It is No Privilege

I am very tired of having a very privileged sex workers saying they are speaking for the prostituted. These women do not speak for the vast majority of the prostituted – no in many cases, they speak for the punters and to give greater profits to the sex trade.

In their words of choice, empowerment, decent clients, desire for more indoors prostitution – they are aiding and abetting a world that throws away the prostituted class.

Many of these women make out prostitution is a great money earner.

Is that some sick joke – or do they just live in such a privileged and sheltered environment – that the blatant poverty of the vast majority of women and girls inside prostitution is ignored.

Do they really equate earning lots of money with safety? Ignoring that inside most of high-class prostitution the punters have enough money and power to do whatever sadistic violence they want.

Think just a little – and know that money can buy privacy, money can buy silence, money can buy plenty of time for all porn-fuelled violence, money can buy getting away with murder.

So in what universe is being paid loads in prostitution an indication of safety.

That is only true if you have the privilege of choosing men to pay for sex that you already know, and know you can trust them not to abuse you.

Otherwise there is no safety in prostitution – only the hope that some punters and profiteers make the choice to not hurt you too bad.

But money is used to imprisoned the prostituted.

It is not given freely – it is taken in fees or fines. Fines as punishment for everything and nothing.

Money is unimportant when battered too bad to care, when raped time after time after time, when just being alive is a miracle. Many punters enjoy making the prostitute unconscious or too terrified to care whether she is paid or not.

How dare the privileged few recruit the vulnerable by making out that prostitution is a great money earner, for they are miles away as those women and girls are destroyed by the sex trade.

Another dangerous myth promoted by the privileged sex workers is that prostitution is not the buying and selling of bodies for sexual wants – but just a sexual service where the body is separated from the mind.

Well, of course the mind is cut off – but not from pleasure or to make it into an ordinary job – the mind is cut off because the violence and degradation is so normal and made standard, that detachment is the only way to survive with a small degree of sanity.

To know the reality would kill most prostituted women and girls.

To know that rape is not just your norm, but to be raped in such sadistic ways that it is made unspeakable is your norm – of course, your mind will cut off.

To know that every sadistic porn fantasy may be poured into your body, and you must smile and make orgasmic noises – of course, your mind will cut off.

To have on a regular basic punters and profiteers putting you to the edge of death, “playing kill the whore” – of course, your mind will cut off.

It is survival that is all.

How dare the privileged few make out that detachment is a good thing.

Anyhow, the men that make the choice to buy and sell the prostituted, are buying and selling body parts for male selfish porn wants.

These punters and profiteers do not see or care that the prostitute is a full human – all they want is the body parts that men can masturbate into.

God, most of these men would not notice or give a shit if the prostitute was dead or alive, as long they get their money worth.

So stop listening to the privileged few – and listen to how every moment of every day prostitution is destroying the vast majority of women and girls inside that world.

5 responses to “It is No Privilege

  1. I was as privilged as they get. I was only beaten a few times. I was only held down and physically restrained perhaps a dozen times. I hated them anyway. I loathed them. I fantasize to this day about telling them how they made my skin crawl, how stupid they were, how revolting I found them, how pathetic it was that they sought me out because their wife wasn’t / wouldn’t (insert unfulfilled expectation of male privilege here). They still raped me bloody. I can’t go to the bathroom without remembering the veterinarian who held me down by the back of my neck. He was old enough to be my grandfather. Most of them were. Most of them WERE grandfathers, the rest were fathers. One of them wrote to “the agency” to explicitly describe his fantasy of raping his teenage daughter’s best friend, and to see if I would participate in fulfilling it. (Even the man who ran “the agency” was disgusted. I told him I’d sooner call the cops – and that I was able to say “no” is truly privilege amongst whores.) I can count the times my boyfriend and my pimo let me say no on one hand. But technically, I got to do so. THAT is privilege. Usually, whores who say no just get beaten by men a little extra, and raped either way.

