Monthly Archives: July 2009

Animals are Cuddly

Posted on by rmott62

When I wrote in a previous post, that some tortures are confronted by the Left and some Feminists, I mention how often animal’s rights campaigners use images and words of torture to further their cause.

This technique appears to be very effective in sympathy and the right amount of anger.

But then animals are innocent, animals are cuddly – animals can portrayed as worthy victims.

What would happen if I or other Survivors of the sex trade shows graphic images of the day-to-day tortures in the sex trade.

What if we shown images of murder victims who happen to be women and girls from the sex trade.

I would imagine that would taken off damned fast as offensive – when part of the reason it taken off is because it must not be believed.

I have interested that recently a campaign has started about “crushing” – which is the killing of small/baby animals by crushing them with stiletto shoes.

Of course, this is appalling. It is pornographic imagery, it is unacceptable violence.

But, it is also easy to support the outlawing of that – especially as it is cute animals being killed. It is a kitten, not a locust or a rat.

Where are the horror and huge campaign round the torturing of women and girls in the sex trade.

Why are there so many excuses made for these tortures to continued.

Women and girls in the sex trade are tortured to death on a mass scale, and that continue unnoticed.

It is made that it just a hazard of choosing that lifestyle – women and girls in the sex trade never have the privileged of being seen as innocent victims.

But then, they are not cuddly or cute.

No, it is considered that the vast majority of women and some girls just provoke the men to torture them – and if they do die that is pass off as an accident.

How can it be an accident to sexually torture someone to death.

Unless there is a gun to the man’s head, he does not have any need to fuck, buy, sell, torture, own, strangle, batter or kill any woman or girl – just for sexual thrills.

But, it will go on and on, as long as his violence is made invisible by saying that she deserved it.

I get so angry that the torturing of women and girls in the sex trade is so low a priority in groups that I used to imagine cared about humans rights.

I cannot make women and girls in the sex trade cute and cuddly – but I can demand that their lives count.

Silent Prayer

Posted on by rmott62

I do not know what I believe, but I know that I believe in thoughts/prayers when everything to hard to cope any more.

All I know is somehow, without rational reasoning, I reach into the depths of my essence and ask for help.

I ususally do not do for myself, only when I near to wanting to kill myself or go back into sex that damages me.

Usually I say prayer for all the women and girls still trapped in the sex trade.

I do not know why I do it,  it makes no sense.  All  I know it give a strength to continue.

If I am praying maybe it to the air, maybe to the part I thought I had lost, maybe to many who fight alongside me but I never meet.

It is not to some supernatural being, it is not to a god/goddess, it is not to nature.

Lets say it may be to my warrior spirit which is just my true being.

My being that is terrified of her own strength.

My being that has known and has seen too much.

My being that weeps more than the Pacific Ocean – whilst I have no tears.

My being that roars a rage that shakes mountains into dust – as my pain overwhelms my feeble body.

I prayer to and through her.

My prayers carry the pain, grief and utter confusion that I only shows parts to this world.

In my praying I can see my tortures with a clear eye without being part of it.

In my prayers I can finally feel pity for my prostituted self – I can give her love.

I can spread that love to all women and girls trapped in the sex trade – for in prayer all I see is their inner strength and how they keep their essence safe.

In prayer I cry that is so little that get rid of the poison left in me from the sex trade.

I cannot cure my body memories, prayer is not magic – it is just some way knowing the pain is there to reminds of the truth.

Pain comes when I blame myself or think maybe I made it all up.

Pain shows me precisely how men torture and degraded me. Pain kicks out my doubts and self-hatred, and gives me a space to know I never deserved such shit.

Pain is part of my prayers, is inside my strength –  for pain gives me back my reality.

But as I pray, the pain goes and is replace with a calm and small sense of achievement.

I did not break down, I did not harm myself.

I did believe in my past.

I don’t know if this post makes sense.

I feel in the middle of confusion, but seeing I will make it.

But it is very hard.

So I pray – whatever that is.

What Do You Mean By Brave

Posted on by rmott62

I wonder if being called brave is just a subtle way of silencing survivors.

