A Small Window

I spend a lot of energy trying to express what it was to be inside indoors prostitution.

I write in many ways, I speak out for many audiences – but always it can feel to me that I skimming the surface – always keeping the listener and/or reader inside their comfort zone.

Doing that, I find the screaming of my truths get little release. It is crafted into a language that fits pre-conceived views of what it is to be prostituted.

I want to burst out – but I have no road map. All I have is a small window to view who I was – and more important what prostitution made me into.

I want to write without protecting myself from the ugliness of that time.

For through that shit I grow a diamond that made a memory and record of that time – it made able to write beyond fear, write into and through the confusion.

And most of all, I have the power to write with the cold eye that shows as much as I can take – leaving room for real life in my present.

Yes, writing to the truth does make me sick, and on occasions so scared that I remembered why I fall in love with death – but to censor or close out those truths, will slowly destroys everything that makes me a full human.

This blog is now my mission – it not a choice any more, it a part of the drive to true freedom for all prostituted women and girls everywhere.

This blog is beyond being my personal history – for each part of that time, however fragmented, fuels every word of this blog.

This blog is proud to be labelled as abolitionist – I don’t want reform to slow down the freedom for the prostituted, and be used to just shove prostitution indoors and hidden from public view. I cannot live with more rapes, more sexual torturing and more murders of the prostituted, as reformists pretend they can make the sex trade neat and tidy.

This blog is written from knowing what is was to be sexually tortured – that is was not just many rapes, it was not the same as acquaintance rape or domestic violence, it not just a business exchange, it is not entertainment, and it not something that the some women or girls were born to do.

It is torture – mental torture, sexual torture, torture of confinement.

Every torture that is placed into prisoners, every torture done in domestic violence, every torture that every rapists know – was more than likely invented inside the sex trade, was practised first on the bodies and minds of the prostituted – then spread into the outside world.

I like so many long-term prostituted women have known torture inside every cell of my body.

But we were never given the right to say it was wrong – we were made to believe that we choose it, so who were we to complain.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg of how we were silenced.

We were silenced by being made into goods, goods without any individuality, goods who may as well of had our tongues cut out.

To be prostituted is to know what it is to be made sub-human.

I was raped by my stepdad for many years, he treated me as his private sex toy – but it me as an individual he was trying to destroy and drive into mental illness.

I have been raped by men who were “friends”. They hated me, but they saw me as they ripped into me.

I know from depths of that pain and fury – that prostitution is nothing like rape, child abuse or domestic violence.

Of course, all male violence to women and children is connected on the surface level. It all from a deep hatred and fear of women and children by violent men.

But we must allow for separating the different aspects of male violence – and more important we must see that the prostituted have been made a separate class by this male violence, and been made alienated on purpose from “real” women and girls.

The prostituted class is and was no accident – it was invented by men to have a class of mainly females who they can say feel no pain, have no concept of degradation, will do and be whatever sexual fantasy men want them to be, will be called goods in order to throw them away.

When the prostitute is raped, sexually tortured, mentally abused or murdered – it never as an individual, for the point of having a prostituted class is to say all whores are interchangeable.

Now, can you get into the skin of that.

Can you really imagine – without comparing with others forms of male violence or saying it like your experiences just more.

Can you know what it is to live with rape being your role in life, but only also know that any punter that rapes you does not see you, does not care if you are breathing or not – and if you are not being raped, he will rape any other prostitute, for they all the same anyhow.

To be a prostitute is to know you are only parts of a body.

I was a throat that was in all cheap fantasies of re-playing “Deep Throat”.

I was a head to hit whenever it was thought I may be an individual or too slow in obeying their endless commands.

I was an anus made to bleed, used for all male rage and desire to put as much pain as possible.

I was a cunt that got so used to torture it usually left my body, hoping for death.

You are not human – just a slab that punters fuck, and profiteers promote to used and used and used till thrown away.

That is being a prostitute.

That is a small window into the harsh truths.