I'll be using a Miss America for the next chapter – I need to do some research still and decide which one. Also, I'm going to make this a two-part fic. The first part, you're reading. It's America's past loves. The second part will be England's. So, I need to ask – who do you think England was with before America? We all know he had hate sex with France more than once, and I think he was with Shakespeare at one point. But who else! Leave me a review with your opinions. Thanks! –Elie ))