Written To Those Who Are Gone

I write this blog, always aware that it was pure chance that I am here.

The sex trade works on the assumption that most of its sexual goods will be made to disappear.

Disappear into such deep trauma, that their voices are silenced.

Disappear in to being voiceless and without a past, as so many of survivors of prostitution cannot know what they had to endured.

Disappear into death – whether suicide, too ill to live, or murder – and having their deaths made into nothing.

I write for the voiceless prostituted, I write to state over and over that every single prostituted person matters – none can be made nothing.

I write to the void the sex trade wants to make.

That is why I write in blood, that is why I write in tears, that is why I cannot stop my writing.

I know it was luck that I was not forgotten, pure luck that I lived.

My words are gravestones to all who did not have that luck.

I do not just write for the dead I knew of, or those dead from my culture or my time.

I write to the ghosts of the prostituted of all countries, all cultures going over at least 3000 years.

For the sex trade has allowed men to murder the prostituted for several centuries in almost every country in the world.

The sex trade has been careless of the living conditions, spread of sexual diseases, the mental welfare of the prostituted – in all those countries over several centuries.

For there is no place or time, when prostitution becomes the norm, where the prostituted are not made sub-human and to been thrown away.

So it is normal for the prostituted to not survive beyond the age of 27, it is normal that society makes the choice to ignore the bodies of the prostituted piling up.

Today, we only notice the deaths of the prostituted if it caused by a serial killer or connected to men who are well-known.

It is ignored how of the prostituted are pushed into suicide – whether through the constant sexual/physical/mental violence done to them, or though being made isolated from support or ways to exit.

It is ignored when the prostituted die from diseases that punters force into them.

It is ignored as most murders of the prostituted as done by individual punters or sex trade profiteers one at time.

It not just serial murderers who kill the prostituted, it not just mentally sick punters that murder the prostituted.

No, the vast majority of men who make the choice to murder the prostituted are very ordinary men.

They are young/middle-aged/old men, they are rich/poor men, they are men from all cultures/countries.

The only thing these murderers have in common is their sense of entitlement, and that they see the prostituted as disposable goods.

The killing of the prostituted takes many forms – being thrown out of a car or from a window, being given a drug overdose, from sadist sexual practices, drowning, strangling, beaten to death, shot, and on and on and on.

Punters and sex trade profiteers will never run out of ways of murdering the prostituted – for society turns a blind eye, giving them full permission.

I was nearly killed many times, and know it was nothing.

I was raped so violently that I stopped breathing for a few moments.

I was often choked, or had my head forced into water.

I was nearly by gang-rapes.

I tried several times to kill myself.

I tried walking into the sea.

I wanted to throw myself under a train.

I took several overdoses.

I drunk to die.

I do not know how I stayed alive – only that I did.

I had no reason to live – the sex trade destroy any hope or idea that I had a future.

So, when I write to the prostituted who did not survive – I do it with empathy and a sense of survivor guilt.

They were as strong as I was, they were determined to live whilst trying to die as I was, they deserve a future as much as I did.

So read this blog, and never forget the voiceless who I write for.

Keep the Faith

I am feeling lost, and keep waiting to cry.

I am an atheist, but it feels like my spirit crying.

I wake to my tears, I move through day-to-day in my tears.

Tears long hidden – tears that land into my stomach and still there frozen.

Tears of finding myself.

Tears of not understanding the route home.

Tears that know too much pain, too many ways to torture a prostitute, tears of a body remembering what no-one should know.

These tears make me believe myself.

These tears are giving me back a faith.

I am confused – not understanding how to be truly human.

I am confused by the simple ways to stay alive without constant reminders of a hell I have left.

I am confused by how it has been decided little real harm is done to the prostituted – when rape is a crime, torture is a crime, lack of freedom is a crime, murder is a crime – but nothing when done to the prostituted.

I am confused by the acceptance of the term “sex worker”, making male violence ok – when the same people who say sex work, will fight to end rape and domestic violence.

I am confused to come away from the sex trade, only to find I will be treated as a sub-human.

This confusion is the backbone of my fight for real change.

That confusion fuels my faith.

I am hurting from a past never forgotten, a present of fighting to stay standing up, and a future that may be unreachable but so worth having.

I am hurting from having penises, objects, hands and mouths polluting all my body. Leaving no hole unfilled, no cell not invaded.

I am hurting from a past no-one should know – a past made of gang-rapes, a past made of being alone with men who see nothing but an object to destroy, a past of wanting to die but fighting to stay alive.

