crime

Seeking contributors for “Voices of Prostitution Survivors” new page

Nicole O'Connell - Story of a London Call Girl 88

I have created a new page on my blog called Voices of Prostitution Survivors.  So far, there are nine stories up there.

For anyone who has worked in prostitution and would like to contribute a short piece, anything from a few sentences to a few paragraphs, please email me with your piece to ruth@soul-destruction.com or use the contact form on the website.

If you have a blog and/or Twitter account and would like them linked to your piece, please let me know those details. Alternatively, if you would prefer to use a pen name or be kept anonymous, please let me know that too.

To be clear, I am interested to hear from anyone who has worked in prostitution. There is no judgement on how long you worked in prostitution for, whether it be for one day or decades. Nor does it matter what type of prostitution you were involved in, whether that be streetwalking, working in a brothel, or in a massage parlour, or operating as a call girl/escort. I am just looking for real honesty, the power to speak from your heart, and if you can, disclose how you really feel.

For anyone who doesn’t know me well already, I am an author whose writing dispels the “happy hooker” myth and exposes the dark world and the harsh reality of life as a call girl. With my series of novels, Soul Destruction, as well as my charity publication, In Her Own Words… Interview with a London Call Girl, I hope to achieve this, and also change the stigma much of society has against women who work in prostitution. I believe this is mainly through lack of knowledge and understanding. I am hoping this new page, Voices of Prostitution Survivors, will go some way to help people who are not involved in prostitution understand women who have worked/are working in prostitution and, with that understanding, be less likely to judge. I am also hoping this page will help women who have exited prostitution, as well as women who are still in prostitution, gain identification with each other. The comments section can be used as a discussion board for all who read the page.

Collision – 30 December 2000 – 18.00

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

Me and Mickey walk along the road towards the Radisson. I’ve been sweating in my white, Armani dress all day. I want to have a shower and change before he takes me out to dinner. He’s trying to make me eat more, which is sweet of him really, but I’m not hungry. I never am. Apparently, there’s a sushi restaurant I’m going to love. What I’m most looking forward to is the sake. Mickey says it gets you drunk fast. He also said it’s made from fermented rice, which doesn’t sound particularly nice, but if it gets me drunk and doesn’t taste too bad, that’s all that matters.

I’m feeling the best I’ve felt since I’ve been here. Today with Mickey has been amazing. We haven’t done anything, not even kissed. But he’s held me for hours in the back of his van and not once did I have a flashback. It feels like a real breakthrough. I’m dying to tell Dr Fielding but Mickey’s hungry and I’ve already talked him into stopping off at the hotel so I can freshen up so it’s not fair to make him wait while I call Dr Fielding too. Later tonight, I’ll be too drunk so I’ll need to leave it until tomorrow.

As we approach my hotel, Lorna’s standing opposite on the other side of the street. She looks like a hooker in her red boob tube top and her jean shorts that are so short they show half her arse. I look away, hoping she won’t see me, but I know I’m probably the reason she’s stood there.

“Oi, Nicole!” she screams.

“What do you want?” Mickey shouts back at her.

“Can’t she talk for herself, chicken legs?”

“We’re off out now. Come over on Monday,” I say, because I want to spend the rest of the weekend with Mickey before he’s back to work.

“Just cross the fucking road, Nicole,” Lorna yells. “I won’t take too much of your precious time.”

I run over to the seafront, leaving Mickey outside the Radisson. I kiss Lorna on the cheek, hoping to calm things between us after the lie I told. “Have you got my two-hundred dollars?”

“Forget about your fucking money. Who do you want to be with, me or him?” Lorna shakes my shoulders. “I know you’re fucking him as well.”

I look away from her and turn my head towards the sea. “I really like him, Lorna. I’m sorry.”

“Well you should’ve said before and not led me on.” She digs her nails into the bare skin on my back.

I rip her hands off me. “I didn’t lead you on. Last time, I was gouched out and when I came to you’d taken off my clothes and were all over me. You fucking took advantage and that’s not the first time.”

