My Self Alone

Writing this blog is very tough.

I try to connect to my words, but the more power in them, the more detached I get.

This blog is read all over the world, and I have only been to Europe and many American states.

I know my readership is beyond my counting, even in the early stages of this blog more readers than my mind can factor in.

All this is very surreal to me, especially as I live a very uninteresting lifestyle.

I choose to live with as few excitements as possible – for an interesting life can be a curse.

I like to be ordinary, like to go under the radar.

But this blog is the part of my soul, my lonely Self wanting publicity and some kind of purpose for a better future.

I write because it is the role I choose to live.

I write coz to survive prostitution is carry ghosts that demand a voice.

I write because silence is a living death.

Many of readers say this blog help give some voices to the prostituted who cannot speak out.

The prostituted who layer on layer on layer are dead from murder, suicide or unable to survive.

The prostituted who have been made to disappear – maybe into worst aspects of the sex trade, maybe into a silence made of too many memories, made bones pile on bones.

The prostituted made silent by torture of their minds and bodies.

The prostituted with no friends, no allies, no loving relatives and no support to express their pain to.

I hope with every ache of my heart, my blog is part of many exited women giving some words to this deadly silence.

In this blog, I try to speak to complex trauma.

I try to find a language that reaches in fragmented memory.

I try to find a language that reaches into the silence of the tortured, without it being framed by the torturer.

I try to find a language that is not afraid of deep grief – grief pull from eons of male hate and violence done to the prostituted on every continent.

And I try find a language that lays bare that trauma will always be with the prostituted when there no justice and they viewed as sub-human sexual goods.

My blog is my mission, it is more than work – it is scream, a plea, a demand that all the sex trade must be eradicated.

I am proud that I have become unstoppable – but also deeply saddened and shocked that I need to write this blog.

I do not see enough of the prostituted being allowed basic human rights  – so I must write.

I do not see the prostituted having the freedom of speech.

Instead, I see and hear the words of the prostituted being framed by sex trade profiteers as sex work, empowerment and even feminism.

Exited women have to fight all the time to being heard – as constantly the sex trade and its many allies silence and threaten our voices.

I see no access to freedom of movement for the prostituted.

Instead I see the constant movement of the prostituted into more violence, movement to disoriented the prostituted into deep silence.

I see the conditions of trafficking being made invisible by being framed as chosen sex work.

I see no right to safety for any prostitute in any country that makes the choice to normalised the sex trade.

Instead, I know that every moment, there are countless prostituted living inside mental, physical and sexual torturing.

I know every form of torture we have invented is rehearsed on the minds and bodies of the prostituted before it becomes a politic tool.

But the torturing of the prostituted is rebranded as adult entertainment, as porn, as kinky sex, or as boys being boys – and so it cannot be a human rights issue.

So, I see and know I must keep writing, for I live in a world that claim the prostituted are not human, just fuckable goods.



Can You Not See

This blog is a warning that is too often ignored.

Prostitution is pass over for more do-able causes.

Too often the myths of the sex trade lobby are made gospel, and the a deadening silence surrounds exited women.

I have enough, your ignorance is drowning out hope, killing my warrior spirit.

I will keep on keeping on – how can I stop when my prostituted Sisters are living in hell as you pass them by.

When will you see this is an international crisis, it is a endless genocide as vulnerable females replace destroyed prostituted women and girls?

When will you see the deaths, the rapes, the torturing and the mental destruction of the prostituted with a clear eye?

When will you stop framing as chosen work, but as slavery and entrapment?

And when will you stop making the prostituted sub-human, and get empathy with compassion for their suffering?

We are dying, and you are making statistics and writing books to keep us at a safe distant.

Why should exited women make nice, as you so clearly see our lives as research or a way to further your career – not seeing our souls or desire to matter.

I have writing and speaking for a decade, and too much of energy is used up repeating myself coz our lives still are made not to count.

I am proud to an Abolitionist, proud of my family roots in fighting for civil and human rights – but it is like being Sisyphus.

Ted It is the silence of so-called allies that hurts and makes my work so hard.

Too many liberal feminists justify the sex trade, finding multiple excuses for their men to consume the prostituted.

Too many anti-trafficking groups finds why to ignore adult prostitution framing it as chosen work, and separating out “real” trafficking and child sexual exploitation from that “good” prostitution.

Too many radical feminists say the prostituted are betrayer for “allowing” male violence, or not being gold- plated lesbians.

