Monthly Archives: March 2013

Some Moments

Posted on by rmott62

This is one of my stream of consciousness posts. It a post looking at small meaningful moments of my life.

Each moment changed me, each moment was part of losing hope but staying, each moment poured deadness into my heart.

This post is a brief of one of the many ways you can kill the soul of a female until she becomes the role of the Whore.

I write this on Easter Sunday, for those I am an atheist – the story of deep pain and grief having hope and real change is meaningful to me.

I see inside each and every exited woman in every country that resurrection.

In the post, I write to what made me into the Whore – in this post I write to show how I fought to stay alive enough to exit.

I suppose the first moments of any consequence were the moments of my mother’s neglect made it clear I could not be loved.

Moments when I cry out for her love – only for to send me into silence, to turn out all lights and shout at me to shut up.

I do not know when I learnt there was no point in crying – only that I was too young to know that knowledge.

There was the moment, when I was four or five, and a stone went into my knee.

I did not cry, I acted like nothing had happened.

I said nothing as the pain grow, I said as the wound went green – I said nothing as I wanted to faint.

So small, I had learnt the bitter lesson never to show pain in case it made you too vulnerable, I had learnt never to cry it give too much away.

I was in training to be a Whore.

A very important moment in this training was how I reacted, or learnt not to react to being shown hard-core porn by my stepdad and mum.

I was shown Hustler, shown Penthouse, shown images from rape/murder police photos, shown porn named as art – when I was so young.

I think I was six or seven.

Young enough to have nowhere in my mind to compute what I was seeing, no words to describe my sickness or disgust.

I was just frozen staring into hell – staring down my future.

What language can fit that memory? Only I seek words for it all the time.

I know as a child I saw into those images that looking for hope was pointless, that I had no protest left.

How can you hope when staring into the eyes of the living dead?

How do you protest when your voice is stolen?

In that porn I saw my future.

I saw to survive by having no pain, by learning to smile all the time, by being silent, by being whatever men wanted me to be.

I the child learnt to have a Whore’s heart, thinking that may keep me safe or at least alive.

If you have pity for that child, put it away – pity helps no-one.

Have anger, cry out for justice, join collective action to stop any child seeing or knowing what she know.

Do action – but never waste energy on pity.

It is Easter, and Easter is always about rabbits.

As a child, I grow to hate rabbits.

I hated that they were so passive – that when you pointed a gun at them they froze and stared into the barrel.

I saw my vulnerability, my lack of any escape, my own terror in those rabbits – so I hated them with a passion.

I placed all my fear, my hate to my stepdad, my self-hate into killing rabbits.

I still don’t like rabbits, but now I have learnt to make it into a joke – never to say the terror inside my child’s heart.

There are moments of my teenage years with my stepdad building up sexual abuse – training my mind and body to accept the unacceptable, training me into the deadness that made me a perfect Whore.

From 12 to 19, my stepdad would abuse me often, his abuse was slow and patient, but always building up how much he invaded me.

By the time I was 17, he had reach his goal – every part of my skin belonged to him.

There were moments where he would lay me into his bed, and with unbearable slowness touch me all over.

He would force me to feel, force me to cum, force me to betray myself.

I wanted to be dead, I wanted that I give him nothing, I wanted just a small piece of pride.

That was torture, that was throwing into thinking I was nothing but a whore.

I hate my stepdad for training me up for prostitution.

He may of well been my pimp.

I write these small moments as examples of how to make a Whore.

There is nothing unique about what I went through, maybe bits and pieces may be.

But neglect, self-hate, knowing porn too young, incest are common with far too may women and girls inside the sex trade.

I am exhausted, and need chocolate.

Grief is Endless

Posted on by rmott62

The more I grow into a safe and stable life – the more I am surrounded by grief.

It is not now, and may of never been, a personal grief – even the parts that are connected to my personal history are never personal, but connected to all exited women.

I still do not know how to cry, find emotions confusing and still alien from my reality.

But I am learning to settle into grief.

To have the luck to be able to exit prostitution is often hard to believe.

To survive that world, where death was painted into our souls.

To survive and to keep our sanity could be seen as a miracle.

How can we not have grief that we are only here by the skin of our teeth?

We hold the grief that so many of the prostituted class do not live to have the chance to exit.

We hold their deaths inside our skins – we may never cry for them for the grief is too deep for ordinary tears.

