I have no idea where the johns who chose to be sadistic to me are. I not sure if all of them are still alive.
They came from all over, so I suppose they could anywhere.
But I have decided to write a letter to say what I could never say to their face. This letter will go nowhere, but may show who I really am.
In this I write as “I”, but it is connected to many prostituted women and girls who had to lived inside conditions like I did.
You brought me as easy as you would buy a cup of coffee. I meant that little to you.
Was I alive to you, or was I just something that you fucked, beat up and said you may murder. What was I to you.
Was I some doll who should not speak, certainly not complain.
Was I a robot made of flesh who made the right noises to prove you were a stud.
Was someone who had step out that cheap porn you had watched, someone who never felt pain, someone who comes on command.
It that why you brought me.
I remember that johns like you who say they are on the left.
Say they hate the suffering of the oppressed. Hate that humans torture animals and other humans. Hate war. Hate rapes of good women and children.
As they fucked me, they spoke their politics to me.
My torture did not count. Not it was reframed as my lifestyle.
I was never raped, not when it was a mutual business exchange.
How could I be suffering when I took the money.
Well hell, I hate to explode your bubble, you did sexually torture me. You did rape me. You did mentally abused me. You did bring close to death.
What I am saying there is no justification that is good enough for how much you destroyed my life.
The moment you chose to buy me, you were choosing to rape me. It was your choice to beat me up. It was your choice to strangle me.
It was your choice to anally raped me until I lost consciousness. Your choice to deep-throat me until I know I was drowning.
It was your choice to join in with the gang-rapes of me. It was your choice to put my body way it limit of endurance.
It was you that was angry when I dare to “die” without your permission.
Damn it, john, you are a sadist, you are a rapist, you should be locked away from the world.
And then there are your continual lies.
When I was under-aged, you knew.
I was 14, but I looked younger.
You know I was ill, know I was vulnerable, know I was dead inside, know I was pushing beyond hope. You know that and fucked me anyhow.
I have seen photos of me then, I have seen how thin I was, and how haunted I looked then. I seen that I deserved looking after, not being passed round johns as their fuck object.
You john chose to fuck and buy someone who was on the edge of death. That is your sickness – it is nothing to do with who I was.
What did you care who I was.
Did you know that I had a mind, that I had interests outside all that fucking.
Did you know how much I was determined to live, when dying would of been so simple.
Why would you care.
No, I suppose you believed my life stopped until I was in a room, a graveyard, behind a pub, in the toilet, in a car with you. Only then was real to you.
But I was never real.
Not when all I was was a fuck-object. All I was was holes to be filled, all I was was wetness on command, all I was was noises to get it over and done with.
I was never a person to you.
Damned it, do you even know what colour my eyes are.
Well you won’t see this letter, but then johns like you will say –
It not me, it those other bastards who disrespect prostitutes, that do those things.
All I know, is I know you even if I blank out your faces. You have left your marks inside every cell of my body.
You shown me hell, but my revenge is show the world who you really are. Not the charming face you show the world.”