With friends like this, it is surprising most exited women don’t kill themselves.

We deal with that, we smile, we negotiate, we try to teach – we perform the good exited woman with a pain and grief following us.

All the time, exited women who speak truth to power are attacked with a vengeance by the sex trade lobby.

This lobby is the voices of sex trade profiteers and punters.

It is often spoken through the media, through academia, though all forms of cultural speech – the reality is the language of the sex trade lobby is the background noise all exited women are drowning in.

The worst aspect of this hate-speech of the sex trade lobby is how they use that most exited women live with complex trauma to their advantage.

This is shown in how it is common for them to demands facts of how many punters raped us, where we were raped, what age we were, and why if was so terrible we never reported any of our rapes.

All this is said with the full knowledge that exited women could have fragmented memory – or have been so often it all merges into one.

The sex trade lobby uses our trauma to claim exited women have no handle on knowing the reality of prostitution.

Added to this cruel statement, is always that only the prostituted who are currently in the sex trade should be listen to.

It is made invisible that these voices can easier be manipulated to speak the words of sex trade profiteers and punters.

It is made invisible that the prostituted can be punished for not speaking the words of those who are oppressing them.

There is no such thing as free speech for the prostituted.

I am angry at how hard this work is.


Goodbye to Soho

I spent too many years in Soho, I know the good and bad side.

I know it has the best Italian food and coffee in London.

I know I have many Hollywood pictures from Soho.

I know it is a haven for live jazz.

But it still the place of nightmares, place of self-harming – place that reminds me I never anything but a whore.

So this a goodbye post to some of nightmares – maybe then Soho can just my Italian deli instead.

As a young child, I would run away to Soho. My school was off Marylebone Road, and I walked from there to heart of sleaze land.

Soho had not been cleaned – the sex trade was more blatant.

As a child, I thought I belong to the world of sleaze and self-hating.

Soho was a training pad for my future as a whore, as incest was giving me instructions on how act as a whore.

Soho and my stepdad sexually abusing were hand in glove.

My stepdad work in the heart of Soho as an advertising director.

He took me out as his whore-princess – showing off to embarrassed Italian waiters.

In his Soho office, I was paraded in front of his staff, all knowing that I was his step-daughter, as he bragged he would fuck me later.

I learnt to smile through his bragging, I learnt to be silent as screaming was drowning me.

Often as a child, I left in the Soho streets as my mother went to see my stepdad.

My mother told me stand still and not to speak to anyone.

The worst advice ever.

I was became a perfect whore aged 8 or 9, as men drove past asking how much, or saying come to my flat.

I lost hope, so came close to entering a car – knowing I would raped, maybe murdered.

But at least my rapist would not pretend that he love me or that he saw me as a human.

An American tourist stopped me getting in the car – seeing the truth that I a child who lost.

As he try to speak with me, asking where my mother – I had no words, maybe some swear words, as I could say my mother was the fire I was running from.

I know in my waking nightmares, Soho was a major factor is stealing my hope, stealing my childhood.

Soho made me becoming a whore my fate.

How do I forgive or forget that?

To Liberal Feminists

Dear liberal feminists, I have lost patience with your backing of the sex trade.

Sorry, in your deep ignorance, you say it is sex work.

You listen to sex trade profiteers, listen to male concepts of prostitution, listen to statements of empowerment and liberation – but stubbornly dismiss the multiple voices of exited.

This is like trying to understand the Holocaust by reading the diaries of SS officers, and avoiding testimonies of survivors of the concentration camps.

Oh, I hear your loud denial and justifications.

I hear and see clearly you many ways of pushing away exited women.

Now in this post, I will To how you are betraying all the prostituted – by doing so you are proving you have no real understanding of feminism.

I have hurt your precious feelings – well suck it up, you are colluding with genocide.

If you make the choice to call prostitution sex work.

If you speak in the language of labour rather than the language of human rights.

If you claim prostitution is a choice – especially an empowered choice.

If you rebrand the prostituted as sexual outlaws.

If you say the only “bad” push into the sex trade is poverty.

If you separate child prostitution from adult prostitution.

If you think New Zealand has the best approach to prostitution.

If you say the Nordic Approach is dangerous and pushing prostitution underground.

If you think indoors prostitution can made safe.

If you back sex work unions or collectives.

If rebrand prostitution and porn as adult entertainment or boys being boys.

If you external trafficking is economic migration.

If you disconnect child sexual exploitation from prostitution.