Of course, I am sure that many think saying another is brave is a compliment, but I want unpack how it comes across to me.

Maybe me and all other women who have survived multiple forms of male violence are brave, hell did we have any other choice.

I mean, do you really think I chose to be sexually abused by my stepdad, that I chose to know about hard-core porn, that I chose to sexually tortured as a prostituted girl and woman.

I just had to find ways of dealing with it, is that what you call bravery.

But do you want to know all the ways I cope, all just the pretty ways, the ways that fit inside your concept that bravery is just about strength and dignity.

But when living inside extreme male violence, coping is messy and often can appear very negative.

One way of surviving is to be numbed by self-hatred. To completely say this is all I deserve, and close down the reality.

A reality where you have no control, where your every action is being manipulated. Where hope is murdered before you even begin to imagine it could be part of your life.

How else can any girl or woman cope with living with torture that seems to have no end.

To me, it is brave to form a surrounding of self-hatred for it may prevent the shock of the reality sending many over the edge.

I don’t care what women and girls do with that self-hate, I care more that somehow they manage to survive.

I drunk, I took speed, I cut myself, I fought with good people, I went looking for men to fuck me into hell, I overdosed, I stop sleeping, I eat crap, I masturbated until I bleed, I try to drown myself – but I survived.

I survived that is all that matters.

The bravery of staying alive when everything shows death is so easy – is that what you call brave.

When you say brave, could be that you are closing down where survivors came from.

After all, soldiers are called brave so long as they nothing of the reality of war, we say torture victims are brave, but don’t want to know the details.

Brave means – wow it terrible what you went through, but please say about your strength, not the nasty stuff you went through.

Hell, that is impossible, how can I or any other survivor disconnect what made us “strong” with our past hells.

How can there be real change if survivors cannot say of the reality of their hells.

You are just listening or reading our lives. Yes, I know some of you can connect with our pain. But in the end when you say we are brave, think how silencing that can be.

It can feel like being patted on the head, or being put back into a box.

The ugliness must be spoken of.

To know the ugly side of the sex trade, to hear and really listen to survivors of the sex trade saying the hate and degradation – that will bring about change.

To censor coz it is hard to hear or read is not good enough.

It is too late to be nice about how and why we must destroy the sex trade.

Too late when it is an industry that is built on rape, sexual torture, battering, murder, contempt, degradation and making as much money as possible.

Too late when men can owned women and girls, and we pretend it is not slavery coz we make it the choice of the women and girls.

Being reasonable and ignoring the nasty side, is playing into the sex trade’s hands. They want to be portrayed as just part of the leisure culture and harmless.

When survivors of the sex trade say their truths, they become a dangerous enemy of the sex trade.

They must be silenced at all costs, for if even one rape is believed, one murder made to count, one belief in the sexual torturing – then the structure of the sex trade slowly starts to crumble.

So if you say survivors are brave, in order to stop them speaking too much, then in the long run you are aiding the sex trade.

That is an ugly truth.

Summer Makes Me Sick

Posted on by rmott62

I always get depressed in the summer holidays.

This year, I am sicker than ever.

When I was a child, summer meant my stepdad took time off work. Summer meant being move around adults who would have me.

Summer was so long.

If I was with my mother, we often went to Norfolk for a few weeks.

Norfolk in my head was my stepdad’s land.

Norfolk was fields where he could bury me. Norfolk was long stretches of roads leading to no escape. Norfolk was yellow fields named rape.

I try not to think of Norfolk much, as all I knew was fear and dreams of suicide.

If I was having a good summer, I went with my Dad’s family to Cornwall.

There I was so happy, but as I grow I could not cope with so much happiness. Not when always I knew I would always go back to abuse.

The days before leaving Cornwall, before going back inside my stepdad’s gaze, I would dream again of suicide.

I would stand on the cliffs, seeing nothing, just so terrified of how much I needed to die. I did not jump, I said nothing to nobody.

But, still I wake in a sweat at night with dreams of killing myself.

Every summer death follows me.

As I grow, away from family and into prostitution, summer had no meaning to me. Every season was the same.

