This post is personal – being personal I know it is connected to all the prostituted class. I used my experiences and knowledge as just one small example of a terrible truth.
This truth is the purpose of the sex trade is to stripped all the prostituted class of what it is to be fully human.
The truth is that if an individual prostitute is lucky enough to exit, that she/he will be left with a legacy of extreme complex trauma, trying to re-discover what it is to be fully human.
This post is an exploration of my route back into humanity – but, I will be clear I do not truly understand what being human without being a role for others.
To be prostituted, is to never have the human right to a person outside the ownership and gaze of male sexual want and greed.
Yes, this may be true for all females – but the prostituted class do not have access to any role except the porn dreams of those males.
The prostituted are not human, they are the same as supermarket goods, only used till worn out, then throw into the tip.
The prostituted as goods have no right to expression, to voice complaints, to have dreams, to know a life beyond being a porn-toy to be brought and sold.
Let me try and enter that reality, and by doing so hopefully blow away the illusion that prostitution can ever be re-branded as sex work or adult leisure.
I want to speak to the parts of me that were stolen, speak to what being made sub-human really means, and speaks to the parts of my essence that hope beyond hope that there could life outside the sex trade.
There is no accidents in the sex trade – all the making of sub-human sexual goods is done consciously and usually step-by-step.
I like many went into prostitution thinking I knew what I doing – even though I was 14, I had been sexually and mentally abused enough to imagine I could understand that world.
I thought I was tough enough to cope, I thought if it got too rough i would just leave, I thought I know fear and violence so nothing could be worse.
I was typical, in that I was older than my years, whilst at the same time still a hurting child. I was tough with a terrible naivety.
I was ideal material for prostitution.
In the West, it common that the prostituted enter the sex trade between ages 12-15.
It is common that under-aged prostitution comes from all classes and all ethic background.
It is common that the under-aged prostituted have been previously abused – whether that is physical, mental or sexual.
I was very typical – do not believe that under-aged prostituted is rare, or just a certain type of girl. Know I was middle-class, white and in many ways privileged – but inside two weeks I was made sub-human, maybe the first hour destroy my route to knowing what being human was.
I was never unique, just taught by the sex trade to be isolated from knowing that truth.
The purpose of the sex trade is to break down all the prostituted, until they have no route back to humanity, and only can speak with the words of their oppressor.
I in the first hour was gang-raped – well it went on for six hours, but in that first hour anything that could name as human was broken in me.
I cannot ever fully know that breakage, for my mind protects my sanity but only giving me fragmented memories.
Six hours turn into five minutes of nightmares.
Several groups of men gang-raping all look, smell and sound the same. They become faceless, their actions just leave pain inside body memories.
But, I must see with some kind of ice in my heart – to know that moment when my humanity was ripped from, could be a start to beginning what being human really means.
Maybe if I could see my 14-year-old in that room, with no hope, no idea why she is still breathing, no route to having free expression – maybe then I could finally weep for her and me.
I know I thought I understood prostitution – hadn’t I spent much of my childhood hanging round in Soho and King’s Cross.
I thought I knew sex was always with pain, hadn’t I known that since my stepdad first forced his finger up my cunt when I was six.
I thought I was too hard to ever feel, I thought I could never know fear again, I thought I was so dead inside nothing would matter.
I was so naive.
I had no idea what prostitution was and is. Only cartoons from Hustler, images from Soho and King’s Cross, and the many “jokes” about whores my stepdad made.
I had no idea of the pain, the hate, the degradation, the lack of hope and the isolation that would be my life for the next 14 years.
As I enter the flat where I became a prostitute, I was killing myself and losing all knowledge of hope or looking for an exit.
I became sub-human as I undressed, I became sub-human as lay with no movement on the bed.
This was the moment I could have run out the flat – only all my life I had been trained that my only role was to be holes for men to fuck – I could not even imagine having that dignity that makes you run.
I think I was left in the room alone, naked on that bed – I could not move, I would not see where I was.
I was teaching myself to be dead – I was always dead when my stepdad finger-fucked me, dead when he eat me out, dead as he force his penis down my throat, dead as made me rub it hard.
I could go somewhere else with my stepdad, could make myself not care or remember – so I would this with prostitution.
I was so naive.
When the door open, there was a queue of punters waiting – and it was to be done in several groups, not one at a time.
To describe that night is impossible – for my survival mechanism was blocked out as much as possible, and to having many years of not allowing myself to believe that it was real.
All I know I was broken that night – I could still walk, could still talk, still eat – but I was not human, just an image reflecting being human.
But I have glimpses into what gang-rape after gang-rape after gang-rape can do to a human, do to a prostitute.
I remember moments where I was penetrated in more holes than I knew I had.
I remember how punters laugh at my bleeding, laugh when I wet myself, laugh if I attempted to have some dignity, laugh at me fainting.
I remember how so many punters stood around the bed as I raped in every pornified way they could imagine.
I remember having no skin, no space in my body that belonged to me.
I was made sub-human that night.
That night planted the seeds that made me an abolitionist – so some good came from it.