It is hard to know where to start...it is hard to look back and write about parts of my life that I thought I had buried deep within myself...it is hard to write when the words bring back all the sufferings, pains, joys and sorrows that forever haunts our memories past!
I have been a prostitute, yes, but I was and am a human being. It is hard to understand the life of prostitution for those who never lived it.
To understand prostitution you first have to realize that prostitution runs opposite from any other career or job. In a traditional job the more years you have at it, the more experienced you become the more money you earn. In prostitution it runs the other way...the younger you are the more you earn.
If during your teens you got along great with servicing three men a day, in order to make that same amount of money in your mid twenties you had to service fifteen to twenty men a day! And after you turn thirty...well...you are lucky if you can get five hours of sleep after finishing your quota and getting ready for the next day!
Sundays? Sure; when Sunday comes around you are so tired you just want to sleep all day! And believe me; you can't imagine how great it feels to be able to sleep all day in bed...alone...without a line of men waiting to share your bed!
My best friend once asked me what scene strikes out in my past; what moment of my life became fixed in my memory as if it happened yesterday. I told her there were three special moments in my life that became imprinted as if etched with fire: the first time I had sex, my first John and my first gang rape.
When I was six years old my parents divorced and I ended up living with a distant aunt. My mother was an addict and an alcoholic; my dad remarried. I never saw them again.
I cannot say my aunt treated me badly; rather I would say she didn't treat me at all! As long as I didn't give her any problems she just let me be, as if I was just a temporary visitor in her house.
I never had many friends in school; I guess you could say I was the typical loner.
By the time I turned 12 I was yearning for a fatherly figure. I watched as my school friends were picked up every afternoon at school by their moms or dads...I always walked back home alone.
That year is when I met him at the mall. My future pimp.
He was a very well dressed African American man in his late thirties, suit and tie, elegant. I was a 12 year old school girl, blonde, blue eyes, very naive. True, I looked older as my body already started developing, but I still had baby fat around my waist and my breasts were just starting to be noticeable.
Anyway, we started talking and he seemed very nice and understanding. Only much later did I learn that men like him know how to prey and select their victims.
Over the weeks we got to meet daily at the mall. He even bought me some beautiful clothes that I had always desired but could never afford. I guess over time I sort of saw him as my missing fatherly figure and became totally dependent on him.
Oh, he played so well on my feelings and I was so naive! But remember, I was only 12 years old.
Then it happened. He talked me into how I was so much prettier than all the other girls and how I could easily make money just by being nice to men and would be able to buy all the things I ever wanted!
Well, after some time I started believing it. So about a month after we first met he told me to tell my aunt that I would be staying the night over at a friend's house and to go to his place where I could spend the night and he would show me how to become more of a grown up.
So that day, after school, I went to his place.
"I will stop here for now. Maybe nobody is interested anyway..."