Men would fuck me whatever the weather. Maybe in the summer it may slightly slow down, as students had left, as family men could not find excuses to not be at home. But there were always tourists, language students, and men who were addicted to prostitution.

Summer when you are a fuck-object is pointless.

Though with some men, who wanted girlfriend experience, I was taken out and notice it was meant to a time of relaxation, notice others were happy, I even notice that as I young I should enjoying this time.

I hated summer because I was not happy. I hated that everyone was awake so long, I resented that they were happy.

My dreams of suicide became practical. I cut myself on a regular basis. I drunk not from pleasure, but hoping it would kill me. I took overdoses.

I so angry that I stay alive.

I stay alive and stay being brutally fucked.

In summer, as I saw happiness, I felt that I was dirt.

Now, I have changed my life around, now I should be happy in summer –  still I dread summer.

I feel so isolated in summer. Not because most of my friends go away for ages, not because being unemployed summer is no holiday for me.

No, because death still follows me. I still want to kill myself in the summer so much.

Last night, I fought those thoughts so hard. Yes, I did nothing, but I was sick this morning waking at 5.30.

Now, I am sick that every summer my sister goes with her family to stay with my mum and stepdad. Sick that they have the right to be grandparents after the hell they put me through.

Now, in the summer my body memories of the tortures I survived during prostitution are intense.

Now, as I hear noises at night, I want to hurt myself by prostituting myself to deaden my brain, to stop pain from the past and replace with present pain.

God, last night when I wasn’t planning my suicide, I was stopping myself from getting dressed and going out looking to be picked up by some bastard.

This is where my mind goes in the summer.

Without My TV

Posted on by rmott62

My TV broke on Friday, and I broke down too.

I have been on the edge of a breakdown for months now, but being able to switch off into my TV has ease so much pain.

But with just the radio, I could switch off my past and my anger at how much it is in my life now.

I am a wreck, but somehow I am not destroyed.

I cannot write more, just please support me in this terrifying time.

P.S. TV is back, maybe I can normal again.

Some Torture Can Be Spoken of

Posted on by rmott62

I have come to realise that the Left and some Feminists are uncomfortable knowing the reality of porn and prostitution. It is too nasty to be spoken or written about.

Don’t speak of the torture that an everyday event in porn and prostitution.

All I want to know why the hell do you turn away.

I get and see endless animal’s rights pictures. Pictures of torture in pornographic detail.

This form of torture is discussed in graphic detail, often becoming sick-making – this is acceptable. It works to get many involved in animal’s welfare.

I have been at Amnesty International meetings. I have seen and read of horrific tortures of people who are considered worthy to be campaigned for.

I was deeply shocked by the tortures of male prisoners in Iraq.

All this and masses more I know and do what I can.

But inside I am screaming.

Where are the masses campaigning against the tortures of women and girls in the sex trade.

All the tortures to animals, political prisoners, and victims of wars are done to women and girls in porn and prostitution – and the vast majority of the Left and too many Feminists turn away.

Imagine any form of torture you can – it will be embedded in porn and prostitution.

Most of the tortures of Iraqi prisoners were just copying hard-core porn.

But it is seen as disgusting when it done to innocent men. It does not matter if women in the sex trade are water-boarded, are crucified whilst sexually tortured.

It cannot matter , for those women are not innocent, they choose to be tortured.

Ok, so women choose to be raped anally with their head in a toilet.

Women choose to be rape so they no longer breathe, for every hole in filled with penises or fists.

Women choose to be fucked by over 20 men a night.

Women choose to be closed in brothels.

Girls choose to be fucked by sex tourists.

Women choose to stand on streets or in windows to be sold.

Women choose to work inside clubs where men touch them up, often to the point of finger-fucking them, men throw objects at them, men get to rape outside the club.

This is just the tip of a huge ice-berg.

But when survivors of the sex trade try to express the reality of experiences, it is shut out.

Don’t be so graphic is a refrain.

Hell, how else can the reality of the sex trade be known. It cannot be made pretty,  just so the Left and some Feminists can walk on by,

It is very ugly.

Ugly to almost fucked to death. Ugly to know many women and girls are murdered by the sex trade and it’s consumers all the time everywhere.

