Adapting to Hell

I am exhausted by the constant refrain that prostitution is not an issue because many of the prostituted may say they are happy in the world of the sex trade.

I find unsurprising that many women inside prostitution would say – but what saddened is how their word is taken on the surface.

It is almost like the only many want to hear is the voices of the Happy Hooker, or the prostitute who speak to a script that means outsiders do not have to be concern about conditions for the prostituted.

It is very hard for me not to be cynical, as see no analysis of why a prostitute may say she is fine, no interest in her past or if she has any future.

The words of the Happy Hooker is fossilised and kept under glass.

She is kept struck in a time – the time she under the control of a punter, the time when the sex trade can pour poison into her.

The time without hope, the time without contact with reality, the time where all thoughts have to vanish.

And you make the choice to take her at her word.

Do you purposely ignore that there is mental abuse in every aspect of the sex trade?

Do you purposely frame sexual violence inside the sex trade as non-events or play-acting?

Do you purposely decide in a random fashion that if a prostitute is paid – then that must be her full consent to being made into sexual goods?

Tell why you choose to believe beyond evidence, beyond common sense and ignoring the real – that a prostitute must be happy and independent just coz her word.

I worked in Women’s Aid, and expected battered women to say over and over that they loved their abuser, that with work they could stop the violence, that everything would be fine.

I know many women or girls raped by a man they knew well or lived with – heard many times how it was an accident, that it must have been something she did.

I have read accounts of kidnapped victims who adapt so much they think the kidnapper is the only person who can care for them.

I know many survivors of torture adapt by blocking out the bad and clinging hold tight to any good that comes their way.

It is normal to adapt to hell if there appears to no end, no hope, so thoughts that the outside cares if you are alive or dead.

If you can see and understand the battered, woman, the incested child, the soldier in the front-line, or those tortured for their beliefs will adapt by saying they are fine.

You know to question their words, and not see just the surface smile, but looks for embedded suffering.

Why then do you do the same for the prostituted?

I would say it is wilful ignorance that is being a bystander to the daily genocide of the prostituted class.

It is like you are a toddler, who thinks if you shut your eyes tight enough then nothing bad can ever happen.

You refuse to see the ordinary sexual violence that is prostitution – instead you name it sex work, say it must be ok for it chosen, say all the violence is just acting out.

You refuse to see the deaths and disappearances that destroy the concept that like any other job, maybe a wee bit more dangerous.

Refuse to know that it is common that the prostituted are killed or died before they 27. That the known murders of the prostituted is estimated to 12 to 20 times more than women or girls of similar age or background.

How many jobs do you know where murder is just considered to work risk.

I know many jobs where working conditions are life-threatening – but that is not murder, it is either accidental or manslaughter.

I do not know of many or any jobs where rape is the job, where all sexual violence or harassment is just what your role is.

I do not think miners, deep-sea fishermen, workers in fast-food expect on a regular basic to be anally raped, to forced to deep-throat, and to smile when in sexual agony.

All this sexual, mental and sexual abuse of the prostituted is hidden in plain view – and let’s be honest to not see that hell is a choice.

So wake and smell the coffee – learn to see below the image of the Happy Hooker.

Learn to open your heart to compassion, your mind to empathy.

Learn that the prostituted have to adapt to survive – so maybe the word of the Happy Hooker is just voice of the sex trade, leaving an empty shell.

It your job to go below those words, and find the human in every prostitute that is screaming -


There must be more – more than this Hell.

Object AGM

I am very pleased to be invited to speak at the Object AGM. As a survivor of indoors prostitution, I will to my personal views and opinions about attitudes to the prostituted.

I think it is vital that groups like Object are fully behind the Nordic Approach. That is to decriminalised the prostituted, whilst fighting for holistic, long-term exiting projects. This is done alongside making it criminal to buy and sell people as sexual goods.

If we only make the choice to view prostitution from the point of view of the individual prostitute. If all we talk about is the working conditions for the prostituted. Then we are avoiding seeing the simple act that it is male demand that is the root o all the violence done to the prostituted. To refuse to see that is to do nothing to protect the human rights of the prostituted.

For this is a human rights issue. It may be the most important human rights that we have to confront.

