This is the story of Annie Smith, a prostitute living in the Covent Garden area in the mid 1800’s. The area was rife with prostitution during this era and held no exception to Annie’s plight. Forced by her mother to work in this trade she is determined to find a way out of this life at any cost. When she meets a married man quite by sheer accident she is offered an unusual way to leave this sordid existence behind her.
Annie is extremely grateful for her new found role in life and for a while she accepts this to be the right choice. But soon her life will change again when she meets her Dark Cully’s wife, Mrs. Rose Rotherham, a fine and beautiful woman who happens to be high up in the social circle of London. Annie is besotted with her and has to find a way into her life and when she manages to find that avenue there is literally, hell to pay.
We sat at a table next to a right rowdy lot and ordered two whiskies. Mine was downed in a second and he ordered me another, made it a large one he did. I prefer to have a large whisky when the opportunity arises; it warms the cockles of my heart.
Ruthie Elkins was sitting with the disorderly bunch and fancied her chances with my toff looking gent. She was a lot older than me, dugs as big as her arse. Rumour has it she likes it up the roundmouth but I ain’t in to making that sort of brass.
“Ere, you don’t want to waste your time with that chicken breasted little trollop.” She said to him. “You look the sort of gent who’d appreciate a more experienced gal, one who knows how to make you feel good. I could give you a butchers if you like.”
“You better sling yer hook, Ruthie Elkins, ain’t no bloke round these parts gonna touch you with a ten foot pole specially my new nice friend,” I told her. “Besides if he was interested in the likes of having a bit of bunter he’d find better than you that’s a promise.”
“You belong in the gutter, Annie Smith, you mark my words you’ll be waking up dead one of these mornings if I ever get my hands on you,” she yelled back at me.
“Oh shut your head, Ruthie. You got no business trying to claim my good fortune. Bugger off and find yer own bloke,” I told her.
She sat back down in her chair when Dora Lehmann yanked on her arm and told her to finish her drink without causing any more ruckus. I felt like I had just won that argument.
“My name is Meriwether Lewis Rotherham.” My gent said to me and then he tipped his bleedin’ hat like he was a toff or something and I was a real lady, like hell I was.
“My name is, Annie Smith, of Frederick and Margaret Smith. We live in the Covent Garden area.” I joked, making my voice sound all royal and hoity toity like.
“Please tell me why such a pretty little thing such as yourself is out on a night like this,” he asked, all posh like. As if he didn’t know. My arse he didn’t!
“I gotta earn my bleedin’ gilt somehow, now aven’t I. Rent don’t pay for itself, especially when good old Margaret likes to spend it on a bit of the old tipple down at Ye Old Cock Tavern. No it’s down to the likes of me to earn a shilling or two and keep the roof over our heads.”
I swigged my whisky down fast and then got up to leave but the nice gentleman said that he would pay for my services for the entire evening if I stayed and chatted with him. Well what choice did I have? A girl in my position can’t refuse such a nice offer like that, now can she?
I smiled politely, maybe even did a little curtsy to entertain his curious mind and then I sat down in the chair again. The rain was dripping from my hair and down my forehead leaving dirty stains and I tried to pretend that I hadn’t noticed. But the blooming wet stuff kept trickling right down the front of my face, rolled right down my nose and dripped from the end of it, it did. Mr. Rotherham was looking directly at me as he spoke so I didn’t want to look like a fool so I tried to blow the rolling trickles away through the side of my mouth. Only it didn’t work so well. So there I was, dripping wet and huffing and puffing like a mad woman, anyone in their right mind would have had me sent to the local mad house if they’d seen me. But my Mr. Rotherham was a gentleman and he pulled a handkerchief out from his jacket pocket and dabbed it on my nose for me. He stopped me right in my tracks. I couldn’t get a word passed my lips. But that was just because I hadn’t experienced such kindness from anyone before. Not even my own mother had been that kind to me. ‘A good slap around the napper to knock some sense into you,’ as she’d put it, or she’d say, ‘can’t do anybody any real harm now can it.’ Well it never did me any bleedin’ good either!
Mr. Rotherham told me that he was on his way to the theatre when he saw me fall. He was going to see some fancy nancy at the Theatre Royal down Drury Lane. Well my antics certainly put a stop to that. He didn’t mind though, he seemed to be having quite a nice old time with me. And speaking of old he must have been in his late thirties, his hair was greying at his temples and there were a few tell tale signs in his whip and lash. But it was only noticeable when he swigged a sip from his glass. He was a fancy looking man, tall and tidy. He presented himself well and looked like he had plenty push to spend. He could spend it all on me if he liked.
I have many books published, all written under the lesbian genre. I love to write in different time era’s, from early 1800’s through to modern day stories and I also induce factual events such as, The Great Frost of 1709 and Jack the Ripper. I have also made each story line unique with their plotlines by using occasions from my own personal experiences.
Some of my work is romantic and erotic with light sensual sex scenes, whereas others are featured with stronger explicit sex scenes and even strong language to intensify the drama. I prefer to give my readers a wider selection of choice; we are all different in what we like to read.
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