It is ugly to be made into living porn. It is ugly to nothing but 3 holes and 2 hands.

It is ugly to brainwashed to nothing but a fuck-object for any man to masturbate into.

It is ugly to be rape so often that you no longer feel pain. It is ugly to sexually tortured on a regular basis, and not know there is an exit.

Listen, read and hear survivors. Don’t put your preconceived concepts of the sex trade on us – just learn.

I mean I understood a little about torture when I lived with a Chilean student who was tortured by Pinochet’s henchmen. I listen, for I know I was ignorant.

I just wish the Left and some Feminists could realise that are ignorant about the sex trade.

For if you choose to believe that women and girls are not being tortured, because they choose that “lifestyle” –  then you are saying they are sub-humans.

Why is that animals, political prisoners and victims of wars feel pain and degradation – but by some miracle women and girls in the sex trade do not.

Be honest, it is a nonsense. But I hope that nonsense helps you to sleep at night.

For it sure as hell, does nothing to stop that every moment somewhere a woman or girl is being tortured in the name of the sex trade.

Classic Hollywood

Posted on by rmott62

I have reading again about Hollywood in the 30’s to 50’s , and thought I make a very personal list of my favourite films of those years.

1930 –  All Quiet on the Western Front, Animals Crackers, Hell’s Angels, Morocco.

1931 – Frankenstein, Little Caesar, Dracula, The Front Page, Public Enemy.

1932 – I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, Scarface, Red Dust.

1933 – Duck Soup, King Kong, Dinner at 8, Footlights Parade, Gold Diggers of 1933, Little Women, Mystery of the Wax Museum, Queen Christina, She Done Him Wrong.

1934 – It Happened One Night, The Thin Man.

1935 – The Bride of Frankenstein, Top Hat.

1936 -Fury.

1937 – A Day at the Races, The Prisoner of Zenda, The Awful Truth, Nothing Sacred, A Star is Born.

1938 – The Adventures of Robin Hood, Jezabel.

1939 – Destry Rides Again, Gone With the Wind, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Stagecoach, Dodge City, Of Mice and Men, The Roaring 20’s, The Wizard of Oz, The Women.

1940 – Foreign Correspondent, The Grapes of Wrath, The Letter, The Philadelphia Story, Rebecca, The Mark of Zorro, The Sea Hawk.

1941 – Citizen Kane, Dumbo, The Maltese Falcon, The Lady Eve, The Little Foxes, The Man Who Came to Dinner.

1942 – To Be or Not To Be, For Me and My Gal, Hellzapoppin’, Journey into Fear, Now Voyager, Saboteur, Woman of the Year.

1943 – Heaven Can Wait, The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek, Shadow of a Doubt.

1944 – Double Indemnity, Arsenic and Old Lace, Farewell My Lovely, Hail the Conquering Hero, Laura, Meet Me in St Louis, The Woman in the Window.

1945 – Then There Was None, The House on 92nd Street, The Spiral Staircase.

1946 – It’s a Wonderful Life, The Big Sleep, Gilda, My Darling Clementine, Notorious.

1947 -Crossfire.

1948 – The Naked City.

1949 – On the Town, All the King’s Men, White Heat.

1950 – All About Eve, The Asphalt Jungle, Sunset Boulevard.

1951 – An American in Paris, Strangers on the Train, Ace in the Hole.

1952 – High Noon, Singin’ in the Rain.

1953 – Call Me Madam, Shane.

1954 – On the Waterfront.

1955 – Bad Day at Black Rock, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Kiss Me Deadly, The Night of the Hunter.

1956 – The Searchers, The Man Who Knew Too Much.

1957 – Paths of Glory, Sweet Smell of Success, 12 Angry Men, Witness for the Prosecution.

1958 – Touch of Evil, Gigi.

1959 – North by Northwest, Some Like It Hot.

That’s all, folks.

On Pain

Posted on by rmott62

Surviving my past is not simply hard and exhausting – it so damned painful, that sometimes I want go back into prostitution and kill the agony.

Just imagine being inside my body – imagine and give me a very good reason why I should not harm myself.