If you turn away from the racism of all the sex trade.

If, if, if you do any or all of these things, then you are no feminist and you are part of the problem.

This is not a labour issue, it not sex work.

Would be willing to having every cell in your body abused, ripped at, raped, threatened with death.

Would be willing to let even one punter do that to your body, let so many punters that you lose count.

Would you not deadened all emotions, try to get out of your body.

Can you not imagine that to be raped so often, it loses the language of violence and become your norm.

Till you survive by refusing to know it as hate and violence – and reinventing hell as chosen and empowering.

Is that your definition of sex? Would you call that work?

I frame it as slavery, as exploitation, as the making of a sub-human class named the prostituted.

I see the rapes, the torturing and the deaths of the prostituted as the longest genocide  humans ever invented.

It started when the first caveman understood he could exchange food or goods for other men to rape “his” women.

Yes, prostitution is old, there as a background noise in almost all cultures.

It has many forms of hiding.

The stealing of women in territorial wars to rape and own is not as part of the sex trade.

The selling of wives is not part of the sex trade.

Geishas are placed outside the sex trade.

Stripping is disconnected from prostitution.

All this part of the sex trade, all fit in with prostitution.

But, you liberal feminists spend endless hours saying and writing about good and bad prostitution.

You are so desperate to imagine that prostitution can be made nice – safe and clean for your boyfriends, husband, fathers, uncles, work colleagues to consume.

You are imaging you doing this for the prostituted – bullshite, you are enabling the violence and hate of punters.

Your ignorance is increasing the profits for the sex trade.

Your ignorance is giving permission for punters to as sadist as they want with no consequences.

Your ignorance is increasing all forms of trafficking into the sex trade.

You are no innocent bystander, but an enabler of genocide.

I have enough of making nice, for as you debate and justify doing as little as possible – the prostituted are being tortured and killed.

Wake up.

Paid Rape

Punters want you to believe they are gentlemen, are too vulnerable to have real sex, are just lads on the town.

Punters love to lie.

What gets to me is not their constant lying, but that so many people make the choice to believe them.

Punters are rapists.

Punters enjoy sadism.

Punters have no empathy.

And, most important, punters are criminals.

They are not good men.

To explain my radical view, I will record some of my experiences, and you tell how would their action be framed if they were punters.

Of course, this may be graphic, may upset – you have the choice to turn away.

I write coz I had no choice to escape their hate and violence – and my experiences are a tiny part of the reality for the prostituted.

1. One punter, who considered himself my friend, but treated as his whore.

He brought into the girlfriend experience.

I was his slave, but he pretended we were mates.

It was his habit to take me to parties, to pubs and show me off.

All the time quietly undermining my will to live by speaking over, by sexually abusing me whenever he thought he could get away with it.

He was a fan of American football, and made me watch it.

If I lost interest, or look at the dancing girls too much, he would anally rape me.

It was his game to keep in his flat for weeks, often not allowing me to sleep.

When he went out, I was locked in.

2. A memorable punter was about 30 to 40 years older than me.

He also show me off in pubs, even claiming I was his granddaughter.

This punter love extreme violent anal sex.

He would force me, standing up, against his wall. He would force my legs together, and with no warning, no lubricants, and with my face facing the wall – he rammed his penis up my anus.

I usually fainted, I normally bleed for two or three days after a session with him.

I coped by drinking whisky, by trying to not be there.

But the pain was so deep, it became embedded in my body.

I ended up in hospital because of his violence, having my anus sew up.

3. My entrance into prostitution was one of several gang rapes in a six hour period.

I was placed in a bed sit as the new whore for sale.

I was 14, young enough for for punters to think they were breaking a virgin.

I was sold as liking it as violent as possible. I was sold as a sub-human.

The breaking in was that I was raped – gang-raped – by lines of punters.

Every cell in my body was broken down, until I had nothing left.

As I became their ideal whore, I lost all contact with hope, all contact with a world outside the sex trade.

I was broken, but the gang-raping went on and on and on and on.

Until, for no reason I was throw out onto the street.

I went a disturbed and vulnerable teenager, I left a perfect whore.


I have written the tip of the iceberg – but it too much for now.

Just know I was raped every time a punter chose to buy me – and I exited prostitution when I was 27.


Moving On

At the beginning of October, I am moving to Devon from Manchester.

This is huge and in this post, I want to explore why and how it is connected to my past.

I am 54, but this will be real home.

That is moving to Devon is my free choice and desire, not a place I run to to hide.

