Eagle Eyes

I try to view my past with clear eyes – with eyes of an eagle seeking out it prey.

That is I want to see only those who are to blame for my rapes, my tortures, my terror, for my ongoing trauma – not all the mess surrounding it. As an eagle sees an injured hare, not the grass, not the healthy animals – only the route to kill that hare.

I am focused for I see those who promote, use and profiteer from the sex trade as that hare.

I must attacked them, I must destroy their lies and propaganda with a clear eye and a solid eye.

If I lose that clarity, these whispered lies are a slow death to me.

The lies that I must have enjoy being prostituted – why else would I stay it so long.

This lie is dangerous, for like the vast majority of women who were inside the sex trade, I have a massive well of self-hatred – this lets in all the time the feeling, I must of wanted it, I did nothing to get myself out of it, so with logic I must of enjoy it.

I have little or no memory of enjoying having constant strange men using me as their porn-toy.

I have little or no memory of being happy enough to even notice what was happening to my body – only when the torture was intense enough, some pain. I was too dead to know.

But to fit in I would smile, I would fake orgasms, I would chat with the punters, I would go back into prostitution.

Maybe that is what meant by I was  enjoying it.

Well with my eagle eye, I know I hated it and just had no-one who believe that, I had no access to an exit.

Then there is the lie that is only sex – so what’s the problem, are you some born-again prude now, maybe you just can’t tell good sex from crap sex.

It was not sex – it was torture, to was the deadening of my soul, it was being made into goods – none of that is sex.

To name the violence and degradation of the prostituted class as just sex is not wrong, it is deeply patronising and insulting.

Usually when others say it is just sex, especially women – they are imaging good sex they may have had and being paid for that, they are imaging clean and respectable men being their clients, they are imaging that if there is violence or even disrespect those clients will be thrown out, they are imaging it is safe and always great fun.

The sex trade drip feeds this fantasy – the fantasy of high-class whore who is always in control, who is rich even with a few rich clients, who play games of being a whore.

It is not the reality of escorting or working inside sex clubs – it does shows the constant sexual violence, the constant mental abuse and brainwashing, the constant knowledge that any time you could be thrown away and or murdered.

That my eagle eye remembers.

It is hard to see my past – hard with the haze of pain and grief.

I will leave it for now – but there is so much more to say.

I am tired now.


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