It is not an issue of individual choice. It is not an issue of attempting to make the workspace safer. It is not an issue about the empowerment of women.

To fully understand prostitution, we must see we are facing a genocide. An invisible genocide, where the sexual goods are constantly replaced. To fully understand prostitution, you must see the everyday stealing of basic human rights from the prostituted.

This includes no rights over the safety of their bodies. No rights to access to full consent. No rights to freedom of speech. No rights to freedom from torture – including mental, physical and sexual torture. No rights to control their own working conditions.

The Nordic Approach is a good start to giving back the prostituted their full human rights.

If we are to fully tackle the male demand – we must fight to show that no human has the right to buy another human just for his sexual greed. To do this, is to show the prostituted that they can live in a society that can view them as fully human with rights and dignity. To tackle demand, we must tell all men that having sex is not a right, it is a want – tell men it is not even a need. Be clear that no man will or has died from lack of having sex – but millions of the prostituted will and have died to keep the supply of sex for punters.

I want a world with no prostitution. I want a world where there is no form of a sex trade of any kind. I believe that this is possible – but only if we recognise that the road to abolition is hard and slow.

The sex trade profiteers are determined to kill the abolition movement by any means. Know how huge the sex trade is – that it is extremely wealthy, and money creates control and power. Never underestimate how controlling the sex trade is. Always be aware that the sex trade is highly skilled at gas lighting in order to keep their control.

The sex trade is not a natural part of what it is to be human. It was invented by men in order to keep a class of mainly women and children as accessible sexual goods – to be used and thrown away. I believe that anything invented by man can be disinvented and destroyed.

I want to build a world where we can never imagine how we could ever thought that the buying and selling of human for sexual wants was such a good idea.

That would be a world where all the prostituted can walk free and regain their pride.

Pain in My Heart

I am writing listening to 5 CDs of the King of Soul – Otis Redding – and Pain in My Heart digs deep into me.

I have reaching into my heart, trying to see beyond its coldness, desire to be dead. I reach for my heart, and pain is always the cover I have to break down.

I play Otis as his voice breaks into joyful pain, and I learn what life can be.

He reaches beyond my solid wall of ice, and reaches to the many years his voice give me the freedom to cry, scream and kind of sing along with his simple words.

Soul music has given a reason to live – be it Northern Soul, Motown, Atlantic Soul, Stax Records, Gospel or just soul coming down the radio from somewhere I don’t know yet.

My heart is nourish by soul whether sung out of Georgia, Chicago, London, Tokyo, New Orleans, or so many places where music is the voice when all words are lost.

Soul music evolves but keep a solid centre.

Soul music belongs to all who seen, known and survive pain – soul is part of our skin.

Each day soul music reminds pain can be grieve over, each day soul music nourishes hope that pain cannot be forever – and each day soul music give us laughter, desire to dance and sense of freedom even as our oppressors think they have won.

The passion, the simple words, the reaching into all human emotions, the voices of many oppressed makes soul music unconquerable.

I learn in my moments of deepest pain and confusion, that soul music could reach me like no other music could – except Mozart.

Soul music was and is my desire for a future in freedom and justice, soul music was and is my route to know hope can be solid.

Soul music taught me I could still dance even as I thought my body and spirit had been destroyed by punters and the sex trade.

Soul music is the sound of defiance, of staring down those who oppressed us and saying there is deep part of my essence you can never owned or ripped apart.

Soul music was the gift of privacy when I had little or no space to call my own.

I had soul music before and after punters had though they had total control over me.

I scream to Wo-man with Etta, play Do-Right Woman with Aretha, had Dusty make cry with You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me.

It was my medicine, my therapy – it was my door to knowing a world beyond being raped, owned, tortured and being on the edge of death.

There was nothing simple in love of soul music – there is nothing simple in the oppressed discovering freedom.

It was music that connected to other music that had raw edges and give me another American culture to belong.

I grow to love country – especially honky-tonk, bluegrass, Cajun and outlaw country.

I grow to love city Blues.

I grow to love jazz, especially be-bop, swing, jazz/blues singers, New Orleans sound.

I grow to rock ‘n’ roll, especially rockabilly.

