Monthly Archives: February 2009

These Things Make Me Angry

Posted on by rmott62

I started this blog from a place of anger, that seems to have increased the more I let myself know my reality of surviving prostitution.

The thing that makes me the most angry, most rageful, is how prostitution is made smaller than it is. By that, I speak of how the violence is made invisible or made to look glamorous. How women and girls are to be non-abused by putting them into categories where it appears to be a choice.

I feel to understand prostitution, language need to be unpacked.

More I think language around prostitution has been taken away from exited prostituted who may expose the violence and degradation that is the reality for the vast majority of prostituted women and girls.

Language around prostitution is safe, nice, appears radical and takes some of the clothes of feminism.

But it often a language that is about continuing to allows men’s entitlement to buy and sell women and girls. It is a language that named violence as games or free choices.

It is the language of power, a language of the status quo.

A term that angers me is “sex work”, often with the refrain – “it’s a job like any other job”.

Well, that may be true for a tiny minority, but it the majority that concern me.

I do not think that most jobs have the hazards of constant rapes with no recourse to justice, that being beaten up on the job is just a work risk.

And how jobs have a high risk of murder.

How many jobs is trauma seen as a natural outcome of leaving.

Don’t make get hollow laughter by saying it just work/job.

Especially, if when the vast majority of people who say that have no intention of being prostituted. Or if they do have money for sex it is as a leisure activity with people that know and trust.

No, say it is just like any other work, when you have your vagina, anus and brain fucked over and over by men who could give a damn if you are alive or dead.

Like any other job, when you are raped and battered many times in one night, and knowing that your employer could not give damn as long the money rolls in.

So, don’t go there with me, coz I may just be sarcastic. For, if you believe it is a job like any other job, I come to believe it pointless saying the reality to you.

I am angry at the separation of porn from what johns do to prostituted women and girls.

I know johns choose to imagined their brains have many compartments, but why do others make the conscious decision to believe such bullshit.

In my experiences, in my research and with using logic, it damned clear that most johns will pour porn into the bodies of prostituted women and girls.

Often, it is the blatant re-enactment of some video, movie, magazine, novel, or general boy’s porn chat.

My body lived through porn fashions of the late 70’s and 80’s. Prostituted women and girls are in the front-line of whatever boundaries that porn chooses to push.

Many deaths of prostituted women and girls comes from johns chooses to re-enact porn and finding there is only a certain limit any women’s body can take.

Porn is not real, it is not natural. Porn will and does do great harms to the bodies and minds of prostituted women and girls.

But most of the violence done when johns re-enact porn on the bodies of prostituted women and girls becomes the unspeakable.

Things that are done in the name of porn seems unbelievable.

It hard to believe that the body can survive so much pain, and have it done over and over.

It is hard to believe that the vast  majority of prostituted women and girls who are tortured by johns acting out porn not only keep their sanity, but often can act as if nothing much has happened.

It hard to believe that the body will and does recover from such violence.

But the sexual torture must be seen and spoken about.

We must turn ourselves away, that is too easy, and is a betrayal to many women and girls that are being sexually as you are reading this.

Just because something seems unbelievable, does not make it disappear.

I don’t want to believe the killing fields of Cambodia, but I know it is true. I don’t want to believe that children are raped every day by adults who are their carers, but by Christ, I know it happens all the time.

Look at the reality of how johns can and do sexually torture prostituted  women and girls, and see the connection with porn.

Hell if porn give out images of double penetration, anal rape, deep throating, gang-raping – then of course all that will be perform on prostituted women and girls.

And in this porn-fuelled environment, johns “know” the prostitute is happy. If she appears in pain, it is not real any more than it is on film or in some magazine.

If it is real pain, the john will persuade himself that the prostitute is the type of woman or girl who enjoys pain. For everyone knows that whores are not like other women.

In this sick environment, the john is disappointed if the prostitute is not smiling or having multiple orgasms.

And how can porn be separated out from prostitution when many of the models/actors in porn are prostituted women and girls.

