The year was 1734 and it was another warm summer day in Boston, Massachusetts. I can still remember how sweet the flowers smelled, how clean the air was, the way the sun flickered through the window and caressed my face. The sun welcoming me to enjoy the day. I would hope out of bed and wash my face and hands in the basin by the door. I would dress quickly, secretly enjoying the fact that I didn't have to wear a tight corset. Sometimes being a lower class woman had it's perks. My mother would greet me soon after I finished dressing and I'd meet her in the main room of the house. My sister would meet us and she would always mess up something. Her hair would be tangled, her dress wrinkled or her laces not tied. It always brought a smile to my face to watch my mom fix her up. She tried so hard to make sure she looked perfect. My days consisted of helping my mom with the gardening, making sure the house was clean, traveling to the marketplace for food, fixing up dinner and studying with my father. He usually showed up in the afternoon, he was never there when I woke. Mother always said he left before dawn for work.
I was a hard worker and I liked it that way. My work around the house kept me busy and productive. My mother would talk with me about everything while my sister prefered to learn through reading the books my father brought home. My sister was only two years younger than me. We were all so happy, I remember my father coming home with a wonderful cake on the day of my twenty-first birthday. But that happiness would soon fade for the day after my birthday, everything changed. My mother started to slow, her movements grew hesitant and careful. She would stumble getting up and every morning i'd need to help her out of bed. Soon she wasn't even able to stand. I began to do her duties, along with helping her with her needs. It was tiresome and hard, i'd go to bed exhausted. One night, as I was falling asleep I heard my sister open my door and shout at me that something happened to our mother. I ran to her room and by the time I got there, she was gone. No longer breathing, eyes closed. She looked peaceful but still her loss was the beginning of the end.
My father began to show up late, arriving home in the middle of the night, smelling of beer. He claimed he was working late but I wasn't stupid. I called him out on it and he barked at me not to question him again. Soon he told us he found another woman to warm his bed and that night he left us both. I knew my sister and I would not survive without some kind of money source, we need to pay for food. I had nothing to sell, nothing to give but one thing. I was desperate and so I began to sell the one thing I could use, my body. I went to the nearest brothel and began making money each night with my body. It broke my spirit until I had no sense of pride but it kept my sister and I alive.
One night a woman came into the brothel, by the look of her clothes I could tell she was wealthy. Odd that a woman would come here and ask for me. She asked me to please her but I didn't know how. I had become skilled in pleasuring men but never another woman. She only smiled and said she would enjoy teaching me. She came every night for two weeks, teaching me all kinds of new things about the human body and how sensitive we are. When she had first arrived I knew she would change everything and I was right.