I grow to love disco.

Music became my saviour, and music was making my oppression more painful for I became aware that wasnot what I wanted.

I was becoming aware of every rape, aware of all words that made me into dirt, aware that I was nothing.

I begun to sing along with the music played as punters owned me – singing without paying attention, singing to disappear, singing to find a part of me had some defiance.

I placed myself in grave danger by singing or even mouthing the words.

Punters hated that I was human enough to sing, human enough to do two things at once.

I know my singing was my way to say – you don’t own my heart.

You will and can rape close to death; you can and will torture me with words, torture me with ripping at my sexual being, torture me by pretending to kill.

You will and can force me to stay awake, deprived me of food. You can and will smash my body into pieces while you are laughing.

But you – the punter, the sex trade profiteer, the justifier of the continance of the sex trade, the academics who say only Happy Hookers exist, the by-standers who ignore the pain of all the prostituted – you can never take away my music.

And I know you must hate that.

I know that the prostituted were never meant to be human enough to have a space to have the true freedom to love music.

I know that the prostituted were invented to be sub-human sexual goods that have only one purpose – to be living porn-dolls for punters to mastubate into.

We are not meant to hear music, to read books, to even be in shops.

We have no life or purpose beyond being holes and a comforter so punters are never violent to real women and children.

We have no past, no existence outside those punters and the sex trade.

To show even a hint that we are human, is for any prostitute to place herself in deep danger.

Much of the violence done to the prostituted is done when the punter see the prostitute is a person.

I was beaten up for reading, I was raped sadistically when I laugh at the TV, and singing to music was a route to hell.

For the prostituted are meant have no voice, no sense that they could matter, no real intelligence – the prostituted cannot be human.

No, the prostituted are meant to be whatever the sex trade and punters say they are.

A prostitute can be allowed to read or talk clever – as long she knows never to speak as she is raped, and never think her words matter.

The reality of prostitution is that it is assumed that most of the prostituted will be voiceless and nameless.

It is a world where the punters and sex trade profiteers see all the prostituted as interchangeable – as sexual that will be used over and over and over, and then thrown away.

The prostituted are never meant to discover that they are human, and to regain the fight to live, to exit and with great fortune to speak out for abolition.

We are meant to be dead or too damaged to become fully human.

I discover soul music was route to knowing there more to life than the sex trade.





Sickness Eats My Soul

I have very ill for many reasons, and have unable to write.

Now with great force, I will try to get to the centre of what is blocking me, what is sending sickness into my soul.

My soul is being slowly eaten alive.

It is mainly coming at me from two place.

The careless and callous use of language when so-called supporters speak about the sex trade.

And the lack of understanding of the depth and commonness of internal trafficking.

Both these are hurting me beyond pain, making me speechless, making me wanting to scream, making me apathetic as too much triggers me, making me thinking of ripping heads off of the so-called supporters.

My soul is a howling wolf, my soul is a silent stone statue of an unknown warrior, my soul is the wind in the moors, my soul is that pain which has forgotten where is came from and that it can be named.

How can we speak to the reality of prostitution, speak to the centre of being prostituted – if we turn away from language that is clear and stares deep into the darkness that is the sex trade.

Instead we have the language of detachment, the language of not connecting prostitution with human rights – the language without pain, horror or the visceral reality of what is to be prostituted.

A clean safe language that pushes away the multiple voices of those who have survived the sex trade.

A language given to the Left and even some feminists to hide blood, dead bodies and tears away.

If I hear sex worker again, I may buy an AKA, and kill some so-called supporters.

Your safe clean language is the language that colluded with the sex trade profiteers in the endless genocide of the prostituted.

Called our tortures, multiple rapes and deaths sex work – and you are an onlooker who will refuse any sense of guilt or responsibility for genocide of the prostituted class.

Prostitution cannot be made clean and safe – no matter how much you use the language of the Left, the language of labour, the language of freedom of choice.

Your words do nothing to stop the buying and selling of the prostituted, does nothing to stop all punters feeling entitle to own and torture the prostituted, does nothing for the safety of any prostitute alone with any punter or profiteer.