We hold in our grief as we a world that does even notice the tossed away lives of the prostituted.

Where is the horror that prostituted women are 18 times more likely to die from male violence than any other woman?

Where is the stones, flowers, letters remembering their lives when the prostituted are murdered?

No, my grief and the grief of exited women grows as we see the world make invisible most murders done to the prostituted.

There is no rage, no marches on the streets, no headlines, no pausing in the day when prostitutes are murdered.

Live on go as she never existed – how can we not grieve that?

We grieve that most torture of the prostituted is made nothing.

We see on a daily basis that our tortures are re-framed as work, are made into adult entertainment, are used to advertise, are used to spice up TV dramas.

Our torture are never allowed to be real.

We are never allowed to know pain, we are never allowed to understand terror – we are not torture victims, we are just objects that feel nothing.

Torture exist in war zones, torture exist with political prisoners, torture exist somewhere that is nowhere near you.

Torture is terrible when it happens to men, torture is horrific when done “innocent” non-prostituted women and girls.

Torture does not exist for the prostituted – no torture in brothels, no torture of street-based prostitutes, no torture of escorts, no torture in most porn, and certainly no torture going into the prostituted on a street near you.

Only of course each and every exited woman carries inside her skin the years of the ordinary torturing the prostituted class.

The prostituted have always been tortured – torture is our norm.

It is so normal for us we lose words to frame the pain, the grief and the horror that so much torture has put into us.

We are learning to find words, we go back to our pasts, we view the long history of the prostituted class, we speak to each other – and search for words that fit what torture and being made into nothing means to us.

Grief is our key to language.

Grief is a gift for exited women.

As we grieve, we learn we were never made nothing, we learn we never truly lose that we have emotions, we learn to honour that we lived.

So if you are an ally – be patient and kind to exited as they grieve.

For we are reaching depths that you can never imagine.

Said Over and Over and Over Again

Posted on by rmott62

I have writing this blog for so long, several years – and I feel I have say too much over and over and over and over again.

I am now mentally exhausted, and like many amazing exited women have come to wonder if we just communicating with a brick wall.

Yes, most who read me would named themselves as abolitionists – but do you truly hear and honour exited women.

Sometimes, well it is getting too often, I have to question if you are willing to hear exited women on more than a swallow level.

I am hurting bad – so my anger and grief is to the fore.

Please know those of you who truly listen and hear exited women, I have nothing but respect for you.

For those who truly listen and hear our multiple voices and experiences, will always be unafraid to make exited women leaders in the abolitionist movement.

To truly listen and hear our voices, is to put yourself second and to be willing to learn.

It is to known that you do not know what it is and was to be the prostituted class.

This is done by not constantly comparing other forms of male violence to being inside porn or prostitution.

Know is not like acquaintance rape, it not like rape in marriage, it is not like incest.

Know is not like being battered by your partner, it is not like name-called, it is not like being harassed at work.

It is not like being murdered by a man you should trust, it is not like being killed just coz you are the wrong sex.

Know being inside the sex trade is like all of those – but it is more and to honest it all those coming at you all the time.

Know there is more than those individual male acts of violence – know the whole point of the sex trade is all male violence is institutional.

Know to be a prostitute is to be made nothing, to be made an object that has no connection to be human.

Know it is not just rape, just battering, just murder – that the whole structure of the sex trade is built on centuries of torture.

It is torture – that is the only language that fits our realities.

It not rape or battering of the seen and human female – it is the cold torture of a sex object who is robbed of her humanity.

In the world of the sex trade – there can no harm done to the prostituted, for it just goods being used and thrown away – no harm when no human involved.

That is the cold world exited women come from.

We survived by making ourselves dead, by falling into sick humour, by refusing to feel or know our realities.

We survived by not allowing in severe pain, by learning never to grieve, by having a callous heart.

We survived by pretending never to care.

So it can hard to speak the language you want to hear.

We speak of multiple, life-threatening and death-wanting rapes with detachment, making jokes, with a frightening coldness.

We speak of near-murder as common and very ordinary – speaking of choking as objects forced into our throats, being thrown out of moving cars, getting strangled on regular basic, being gang-raped till death seems a friend.

We speak of prostituted women and girls going missing so often, too often – till we learn not to care, learn to think rather them than me, learn to obey even in deep danger in order not to disappear.

