Get to know her story

We drive down the highway, the radio blaring out a latino pop song. I turn it off. "So Asha. How did you end up becoming a ****?" She takes a deep breath. "Its a long and at times complicated story. But I believe I can tell you the short version before we arrive at your house." She purses her lips. "So, I was born in Ethiopia in 1980 I think. We didn´t have birth certificates so I only know what my mother told me. My family were half herders and half farmers. Luckily, we had abandoned the genital mutilation tradition. But, I was still expected to marry for the family. Now, you must understand that I, as a naturally submissive person, have a hard time saying no to any request. My family had used this to make me do things I would come to regret throughout my childhood." She looked out the side window, her eyes far away.

"So I got fed up and ran away. I figured that if my fate was to serve, I would serve someone of my choice." She smiles. "I spent a few years in Egypt, Italy, Singapore even. Then your uncle bought me 5 years ago and I moved here to America." She giggles. "My cousin Yasmine told me stories of how money grew on trees here, and I used to believe her." She sighs. I decide to prod a little. "So, does your family know that you´re a ****?" "No, they think I was killed by pirates as I headed to Saudi Arabia. I wanted to cut all ties." I can tell by her body language and voice that she didn´t appreciate that prod. But, instead of stopping talking entirely I decide to ask about a safe subject.

"Listen, can you tell me about the routines that my uncle set up for you? I´m kinda new to all this so I figured I could use his as a framework." Asha quickly replies, glad for the change of subject. "I was expected to wake at 5AM every day and ready breakfast for your uncle." "Wait, what? 5AM! I know he was a morning bird but not that much." She smiles at me. "As he was fond of saying "The early bird gets the bird!". And I agree, if you get up early you can do many things before anyone else." I take the turn of the highway.

"After breakfast, if he went to work, I would clean the whole house until lunch. Then I would run around the neighbourhood, do some gardening. If it was a good day I would sunbathe a bit before I needed to start making dinner. After dinner your uncle would inspect my work and punish failure. The evenings varied but usually it involved sex, as expected." She grins at me, expecting me to blush. But I´m focused on the truck in front of me, hoping that it take the next turn so I don´t have to drive behind it. "Uh huh. That sounds like something I can do. Anything else?"

"There is one more thing. Your uncle liked to call me nigger and other so called racial slurs." "WHAT!" She nodded calmly. "I understand that they seem offensive to you, but I grew up in a place where they didn´t exist. They have no inherent meaning to me. So you can call me whatever you want." Ok, that just changed my view of uncle. Should I call her that? Its not something I´m used to, but it would help her settle in more...