No Fantasy

I have been told I am fantasist by sex work promoters.

Hell, I wish I knew nothing about the inside of indoors prostitution. I wish I went on my merry way never thinking about the conditions that the prostituted live.

It would never be my fantasy to be prostituted.

Of course, I had many fantasies.

I wanted to be Lauren Bacall, I wanted to be a highwaywoman, I wanted to live in St Lucia, I wanted to be an famous author.

I had many fantasies.

I wanted to live without any violence, I wanted to loved in a honest way, I wanted life to slow down enough to be secure, I wanted to remember what it was to be human.

But it was never part of my imagination to be prostituted.

All I knew was the cartoon images that we are told is real prostitution.

The image of drugged-out, homeless and living without love street prostitute.

The Happy Hooker with her heart of gold, who enjoys sex and making punters happy.

The escort who is rich, who controls the punters and would never allow them to be violent.

The trafficked prostituted woman who has no rights – is raped beyond rape, is battered, and vanishes when she is too old, that is over 23.

All these images had nothing to do with who I thought I was.

I knew of prostitution, but it meant very little to me till I lost my will to live.

Then I hang out in King’s Cross and Soho – I was so young and could only know what a child perceives.

I was round 9 to 11 when I enter Soho and King’s Cross, I went looking for a place where I could hate myself, and I found it.

I found a place of emptiness, dead eyes, humans in desperation being brought and sold.

I found my Ice Kingdom that many lost children are attracted to.

I found I could fit as I learnt to murder emotions, grow a heart of ice, and to believe I was worth nothing.

I was growing towards prostitution, so I keep believing I was in some kind of control.

It was the control of wanting suicide but not knowing how to die.

It was the control of having some place where I could stop feeling.

It was the control that now is called choice – the choice of a zombie.

So, to survive I decided that I choose to enter prostitution when I was 14.

Tell me, what is meant by choice?

Tell me how I at 14 could of chosen knowing all the information?

Could I know that no matter what type of prostitution I did, violence would be a shadow that would never leave.

Could I know that punters always hold the power over my body and mind, and can rape/torture/murder me as a whim.

Could I know how hard it was to exit prostitution.

Could I know that I would have extreme PTSD as a legacy of many years of prostitution.

Well, I thought I was clued up but I knew nothing.

What became my reality was never part of any fantasy that I had.

It was hell – plain and simple.

I speak to that truth – not some fantasy.

2 responses to “No Fantasy

  1. Wow Rebecca , I share so much of that , especially the suicidal feelings at times , which I honestly did not expect to have lingered on nearly 10 years out as well – I have found humour as my tough defence against those who insult me , but I was never and have never met a happy hooker , unless she was on drugs ( fake happy ) ….. As if any of us choose to enter and get stuck in a sea of depressing men for years and years . I still have panick attacks , find long time work nearly impossible and horrible PTSD – for me the Internet and any of its forums I am thankful for – I can at least create some sort of connection with those ” normal people ” who i left behind ( of did they leave me ?) …. I too have a councillor , but the depression never leaves , I am always on edge and I remain timid and mostly alone in real life ! It has never been possible for me to get a real job without ppl finding out what I use to do – the stigma continues for life( also I think I’ve just accepted for now that I will always relapse into drugs just to turn off my brain and get some sleep . I’m just glad I was never filmed , that I could remain somewhat annonymous in that filthy rotten job ! Thanks for sharing , you seem so brave – keep writing , I for one love your honesty


  2. Linda, reading your comment was like reading my own. I am, too suffering from depression and PTSD. I see my counsellor once a week as I can’t get rid of like you mentioned suicidal thoughts. People still point at me in the streets though it has been over 6 years since exiting. I was in sex industry for 7-8 months. I mostly did so called tantric massage and only occasionally sex when I did not make enough money. However I find that longer I stay in this county stigma gets worse, which means more and more people know about me, more people have reason to belittle or humiliate me if they see me walking in town. It is a nightmare. I have no prospect of finding a job here. Wherever I go, people follow me, expose me and laugh at me. The fact that I am married now, have a child and doing my Masters don’t matter to them. They want to believe that I am still a prostitute and will always be. It is a horrible thing to acknowledge.


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