A World Without Love

To understand what it takes to be prostituted, it must be understood what it is to live in a world without love.

Ok, I know that is a song, I know I appear to be flippant, but it only for me it so obvious, it is hidden in plain sight.

I suppose I see everything else as red herrings – be that discussions round choice, whether it is poverty, is it forced or trafficked, are they under-aged and on and on and on – it all running away from seeing the prostitute as a woman or girl, who cannot live in a world with love.

By love, I mean being considered a full human who is heard, seen and allowed to have hope.

By love, I mean not being a consumable object that is fucked, beaten, placed into porn, until wore out or the sex trade grows bored of her existence.

By love, I mean her ability to be a child, to have teenage angst, to know what it is to be an adult, counts for something.

By love, I want that she not passed over, made into whatever suit whoever she is with, that she can have some moments of privacy.

That is the kind of love all prostituted women and girls deserve and need.

It is no matter what her background is, whether she believe she is happy or not, whether she earning tons or little to nothing.

That is of no matter.

Not in the world of the sex trade, the world without love.

This world exist to use and in the long-term destroy her.

Sure it will have an attractive facade, it will entice her until she is trapped.

The best trick the sex trade ever invented was to proclaim that prostitution was the woman’s free choice, and to put icing on the cake to say it so empowering and liberating

The sex trade has used this trick for most of history, but always then pretends it is modern.

Always the sex trade recruits by making itself appear fashionable, pushing the older generation’s boundaries, appearing edgy.

Hell, that what drag in upper-class Roman wives, made French culture, is now the Belle du Jour myth.

We know only the version given to us by the all those who use or profit from that facade.

We are not tell that to be a prostitute, whether indoors or street-based, you must throw away all your human rights out the window – and forget that there will anyone who care about your existence.

It is a world without love.

All prostitutes, whatever label the sex trade puts on them, must be prepared to be open for any and every john.

She is not a human – she is a cunt, she is an anus, she is a mouth, she is that object he had imagined in every porn dream he had.

She is there to poke, beat, tie up, put in film, fuck with other men, spray with piss and sperm, made to swallow his penis, get fisted, strangled, and on and on and on an on.

She must smile, must appear like it is wonderful, must place him at the centre  of his porn movie.

If she is polite she will not bleed, cry, scream, or just freeze.

She will not mention safe sex or diseases, that just wreck the moment. She will not get pregnant. She doesn’t die, when he is messing round with rough sex.

She is not human, only a fantasy, so none of it really matters.

It is a world without love.

If you truly believe in destroying the sex trade, then bring love into your work.

Love that see each and every prostituted woman and girl as unique.

Do not read a book, go to a meeting, and decide you know what a prostitute is.

Know each time you think you know what a prostitute is, that know there is a prostituted woman or girl who is the opposite of your stereotype.

For every prostitute that were abused in their home, there another who have lovely parents.

For every prostitute who need the money, there are many from outwardly privileged backgrounds.

For every prostitute who was very young when she got trapped in the sex trade, there are many adult women who enter and also get trapped.

For every prostitute who deaden her existence through drugs, there are many who deaden their existence with other means.

Stop, listen and learn through exited prostituted women that the world of the sex trade will go after most women and girls – looking only that they can be made the living dead.

That the sex trade recruits those women and girls that have enough damage inside them, that they can made to not care they made sub-human.

There so many reasons for that damage – but the major one is they have no love in their lives.

Without love, they have become the living dead.

To bring back life, these prostitutes have to know love.

Love that they are fully human, not a piece of meat, a breathing porn fantasy, a fuck- hole.

They are full humans with dreams, hopes, interests, creativity and time to be alone.

If you want to help, help them find what make unique and fully human.

That is not easy, do not expect gratitude – accept there may a rage, accept they think you are superior, do-gooder, can’t you see they are happy, expect rejection.

That is why it so easier going to meetings, signing or reading books – then being in the room with prostituted women.

It is nice to have that detachment – but that is just adding to the world without love.

I know that being an exited prostitute and carrying pain, grief and confusion as chains with me, I know I am uncomfortable to be with.

It is easier to read, then to listen exited prostituted saying of torture when in the same room as them.

Reading an academic book is a start, but it does not allow in confusion and fear. It keeps prostitution safe.

Make exited prostituted women more the centre of your campaigning – with all their pain, terror, rage and confusion.

It may be messy, but their words can and will teach you so much.

Let them have some lead in the fight – that would an act of love.

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2 responses to “A World Without Love

  1. This is so very painful to read, and so very important to read. I hope many people do, those who need to know they are not alone in having these experiences, and those who don’t know what it is to have them.

    I fall into that place in between. I know some of what you describe, not all of it. I know where life without love can lead, and have left motel rooms wondering why I was there. But this was with one man, once a month, for years. He paid for the room. He called and I went. Why? I had so much time to ask myself that. It wasn’t for the money because he never paid me anything.

    I am reminded of conversations with a dear friend who was pimped as an adolescent. She was rescued by radical lesbian feminists, who took her off the street. She told me also: it isn’t all about the money. There are complex dynamics at work which you address here, and how what we don’t get that we most need can make us so very vulnerable to getting too much of what we need least.

    A friend of mine wrote about this, also gay. I’ll try and send it to you.

    My female friend, the woman who was once pimped, told me this, speaking about dealing with women who profess the value of being a prostitute: don’t ask women in systems of prostitution what they think about it. Ask women who were in systems of prostitution what they think about it and feel about it after they’ve been out for twenty years.

    I fully understand what she means.

    Nothing you wrote here is foreign to me, or feels like a world I haven’t visited. I didn’t have to live there, or, rather, I found my way out sooner than later, but never soon enough. But the legacy, of what came before that led me there, and what happened there, and what came next… the self-loathing and self-neglect as daily practice. This is hard to combat.

    Thank you for sharing this. Thank you for surviving. Because I believe surviving, surely, was a choice you did and do make willfully. And know that the world is better for your voice speaking out… the world of ignorance and denial is that much closer to knowing the truths we all need to know, so we can love one another into a new kind of existence.

    ❤ Julian

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  2. Thank you, as always for difficult truths. Thank you, further, for brilliance of mind and clarity of view. Here’s to women who are “uncomfortable to be with” because of our truths, because of what we know that others fear to share. I walk with you, and still, often, I pause to stand in awe, close enough to remain in support, and yet humbled and amazed at the gifts of perspective you have to share. Always, thank you.

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