Much of the hard-core porn is made by women who have been internally trafficked from other parts of the sex trade. Much of the more extreme violence in porn is yet another way of degrading and punishing prostituted women and girls.

Porn is a form of control. Often in the making of porn there is pain and fear for the woman on the receiving. There is very little care for her physical and mental welfare, especially if she placed into the class of a prostitute.

If you choose to separate prostitution from porn, that is more than naive, is placing prostituted women and girls in danger.

I am angry when I am told that being a prostitute is a feminist act.

No, wanting to abolished prostitution that is a feminist act.

What is feminist about the buying and selling of women and girls for the main purpose of male orgasms and power.

Yes, I know it is said that prostitution could be empowering for women. That they have control over their own sexuality, that they can choose to have sex without emotions, that exchanges money for sex is thrilling, that as long it done with safe men it is fine.

Well, that is fine and dandy if you do hobbyist prostitution with friends. Although I would question why it label as prostitution, when it has little or nothing to do with reality of the sex trade.

I think what friends do in private is not prostitution, even if money is exchanged.

For the majority of prostituted women and girls cannot choose what johns will have them. Whether an escort, street prostitution or in a brothel,  the johns have the control.

If he chooses to be violent, the majority of prostituted women and girls have no power to turn him away. It is her “job” to have take whatever he does to her.

How empowering is that.

This post is very hard to write, and quite exhausting.

I write in a rage. Rage that I live in a world where the violence to prostituted women and girls is so common, that is usually never noticed.

It is so ordinary that we have had to invent a whole language to prove it is not violence but just a lifestyle that some women and girls choose.

Hell, I wonder why I despair.

Some Personal Thoughts on Unionising

Posted on by rmott62

Whenever the left think they can “deal” with prostitution, it will always fall back on having unions.

I feel this is quite a naive way to view the sex trade, and if I am very honest is deeply insulting to many prostituted women and girls.

I believe unionising is just another way of keeping the status quo of the sex trade. Unions will be good for the sellers of prostituted women and girls. Unions are good for the buyers of prostituted women and girls. Unions are good for the minority of privileged women and girls.

But what is the good of unions for the majority of prostituted women and girls.

I am told it may decrease the violence. But I find very hard to believe.

Most violence at work or sexual harassment is dwelt with by unions after the event. Much of it dwelt by negotiating with the employer.

Is this realistic in the sex trade.

Much of the violence done to me and other prostituted women and girls is done so fast and with such extreme violence, that it may too late after the fact.

A john can and will rape, brutally batter, use sexual torture and murder behind closed doors. There will be no union rep telling him not to.

Anyhow, he has the right and entitlement to use his goods whatever way he chooses. After all, the customer is always right.

If the union was to protect the prostituted woman or girl, would her employer really give a damn.

What happens when prostituted women or girls “complain” about their conditions or the violence of particular johns. Would she be internally trafficked to disorientate her. Would she be punish by having even more sexual violence done to he.

Would she be made to disappear.

I know my “employers” would of laugh at the concept of an union.

Hell, I was punished on a regular basis for nothing by gang-rapes or being given as a “gift” to sadistic johns. No union would of been able to stop that.

Especially not unions that choose to ignore that sex trade is built on the violence, and just shows a friendly face to the outside.

But most of the talk about unions is not about the safety and dignity of prostituted women and girls. No, it is about making it clean, safe and easy for men to buy and sell women and girls.

One thing is the focus of the medical welfare of prostituted women and girls.

Sorry, I always thoughts that johns were the ones who may spread STDs, seeing as many of them refuse condoms, many don’t give a damn about infecting prostituted women and girls, and certainly don’t have to think about abortions.

But, it is a good image if prostituted women and girls are protrayed as clean – always with the remainder that they are the problem, never the men that buy and sell them.

Unions may put in more security for prostituted women and girls, but not question whether the security is used or why it is needed in all aspects of the sex trade.