Coz think that harming yourself, is nothing to do with death, it only a way to run away from knowing the visceral reality of being sexually tortured.

Being sexually tortured from round 6 to 27, that is too long for my mind and body to handle.

Being sexually tortured so that I lose any sense of pain – only now I am safe and changed my life around, all the layers of their hate and ways to degrade me are crashing into every cell of my body.

Imagine having to live with my throat.

A throat that wants to close up, a throat that is scared to swallow, a throat that want to spew out all their hate.

A throat that knew too much. Knew about blow-jobs too young. Knew not to bite, but to be nice to a penis that was killing her.

Imagine having to live with my stomach.

A stomach that cannot stop feeling, even after over an hour of coughing, sitting, being sick and chocking.

Nothing empty out their sickness.

It may ease if I write or talk, but just ease it come back late viciously.

My stomach knows the truth, and it can’t stop being sick until it is fully understood and believed.

Imagine having my cunt.

Imagine how often I have wanted to rip it out, thinking that get rid of the memory.

I don’t want that cunt was conquered, with conquerors who slash and burnt away everything that makes my cunt part of my essence.

I was left with a space polluted by more men than my mind want to know.

All my cunt was a hole to be filled by penises, objects, hands, fists, tongues, teeth and anything else their porn-filled minds could think of.

I nearly lost my cunt.

Imagine trying to get it back.

Imagine having my anus.

Please go into that pain and have pity for it.

Imagine how detached I had to be to survived so much anal raping.

Know it happened so often, and always so violent that I had to drink whisky to kill a little of the pain.

Imagine that you anally raped so often, that you do not know the language of rape.

All you can do to survive and keep your mind, is to tell yourself that you a person who deserve to be in agony, you are that bad a person.

Know that the pain from that much anal violence does not go away – it just gets worse the safer your life becomes.

The pain demands to known after years of being forcefully closed away.

Imagine sitting down reminds, imagine laying on your back reminds, imagine fear of the toilet.

Imagine that when it bad you can get anal bleeding still, imagine that it makes you faint.

These are some of the real harms I have to live with

I live with pain, but it does reminds why I fight the sex trade with so much passion.

24 Hours Would be Nice

Posted on by rmott62

In memory of Andrea Dworkin

I have reading “I Want a 24 Hour Truce During Which There is No Rape”, and it got me thinking what if for 24 hours men could not buy and sell women and girls as their sex toys.

I mean 24 hours where women and girls had a break from being fuck-objects.

That would be nice, well it’s the least men could do.

Say all men stop reading porn, stop looking endlessly for it on the net.

Say all people making porn stop. Stop making women and girls get degraded for their profit. Stop using more and more sexual violence to get even more profit.

Say all men stop going to “gentlemen’s clubs” and have living porn in their laps.

Say the managers of these clubs stop pretending they have a “no touch”, whilst ignoring groping, objects being throw and the rapes going on behind the club. Say these same managers close down their clubs.

Say no man could pick up a street prostitute.

Say no man phones for an escort.

Say no man waste money on phone sex.

Say no man go abroad to fuck underaged girls.

Say no man go window- shopping in Amsterdam.

Say no man think it is ok to buy a woman or girl, and rape her or batter her or kill her. Make him know that is not his right.

Say Hugh Hefner and Larry Flynt to name a tiny few, were made bankrupt coz their women-hating crap doesn’t sell.

Say that pornographers and pimps/managers were thrown into prison for violent crimes against women.

Say that many women and girls could speak/scream out the mental and physical damage that porn and prostitution does. Say that are not heard and believe, but it decided that the sex trade must be destroyed coz their lives are too important.

But – I do not live in that world.

I live it a world that spread tons of energy and money washing away the damage of porn and prostitution.

Men are told reading porn it harmless, even that it prevents them from “real” rape and violence.

No matter, that it the majority of porn the women and girls being used to make are being raped, are on the receiveing end of sexual violence. No matter that they are getting real injuries, are being placed into situations of mental abuse.

Hell, why should that matter if it sells and men get a hard-on.

We cannot close sex clubs, we have to let men have choices in their leisure.

