Your Pollution is Always In Me

This post is about punters, and how I remember them.

It is very hard to write with a clear eye about punters, it is hard to see them as individuals, hard to know time and place, hard to remember without blocking out.

Punters are remembered as a void, sometimes as a mass of faceless attackers, as hate speech, as the sickness that always under my skin.

All I know is that the vast majority of punters are very ordinary men who melt into the background.

They are the men that you like, they are the men you think have no violence in them, they are the men you would introduce to your mother.

Most punters keep their hate and violence for the prostituted – then step out into the “real” world and act the good guy.

All their pollution is poured into the prostituted – and they can just walk away like nothing of any importance has occurred.

Leaving the prostituted to live with the sickness of the punters, leaving the prostituted to have to live a living death in the vain attempt to ignore the pollution inside their skin.

Punters are ignored in most discussion on prostitution – punters are made invisible.

As long as society makes the conscious choice to keep punters as the invisible men, there will the torturing of the prostituted.

Punters will feel freedom to pour sadism, hate, fear and anger into the prostituted without consequences.

It is easy for a punter to be the good guy, if he always knows he has constant access to the prostituted class to put all his negative emotions into.

We make punters invisible by making the choice to believe or want the many myths about them.

There is the myth that men must have or need sex as much as possible or they will do real violence.

Wow, there so much evidence that most men are so peaceful – what with wide-spread rape and incest, wide-spread domestic violence, wide-spread wars etc – all done in the mass by men.

But according to this myth, men must have plenty of access to the prostituted class in all places, at all times, and with little or no interference – else those men will do real violence to non-prostituted women and children.

Heck they may even rape outside of the prostituted class – then the whole structure of our existence would be destroyed.

Sorry, it is very hard not to be sarcastic about this horrific myth – for it the ageless myth that the prostituted are unrapeable, and so all violence can and will done to them – with most people turning away.

We, the prostituted class, carried inside us all that you can walk away from.

We for centuries, on every continent, inside all religious and political beliefs, in majority of cultures, in your street and where you go on holiday – we are tortured, brainwashed and slowly made sub-human so you can feel safe.

Punters know they can tortured and destroyed the prostituted class – they know it is rare that a punter will be severely punished or even questioned if he damages the prostituted.

In many ways, punters feel rewarded for his violence to the prostituted class.

By pouring his hate, fear and rage into the prostituted – he has become a real man, he can fit in with other men, and become even more invisible.

He can reward himself for finding a box to put all his hate and rage into, and know he act the man who good with women and children, whilst always knowing he will rape, torture and beat up the prostituted class.

You may think or want to believe I am exaggerating or just bitter – but I had too punters inside me who were outwardly the good ordinary guys.

Punters love to say to the Whore how they never do this to a real woman – that decent women would not put up with this violence or sexual demand, that real women deserves a show of affection.

Punters often speak to the Whore, in the assumption she will say nothing, she will learn to forget his words.

Punters speak with arrogance, with the knowledge they are speaking to a non-human – punters speak to the truth to many of the prostituted, knowing it will remain silent.

But, I like many exited women, can remember some of their words.

I remembered and it part of what made me a writer, to break the power of the punter by staying in silence.

Punters are blunt and without shame.

I have been told in clear words that I am nothing, that whores feel no pain, that I am just holes to be filled in.

I hear these simple truths, and learnt not to believe in hope.

Punters love to speak to porn and manipulate the living bodies of the prostituted into that porn – whilst saying it would be vile and disgusting to do that to real women.

Porn is put into the prostituted, for as punters reminds us all the time our existence is make sure they cum – no matter how danger the prostitute is in, no matter how much terror and agony she is in.

We, the prostituted, will always be thrown away after being used – so our pain and terror is no issue.

This is so hard to write, I will rest now.

Please stop making punters invisible – for that just causing genocide of the prostituted class.

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3 responses to “Your Pollution is Always In Me

  1. It must be very hard to write about your experiences, heart breaking.

    I’ve never worked as a sex worker but have experienced similar opinions from those who commit violence against women.

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  2. I have a huge amount of respect for you writing about such painful experiences. Continue speaking out and being bold and courageous.

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  3. His face his eyes were full of disgust lust pure evil ‘this doesnt hurt’ ‘you like this’ ‘you dont mind, do you?’ ‘you disgust me’ all the while his hands and voice twisted the body into submission inflicting horrific pain into the soul, that part that was cowering in terror, while my mind floated away and watched like an observer, the body aching beyond description. He stepped behind the camera the red light flickered then the lights burned into me as he invaded my privacy and exposed it all for the sick fantasies he had to express. The body was just puddy that he could stretch punch cut scrape invade all the while his menacing voice ‘smile, or worse will happen’ ‘tell me you want more, be a good dog’ ‘scream, dont scream, move, dont move’. Never ending confusing commands spewed from his mouth just behind the deceptively curled smile on his lips. His evil infected infused into body mind soul. He always wore beige to appear invisible conflicting with the violent force of that invisible. He took his pleasure in torture. His greed and compulsion feeding the frenzie – more more, different, try this, new idea of testing body mind and soul of the filmed one. When he was spent he would stop filming, like shifting gears, he was satisfied. He simply walked away and left the filmed one many times still bound, sometimes unbound….possibly still being filmed from a remote camera in the struggle to free myself. He had a seemingly endless supply of bodies to torment and film. The new instruments of torture made it seem better to just be raped and filmed. How sick is that?

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