    These memories make me avoid the privileged fools who insist it’s “free choice.” I got paid as much or more than them. I was a “high dollar hottie,” guaranteed drug- disease- and drama-free. That means I don’t have herpes (yet? or obviously?) which implied I don’t have hep C or HIV. It means my boyfriend won’t burst in and rob him, or beat me, or both. It means the agency won’t try to blackmail him or upsell. There was no freedom in my “choice.” I used to sit on my bed and sob and beg not to. I was young, and looked younger. They liked that. Nice and shaved. They liked to play out fantasies that I was the drunk teenager next door. All I had to do was smile and blink slowly and fake giggle and try to stay relaxed (tensing makes it hurt even worse than it already does) and concentrate on imagining the ocean. I’d never even seen the ocean but I imagined it – waves crashing, seagulls, warm air. Pretending the taste of tears and blood was sea salt. The first thing I learned was how to cry without getting caught or fucking up my mascara.

    I can’t remember a lot.

    I don’t try to dissuade them because I know that the privileged ones are still being raped. The violence is only less overt. The abuse is sufficient that it’s completely normalized. Their insistence on “sex worker” and the lie of their freedom is purely a survival mechanism. Denial is their only defense against the fact that they are being raped. You could say the gilded cage is another privilege – the luxury of trying to lie to yourself. I don’t think it is a privilege, it is a more insidious, subtle abuse and makes you complicit in your own annihilation. It leaves you split in (at least) two: the you who cooperates and publicly professes her “freedom” and “choice” and the real you, who hates her for hurting (me? us? her? them? who was it, who was raped? It wasn’t me, it was her. So why does it hurt? Why do I care? We weren’t even there, were we? -Were we? What the hell is happening to – me? Us?)

    The confusion alone makes it possible for the men to do what they do best (rape and destroy women). It’s not worse or better. Only different. And not very different. It’s just the destruction men’s ugliness wreaks on the souls of women.

    I used to comfort myself with the knowledge that I was normal, once. Maybe many years ago, but I was normal. Maybe I was a very little girl – but I was normal. I could, therefore, be normal again some day. I promised myself that. Then I endeavored to forget as hard as I could.

    I can’t fight them. I used to say those same lies, quite literally parroting the men around me who claimed to envy me, who did not hesitate to exploit me, who threatened me when I dared to suggest I was being hurt.

    They speak for men, not us, and they know it. They do it anyway, because we all know the consequences, don’t we.

    The privileged ones will see just like I did. On that day, they’ll come to your words, because men’s lies have made them unable to speak anything anymore, least of all what happened to us. They’ll come to your blog and you’ll speak our words because men have taken away our ability to believe ourselves, but not the ability to believe you. They’ll grieve for themselves and start to put the pieces back together.

    I hope this brings you some comfort, somehow.

    Loves forever,
    Miss Andrist


  2. Thank-you so much Miss Andrist. I am so moved, to bottom of my soul and those almost lost parts of myself – by your beautiful and very moving message.
    It is so true what you about the terrible violence of posh prostitution, and how it is like being trapped inside a gilded cage. I truly believe that to survive that hell, you must lie to yourself that you free and force yourself to believe you were happy.
    Your words are so powerful, and I hope we can comfort each other. xx


  3. it shocked me when I first met privileged prostitutes and supporters.
    I couldn’t believe that this group makes such effort to silence what the majority of prostitutes face. the reality of crippling addiction, abuse, mental illness, infant, children, teen prostitutes, the demand and reality of actual rape prostitution, rape porn, rape houses, etc… very happy to read this article. Real feminism.
    Thank you so much.


  4. These scum should be airdropped on an island and given farming tools and some seeds to grow their own food. They would either survive, or starve to death because they would be too busy raping and molesting each other. Too bad all their mothers didnt get abortions.


  5. I’m so sorry. Sorry the world is so goddamn freaking messed up, that girls and women have to go through this shit.

    Thanks for having the courage to talk about what happened to you.


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