I am hurting even now as my body sick up knowledge it can not hold, but must know to regain some kind of humanity.

I am hurting at the exhaustion of carrying extreme trauma – carrying so much poison those bastards put into me.

I am hurting as I dream into a future with no sex trade, a future where prostitution has become forgotten, only remember in order to never make that mistake again. I hurt knowing that is always beyond my reach.

My hurt is vital to my knowledge of my truths.

My truths feed my faith.

My faith is strengthen not weaken by the truths inside my hurting.

This prose-poem is prayer to whatever is my spirit is.

The prayer of an atheist is an odd concept, but I am praying to push my spirit into never giving up when pain, grief and confusion is saying – Stop.

My prayer is entering where words have little or no meaning.

My prayer is sending slow and calm healing to all the pain and terror that punters put into me.

My prayer rises from the deep grief sunken into my stomach, my prayer eases the constant pain inside my throat, my prayer reminds my heart is can be mended.

My prayer reaches to my teenage soul, my broken twenties – my prayer hold those times without judgement, without frustration – only with love that refuses to let go.

My atheist prayer is a gift and a prize for somehow staying alive.

So as in my love of Northern Soul –

I will Keep the Faith.

Don’t Lose the Way

I am a feminist.

I was made a feminist by experience, by seeing and understanding connections, and by knowing inside male torture and hate that feminism was the only thing that made sense.

I am scared that too much of feminism is losing it way in regards to the rights of the prostituted.

Sadly, for most of history, women have been taught to ignore the prostituted.

Women are taught that prostituted cannot be feminists for their role is to pleased men.

Women are taught not to see or acknowledge the pain, terror and grief that they would find if they look with clear eyes at the prostituted.

There have been brief period in modern history where the prostituted class are allowed to be human enough to be seen by feminists.

But now, apart from radical and abolitionist feminists, too much of feminism has fallen back to listening to the sex trade lobby, and removing all humanity from the prostituted.

This is done in many ways, but always fall back into pleasing males and throwing away the prostituted class.

This is the rise of liberal feminism, rise of queer politics, and the rise of prostitution is an empowering choice “feminism”.

It is mostly the feminism of the privileged who like to imagine that prostitution is fun, safe, empowering and way to be rich without working too hard.

They stay in the imagination, for they do not actually work in a brothel, do not be in a flat/hotel room with a punter alone, do not stand on a street – but they ignore those who speak truth to that life.

It is feminism that put itself in a cosy bubble – refusing to hear the voices of exited women, refusing to know the conditions for the prostituted, refusing to acknowledge the fundamental problem is male violence and entitlement.

That is not feminism in any way – no feminist movement should promote the rights of punters and sex trade profiteers.

But then it is a feminism that places the voices of the sex trade lobby above the abolitionist movement or exited women.

This is shown by the inclusion of the trans lobby in too much of this so-called feminism.

This lobby is tiny and often highly anti-women, and deeply offensive to feminists, often using violent threats.

But, what is ignored is how the trans lobby is in bed with the sex trade lobby.

Both want to keep the prostituted as consumable goods, both promote pornography especially sadist porn.

This is the voice of male entitlement, whether it women or trans who are speaking it.

I am proud to be alongside radical feminists and abolitionists – but I am so scared that too much feminism is abandoning the prostituted class to please men.

Catching Up With Myself

This post is very personal, and I hope that personal bleeds into the political.

I want to what made who I had to be, what made me who I fight to return to.

I am sure I was born as a blank canvass, sure my personality and reason to know that I am human grow with experience – good or bad.

I was not born to be brought and sold, I was not born so men could make into a sexual doll.

I was not born to know and understand what torture is.

I was not born to want to die for too many years of my life.

I was born, like all babies – with wonder, with simple needs and rights, with the search for love.

I was born to reach what was my purpose – not to have my way blocked by male violence and hate.

But even as a baby, I was being taught not to hope, not to expect love.

Even as a baby, I was being taught to be lonely, taught to accept pain, taught to be silent when crying out for human touch.

I learnt too early not to cry.

Crying got me nowhere – only to the door being shut and all lights being turn off.

I still have a terror of fully shut doors at night, and I never sleep in complete darkness.

As a baby, I found crying was empty. I shut down my wants and needs, hoping my silence would get me love.

But like most people I remember little of my early years – only a sense of not belonging, a sense that I was in the way, a growing sense I would better off dead.

That sense of no worth, of not belonging is one of the backbone to how and why I became prostituted.