I would question whether the camera in brothels are of much use, or all too often left turn off or use for voyeurism by the security staff.

I have know of too many times when women have press the alarm, for it to be ignored by the security for “roughing up” is just part of her job.

Also, many johns can do maximum damage in a very short time, so security can do very little.

It takes less than two minutes to murder someone. I have been battered and tortured in a very short period of time.

And often I remember that there were my employer standing outside the door listening to the violence.

How do unions protect prostituted women and girls when the propaganda of the sex trade said that all the violence is just a normal part of the job.  

I do not write with answers.

But I would say why unions are seen as the only way forward, then we live in a society that said it acceptable for men to have entitlement to buy and sell women for sex.

A society that will make any violence done to a class named as prostitutes invisible. If there is violence, it is just seen as part of the job.

Unions do little or nothing to make real changes there.

That why I still fight for a society that can envision abolition, not just moving the chairs around.

Sorting Out Music

Posted on by rmott62

The beginning of this year has been a nightmare.

In a literal sense, last night I dreamt of my sister drowning and me dying saving her.

Yes, it is a nightmare. It begun with my Dad dying.

In many ways, he taught that a few men can be true friends.

But, I have had no time to grieve as I had to do the medical.

Had no time to grieve as I remembered the sadistic ways johns and date-rapes had me from aged 14 to 27. I didn’t just remember.

I felt it in every cell that they infected. I felt it in all the sickness my body.

Trauma may fade, may be livable with. But sometimes it like staring into an abyss.

I just hope I don’t let the abyss stare back at me – and grab me by the throat.

I just about coping.

One thing, I have done is sort out my music.

JAZZ

My largest amount of music is jazz.

Jazz comes from both side of my family, but mainly connects me to the American side of my family.

I have a deep love of be-bop which connects with my Dad’s spirit. I have Lester Young and other great sax players. I love Lionel Hampton.

Like many jazz fans, I have many Blue Note albums. It the clean and simple sound that bring the art of jazz.

I also love old-fashioned jazz, especially boogie-woogie piano.

I love big band, especially Count Basie, who is a crossover from big band into be-bop.

When I listen to Duke Ellington, I have a few good memories of my Mum inventing a modern dance piece based on her memories of WW2, using his wonderful sounds.

Jazz has always the back-beat of my life.

Louis Armstrong give me joy when all hope seems to disappear as a child. As a teenager, I fall for be-bop for not only there a sound that reach into my heart, but a reminder that I still had a brain.

Jazz has been a protector, when nothing else was working.

R’n’B 

I am so into real R’n’B, that is the classic Chicago sound from the 50’s onwards.

I go for the pure rawness of yelling human voice, I need the harmonica to force out my emotions.

And the guitar playing. Christ, if Jeannie was to grant one wish, even I was to die after, I would want to make a guitar talk, screams and want to play a guitar as the great Blues stars.

When I listen to the Nelville Brothers singing “Abide With Me”, it can make remind the human voice can be beyond just listening. That sound reaches deep to the places where grief has try to run away to.

In that sound, I get the courage to face the unbearable.

Gospel and R’n’B is more than music to me, it give a route to remember I am not worthless.

Some of my favourite R’n’B players are Sonny Terry &  Brownie McGhee, Leadbelly, Bo Diddley, Etta James, Jimmy Reed and John Lee Hooker.

I spend a lot of time listening to R’n’B on the radio, where I well into the 60’s British Blues scene, especially Alexis Corner and Alan Price.

R’nB is not afraid to be messy music, to speak about the mess that is life.

And R’n’B give me that sex is not just about fear and torture. That sex can be fun and take you away from the moment.

COUNTRY

As a youth in the 70’s, I was taught country was crap. It was fake, it was painted women singing stupid songs to back their abusive men. It was men in designer cowboy gear singing of truck-drivers and dying children.

These “cowboys” would never get dirt on their clothes. If they started ordinary, that was lost in the lights of Nashville.

But as I left behind the 70’s, I begun to see Country was just the folk music of the poor whites in America. I saw it was connected with the Blues.

