Memories are Made of Blood

I can remember being prostituted in red.

I don’t remember in pictures, I feel the reality of that time from my stomach and the aching of my vagina and anus.

I remember as I freeze before eventually getting into sleep

I remember as the words of the sex work lobby poison my brain.

I remember when I recognise the cold stare of those still trapped in the sex trade.

All memories of that time courses through my blood.

I was never born to be prostituted, it was never a dream of mine – but those years change me and made me into a fighter.

Prostitution changes all the prostituted mainly by stealing their humanity and making into goods.

There is no good that can found in the regime that is prostitution – you cannot find a silver lining that helps you to turn away from our oppression.

I know there is a desperate search for the good side to prostitution, a search to find the unicorns of the good punter, the kindly sex trade profiteers and the happy hooker.

In this fantasy, indoors prostitution is made safe – well safe enough to be ignored.

In this fantasy, all the prostituted enter as adults not from poverty, had never been abused in childhood, are not addicted to drugs or alcohol, are white and middle-class.

In this fantasy, punters are gentlemen who would report any trafficked women or under-aged prostitutes.

In this fantasy, sex trade profiteers respect the prostituted, as they give them decent wages, proper access to health care and routes to exiting if it is asked for.

This fantasy is killing the prostituted every moment of every day, for it is used to keep hidden the hate and male violence that is our reality.

The more you choose to believe the lies of the sex trade lobby – the more rapes, the more torturing and the more murders of the prostituted becomes the norm.

Your need to want a fantasy is an enabler to the genocide of the prostituted.

You are creating our bloodbath by your apathy and ignorance.

Sorry, if that offends you, I am remembering in blood as you can keep a safe detachment.

I have been in rooms where memory had to cut away in order to survive.

I have been in rooms with punters who had paid to make my body know pain beyond thought, pain that enters and pollutes my body without end, pain where words lose meaning.

I have been alone in rooms with punters who with one look control my will and turn into their sex doll.

I have known torture in all forms, I have been raped beyond counting, I have known of prostituted women and girls who disappeared – I known death was expected, that my survival was just a toss of a coin.

That is the reality of being prostituted – don’t fall for the fantasy.



2 responses to “Memories are Made of Blood

  1. thank you – profiteers use these enduring falsehoods to make it difficult to end it. sickening when the police, social workers and others fall for the “sex work” story and fail to see the human rights violated and the destruction of vulnerable people.


  2. you are such an incredible human being, Rebecca.

    Please keep sharing your story, your lived experiences– they matter, and they will help save others one day. Your words will help other victims and survivors find their voices. Your words will validate other victims and survivors. Your words will help other victims and survivors find a community of support. Your words are defiance to all those who have abused you, and other victims and survivors. Your words will help spark a revolution for victims and survivors of the rape trade.

    you are incredible, you are brave, and you are unstoppable.


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