I am sick today – sick to the pit of the hell I had to endured.
Well, I am sick with drowned anger – an anger that scares me, an anger that throws nightmares at me.
Well, this post is a sicking out of parts of that anger.
I am angry with my mother.
I am angry that she stopped me crying at too early age, by turning out the lights and leaving me alone.
I am angry she never did nothing about my stepdad abusing me. Hell, she did worse than nothing.
She told me not to get pregnant, said unless I said a clear no than it was ok, told me it was my fault for throwing myself at him – I was just a whore.
She fed me to the lion.
I am angry at my stepdad.
I am angry he groomed me to accept the unacceptable.
I am angry that he would fuck me, telling me lay still and never to speak – if I moved or made a noise, that meant I wanted it really, hell, it must be an orgasm.
I am angry he made me know Hustler, see photos of rape/murders, hear recordings of the Moors, know about PIE, read me de Sade.
I am angry he would joke about children disappearing all the time, laugh about burying me alive, saying he could scatter my body – I could disappear and no-one would remember I ever alive.
I am angry he take me to restaurant, and joke how I was his young mistress.
I am angry he made me able to do blow-jobs, that he eat me out, that he finger-fuck me whenever he wanted – but he would he never be a real rapist, for no nasty vaginal penetration. He knew the law inside-out.
He made me the perfect whore.
I more than angry about my existence in the sex trade – I have a fury that can slowly be expressed – but it drowns me a lot of the time.
I have a rage that will burn out the profiteers who made me their fuckable goods.
I have a rage that sold me to men knowing they were sadistic bastards – and then acted as if was some terrible misfortune, some bad john who slipped by them. Only to send back into more sadism, or even back to the same john.
I have rage that they had men sitting outside the room, not for my protection – but to get the john out when he money had run out or another john was waiting.
I have a rage that condoms was not ever mention or just seen as a joke.
I have a rage that they allowed or did themselves filming of the sadism done to me – a quick and cheap way to make porn.
I have a rage that they moved round buildings, different cities, different clubs and hotels – till I was too disoriented to give a damned any more.
I have a rage that they profited from my gang-rapes, my anus getting ripped apart, my mouth and throat getting choked, my body getting beaten up, my mind knowing so much that hope never existed – they were rich on my suffering.
I hate the profiteers with a hate that burns me up.
I have a fury at the johns who made me their fuck-toy.
I have a fury that their money made them think all I was holes to be screwed close to death.
I have a fury that those bastards that tortured me, wanting me to praise their sexual prowess, like I even noticed as I trying to stay alive.
I have a fury that they expected me to have orgasms on demand, that I should be happy and smiling.
I have a fury that rich johns would torture me in complete privacy, that their money meant I could be owned for weeks even months. I was only property after all.
I have a fury that their so-called sexual practices give my mind information that the human body doesn’t die from extreme torture, it just tries desperately to cut it away.
I have a fury that torturing is re-branded as kinky sex, s/m prostitution, or just named as extras. In prostitution – rape is made invisible.
This what prostitution is for too many – rape on demand – now why the hell would I not be bloody furious.
My rage might be burning up – but it is also a power-source.
The power of knowing that hell fuels shows me that I need radical change – change that destroys the sex trade root and branch.
Not reform that is only about making it safer, reform that said if you place it indoors what is not seen doesn’t exist, reform that claims there are good and bad prostitutes, reforms that give governments more taxes, reform because prostitution will always be with us.
Reform is often the gospel of despair.
No fuelled by rage, this whore wants to make the sex trade rot in hell.
Why does any man of any background, any culture, any age think he has the right to buy a woman or girl just for his sexual wants? I don’t give a damn what excuses he makes, what justifications he uses – he is exploiting her, he should be made a criminal – not jack-the-lad.
Why do most societies make it acceptable that a whole class of women and girls are made into prostituted, and then it is ok to them to be brought and sold – then to be sexually tortured, made into fuck-toys, disposable goods – why do so many turn a blind eye to that?
What is so hard about placing the lives of the prostituted high above the profiteers and johns – why is the reverse the norm?
I want real change that may damper my fury – by one day waking into a world where no-one can imagine how humans came up with such a sadistic concept named the sex trade.
Till then, I have a rage.