I listen to bluegrass, Tex-Mex and Cajun, and found music I could love.

I went back before the 70’s, found Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, Bill Monroe & his Bluegrass Boys and Johnny Cash. I found a music that spoke to me.

Spoke of loneliness, spoke of finding joy when nothing going right.

Then I look to find country of now, and I relaxed into it.

I found Gillian Welsh, Alison Krauss and Steve Earle. Them and others made country alive again.

Like many country fans, I see the 70’s as a bad time, all that producer lead music – not focus on the artist or writer.

But then, I will always have a soft spot for Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton.

POP & CLASSICAL

I like mainly 60’s pop, as long it not the late 60’s with all that pretentious druggie music. I will always like 80’s pop, as long as it is pure pop and not pretending to be art.

I place classical with pop coz I have limted space – also Mozart was the pop of his time.  

I have Stravinsky – I need “The Rites of Spring” as my love for ballet music need to be fed. I was brought with how ballet conflicts the ugliness of human nature – it not just about beauty. As I hear the savage music of Stravinsky, I know that the arts must face that humans are cruel for power.

Also, my grandmother was trained by Ballet Russe techniques, so it’s music connects me to her spirit

ROCK ‘n’ ROLL

50’s music was a love I got for myself, not through my family or reacting to others.

I may of got when I retreated to a rockabilly pub after too much violence as a teenager. There was a jukebox with raw 50’s music. I heard Sun Records, and fall in love with the sound.

I heard Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis, Carl Perkins, Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran, and I had found a home.

It help that many films had the 50’s sound – hay, “Christine” may not be a masterpiece, but as the killer car go on a rampage, I love up-beat 50’s hits speaking for Christine.

And “Crybaby” directed by John Waters is a fun use of rockabilly.

I use the fastest rockabilly to dance round the house.

SOUL

Next to jazz, soul is the heartbeat of my life, through there very little modern soul that I can enjoy, maybe only Mary J Blige.

Soul of the 60’s is and was a rescuer for me. It allow to scream, to dance, to cry, to know ther must be more.

Motown give me joy, Phil Spector made me know pop could be art, Atlantic connected to the blues and Stax, my favourite, brought in blues, country and jazz to soul making a sound that made my memories.

I came to love Northern Soul, I seek for rare soul. I needed a music from the heart, that was not afraid to say politics on occasions.

I love Curtis Mayfield, Little Antony & The Imperials, Dobie Grey, Lavern Baker, Booker T & the MGs, Evelyn Thomas, The Exciters, Jimmy Radcliffe, Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Aretha Frankin, Eddie Floyd, Fontella Bass, Mary Wells, Martha Reeves & The Vandellas, Carla Thomas, Dusty Spingfield, Supremes, Four Tops, Sly & The Family Stone, The Temptations, Marvin Gaye, Bar-Kays, Sam Cooke and Ruth Brown.

The sound of soul is the sound of my life continuing.

I hear a soul record, and I can believe in hope.

AFTERWORD

Yes, my life is hard at the moment. But with music, I see a way forward.

Sometimes small things make big changes.

So He is Sane

Posted on by rmott62

This post is written from a place of grief and rage.

Today I heard on the radio that doctors have decided that Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper, should be considered to be sane.

But then, why was his spates of murders seen as insanity – when many men will sexually torture, viciously rape, play life and death games and often murder prostituted women and girls.

Most of those men are not insane, though if caught often claim they are.

When Peter Sutcliffe was getting away with murders, I was living with sexual torture, gang-rape, choking with anal sex and endless forms of sexual torture.

I never thought Peter Sutcliffe was insane, no I thought he wanted to murder women. He know prostituted women were viewed as throwaways.

He knew he could imagine himself to be some kind of hero, coz society was being cleared of whores.

If he is insane –  then so is the society that allows prostituted women and girls to made into objects that any man can place violent sexual fantasies on.

