I do wonder if trauma is endless. I wonder as I am told I doing everything right – and I am still sick.
I do wonder if what was stolen from can ever been repaired, and I keep being sick.
Let me write, and clear some of that sickness – write what I to be to exist inside prostitution.
Before I start, there is one lie and bug-bear I want to clear out the way – I was in legitimate indoors prostitution, it was not criminal, it was condoned by society, and it was the acceptable side of prostitution.
I have written and spoken about the legitimate end of prostitution – the escorting, the girlfriend experience with prostituted women – and made clear there is no safety there.
It makes me sick to bottom of my soul that pro-sex trader promoters want to force the lie that some forms of prostitution can be made – I am sick as every prostituted are raped, battered, tortured and murdered in so-called environment.
There is no safe place for a prostitute – not whilst men are told and believed that they own her body and soul. He has brought a sex slave – and it is his choice whether to play the gentle punter, or be the role of the sadistic punter.
The individual prostitute has no control or any rights to stop his violence – all she has is the hope it is not for so long, that he does not do too much damage – and that murder is not his game.
For it a game to the men – whether those men be punters or profiteers – they play violent mind-games and vicious games over her body.
They will laugh at her if shows resistance or any form of dignity – laugh as they let feel free and them force back down into hell.
They love the game of “how much can she take”. This game is like an experiment.
See and look you can force the penis so far down, she will be sick, she will faint – but just don’t kill the bitch.
See and look you with your mates rammed up all her holes, hey you can suffocate her with hands or pillow – and the whore will not die.
See and look she having a heart attack whilst you attack her anus – and still the stupid cow is alive.
That hate, that anger, that being made sub-human is my sickness now.
That is the sickness that has no exit.
I am doing everything right – but the sickness is my shadow.