All your words do is make detached, make you turn away, make speak over the prostituted or those who have exited.

Your words make you imagine you understand the world of prostitution – when all you truly understand is the language of sex trade profiteers.

I have very triggered by the news in England about Rotherham, where at least 14,000 mainly girls have been internally trafficked into prostitution.

Internal trafficking is rarely reported – even though it is one of the most common ways that girls and women are drawn into prostitution.

It is only noticed if we can make the traffickers into the Other, only noticed if we can detached ourselves away from those who are being trafficked.

No-one can be detached from internal trafficking.

Traffickers, who are mostly men – come from all ethnic backgrounds, all cultural backgrounds, all ages, all classes.

Those who are trafficked are mostly females – come from all ethnic backgrounds, all cultural backgrounds, all ages, all classes.

Once you think there only a certain type of trafficker, or a certain type of female who is trafficked – then the sex trade profiteers are laughing at you.

The true terror that is internal trafficking is that it very ordinary men trafficking very ordinary girls in your home area.

I was internally trafficked – and it was made invisible.

That is normal – the sex trade is full of girls and women who were internally and no-one cared or even noticed.

The reason it is kept invisible – is because you do not want to lose your access to a wide range in prostitution.

You by ignoring internal trafficking are colluding with the sex trade profiteers.

Internal and external trafficking go hand-in-hand in providing the variety that punters demand in prostitution – providing prostitutes of many ethnicity, prostitutes who are very young, prostitutes who have no access to safety or being able to know consent.

Rotherham is just one example of the norm of the sex trade.

I think I can breathe a bit now – and hopefully sleep more than five hours.

I Can’t Cry

I want to cry so much.

My throat hurts so much coz it so blocked, my eyes are tired of being tired, my heart is in an agony where words disappear to.

I still can’t cry.

I wanted to cry when Lauren Bacall died, for she was my protector when all my world was being thrown to the wolves.

I remember as a 14-year-old wanting to be Lauren Bacall, wanting her presence by my side.

I stood by the bar in a sex club, and try hard to make it into “The Big Sleep”, and make reality disappear.

I imagined the dive I was in was a sophisticated nightclub – where I was wisecracking and keeping men at a distance.

I refuse to see the truth, that I had no voice, no safety, no access to dignity – I refuse to know I was nothing as I imagine I was strong as Lauren Bacall.

I want to cry so much for that lost teenager – but I can’t cry.

I want to cry at the careless use of language that destroyed my soul every day.

I want to cry every time I read, I hear and I come across someone I thought I could trust say “sex worker”.

I want to chop off their head, I want to smash my radio or TV up, I want to stab editors and academics that say those words.

All exited men and women I know, hate the term “sex worker”, and we say over and over and over why we want that language destroyed.

But instead, you listen and copy those who promote that term – do you not question why I and so many exited folks hate to be called sex workers.

It is a term invented and promoted by the sex trade and its allies to make invisible all the common male violence done to the prostituted.

Say prostitution is just work, maybe say it can hard and dangerous work, and it become about the individual prostitute – and never that it is a criminal structure that has the purpose of allowing men access to sadism.

To call it sex work is a terrible lie – said to bring the Left and liberal feminists in line with the sex trade.

I cannot believe how easy it for the Left and liberal feminists allow themselves to be manipulated and guilt-tripped by the sex trade.

I feel like slapping them for so naive/stupid, but i understand it is easier to think it just work and somehow can be made safe – then to know the brutal truth, that male violence is the life-blood of all aspects of prostitution.

Prostitution can never be made safe – for every time a punter makes the choice to buy another human, he is making the choice to own the prostitute body and soul.

That is not work, that is not sex – that is slavery.

Once you have been brought or sold – you know you have no rights to safety, no access to language that others will hear, no access to know consent.

Once you have been brought or sold – you learn to not know rape for it happens too regular for the human mind to comprehend.

Once you have been brought or sold – you teach your body to block out pain from endless tortures of mind, body and soul. You learn as quick as possible how to be alive, but empty of hope, emotions and sense of purpose.

You learn to be a husk.

I want to cry for that empty soul – cry for the endless hate, anger and pain that all the prostituted have forced into them.