I am choosing to be visible, I am choosing to regain the good part of my family.

I am choosing mental and physical health with the help of those who care about me, not struggling in isolation.

The main reason that I moving is have my family back.

I am moving to the same market town as my sister.

I am going to be a sister, an aunt, a sister-in-law.

I never thought I would get this back.

I thought all I deserved was to be alone, but slowly and with great love my sister and I have found each other.

This is massive for me, my sister by my side gives great strength and will to go forward.

Being an aunt is wonderful, especially now they are young adults.

I am going to improve my physical health, with the hope there is the added bonus that it helps my trauma.

Devon has no ghosts, no memories of punters, no experiences of male violence for me.

So it is a new start, in many ways a kind of rebirth.

I know things may go wrong, I know I am scared, I know I will get pissed off with my  family and not being in a city.

I am not naive, just very excited.

I write because, I know I cannot do this alone.

I would very grateful if my faithful readers could give moral and emotional support in this new part of my life.

Please hold in your thoughts or prayers, for this is huge.


Punter Watching

I wish to write about punters.

To write who and what they are. This is a list of typical punters, though of course as it is personal, will miss out some.

And of any punter reading this will deny it anything to do with him, coz all punters cannot see themselves.

I write from experiences, I write from listening to my exited Sisters, I write from using my brain.

Mostly I write from my heart, and in order to stop punters getting let off the hook.

So here is my list.


The collector is commonly rebranded as a Hobbyist.

This punter thinks of himself as superior to most of the human race.

He thinks of himself as an artist, a true radical, a gift to everyone who he chooses to communicate with.

Normally he is rich, or acts as if he is rich.

He views the prostituted as his slaves.

Only he pretend they are the happy slaves, the slaves who want to be consumed to death.

The collector want to consume as many prostitutes as he can in one lifetime.

His collection will made from many types of the prostituted, many ways to use the prostituted, and many countries and places to consume the prostituted.

The collector has no heart, he cannot see the prostituted as human.

The prostituted are his property.

But he not only consumed the prostituted, he uses their lives for his art, his novel writing, his research.

He writes, films and records the prostituted not for her truths, but to boost his ego.

All the collector writes, writes or researches is just to say he is is fine to rape, batter or murder the prostituted – for his experience is valued more than her existence.


There is the punter who it is their first time.

Many are pushed in by family, by peer pressure, or by being surrounded by a culture that tells real men have to fuck a whore to be accepted.

It is easy to pity these punters, to make a romantic picture of some confused young lad.

Don’t pity them – for they are still rapists, still capable of extreme violence to the prostituted.

No man is forced to be a punter – each and every man can refuse peer pressure.

Every virgin punter who makes the choice to consume the prostituted, has made the choice to be part of male violence.


There are the punters who want to imagine that his prostitute is pure, is unused by any other punters.

These are the punters that keep up the demand for under-aged prostitution, asking all the time for the youngest and least experienced.

This is a sickness of wanting to conquer and owned the sexuality of the prostituted.

It is a conscious denial of a hidden knowledge.

That is that all punters pretends he is a private and individual experience with the prostitute, whilst fully knowing she is consumed by many, many, many others punters.

The cherry picker wants his prostitute to be pure, innocent and unfucked by other men.

Then he is giving himself full permission to hate the prostituted for allowing others men to consume her.

She becomes the villain, and he the rapist becomes the duped.


Many punters are religious zealots.

These punters see all the prostituted as dirty, inhuman and bound for hell.

These punters can be of all religions, and all are hypocrites.

These are the punters who whine on and on and on about the filthy lifestyle of the prostituted, speak to their deep pain that are consuming such a sinful act.

But they get their money worth, nothing in their Bible, Koran, Torah or other holy books gets in the way of their fucking.

These punters still put more salt in wounds of the prostituted.

After the fucking, these men make the choice to pray over the prostituted and to preach how the prostituted are sinners.


There are the punters who think everything they do to the prostituted is unimportant coz it not done to real women.

These punters usually are in a stable relationship, and would never imagine raping, battering or hurting his partner.

But he will pay to bash up, rape, mentally torture and play death games with the prostituted – for it is just a game, a pastime that is outside reality.

These punters openly condemned rape, child abuse when it done to real women and girls – but continued do those acts in brothels, sex clubs and on the streets.


I can’t go on, sorry this makes me sick.

I know there many other types of punters, and if exited women wants to add more, please do.