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?

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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

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.

THE VIRGIN

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.

THE CHERRY PICKER

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.

THE HOLY JOE

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.

NOT REAL

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.

 

Hell is a Place on Earth

In this post, I want to reach into my silence.

I am not sure if this will work, or even make sense. But to reach my place of hell, I have to dig deep.

I have no visual memory – when I think I see no images, only I surrounded by feelings or the lack of feelings.

I think I stop seeing coz my mind could hold the reality of hell, so it stored it inside the rest of my body.

So from that place of hell, I was given many gifts.

The gift of the agony of body memories speaking truths to my mind.

The gift of being too alert and sleeping that refuses to be too deep.

The gift of having dead emotions that cannot connect with others.

The hell that is named indoors prostitution – be that girlfriend experience, be that escorting, be that dancing for sex – that remains in every cell of my body.

I am proud to be an exited woman, proud that my blog reaches and changes so many, proud that I still am alive and moving in the right direction.

But the hell I have lived inside, never fully leaves me.

It is hell that grabs my throats choking me as I am determined to live.

It a hell in an endless sickness in my stomach.

It a hell that is laughing at my every effort to just be normal and free from the sex trade.

I fight each and every day for that freedom.

The route to freedom is long, hard and full of traps.

To be truly free from the sex trade and all it mental abuses, we need destroy it root and branch – not pussyfoot with endless discussions or bad laws.

Exited women – and men – need justice.

To have justice, we must see what that means. I can write from my point of view, but I hope my ideas connects with other exited folks.

Justice to me is real punishment for each and every man who makes the choice to consume the prostituted.

By punishment, I do mean a smallish fine and some therapy for punters.

Punters are not victims or unaware of the harms they are doing.

No they are criminals, usually vicious criminals.

Punters do not accidentally pick up a prostitute out of boredom, coz they are lonely or coz they too ugly to get a real woman.

No punters pre-plan buying the prostituted.

Most punters are in a stable relationship, punters are just greedy, callous and cold.

By justice, I mean punters should get prison sentences or at the least, be fined round a tenth of their earnings.

With true justice, it would punters who felt stigmatised – not the prostituted.

To have justice, all sex trade profiteers would be rotting in prison.

I think the minority of twenty years is some justice for choosing to make the prostituted into sub-humans.

All sex trade profiteers get their fortunes from allowing torture, serial rapes, mental abuse, and disappearances of the prostituted.

We must stop allowing human rights crisis.

All sex trade profiteers have made the choice to create a genocide – but all too often it made invisible by being labelled as adult entertainment.

If we choose to not see sex trade profiteers and punters as criminals, we are enabling this genocide.

This is not the time to be a voyeur as the prostituted as burning in hell.

Either stand with us and fight for real justice – or be honest with yourself, and say you can never see the prostituted as fully human, and deserving of full human rights.

I am tired of writing this.

Tired of speaking to genocide, speaking to torture, speaking to serial raping, speaking to mass disappearances of the prostituted.

Tired of helping others with complex trauma from years of punters making them sub-human .

Tired of living complex trauma, tired of sleep pattern going all the place.

Damned it, I am bloody tired that so few care enough to make real and permanent change for the prostituted.

So please do more, we are drowning.

 

Moving not Running

I am moving home from Manchester to Devon in a couple of months or so.

This is a major event for me, for it my choice, and for the first time in my life this move is not coz I have had to run away.

I am moving to get my mental and physical back on track.

I am moving to be have the good side of my family near me.

I can be a sister, an aunt and a friend to those who love me even when I test that love to it’s limits.

I want a big change, coz I gone as far as I go doing this work by myself.

I am tired of being isolated.

I am tired of just coping with extreme trauma.

I am tired.This change is very scary.

I have always lived and hidden in large cities, now I moving to a market town.

I am moving to a place where the residents are more visible to each, for instance shopping in Devon is slow for a city gal, for so many conversations are had.

I survived my life by keeping my head down, and fading into the background.

I need to learn it ok to chat with others, for it just a brief exchange, not a threat or a sign of vulnerability.

I want to make changes when I move, small changes that may bring the person I wanted to be if my youth had not been stolen.

I want to build on my love of popular culture, love of trivia and love of being in small moments that make a society.

I have always loved history and English literature, I want to find groups to feed that part of my brain.

I am obsessed with the joy of classic American films, not on the intellectual level, but for the stories and entertainment.

I want to go to sports events, say Plymouth Argyle, Somerset Cricket Club and Exeter for rugby.

As a child, I was a birdwatcher, as well badgers and foxes – maybe I can remember how to be that still.

I want to eat and drink out, and use that as a way to people watch and maybe chat. The pubs are great in Devon.

Mostly I want to be with my sister, who is the person who behind me in this move.

We have planned Wine Fridays, that she may teach me how to cook, and we will be in the same town but not in each other pockets.

I need to change, coz I more than the prostitution woman.

To do my work, I need many non-related things to do.

I am proud of this work, but it very draining and isolating.

So please know this move is scary but highly positive.