I want to cry so, but only my choking and sickness comes.

I want to cry when I hear feminists say it about all women – as yet another of placing the prostituted as an afterthought, hopefully push far enough away to be made invisible.

Yes all women can be on the receiving end of male violence – but it about scale and what it means to belong to the prostituted class.

All women and girls could be raped in their lifetime – but it would considered terrible if a non-prostituted woman is raped in more than 5 separate occasions.

Most of the prostituted are raped in their hundreds, thousands, and in industrialised brothels numbers beyond human comprehension.

Rape is so normal to the prostituted, it become nothing, a non-event.

The prostituted are raped beyond knowing and naming it as rape.

We need another language for that scale of rape, another way of seeing and knowing that reality.

We need the language of extreme torture, the language of numbness and alienation, a language of human rights, a language that reaches into the centuries of silence that built the prostituted class.

I gleaned some language from reading classic horror such as MR James and Edgar Allen Poe.

I gleaned language from reading letters and memoirs from soldiers on the Western Front, in the American Civil War.

I gleaned language from diaries of slaves, from words of twentieth century genocides and civil wars.

Language need to look directly into the void that is prostitution – not turn away to other aspects of male violence, just to abandon yet again the prostituted class.

The men that rape, torture and murder the prostituted on a mass scale – are given permission by making their violence unspeakable – or just unhearable.

We must struggle to find a language that fits that scale – we must face without fear the terror, the agony and the depths of grief that give some meaning to what it is to be prostituted.

And not silenced those who speak out by saying it about all women.

Learn to hear the differences, learn to be quiet and wait for spaces to open for you to talk.

I wish I could cry – i wish so much.

You Are No Man

This is post is addressed to all the men who make the choice to pay for sex, and imagined themselves to be good men – to even think they deserved the right to seen as men.

I speak from the position of being made sub-human, just because men like you made the choice to buy me for your living porn fantasy.

I am sick and tired off hearing punters/rapists – serial rapists mostly – saying they are not cruel, saying they respect the prostituted, saying they would never be those bad punters on the news or in TV police series.

My body knows each and every time a man makes the choice to buy a prostitute – he, for it well over 95%  men who make the choice to be violent to all the prostituted, be they women, girls, men or boys – he will be violent thinking too often he has done nothing of any importance.

No, you are not a man, not fully human if you make the choice to buy any type of prostitute.

I know and hear all around your excuses, your constant whining, your endless pleas that you are the real victim.

Yes I hear your noise, and know with every cell of my body that remembers that you are a liar.

You, the good punter, are a criminal.

You are a rapist – most of you have raped many prostitutes, and walk away as if nothing had happened.

You all have manipulated and mentally abused the prostituted.

You have feed her/him the lie that all the prostitute is worth is to be body parts to service your sexual greed.

You will constantly pushed the prostitute beyond their sexual, physical and mental levels, and then claim it was their choice or the prostitute has somehow manipulated the punter.

Always you are skilled at making the prostitute blame themselves for their own degradation and pain – always you use your charm and entitlement to say any harm done was some kind of accident.

Only all the good punters create these accidents over and over and over – until all that is left of the prostitute is an empty shell.

No, you are no man, certainly not a good man – for you move on to another prostitute and pour your lies and manipulation into him/her.

But, now some so-called good punters are writing about how persecuted they are, how it so unfair to have or even to think of laws that state clearly they are criminals.

They throw themselves down in a tantrum, smashing their fists on the floors, with fake tears -

“But we are the nice men, we are treat our whores with respect – it’s so unfair!!”

These punters print their whining on the net or the media, they shout it on radio phone-ins – and they even write to those who exited prostitution to express how much they are good men.

They do complain too much.

Well, lets at how good you really are.

First, the classic excuse will come charging in – men have to have sex by any and all means – so for men buying sex is a need and a human right.

So, I am to gather that if you the good punter don’t get sex on demand at all times and all places – that you penis will go green and drop off.

Sex is not a human right – yes equal and consensual sex can be wonderful – but it is a want not need.

A need is water, food and shelter. A need is vital to staying alive and having dignity.

Sex is great, but most of the time it is a form of leisure.