I could have an understanding of my own worth, when I knew I was unlovable.

Much of my years in the sex trade, was surrounded with that self-hate whilst desperate for some human love.

I want to look into the eyes of the prostituted, and see beyond the toughness, beyond the need to be dead, beyond the I don’t give a shit look – and look deep for the hurt, the vulnerability, the terror and that deep need to be loved.

Look deep into the eyes of the prostituted and you will find all the prostituted have to carry years of damage before entering the sex trade.

See those eyes with an open heart – then you know prostitution is never a choice.

No baby is born as a whore – only other humans force too many into that role.

I look back at my 14-year-old Self, seeing her entrance into the world of prostitution – and I now know she was typical of so many broken girls who make foundations of the sex trade.

I, like so many others, was sexually abused from a young age.

Incest or childhood exploitation is the supply for so many prostitutes.

My sexual abuse taught me to accept pain, to associate pain with sex.

My sexual abuse taught me to please men who could or would kill me, torture me.

Incest taught me to smile as I was screaming inside, to have orgasms when I thought my body was dead, to go to sleep next to a man I wanted to murder.

I was learning the skills of the prostitute.

The skill to never show or let terror in.

The skill to smile when pain is controlling your brain.

The skill to be friendly with men who will torture, rape and maybe kill you.

The skill to fake orgasms, or to have real one when all you want is to be anywhere but where you are.

And the skill to never allow punters to know who and what you are.

All these skills come with a terrible price – the price of compounding self-hate, the price of accepting that you have no human rights, the price of being made into a rape doll.

To live in that world, to live enough to be still breathing – it is vital to be the living dead.

To be prostituted is being raped and raped and raped – until the rapes are your norm.

To be rape so often, that simple penetration become nothing and almost a relief from all the normal horrors that punters do to the prostituted.

I never know what was violent, what was rape – what was unacceptable – until I enter trauma after exiting.

I had learnt to accept the unacceptable, learnt to not know it was torture and slowly killing me – in order to keep breathing enough to be called being alive.

Again, look deeply into the eyes of the prostituted – and see how they live with unacceptable as their norm.

Be in the skin of the prostituted.

Be there as their friends or colleagues go missing – maybe murder, maybe sent to a more sadist aspect of the sex trade. See how they go dead with each missing prostitute, and to act as if it is nothing.

Be there, when alone in a hotel room or flat with a punter. Alone with a man who has brought the entitlement to torture, rape – or act the good guy – his choice.

Be there, in that room knowing as a prostitute you have no right to safety, no protection from his violence.

Be there, as the punter you into a consumable object – into his fuck toy.

Be there, as punters can buy a prostitute off the street and make her throwaway.

Just be inside the skin of any prostitute and see the despair, feel their pain and know it can never be call empowering or a choice.

I am rambling, for the pain is unsettling me.

That is a tiny part of my exploring who and what I am

I just know no-one deserve the hell of prostitution.

No baby was born for that.

A Dream

I wish to write to the world that all the prostituted should have.

This is my personal dream – but I want others to push aside fear and apathy and make some of this dream true.

I will not write in any order – only follow the course of my dream – like following a stream to the sea.

I am writing to voice thoughts and hopes that I am often afraid to speak to – fear of wanting too much, when in reality I want so little.

I dream of the day that no man can even imagine buying another human for his orgasm/sexual wants.

I dream of the day when the concept of buying other humans as sexual goods is seen as history, and a part of history we must never return to.

I dream that all humans can have sex without making each other into objects or sub-human.

But before that dream – I have the dreams of some steps on the way to discarding prostitution.

I dream that prostitution is view as torture and volition of the prostituted’s human rights.

I dream that all talk of prostitution being class as work or freely chosen is thrown away.

I dream that trafficking is not separated from prostitution.

I dream that under-aged prostitution is connected to the lives of the all the prostituted.

I dream that male violence is seen as the major course of terror and creating the prostituted into sub-humans.

I dream that male violence is seen in all aspects of prostitution – whether the street, a brothel, escorting etc. That it is known the punter make a choice to be violent, whatever type of prostitute he has brought.

I dream that it is seen with clear eyes that all prostitution is built on selling hate and male violence.

I dream that it become clear that prostitution is never about the welfare of the prostituted, and always about huge profits and providing living humans for men to fuck over.

My dreaming is so hard – for it hurts that so many of the prostituted are suffering for justice and dignity so far away.

I dream that we have a domino effect as more and more countries attack the demand, and follow the Nordic Approach.