That was our world – well that is the surface of our world.

That is the world where we survived by learning to be silenced.

Now we speak out – the least you can do is shut up and listen to us hard.

Letter to a Punter

Posted on by rmott62

This was written quite some time ago. I would love to know what my readers think – especially other exited women.

Dear I have no words to name you,

I am writing not because I think you will see this, or if by some chance you do, that you’ll be able to comprehend what I am saying. No, I write as a personal release for the many performances that I had to give to make you believe I was your Happy Hooker.

I was never happy. At best I was bored, at the very best I was relatively safe – but those times were very rare. Most of the time you, and all the other endless punters that had me, were violent, full of rage and hate, and filled with a cold violence that nearly killed me. I was often tortured by men like you.

All of you do not consider what you did to me to be harmful. You would never consider yourself to be violent; you do not think you have a rage against women. You would say you respect the prostituted – I suppose you would call me a sex worker. You think you are a good guy.

Well, I write to say you can never be the good guy.

A good guy would never even think of buying and owning a prostitute for his selfish sexual wants.

See that – you were selfish when you brought me and other prostitutes. I have heard in your excuse that you “need” sex – like it is impossible to masturbate.  No you need a living body under you – even if she is the living dead – to masturbate into.

It is not mutual sex – it is you fucking the prostitute who is stripped of the right to safety, the right to turn you away, the right to say no to any sexual act you have paid for, especially the dangerous and terrifying ones.

You refuse to see, or, if you do see the prostitute’s terror or deadness, you make the choice not to give a damn. As the consumer, you will get your money’s worth.

Now, I would love it if you could just be honest about the real reason you brought me.

Don’t speak to me of respect, of it as a sexual adventure, that you thought I was attractive or interesting, that I would do things your girlfriend/wife won’t, that it was fine for it was not sleazy like street prostitution.

Stop lying and face the truth.

You buy prostitutes coz you know you have complete power and control over another human being – buying a prostitute is like buying a slave.

You buy a prostitute knowing she can be raped, be battered, be murdered – and more than likely, there will be no consequences. You know you can damage her or she is just goods to you.

You know she is sub-human.

That is what you are buying – I don’t care how you sweeten it.

I want you to know that I and most other prostitutes always hated you. Sure we pasted on the Whore’s smile, sure we told you that you were a stud and no man could do what you did, sure we told you we loved being a prostitute.

But know that we lied to survive.

Sometimes, if we flattered you enough, the violence was less. Sometimes the right words meant you just penetrated our vaginas, and didn’t sexually torture us in other ways.

Making you happy sometimes keep us safe.

But in our hearts, we wanted to murder you. I cannot tell you how many times I thought of putting a pillow over your head. How many times I wanted to give you just a small taste of the terror and pain, that men like you made my everyday existence.

We were better than you could ever be – for we did not use violence as you did. You were lucky, for the rage inside a prostitute could destroy you.

I write this hoping it shows you just how hellish you made my life. I am not sure if it makes sense – but this what your hate has left me with.

You gave me extreme trauma.

Trauma from knowing that I had no control or way out as you used my body as your living porn playground.

Trauma from having horrific body memories of all the pain you poured into me, which, at the time, I was too dead to feel.

Trauma from the grief of knowing men like you stole my teenage and young adulthood years.

I hate you – unless you know that you are a criminal – that hate will always be there.

You never were innocent – but you destroyed my right to be innocent.

 

 

Men Are the Issue

Posted on by rmott62

If we really want to abolish prostitution – then we look into the real cause of it existence.

Prostitution would not exist if men did not demand to have paid sex/rape on tap wherever and whenever they want.

Prostitution would not exist if men did not know they can make a mass profit through selling whatever sadistic sexual practices they can imagine.

Prostitution is driven by men.

Prostitution was invented by men, and with a strong will, it can be destroyed by men.

But the art of prostitution is to make the men disappear, and all the focus and blame heaped onto the prostituted class.

I am sick, I am tired, hell I am pissed off that the men are made invisible.

By refusing to see the men as the issue, you are just giving the men more power to destroyed the prostituted.

By refusing to see the men, you are making out it is a non-crime to rape, to torture, and to murdered the prostituted.

Let me be frank, by refusing to see the men as the centre off the hate, violence and degradation that is the foundation of all forms of prostitution – you have blood on your hands.

