You ask me how I became the sex slave of a much older woman? Honestly, I think you’re asking the wrong question, if you don’t mind me saying? What you should be asking me is how it took so long?
Because some things are more of an inevitability than a random occurrence. Like water flowing downhill or a meteorite falling to earth, the path that I found myself walking during that endless, warm summer was one that had only one destination, only one outcome. I knew it as soon as I started down that road, and I wanted nothing more than to get there.
Why it began is less important than how it began, perhaps. Some half-forgotten crisis, a youthful tragedy, a doomed romance-gone-bad with a faceless boy who played so little role in this story as to allow him to remain nameless. But the hurt of that clichéd heartbreak was very real to a nineteen year old girl, the pain almost tangible.
Enter my savior, my eventual goddess, the woman that I would come to worship and serve in equal measure. An older woman, a half-acquaintance, friend of the family and eternal subject of town gossip: Ms. Rebecca Sharp.