I dream that multiple experiences, voices and backgrounds of exited women is the backbone and in the leadership of the abolitionist movement.

I dream that we place the multiple voice of Asian prostituted, Indigenous prostituted, poor prostituted, African prostituted, Eastern European prostituted, South American prostituted, and the prostituted from backgrounds of abuse and/or neglect have their voices in the forefront.

I dream we see into the eyes and dead voices of the “sex worker” – and see a prostitute who is the puppet of the sex trade.

That is my dreaming.


I have changed my email and Twitter – just to ease my mental state a wee bit. If need info., just write.

Choices, Choices

Written in memory of Denise Marshall, RIP.

A slogan of the pro-sex trade lobby is that – prostitution can be chosen freely.

That is a lie – and could only be said by those who gain from the status quo of prostitution.

All choices made by the prostituted are the trapped bird who if made free faces an electric fence.

All choices made during being prostituted are made with punters, sex trade profiteers and their allies pulling their strings.

The concept of having full chosen for the prostituted is a dream trodden into mud.

Every time, I heard or read of the so-called contented and empowered prostitute, I want to dig deeper.

Like, the original Happy Hooker who as a child was in a concentration camp, and witnessed the horrors including women force into prostitution in the false hope of survival.

Or the romantic view of temple whore – which ignore that they were slaves, or taken during wars. Ignoring that thousands of men consumed those temple whores, made them nothing more than sexual goods.

This turns to the fantasy of the empowered courtesan. Refusing to see it was always men with the power to make the courtesan rise from poverty and the crime of being born a woman – refusing to see men only allow the image of the empowered courtesan if she was fuckable. Once her fuckability is gone or the men have a new sex toy, the courtesan is tossed backed in poverty, often ill, and back to nothing.

I see the prostituted who shout how they choose their lifestyle, and I want to cry.

I know too many so-called empowered prostituted women are not the prostituted – no, they are women who profiteer or gain from the status quo of prostitution.

They could women profiteering from escorting, women who own or profiteer from brothels.

They may be academics who earn more or get more status from saying how wonderful prostitution can and should be.

They may be politicians and their advisers who want to keep the violence and hate of prostitution hidden, so they can deal with more important issues that gain votes. After all, most of the prostituted will not vote.

They may be liberal feminists who play with idea of prostitution – imaging what fun to have sex and get paid for, imaging playing the whore with friends never allowing strange men into their bodies.

Those are some of the women who promote and scream about how prostitution is a chosen lifestyle.

These are the women who refuse to see the prostituted – only see the prostituted through the eyes of a jailer, through the pages of a book.

No, when I cry, I am not crying for those women.

I am crying for the prostituted who speak the language of their oppressor as the rope is tightening round their neck.

I cry as I hear or see women inside prostitution speaking of empowerment and having full choices – as all I see and hear is the puppeteer controlling how the prostituted speaks.

I see the dead eyes as the prostituted speaks to her happiness.

I hear the dead tone in her voice as she describes all the ways she is in control, how she chooses what happens to her, how she can leave at any time but why would she.

All the I hear the words of those who profiteer from keeping the prostituted trapped.

All the time, I see that the prostituted will be raped, will be beaten up and learn not to speak to that. Speak only the words that say any violence was just a risk of their chosen job.

All I see is the hidden punter who has the real choices.

I see the punter making a conscious choice to buy another human for his sexual wants.

I see the punter knowing he can choose to make another human into his porn-toy. That is, he can make the conscious choice to torture, rape and even kill the prostituted without any serious consequences.

I hear the punter making the choice to say the prostituted have the control, and he has no free will when his penis demands sex.

I am sickened by the twisted logic of the punter – for that logic is controlling how we speak to prostitution in the public arena.

The language of debate around prostitution is always making the punter and his choices invisible.

We cannot stop the violence done to all the prostituted until we see and hear how the punter has full control over their life and death.

We must stop blaming the prostituted for the violence that punters make the choice to do to them.

That violence does not occur coz the prostituted do read the body language of the punter clearly, it does not occur coz the prostituted are not skill at their job.

No all violence done by the punters is fully chosen, often pre-planned – and it is easy if we build a society that refuses to see that male violence.

Until we firmly place that male demand as the centre of what is wrong with prostitution – there can never be a safe place to be prostituted.

We must close down that demand – and by doing we begin the road to freedom, empowerment and access to choice for the prostituted.

We begin to build a reality where we see and deeply believe that the sex trade can and will be abolished.

