Can’t Sleep – So Write

This post is a record of what I can remember of being inside indoors prostitution. This is trying to knock out my self-censorship, trying not to be a crowd-pleaser – but an attempt to say the truth as my mind will let it out.

I am not sure if I can speak the truth, when always my mind wants to blank it out. All I know is that for many weeks now, the pain, the grief and the anger are stopping me from having real sleep.

I have no choice than to lay bare as much I can – and hope and prayer that I can sleep.

I will start in the middle – the moment when hope was dead, when any world outside of indoors prostitution had no relevance.

I want you to know those moments, those hours – those god-damned events.

I can write with detachment that it was sexual torture, that being an escort/in some sex club/being girlfriend material was to be owned, that I had no rights, that I was made sub-human.

But, I am terrified to feel the truth of those words – stay detached, keep empty of emotions and ripped out my essence, and then I may be able to cope.

But to not feel then, means I lose all feeling – I lose the feeling to know love, feeling to grieve deaths of those I was attached to, to feel small moments of simple joy, to feel that I have a body.

I must feel – else all I can be is roles, a walking shadow or at worst a robot that has no purpose – I must feel even through sickness, through my blankness into some path to full humanity.

I will not let the sex trade stripped me of the right to be a full human any more – even as my coming into life is agonising and utterly terrifying.

So join me in discovering the blood, sweat and guts of what indoors prostitution was to me. And please know that the only reason I write this is not to be therapy, for writing will never heal or cure that past – I write because my past in many women’s and girls’ presence. I write to stop being an inevitable future.

I have written and spoken out that I was gang-raped as an introduction into indoors prostitution, that I was often gang-raped as a “punishment”.

But let show what gang-rape is to a prostitute who has no hope.

It is not like the movies or CSI – there is little or no emotion, only the knowing it must end some time. Gang rape in indoors prostitution is common and usually last for long periods.

In that environment, there is little shock, no time to be sick, no space to show terror, no privilege to be able to cry.

As a prostitute, being gang-raped is the continual remainder that you are nothing but holes and flesh to destroy.

Only way to survive that is to feel nothing – to be the porn-goods, to not even imagine that you could be human.

I am haunted and keep awake by sexual tortures that even my mind does not want to know.

I cover up it with TV, with the radio, with music, with detached writing, with seeming to speak but always selecting what I think others can hear, with sports, with ignoring my memories that are screaming for attention.

I cannot ignore the truth that I have to confront the sexual tortures.

I can say I was deep-throated – but what does that really mean.

It is torture at its purer – there was the threat of death, it did make me lose control of bodily function, it was done with coldness and to degrade me.

Being deep-throated is like drowning on dry land, the pressure made me believe my eyes would leave my head.

Seeing the hate from punters as they deep-throated me, is inside my waking and sleeping nightmares. As their penises were killing me or sending deep terror into me – they were happy as conquerors, thinking they were gods.

I was continually anally tortured. It was anal sex to destroy me utterly, to make me reach places of agony, that made those bastards punters think would make sure I never forgot them.

Well, I have forgotten most of those torturers as individuals – but my body still holds the trauma and agony from those demands that I was their living porn-toy.

I am living breathing evidence of the harms of indoors prostitution.

I remember what the sex trade wants to be invisible.

I remember that it was common that if punters had power and enough money – that the profiteers would allow them to torture me in any way they like, with no interference, no judgement, just stopping so other men had a chance to torture the whore as well.

I was placed in “private” rooms inside sex clubs. Clubs with the outward veneer of being slightly sleazy – but no touching allow. But inside the private rooms, I was raped, I was made to perform porn, I placed inside of hell – but no-one cared.

I was placed inside flats where there was lines of men waiting to fuck me. I could be fucked by up 15 men in one night, for it was all too often more than one man at a time.

In those flats, I survived by refusing to see, refusing to feel, refusing to think – and trying so hard to die.

It is a haze those flats – but with distance I am seeing clearer and clearer.

I want to imagine it was just fucking my vagina – but I rarely remember that.

Instead, I know I was dead on the bed, but still I was beaten up for any or no reason.

Sometimes I was tied up, sometimes I was gagged – don’t know why coz all my fight had gone.

All I know was no part of my body had any safety, that it was all their porn-toy.

That is what it is to fully owned in indoors prostitution – that is the torture.

So, don’t be so naive to believe that indoors prostitution will ever be made safe – just know that violence and degradation is hugely profitable, so will always be the backbone of all aspects of the sex trade.

The thing about indoors prostitution is that violence and degradation is keep hidden from the public gaze.

My tortures were a tiny part of the common practice of indoors prostitution.

So don’t allow the sex trade’s propaganda to get prostitution pushed indoors. Please place the human rights of the prostituted high above making prostitution normalised.

Don’t turn away from torture – have a heart.

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