It is an insane society that portrays prostituted women and girls as the scum of the earth, so men can make it a sick crusade to murder them.

In my opinion, Peter Sutcliffe is not mad, he is sadistic, he is a bastard.

And he should never be let off.

I wish he would kill himself, but then he would need a conscience.

What matters is to remember those 13 women that were murdered. The people that loved them matter.

Peter Sutcliffe should rot in jail.

We can never repair the past. We can never bring those women back.

But the people left behind deserve some peace.

And They Call Me Mad

Posted on by rmott62

Tomorrow morning, I have to do yet another medical because I am incapable to work,

It is very degrading and also ridiculous for it ignores PTSD and any sexual violence that I was on the receiving end of.

Instead, I have to a cartoon image of the mentally ill.

I have to say I am afraid to go out. That I have forced out of. I have major toilet problems. I have no friend, because I cannot communicate or I have too much anger.

I have to say that I a helper, that my family try to help but find it too hard.

I need to be very untidy, not washed or have my hair brushed.

I have to say that flashbacks make me lose time and all concentration.

That is some of what I have to do to be the role of their image of mental illness.

Fuck them.

If there more education about PTSD in these medicals, if they were trained to know most mental illness is invisible – then maybe I could say my truth of why I cannot do a paid job.

PTSD does affect me in severe ways, not all the time, but for enough of my life to be disabling.

I freely admit PTSD has a major effect on my mental welfare. But like the majority of people with PTSD, I have had to deal with without any specialist help.

I do not have helper – I have a counsellor, who is good, but not a specialist in PTSD or about the effects of violent prostitution.

As for my family, I do not ask or recieve help about my mental from them. It comes with too much baggage.

What makes me so angry is the concept that I stay in bed, that I cannot read much, that I am afraid to go outside.

This is like a sick joke, coz when I have extreme PTSD, I hate being indoors, for the vast majority of sexual violence done to me was done indoors.

If they had any understanding of sexual violence, maybe they may see why I hate being in bed when I am awake.

It is not rocket science.

As for being untidy, I hate that coz it makes you stand out, when I like being invisible in a crowd.

I am here now, because I forced myself to live. I forced myself to completely changed my life.

No-one help me.

I run away by myself. I found counselling by myself. I found good and true friends by myself.

I am teaching myself how to live without sexual violence.

I finding why to see my past with a clear eye, whilst at the same time giving myself permission to have as much pleasure as I can.

I made and found my path to giving myself back my life.

Where is the specialist help for women like me.

Hell, there is hardly any specialist help for asylum seekers or soldiers with extreme PTSD – so why would they give a shit about exited prostituted women. 

So, I have to play their game – and make myself a role again.

I have to forget pride.

Getting Calmer

Posted on by rmott62

Today I woke, and didn’t feel pain in my body that I have had all week. I woke into a calmness I had almost forgotten.

Things are still very scary. I am very exhausted.

But I feel like the sun is coming back.

This last week I have known what it felt to be a prostituted woman and girl who had to live with sexual torture.

Always before, I had remembered with my head, but I refused to know. By that I mean I built walls of detachment in order not to feel and know my reality.

Since last Saturday, I have felt every torture. My mind has resonated with the hateful words that johns and managers said to and about me.

Since last Saturday, it has been a war not to harm myself. Not to masturbate myself into pain. Not to get so drunk that I don’t care if I live or die. Not to go back to some bastard to fuck me into deadness. Not to cut myself.

I am winning that war. But hell, I am a washed-out in my heart and mind.

One thing that has really helped, is though few comments come here, I know that I am read by many.

Yes ,of course, a very few read me just to feel superior, to pick holes in my posts. A tiny few may read looking for sexual kicks.

None of that bother me, unless they get ridiculously insulting or mentally cruel.

What matters to me is I really do feel the support of so many of my readership. That when I think I am falling back into my abyss, I cannot go there, for many of my readers are taking care I don’t lose myself.