A world where no human is made into sexual goods, where no-one is brought and sold for the male orgasm.

A world where women can fight poverty by having access to jobs where they have safety and respect – and equal pay and access to promotion.

A world where the context of buying and selling of humans as sexual goods, is just in history books as yet another terrible idea that man invented.

That is my dream – help make it true, by saying loud and clear –

The only real choices in prostitution are those of the male punters, those of the sex trade profiteers – never of those who are embedded inside prostitution.

Shout that out – drown out the voices of the sex trade lobby.

Staying Alive

OK I am listening to Spotify, and Staying Alive came on, and the block in my brain slowly shook awake.

I am alive – do not know why or even how.

And now after many lifetimes of wanting to die – I am want to stay alive.

I am useless at taking care of myself, but the more I understand I want to stay alive, the more I find I can live inside my own body.

But if you want to speak to the harms of prostitution, then see how many exited women cannot live within their own skins.

Think of the realities that my body – just an example of too many prostituted women – went through, and tell me you would be detached and/or hate that body.

I hear the shock and tears for women raped once.

Rape is seen as a form of torture, as the worse thing a woman can go through.

But this appears to be true only if the woman is raped rarely, or has nothing to do with the sex trade.

Prostituted women who are raped by hundreds and thousands of men – are ignored, pushed away and made invisible.

Our rapes become the hazard of our job, a fault in our lifestyle, or just because we did not negotiate with the punter what we would accept.

We are raped till our bodies have no space left that could be private, we are raped into a state of blankness.

Imagine what it to be raped by so many punters that you cannot know how, so many that their faces all become one.

Imagine what you would feel about your body then?

It is common after just one rape, to not want sex, to blame your body for orgasms that may have occurred, to grieve how your body has been changed.

This is in all prostituted women after rape – but they have no time or space to feel, no support to speak to that feeling.

No, most prostituted women are just place into rape after rape after rape – until she cannot have any feelings left.

Then the rapes of the prostituted are made unimportant – for the prostituted woman is cold, detached, acting hard and appears to happy or not to care.

To the outside, she has become the Happy Hooker or the sex worker and no real harm has been done.

But all the rapes are stored in the bodies of the prostituted.

If the prostituted woman is lucky enough to escape, to live, to keep her sanity – then it will become extreme long-term trauma.

This trauma is made invisible or dismissed, but the multiple voices of exited women are fighting to show their trauma and say –

Here’s the harm – our bodies are the witnesses and evidence of that harm, our bodies contain truths that will destroy the sex trade if you truly listened.

We know that the harms of prostitution are not from stigma, not from the place it is happening in – we know that the source of all the harms done to prostituted is the male entitlement to buy and sell the prostituted.

It is with this entitlement that punters make the wrong choice to make it OK to buy another human for his sexual wants.

There is no human right to buy another human for male orgasms, no human right to invent a whole class of mainly females to made into sub-human sexual goods.

But punters believe it is their right.

It is with this entitlement that a punter makes a conscious and pre-planned choice to use violence on the prostitute. In doing this, he proclaiming that the prostitute is no longer to be considered as human, but consumable goods.

The framing of the prostituted as sub-human goods is how sex trade profiteers want it – how it becomes that the prostituted do not get raped, for they have no access to human pain, human fear or human grief.

To make the prostituted sub-human, it an effective way to deny all the prostituted access to human rights.

They cannot have the right to be free from torture – for torture only happening to full humans.

They cannot have access to freedom of expression – for to survive prostitution it becomes vital to be silent or speak the language of your oppressor.

They cannot have the right to freedom of movement – for the sex trade profiteers can and will move the prostituted to other aspects of the sex trade, move them from country to country, from street to street. All done to punish, disorient and fully control the prostituted.

They do not have the right to a family – the sex trade needs the prostituted to be isolated, the sex trade will deal with pregnancy on their own terms, and the sex trade makes human love hard to express.

And the prostituted do not have the right to life – the death rates for the prostituted is off the scale. Female prostitutes are thought to be killed at the minimum of 12 times more than women of similar age or background, though it more like about 20 times more likely.

Exited women know what it was to be sub-human – and now as they stay alive, they are fighting to make sure no human ever is treated that way ever again.

We fight for all the prostituted – for just one woman in a brothel is one too many, just one escort in fear of a punter is one too many, just one prostitute being exchanged from one aspect of the sex trade to another more violent aspect is one too many and so on.

One prostituted human in any country is one too many.

That is why we will never give up.

We stay alive to fight.