Prostitution

    In most society there’s the wife and there’s the mistress, but I’m neither. I’m the poor servant who gets trapped by the drunken master in a mostly empty corridor. And it’s never the young, handsome master or even just the young master. No, it’s always the creepy old master who spends his days fantasizing about kids half his age or younger.
         Yeah, I’m one unlucky wench.
         Sometimes, somehow, I get caught by one of those jealous, obsessive types…how I wish it were me they obsessed over, then they would leave me alone.
         But I guess it’s okay. At least I never have to go to bed alone; even though I wake up so. It hurts sometimes, most of the time, but it’s okay, at least a human hand is touching me.
    When I wake up or regain consciousness, they always pay the bill. They leave it in crumpled twenties and sweaty dollar bills. It’s when I wake and collect my pay that I’m just pretending to play the unlucky maid. No, I’m even lower than that.
    I’m just a whore.