“You lying fucking bitch.” Lorna slaps me hard on my cheek. My head swings to the side. As I bring it back up, I nut her on the forehead. She falls flat on the pavement.

Mickey comes running over the road. “I told you she was trouble.”

“She’s a dirty little fuck, isn’t she Mickey?” Lorna pushes herself up from the ground. “That’s what you like though. She’s right up your street. A dirty fucking whore.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Mickey says forcefully.

I stand next to him on the curb, waiting for a gap in the traffic. I’m shoved from behind. I can hear Mickey calling my name as I spin through the air.

Controlled – 27 December 2000 – 5.25PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I take a sip from my bottle of coke. There’s vodka mixed in with it. I need that. I’m anxious. I’m dying for my hit. I’m also worried I’m not going to make it back in time for Mickey. If I didn’t dream the conversation with him, I’m meant to be meeting him at the Radisson at seven o’clock. Me and Lorna have only just got on the ferry from Manly heading to Circular Quay. We need to catch a bus to Kings Cross at the other end, have our hits, and then make the return journey.

“Are you sure we’ll be back in time?”

“You’re doing my head in.” Lorna sits down on a bench on the deck. “Why don’t you just call your punter and rebook him?”

“I told you. His mobile doesn’t work here. It’s a UK phone.”

If I had Mickey’s number, I would call him. And if Mickey was a punter, I wouldn’t care about missing him. I’m so angry with myself for getting on this bloody ferry. I should’ve stayed in Manly. I’ll be lucky to get my hit an hour before I would’ve probably had one with Mickey anyway. I can’t bear being driven by the powder like this. It makes me do things I don’t want to do.

Arriving at Circular Quay, me and Lorna walk to the bus stop and wait. Time is dragging. Unusually, I’m wearing my watch. I keep checking it. Eventually, the bus comes and we take the short ride. When we step off at Kings Cross, I’m infuriated by Lorna’s slow pace. I’m the one wearing high heels, as always, and she’s in flats. She should be walking faster. I can’t even pull her along. I don’t know where we’re going. I came with her once before to score here, but I never paid any attention on the way.

At last, we reach the turquoise door by the side of the barber’s shop. Lorna rings the bell. “Wait here,” she says, as the door is buzzed open. She disappears inside.

Smoking a cigarette, I watch the passersby. There’s a mix of people. I try to avoid focusing on the parents pushing buggies. It makes me sad, thinking about the babies I should have. I take a slug from my vodka and coke. I look at the prostitutes. They’re dressed the same as the streetwalkers back home in London. You can see the suspender straps of the women wearing stockings. They fall below their nearly non-existent skirts.

A young, blonde girl catches my eye. She’s wearing a jean mini-skirt and a black bra. I know I’m staring at her, but I can’t avert my gaze. She looks about fifteen. I ache in my heart for her. I ache for the young girl I was at that age. Fifteen’s when I started working. It was terrible then. I cried all the time. Doing a punter was like being raped. I didn’t have a choice back then. My pimp made me work on the streets. At the time, I thought he was my boyfriend. I was so naive. I thought he loved me. He was evil. So were the paedophile punters who bought me. They fucked a crying child. That is rape.

I stamp my cigarette out on the pavement. Lorna’s taking ages. I hate not having a phone on me. If I was back in London, I’d call her to tell her to hurry the fuck up. I can’t ring the dealer’s doorbell. I don’t think I can. It’s not the done thing when you’re the friend of a dealer’s customer. You’re meant to wait outside discreetly. That’s the rule.

I look at my watch. There’s no way I’m going to make it back in time for Mickey now. I’m not even sure the arrangement was definite. It might’ve been in my dream that I heard him say he was coming back. I can’t check with him though. I don’t have his number. I should have stayed in Manly. Now I’m going to have to get his number from Lorna. Considering she’s trying to keep me away from him, it isn’t going to be easy.