Sorry, Mr Good Punter, you will not die from lack of sex – by the way, have you not heard of masturbation?

But to use the feeble excuse of lack of sex to buy another human to be your sexual slave is unforgivable.

So good punter, you have brought the prostitute and now you own her for as long as your money will last.

Do you know or care that she/he is a full human.

Do you know anything of how the prostitute became prostituted?

Do you see bruises, cuts, track marks or dead eyes – do ignore that, do you pretend it is ok coz you never made those wounds – and do you just get your money worth and feel slight guilt after?

Do you see pimps, bodyguard, locks, more punters wanting for their fuck – and think not my problem?

Do feel a slither of sadness that your prostitute cannot speak the home language – but screw them anyhow?

And you still say you are the good punter – heck you don’t even know what being human is.

You should be in jail – you sadist, you serial rapist, you torturer – not going round justifying your hate and violence.

Just know the most hated punter of all – are the ones who think it was just harmless fun.

Let My Mind Flow

I have put on 60’s girls groups and as the Dixie Cups sing innocent and light songs, I will try to reach into the parts of my mind that has been giving me insomnia.

I find I can face the dark if I play cheerful music.

It may not make sense – it may be that it my way of detaching myself from my own words.

All I know is I write to the parts of me that were crushed or made sub-human, I write and maybe some of the music reaches those parts.

I will try to mend some of that past, I will try to give it a voice, I will try to hold the wounded warrior that cries inside me.

I cannot get images of my broken past, only if I let my mind flow I can feel enough to come to terms with it.

I can learn deep forgiveness for that I could stop what happened to me.

I can feel grief, even if I cannot cry or show sorrow.

I am learning not to deadened myself by vanishing into my TV, not to deadened myself by making sick jokes and acting as if nothing can or would hurt me.

I am learning it is ok to be vulnerable, ok to trust others, ok to say in a clear voice yes it is still hurting – and that hurt is going around for a long time.

By saying that I am finally my true strength and courage – not the fake bravery that claims nothing can ever hurt, the fake power of saying I coped with being inside prostitution.

Let me make it clear – no human can truly cope with being prostituted with deep trauma, without needing to deaden yourself to just stay alive.

There is no such thing as an undamaged prostitute – but all the damage is placed into the prostitute, it is never the fault or some weakness of any prostitute.

It is easier to blame the prostitute – then see the cold hate that create the sex industry that feeds on male violence to the whole prostituted class – be that female, male or children.

All I know is one to survive prostitution is not know the reality of the world you are in.

It is world that is organised, but pretends to be chaotic and run by individuals.

It is a world where the prostituted are pass around, and place into many aspects of the sex trade.

I was as an example was move to several cities, I was placed in flats, in hotels, in clubs, pick up on the street, pick up in pubs.

All this done to confused and mentally abused the prostitute – often making her feel is disgusting for she “chooses” to go to multiple places.

There is always control over the prostituted – the best control is made invisible to the prostitute, so her self-hate and sense of shame will keep her trapped.

It is natural in the situation where you have no control, no access to an exit – it is natural to turn the world of the sex trade upside-down.

It is normal when embedded in prostitution to say that it is empowering, that it was freely chosen, that of the prostitution is fun.

To survive prostitution with some degree of sanity, it is normal to close down the reality of violence, close down the fear that is so deep that most prostitute cannot feel it.

That fear, pain and confusion is always there, only to survive the prostituted learn to firmly not know it part of their reality.

The voices of the “Happy Hookers” are voices of deep damage.

They are voices that cannot think back to how and why they enter the sex trade.

They cannot see or know when they could still be terrified, when they could wordlessly know they were being raped and/or tortured.

They are the voices that cannot see the hurts and pushes that place into the role of the prostitute – for they have to believe it was just their choice to somehow make sense of the insanity they are existing in.

We should not be angry at these voices – we should have deep compassion for their pain, grief, fear and confusion.

We should not hate the Happy Hooker for she/he is being manipulated by the sex trade profiteers and their cynical allies.

Of course, the sex trade has the intelligence to push the voices of these damaged mainly women forward, and for punters and sex trade profiteers to feed them what to say as they hide.

I have written enough for now.