Hidden Goodness

Dedicated to my grandmother, Margaret Berger Mott (Tots), 1st April 1902 -18th March 1991.

I have no logical reasoning to why or how I survived prostitution.

It makes no sense – not on any level – when so many women and girls were eliminated by the sex trade, and if we allow to continue this way, will get destroy in the future.

I was no stronger than they were, I was not better or worse than they were, my desire to exit was the same as their’s.

All I know I carry inside me a spirit that I connect back to the good side of family, and especially my American grandmother. This spirit that was a fighter when all hope had gone.

My grandmother’s spirit was deeply hidden inside me during the horror years of prostitution. I try to cut that goodness away, but it stubbornly remain inside of me.

It was the voice saying –

They can do what they like to my body, they can try to murder me, they can rape me till I think death is my only friend – but they will never find my true essence.

I will be degraded till I feel less than the dog shit kicked into the gutter – but somehow and without reason, I clung hold of dignity.

Dignity mattered to my grandmother.

Not dignity coming from a place of pride and arrogant – no the dignity of the oppressed who still see beauty in the world, the dignity of always seeking more knowledge when others are choosing to close down your world.

That dignity was hidden deep inside me, when punters and profiteers were attempting to make me nothing – nothing but holes to get fucked.

On occasion, my dignity slipped out – usually placing me into yet more violence and hate.

It slipped out when I was caught reading in-between yet another punter.

Reading was dangerous – for no punter or profiteer want to think of a whore who has a mind of her own. If she was to read it was play the role of the “clever whore”, then only books like “Lolita”, de Sade or “The Story of O”.

No, I was caught reading “Mme Bovary”, “Wuthering Heights” or ever Asterix – even caught smiling as I read, caught reading and forgetting the hell I was in.

That was dignity.

I had dignity when I went to the cinema by myself – watching films that challenge my mind to come back into life.

My grandmother loved the cinema, and encouraged all her family to enjoy films.

One of my survival mechanisms was to disappear into films.

But even that was polluted by prostitution – for I would meet punters and go to films with them. I hated that I could not just watch the film as they finger-fucked me. There were the bastards who loved the risk of getting a hand-job, and more risk a blow-job.

I just wanted to watch the film.

But inside my dignity remain, coz I never lost my love of films, though slightly my love for the cinema – so I get loads of films on TV instead.

Now, I watch films and go back to the goodness of grandmother and I laughing about films.

I keep by dignity by never losing my love for football – it may seem trivial to some – but inside prostitution is was dangerous.

To show love and deep interest is something that punters think is their’s can put you in grave danger.

If they found I know the rules of football, if they knew I love the game with a passion – they hated me more venom than even I could imagine.

The more they strangle me for loving football, the more the batter me for being an Arsenal fan, the more I was sexually tortured for knowing the offside rule – the more I knew I would stay a football fan.

It was a stubborn will to have something that was mine, that they could not take away from me.

It was a stubborn will to hang onto that passion – they could never steal that from me, no matter how hate and violence they poured into me.

I very proud that I have remained a football fan – for I have keep my essence no matter what the sex trade did to me.

My grandmother was into tennis, and had little time for football. But she wanted all her family to have passions, she encouraged us to follow our loves, for passions are an outward sign, that even when in hell, of the determination to live.

These things were not the reason I survived – for as I have said there is no logical reason why I survived, and so many great women and girls didn’t.

For the main reason we must rid the world of the sex trade, is that it is a lottery which prostitute lives or dies – it just depends on whether the punter or profiteer decides to keep her alive or not.

I suppose I am alive – coz those bastards couldn’t be bothered to kill me.

But having the gifts of hidden goodness at least meant I never lost my essence.

Bless you Granny Tots.

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