Look away and you are part of the problem, you are part of the genocide of the prostituted class.

I understand your need not to see, I understand but I cannot sympathise – not whilst my prostituted Sisters are being raped, tortured and murdered.

Your precious protection of men who make the sex trade is very low on my priorities.

I want to be clear, I feel there is a focus on the prostituted women because they are viewed as the Other – so can be put into neat boxes and mostly forgotten,

You refuse to see the men for in your heart you know they could be your brother, your work colleague, your father, your best friend, your teacher and any or all men you are close to.

If you want to find a punter – look to all or any man or group of men – and you will find your typical punter.

No you will not look to ordinary men – but play the game that punters must be lonely, must be monsters, must be disabled, must be men you do not know.

It is the same with sex trade profiteers – they are very ordinary in public, ordinary to the world outside the sex trade.

They are not your TV/movies pimps, they do not appear to be monsters, they have no appearance of deep hate that rules their hearts.

No most sex trade profiteers are businessmen, they hide behind computers.

Sadly, many sex trade profiteers are women who destroyed other women and girls.

But the sex trade business is run by men for the benefit of men – women are just used to give the image that it can made women-friendly and to please the naive Leftists.

If you ignore or dismiss the men – then you make a world where the prostitute is to blame for all damage done to her, she is made to blame if she too deadened to know it is wrong.

It becomes questions that it is real rape, that any prostitute could possibly be tortured – it put into question that most prostitute must have wanted to be murdered.

I mean, if you can’t take the violence, then why did you choose to be a prostitute. Didn’t you know it is just part of the job.

This means if the prostitute does report a crime, it cannot exist.

But how do you report rape, when you raped so often you cannot know it is wrong.

Rape is industrial in the sex trade – rape is done till the prostitute has no feeling or sense of self left.

Rape on that scale makes the prostitute into goods – and she losing memory or access to being human.

How does report rape, when she has comes to know nothing is happening to nothing.

We must not build laws and wanting to help the prostituted on waiting for the women to know it is a crime – we must go after those who are fully responsible for the crimes done to the prostituted.

No man need to buy and sell the prostituted.

Every man who does that has made the choice to make another human being into an object that he can make into dirt.

It is always a conscious decision to buy and sell the prostituted – it is always done with the full knowledge that any man can do all harms to the prostituted.

This is because all men know and benefit from the knowledge that it more than likely a non-crime to rape, torture and murder the prostituted.

All men know and benefit from that it very rare a prostitute will complain.

All men know and benefit from that the prostituted have no access to the language of no, and consent is destroyed by money or an exchange of gifts.

So, of course, not all men consume the prostituted – but all men benefit from the invention of the prostituted class.

That is why to begin the road to true freedom of the prostituted – we must confront and challenge men who buy and sell the prostituted.

We must start with making all male demand for the prostitution a serious crime – with full sentences not just light fines.

Until we see the men – the prostituted will continue to be raped, to be tortured and to be murdered off the scale.

I am an Radical Exited Woman

Posted on by rmott62

I have never felt that I could fit into labels.

After my years inside prostitution, I hate being boxed in or being what I am. I cannot be how others tell me I should be.

But on a deeper level, I cannot be labeled because for most of my life I had no sense of self.

To be prostituted, is to know what it is to be nothing and to lose hope that you truly exist.

I thought and felt I was nothing – maybe just an android following whatever orders I was told.

I had no access to be a full human – I was goods, I was an object to be fucked and sold.

I was a Whore – and to be a Whore, I had to fit many labels, but never for me or those who loved me.

I had to fit labels for a society that want Whores to be scapegoats.

In that role – I was unrapeable, I was there to prevent real sexual violence being done to real women and girls, I was the Happy Hooker, I was the non-guilt fuck.

I had no existence outside of myths and rumours.

I had to fit labels to sold by sex trade profiteers.

In that role – I was the posh Whore who could be ground into death, I was the Whore who love pain and would never complain, I was the Whore who could pretend to a girlfriend but never no to any violence, and being a Whore I was replaceable and could be thrown away.

I had no existence outside the amount of cash I could make for others.

I had to fit labels to please punters.

In that role – I was their baby-doll, I would lay dead as their porn-dreams were force into me, I was there to say they were sex gods, I would be their mother/sister/counsellor, I was just holes and hands.