What matters to me is knowing that Survivors of multiple male sexual violence and Survivors of violence in the sex trade read me. I hope my journey, though deeply personal, can help give some women get hope and anger to bring change in their lives.

I deeply care for each and every Survivor who read me. I believe deeply in your inner strength and fierce will to build a life that give you happiness and peace.

I know that our journies are very hard, and often appear almost impossible.

But I know it can never be as bad as the past.

I have no idea how I did not die, but I know that whilst I am alive I will speak my truth.

Can It Be Self-Love

Posted on by rmott62

This post is about masturbation and my difficult journey with it. It not a Cosmo viewpoint, it is not radical feminist view, it is not condemning – it is just a very personal viewpoint of how to handle masturbation after many years of having violent sex forced into my body and mind.

I first knew about masturbation by my stepdad making me rub myself. It did little or nothing, maybe I lack enthusiasm, maybe I was confused, maybe I was scared. I was round five or six.

I know I did not think much of it, it seems quite pointless.

But my stepdad made me do it lots, and he called me a filthy girl while I did.

I was very confused. It seemed to make him happy, whilst he told me off.

I found that often it hurt when I rub myself, often he told me to do it harder, and all I wanted to do was to cry.

Then he would take over, and the pain was worse.

I begun to hate anything near my bum, but it only got worse and worse.

Looking back, I know this taught me to hate my cunt so much.

As I grow, I wanted to cut it out. I occasionally try cutting, fortunately I could not handle the pain, so I did little damage.

As my stepdad shown me hard-core porn, he ask me to touch myself. I always refused.

I could see those images, they made me paralysed. I could not move, so I could not touch myself.

Often he would abuse after showing me those images. He would rub me saying – “This how to do it”.

Christ, I hate him so much.

During my years of prostitution, I did very little  masturbation unless the johns made me do for their games.

God, I had masturbate them all the time. All I was a male masturbation machine.

My existence was for their orgasm and nothing else. Even when they eat me out, they made sure their penis was getting an orgasm whether half-choking me with 69, or fucking at same time or making give them a hand-job.

There was little pleasure for me, usually there was none. I was too busy trying to stay alive.

I stay alive by faking orgasms, by pretending to masturbate if they demanded that.

I wanted to do that role, coz I was so afraid of their violence.

Now, I am safe. Now I should be in a space where masturbation could be pleasurable.

Life is never that simple.

Now, I am having to disassociate masturbation with sexual violence and porn imagery. Now, I am trying through masturbation to find that sex is not a mechanical process, but may and can give me pleasure for it own sake.

This is very hard for me.

I try to avoid masturbation when I am angry or depressed, for I find it very easy to hurt myself very bad in those moods.

I put in all the hate I had from men, and let it control how I masturbate. I do all the ways I hate. I make myself bleed and bruise myself in the false belief that is all I deserve.

It so hard to be kind to my cunt, when it has mostly known hate and degradation.

Of course I want to be kind to my cunt, of course I would love to love it. But it a massive journey to get there.

I am slowly allowing myself to be gentle, to tease my clitoris. Allowing myself to go deeper with care.

But it scary for, for the self-harming messages are so deep.

This post is very honest, probably too honest.

But I believe to understand women who have survived multiple male sexual violence, knowing that many do not find that masturbation is joyful is very important.

I so sick of masturbation being worshipped, and seen as the only answer to sexual dysfunction.

Self-love is deeper than masturbation, it comes from knowing and accepting a painful past, and places it into the present to build some kind of future.

Self-love is deeper than just based always on sex.

Burnt Inside of Me

Posted on by rmott62

THIS IS TRIGGERING

I will try to write as clear as I can.

But I am a place of agony and deep despair. I can only write from that place.

I suppose for me this is a time where I need a record, for many of the words and events that were burnt into me only come up when I have depression. I usually too good at closing down the true horror I lived with.

I will try to write the words and events johns put me through. Try to say how they moulded into whatever role they wanted.

I spent my life not knowing if I was real. I know what to be when I was told.

