by Rebecca Mott
Prostitution is full of grief.
The grief of seeing a crossroad and always taking the wrong turning.
That is how I remember prostitution – that is how it is remembered through self-loathing and inability to see all choice was stolen from me, was stolen from all my prostituted Sisters.
It is easier to blame yourself for taking too many wrong turning – than to know a reality of mental and physical manipulation, of being trapped into hell in degrees.
How can the truth be seen and known, when it so gradual?
The trap is make the prostitute feel it is her choice to have more and more sadist acts done to her.
Make her feel it the only way to get decent money; tell her she more adventurous than other women; say she is special so punters ask for her; say it just a one-off; say it is a punishment and won’t happen again.
It is a drip-feed of making the prostitute lose feeling, driving her into at first shocked numbness leading into violence so routine she is dead but somehow alive.
I know that deadness, I still carry it as I remember, I still carry it into all my words on what prostituted meant to me.
I know what it was to be dead, but having to continue.
Deadness is the only to deal with living inside routine rapes – heck, rapes is too banal for what the average prostitute goes through.
There is a limited and inadequate for being raped thousands of times. How does language framed that?
How does language give back the body which had no safe place from sexual invasion?
Prostituted women and women are nuked into being sexual goods, for then they can survive by not feeling, not remembering they are human.
To be a prostitute, is to be goods, that is the simple truth.
Punters buy prostitutes as they would choose instant coffee in a supermarket. In the end all instant coffee is the same, but the label makes the buyer say there is a difference.
It is the same as punter choose between street prostitute or an escort, between getting the prostitute on the net or going to a brothel – in the end all whores are the same to the punters.
All whores are there for him to do whatever sexual porn fantasy he wants – the only difference like his instant coffee is how much cash he will put out to destroy her.
There is no passion, no connection and certainly no idea of having mutual sex, when a punter makes the choice to consume a prostitute.
It is all about his “needs”, his greed, his hate of the prostitute, his desire to have control, his need to own another human, and his ability to be violent without consequences.
If anyone has made the wrong turning – it is every single man in the world who make the choice to consume prostitutes for any reason.
There is no reason that is good enough for buying a prostitute – every punter can walk away from making that choice.
But instead of seeing the punter, all the blame is placed onto the prostitute for her wrong choices and making the wrong turns in the road.
All prostitutes are made to blamed for their own rapes, their own tortures and their own murders.
Even the few who are lucky enough to have limited violence – are made to know that sexual violence is just their norm, it is the risk of their lifestyle.
Ever since prostitution has existed, it has been decided that it is impossible to rape a prostitution, it is decided that you cannot torture a prostitute for it just extras or kinky sex – it is decided that no-crime to murder a prostitute.
This is embedded in all aspects of prostitution – prostitutes are made nothing but throwaway goods.
We are given no rights to feel or know the violence that is our know – we have all language of rights, all language of saying you can’t do that to us, all language of self-dignity stolen from us.
The prostituted are made speechless – and then we are told it must be our choice for we never complain or speak out.
But look into the silence – and see it is rage of the tortured.