I had no existence for to exist would break their fantasy.

I had no existence as a Whore – now I am fighting hard to find who or what I am.

I think with slow care I have finally found a box that I can fit into.

I am a radical exited woman.

I am not a radical feminist, I am not an anarchist, I am not religious, I am not a leftist, I am not conservative – although I may have parts of all those labels in me.

I can not belong to any of those labels, for they all in varying degrees Other the prostituted class, and in that Othering allow the genocide of the prostituted to go on.

My priorities are to destroy the sex trade at its roots, my priority is that the voices of exited women takes leadership in the abolitionist movement.

I am connected to all my Prostituted Sisters and prostituted men – I am connected to the prostitutes whose cultures say they were born to be Whores, I am connected to the women who thought they choose to prostitutes only to find all their rights stolen from them, I am connected to the young girls who think it is love to sell their bodies, I am connected to the women locked in brothels forgetting the outside world is possible.

They are my purpose, they are my mission and they give hope to my life.

In that connection, my guides and teachers are the multiple voices of exited women – women who have known that porn is torture inside their own skins, women who have been made invisible on the streets, women who were never allowed to be under-aged, women who know there is no such thing as high-class indoors prostitution.

These are my family, these are my true Sisters.

Words Cannot Say It

Posted on by rmott62

This post is about why the focus must be on those who buy and sell the prostituted class, and not on the words of mainly women inside the sex trade.

This post is about language, and words are taken from the prostituted to speak to the truths of their conditions.

I am writing this from deep frustration and some anger, that there is an over-reliance on the words of prostituted women without regard to how and why they speak.

I am writing this because there is a huge silence.

A silence of the punters – no-one hears the language of men who make a conscious choice to buy the prostituted.

A silence from sex trade profiteers –  where is the research, questions and study on why these profiteers have the entitlement to sell the prostituted class as sub-human goods?

This silence is so loud because it is surrounded by the noise of listening to the prostituted class – listening usually to re-affirm whatever prejudice the listener or reader already has.

Most want have the voices of the prostituted to confirm it is all fine and dandy – that there must be prostitutes who are happy; prostitutes who have been empowered by their lifestyles; and most important that it is ok enough for the sex trade to continue as normal.

Many may hear that some of the prostituted class are in horrific conditions – but this is framed as those who have been trafficked externally; framed as women who were abused before entering the sex trade; and framed that it must be the nasty edges of the sex trade.

What is wanted to be heard over and over and over – is that the sex trade can be made neat and tidy, so men we know and love can consume a prostitute without it be considered a bad thing to do.

So the silence of the prostituted class will grow and grow as it will never be words to speak to the simple realities of what it is to be a prostitute.

The words of male sexual violence that is allowed for the non-prostituted – is tossed aside and re-framed as everything that it is not.

Before I speak to words that are stolen from the prostituted class, I will say a few words to how they are stolen, and why we allowed this theft to be made invisible.

Most of the prostituted are raped too many times for their minds to comprehend – but there is no language of rape, sexual abuse or even harm when inside the sex trade.

No, the language is surreal and daily is a slow murder of the prostituted class.

It is the language of business exchange; it is the language of free choice; it is the language where money equals consent – and it is the language made to confuse the prostitute and to make sure she forgets she has rights to safety and dignity.

All the language of the prostituted is forced into her mind and body by profiteers and punters – her words are manipulated till she cannot know how to speak without being told what to say.

But it is decided that the prostituted must understand their own condition and must always speak to the truth.

We do not say that when a child said she love her father who is raping her; we do not say that as a girlfriend said her partner will never hit her again; and we do not say that is ok to forgive men who rape and torture all women and girls outside the sex trade.

But every day and in every place, there are reasons and excuses for men raping, torturing and murdering the prostituted class.

So every day and in every place, no wonder the prostituted class are silent as they live with sexual torture off the scale.

They know deep in their hearts to be silent, for they know they will not be believed and if believed will more than likely pushed away, as more important issues are dealt with.

How can the prostituted know they are raped, how can know that much of their daily experiences would be classed as torture?

How can you know those simple truths, when everywhere words say it your choice, that the pain is empowering, that loss of dignity is just fun.

To a prostituted is to learn not to feel pain, not to remember dignity, it is a world that is made of moments without a past or a future.

Language means nothing when you are made nothing.