This was engrained by my mum and stepdad. By the time I was a prostitute, I had no idea who I was.

I know without words all I was good for sex, and violent sex at that.

When I first started, round about when I was 14, I be undressed and naked in bed without any word being said.

That was automatic after years of raping by my stepdad.

But then that was never right.

I would be hit for undressing too slowly. I got told I was a “fucking whore” as they were raping me.

Men laugh at me, so I slowly learnt to read their body language and not to just “throw myself at them”.

I learnt I had to be one step ahead if I wanted to be safe – only that was so bloody hard.

I knew to not talk or only to talk to agree with the johns.

I knew never to show any sign that I had a life outside of their sexual fantasy.

I knew that my existence was of no importance, as long as they could control me and get their precious orgasm.

So most of time I played the dumb whore, and the violence was relatively limited.

But I was placed into danger all the time, for I was sold to men who wanted to do sadistic sex on prostituted girls. I mean girls, for 16 was too old.

Hell, the sex trade has a market for everything, all it cares about is making massive profits.

Men have always wanted to degrade and torture girls. So if the girls are classed as prostituted, then men have free range to rape, sexually and mentally torture, and often murder those girls, and more than likely get off scot free.

My despair comes from the missing girls that I meet and some of which I loved. I find it hard to grieve for I do not know if they are alive or dead.

But I bet many of those that are alive are left with trauma. I am sure they have built a good life for themselves, but trauma is a massive shadow.

I am followed all the time by the violence that was put into my body then.

I am followed by the punishments of gang-rapes. Punish for speaking out of turn. Punish for speaking not about the “work”. Punish for being drunk. Punish for being late. Punish for not looking sexy enough.

But mostly punished for no reason I could fathom.

I was given to johns as a special treat. This meant they could be as violent as they desire, could spent as much time as they prepare to pay for.

Those were times I mainly blanked out – but since January is getting clearer and clearer.

Maybe Dad’s death has open grief for that time. Maybe doing a medical, has reminded of being roles.

I don’t know and I don’t really care.

It was through those johns I was forcefully anally raped, it was those johns that nearly murdered me doing deep-throating.

It was those johns that would hit me so hard I went from the centre of a room to being smashed into the wall.

They choke me whilst fucking so hard I had no idea why I was still alive.

Maybe for them it was some kind of S/M game, but I only know I had to remember not to die.

They would laugh at me if I cried, so I taught myself never to have tears again.

They would say “does this hurt”, if I shown yes, they did it more and more slowly. I closed down pain.

Sometimes they would read from de Sade, shown me photos of extreme sexual torture.

Sometimes they would tell me “jokes” of how to murder a whore. Saying n0-one would miss her.

They are burnt onto my mind.

Many of the johns that raped me would called themselves left-wing.

They spoke to me of freedom, campaigning against torture and inequality, speak of wanting peace. They could see how sick that was for me.

They never question my freedom, coz in their mind-set all whores choose and enjoy their work. They have high sex-drive, so they must fuck as many strangers as possible.

Hell, I told by too many johns how whores must be the most free women in the world, coz they can control when and how they have sex. These johns would tell me over and over how basically that whores control men, not vice versa.

Imagining hearing that from a man who has just raped you or is just about to rape you.

I hear them going on and on about how I was their equal.

I didn’t feel that as they manipulated my body in porn positions to fuck me, ignoring that I was in pain. I didn’t feel that as they were paying me without looking me in the eye.

As for them daring to condemn torture, what is there left to be said.

It was just clear that the torturing of women and girls in the sex trade does not count.

I suppose this is easy to believe if it written in stone that women and girls in the sex trade don’t feel pain like “normal” females. That they just love pain, so what’s the problem.

I hate left-wing men that choose to pay for sex.

Those were men that were stupid enough to give de Sade and “Lolita” coz they discover that I could read.

Many johns that brought me wanted the “girlfriend” experience. Many were close to being stalkers, in how much they try to know about my personal life.

These men would take to social events, I meet their friends.