Of course, it must only bad apples who violate the strippers, hostesses or lap-dancers.

But these bad apples are an infection.

There are too many words from women, of fingers going into women’s cunts “accidentally”, bottles being thrown at dancers, men choosing to dry-fuck strippers or lap-dancers, women being stalked as they go home, managers “persuading” strippers or lap-dancers to do “real” prostitute as a favour or as an extra.

But men pretend that clubs are safe for women who work there.

Men are made to feel it their right to buy a street prostitute or an escort. How dare anyone even think to deny a man that right.

The right to own another human to do as you say. The right to make sure she cannot say no even if you threaten her life, even as you force to do sex acts that disgust her or injure her. The right to show her that she is nothing but your fuck-toy.

Hell, sounds like slavery to me. But I forget she is paid, so everything must be ok.

Men have the right to go round the world looking for women and girls to fuck and treat like dirt.

It makes them into real men to conquer the world by having their feet on women’s and girl’s throat, as they treat each country as one massive brothel.

Only brothel is too romantic – they treat the world as holes to be fucked.

They fuck Eastern European women coz they have no importance, they fuck Thai girls and lie to themselves that they stopping poverty, they go and stare at women in Amsterdam windows, they go globe-trotting wanting more and more brothels, they make Latin America into their sexual playpen, they go to Africa wanting cheap sex.

Sex tourists destroyed the world one woman, one girl, one boy at the time.

They mostly go unnoticed coz we live in a time that chooses to ignore their violence and pretend it some kind of economic advance.

My dream that pimps/manager/pornographers should seriously punished seemed so far away.

Now, they can laugh at the damage they spread throughtout the world.

What does it matters if their goods are raped, battered, tortured or murdered. It cannot matter, for there are plenty of women and girls to replace them.

What does it matter if women survive and speak out, for the sex industry can make sure that their word is ridiculed, disbelieved or shown to be be mental illness.

They will not be punnished or not make massive profit.

Every day their existence is spitting in mine and millions of women’s and girl’s face, laughing at our pain.

This is my real world.

Christ, it would so nice to have a 24 hour break from all that shit.

Only Imagine it is Flu

Posted on by rmott62

Since I have been remembering being inside prostitution and porn, I have been very ill.

I decided it must be swine flu, coz I cannot bear that it is trauma. I cannot bear that my body remembers so viciously.

Yes, I am coughing one hell of a lot.

But then it is not coughing – it is chocking, it is being unable to swallow. It is not being to lay in bed without not being able to breathe.

It is not flu.

It having memories of  penises, fists and objects shove down my throat. It being raped and sexually tortured so I forget that I can breathe.

I cannot swallow or breathe deeply coz it hits my grief. I go weak, I feel sick and I sweat.

I am bloody grieving.

I am grieving that porn and prostitution stole everything that is precious to me .

Stole my ability to be a teenager. Stole my chance to have a innocent sex life with angst and natural confusion.

Stole my ability to defend myself from pain, giving me torture instead. Stole my right to be safe and secure.

Stole my chance to trust and get friends.

Fucking hell, I was left to survive not to live.

Now, as I know what I had to be then, I so damned sick.

My stomach carries my past as sickness. I try to puke it out, but nothing happens. Only I sit in the bathroom wanting to cry, thinking I will faint.

But nothing much happens.

I go to the toilet, wanting to get rid of the pain in my chest and stomach. Some goes, but always my past follows me relentlessly.

I want to scream, but hardly any noise comes comes. Only when I masturbate in a rage – then my stomach yells out until a little of the pain disappears.

Porn and prostitution has damaged me to my core.

This does not means I am not going forward, that I cannot succeed in most of my life.

But it is a constant ghost that I have to adapt to.

Sometimes my past is just a shadow in the room, a brief remainder of where I came from. It does not disturb my present life.

But then there are times like now – where it is poltergeist.

It wants to damage me as much as it can, it does want me to have a present life.

It sends poison into my body and mind, making me unable to move without pain and horrific memories.

Say it is flu, say it is menopause, say it is grieving for Dad.

Just don’t say it is the reality of being inside porn and prostitution.

I cannot bear that.