I want to explore the dead emotions of being prostituted.
By writing into that deadness, I may drag back life.
It is and was a time where hope was nowhere, where tears had no meaning, when love was destroyed – it is and was landscape of killing all human emotions.
Emotions only make you vulnerable, make you think you have a future – emotions are pointless when trapped inside the sex trade.
I know many will compare prostitution to other forms of male violence – there are some similarities, but the differences must never be silenced, not by radical feminists, not by those who call themselves abolitionists, not by Leftists, not by the religious, not by the media.
To silence that the prostituted class are not just part of a continuum of male violence, but are part of it and much much more.
The more is not allowed to be known, it has become and always has been the unacceptable face of male violence.
It is a violence without emotions, a crime without passion, cold women-hating.
Everything about the sex trade and being prostituted is to know there is no hope, and to know so deep that every rape, every torture, every bashing up and every murder of the prostituted is never personal, and should be viewed as a crime.
Prostitution is not violence against an individual woman or girl – for she is made not to exist beyond what she in the eyes of the male orgasm.
To punters and the sex trade, the prostitute is no more real than a blow up doll – both are just there as holes for his fucking.
Punters want the prostituted to be silent, to never question any of his actions, never have her own thoughts or dreams, just be manipulated into whatever porn-dream he has.
She may as well be dead for all he will noticed.
The sex trade wants and needs the prostituted never to be individual – they must be interchangeable, must be whatever role gets the most profit, must know they are goods that will be thrown away.
The prostituted class never have the dignity or pride of knowing what it is to be an individual.
How would you feel if you knew every time you were raped, tortured or beaten up it was never a personal act of violence?
How would you feel knowing if it was not you inside that male violence, it will be any other prostitute, for they are all the same?
How would feel if violence was not done by one to five men – but more than 100, more than 1000, in reality more than you mind is willing to count?
Would you feel, or learn to murder all emotions and all signs of hope.
Would your brain explode with the knowledge that no punter saw you, no punter notice if you were in pain, no punter stop even when he pretended to be the good guy.
Would your brain explode knowing all those punters would go outside into the “real” world, and would invisible for they are just so ordinary, so outwardly non-violent and are just normal.
How would you feel seeing punters in the real world, passing by you on the street, speaking against real violence to real women and girls, standing next to you in a pub?
How would you feel as you see punters rise into positions of power, becoming imbedded as film stars and pop stars, see punters speaking up against the evils of trafficking?
This is normal for the prostituted – we live inside a world of silence about who and what the punters.
If every exited woman was to speak out who the punters are it would rip the fabric of nearly all societies apart.
I can speak to small parts of my silence – hoping beyond hope it may open eyes of those who think they know who punters are. I can only know what I know, but that knowledge is poison in my heart.
I was raped and tortured by men of the Left, men training to be leaders in their countries, men who collected the prostituted, men who fought for human rights, men who were students, men who sold drugs, men who were religious, men who thought the prostitute for his art, and of course by men who just wanted to copy the latest porn into a prostitute.
I was used and never seen.
A fuck toy – nothing more and certainly nothing less.
It hurt and damaged me so much that all I could do was to become empty.
But a few punters burnt into my brain – mainly for their hypocrisy and sadism.
I know one punter would lead the local Amnesty International group – which was ironic for he would torture me for many hours, pay to do it many times.
He enjoy seeing me go dead, enjoy how robotic I became.
He told it was ok coz I never cried, never complained – so it was not torture, just his buying me as goods.
I learn from his lies that as a prostitute, i could never be human enough to be tortured.
I was raped and tortured by rich African students who went on to run and corrupt their countries.
I had their sadism, lack of empathy, giant sense of entitlement and lack of self-awareness poisoning every cell of my body.
Through them I learnt to hate all politicians, all Leftist and right-wing politics, all nationalism – and all corruption of power.
I cannot trust politics, just stand outside with my prostituted heart knowing all used the Whore and throw her away.
I was raped and tortured by punters who collected the prostituted as their hobby.
These men saw their torturing and raping, especially their mind control as some kind of art form.
To these punters, the prostitute was never real – she was just a metaphor for his “deep” emotions, a symbol of what make him a man, a canvas for his passions and fucking to go into.
These punters still give me body memories and nightmares – or they destroy any idea that I had an existence outside the gaze of the punter.
I hope this post make some sense.