I was introduced as a girlfriend, I sometimes thought what others made of me as I came from nowhere and they never meet me again.

I was bad decoration, coz I looked too ill and I could hold off from being very bored.

I had a bad habit of getting drunk, especially if the drinks were free.

The men would angry at me, but always remember to fuck me later.

But I was in a stage of my life where I had given up caring.

I was lost. I needed to somehow save myself.

I needed to out of the world of prostitution, and somehow build a life where I could be real.

That I have done to a huge extent.

But the johns are burnt into me.

What Fresh Hell Is This

Posted on by rmott62

THIS IS TRIGGERING

I feel that I am drowning in knowing what was done to my body and mind by prostitution. I suppose I should be proud that I face my reality.

But for me it is staring into a void.

I have always felt to find ways of dealing with trauma, it must be seen for what it is. Not made pretty. Not made into a myth that makes less important. Not run away from.

I stare my fear in the eye. I look straight into the pain. I will know what I find unbearable.

I do not do this coz I want to, I do it because I have little choice if I am to have some kind of life.

I cannot live ignoring the poison that johns and the sex trade put into me.

I cannot ignored that reality when I know women and children are being tortured in the name of prostitution as I am writing this.

Last weekend was terrifying.

I saw, felt and knew so much of the tortures that johns forced into me.

I suppose the pressure of waiting for a medical for incapability to work push me over an edge. I suppose missing Dad open my mind to other forms of grief.

But whatever triggered those memories, I know it was real.

I know how the johns just copied every trashy or hard-core porn into my body.

How the gang-rapes could been from pathetic porn movie. Men standing round watching as other men raped me in every hole that I had. Watch as other men held me down. Watch as they waited their turn.

How men quote of how whores will want to be fucked one man after the other, didn’t need a break.

How men copied “Deep Throat”, disappointed I never came. Shocked if I fainted or was sick, but never shocked enough to stop.

How I was double-penetrated, how fists were put down my throat. How objects was shoved into any hole they could find.

There is nothing about violent rapes of prostituted women and girls. Hell, men have always wanted access to a class of women and girls that they can rape and torture and not have to take any responsibility for their actions.

That is the bottom line for the vast majority for prostituted women and girls.

Because men who choose to pay or sell women and girls as sexual objects viewed them as nothing but goods, they have full permission to use as much violence as they want.

Men make the choice whether to rape a prostituted or not. Men make the choice whether to use sadistic sex on the prostituted woman or not. The men choose whether to act like a “boyfriend” with a prostituted woman.

The prostituted woman can and should try to be as safe as she can – but in the end it is the man who will and can put her into hell just coz he does give a damn.

At the moment, I am in a place where knowing is all I can do.

Thanks all for your wonderful support, it really give me a massive boost.

Depression

Posted on by rmott62

Today I am very depressed, because my body memories have been truly dreadful for a long time.

Today all I wanted was to watch sports. Watch the start of Six Nations rugby, watch England vs West Indies cricket, watch Premiership football.

I thought that would relax me – it was my near-perfect Saturday.

But I am in too much pain mentally and physically to relax.

Now all the tortures that men choose to force into my body is being known.

Now all the vicious names I was called are being known.

Now I am able to unfreeze from living inside terror.

Now I see my experiences happened as the norm of being inside the sex trade.

Now I know the unbearable.

It is so hard to live on, knowing how close to death I was.

I used to survive by living with self-harm.

I would cut myself mostly in places others would not see.

This afternoon I cut myself arms, but I am not that person any more. I did little harm.

Instead I was able to sob and scream rage.

I used to get drunk, making myself fall into depression. I will not do that now, I matter too much.

I used to go to places where “dodgy” men gather, get drunk and act the whore. That was all I knew.

I am not that person any more.

Now, I face the terror.

I face it when I would rather be dead.

I face it when I am sick as each memory is shown to be the truth.

I face the fear, knowing it forcing me to live as a full human being.

I see my reality.

It a slow process, but I have to believe I am going forward.