It is hard to tell the truth of internal trafficking, hard to go that place. But last night, I watch a very flawed documentary that reminded that I was only 14 when I enter prostitution.
Let me say that again – I was only 14. However much I imagine I was in control, however much I imagine I too tough to be hurt, however much I imagine I knew what crap sex was – I was only 14, and being young I knew nothing of how the sex trade would eat me up and spit me out.
I knew nothing. I was highly damaged by incest, highly damaged by emotional neglect from my mother, highly damaged by knowing hard-core porn – but still I knew nothing of being damaged so much that I would become the living dead.
I was trained to be sex goods – but inside I was so innocent, and so desperate to find that trust could be real.
There’s the rub – there one that is the major founding stone to how so many girls enter the sex trade – girls from all backgrounds, girls from all classes, girls in and out of care – girls who just want love but have never know it.
This is where it gets hard to write – hard to write without detachment and much coldness, hard to write without saying it was not me always someone else. To speak to the truth is to know how small a degree of pretend love could trick any girl into the sex trade.
To speak to the truth, that I at 14 had no idea that I was desperate to have one person, or people, that I could trust.
Trust was something that most girls who enter the sex trade want and need, more than even than eating or sleeping.
The ultimate crime of trapping women and girls into the sex trade is how the profiteers and punters manipulate that urgent need, and smash it into a million pieces.
Again remember I was 14, I was so young – and remember the horror that I was old, when the average in the West that girls getting trapped into prostitution is 12.
Girls want to trust, girls want to be loved, and girls want to please in order to be loved. In the end, girls are just learning how to be in the world.
That is why too many damaged and vulnerable girls become easy targets for the profiteers of the sex trade – and so easy to manipulated by sadistic punters into dreadful sexual acts.
I like millions of prostituted girls – was desperate to believe their fake words of love, wanted to be an adult by never saying no to going with their “friends”, wanted to fit in by accepting drinks and drugs.
No-one said the word “prostitute”, any money exchanged was just a gift or favour.
It was just a coz I so sexy that so many strange men wanted to fuck me – I should be flattered.
Only I was falling into silence.
Silence of knowing that this was not real sex. Not as every time it hurts so bad, every time the men never spoke or even looked me in the eye, every time all words spoken was just with other men.
Silence of seeing small parts of what I should not know. Seeing queues of men waiting to fuck me, seeing other girls with dead eyes, seeing men passing money to other men.
My silence was my living death.
I was losing my chance to be young, losing any route back to innocence.
I will grieve that loss till the day I die.