Blondie, my lust object, my dreams that crashes through many years of nightmares.
I would imagine Debbie Harry smashing down punters, blowing up the flats where torture was my norm, killing those who made money out of my hell.
I imagine hard in order not to see/know/feel my reality.
I needed Debbie Harry to rescue me.
Instead I carry her fierceness inside, hidden from punters, hidden from sex trade profiteers.
I played Blondie loudly as I was raped, played Blondie over crashed over words of hate, words making me dead.
I played Blondie loudly as I was moved from flat to sex club to hotel rooms to toilets to back-alley to my own room to under a subway.
I played Blondie loudly as students, politicians, artists, businessmen raped me.
I played Blondie as a United Nations of men raped and tortured.
I played Blondie as I was gang-raped, as I was almost drown, as I was being strangled, as all my skin was polluted.
Only I played in silence, for there no way I would let punters have that much of myself.
Blondie was my privacy, Blondie was my small moments of happiness – Blondie was the warrior no punter could destroy.
Blondie stood for a sexuality that could be free, could be joyful.
A sexuality with laughter, with exchange of power with a good heart – a sexuality that was a gift to others, but also wild enough to be liberated.
For my prostituted Self, Blondie was my dream of sex with freedom, sex without fear, control and pain.
I held Debbie Harry in my heart as an example of a world outside the sex trade.
I had to hold on tight to her to believe I was more than a whore, more than holes for endless men to fuck, more than a sex doll.
I put up posters of Blondie above my bed, making a small space private.
In times when I could rest enough to have peace – I prayed to Debbie Harry to rescue me, I prayed for her strength.
I was more than in lust with Debbie Harry, I put all I had left of knowing love into her.
I knew there was no god/goddesses/spiritual beings to save me – so I put all my desperation into Debbie Harry.
But in reality, it was never Debbie Harry I was praying to – it was always just speaking to myself, reminding my Self of my own inner strength, pushing myself to know there was a world outside of prostitution.
I will always celebrate my love of Blondie – for it give me the will never to be made sub-human.