I never thought to find myself in this position. When he finds out the Master will say I'm like all the others, but I beg you to believe I'm not. I try to be good and have not sinned, not yet, and never will, not matter how much he urges me.
It begins when he catches me playfully in the garden. I've noticed how he looks at me and know what they say about him in the town. My friend Molly works the tavern on the waterfront, and can tell tall tales of the fights he is in and the women who keep him company. Nevertheless, I allow him to hurry me along a few steps and hide us behind a tree. It does not do to be too sharp with the eldest son in the household. They can make more trouble for you than the master, if they've a mind.
He fixes me with his dark eyes and whispers to me, "Can I kiss you?" and my cheeks burn. I shake my head and he lifts my hands to his mouth.
Just as I think he's going to kiss the back of my hand as a gentleman would, he turns one hand over and presses his lips into the palm. I won't allow him to kiss me properly and I get away, and hope he'll have moved on to some other wench by the next time we're alone together.
But he doesn't. He constantly finds excuses to come and see me, and even when I refuse to let him touch me he doesn't go away. He sits beside me as I scrub, polish or sew, and just talks. I'm puzzled at first, and then sorry for him, and then one day, I hardly know how, I want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss me, maybe worse.
So we kiss, and whatever scruples I had are suddenly gone. He brings the heat out of me like I never felt before. He wants to go on, he says he must have me, I must let him, but I tell him firmly I won't, I can't. I've nowhere else to go and no other work to do; if the Master found out, if there were consequences...
I expect him to be angry, but he's merely sad for a moment. Then he crushes me to him again and fills my ear with sweet words. How he loves me and would never harm me or disgrace me. He promises, though I know my place and would never ask, to speak to his Father.
Now, every time we meet he begs me for favours and I don't know how to refuse him, he is so gentle. First I must allow him to unlace me (not to touch, just to look), then I must consent to a hand at my bosom, then he asks me pleadingly to sit on his lap, then I'm to relieve him by pressing here and there with my fingers. Lately he asks to touch my skin, my neck, my bare arms, my ankles, legs, thighs. And so eventually I nod, mutely, and he slips a hand beneath my skirt and strokes me until my breath comes short and I start to shake against him. But he does no more than what I agree to, and never pushes his claims. I know that whatever happens he loved me, more than anyone ever has before.
When he takes his hand away, I can see it glistening from where he has touched me, and at once I am ashamed of my conduct. But he says, no, it is just proof that I love him as he loves me and one day we will be able to enjoy each other to the full. I turn away miserably, and he says he will speak to his Father, soon.
Every time he says it, I believe him a little less, and need to believe him a little more.