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 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.

Taking Advantage – 28 December 2000 – 1.05AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

Mickey’s on my mind. Lorna’s in my bed. I didn’t want to have sex with her again but it’s happened. I didn’t realise what was going on until I found her with her head between my legs. She must’ve undressed me while I was gouched out. I don’t want her. I want Mickey. I know she’s not going to give me his number. I’m going to have to wait until she’s gouched out, and then see if it’s stored in her phone.

“Why are you putting that on?” Lorna sits up in the queen-sized bed.

Wearing my nightdress, I slip back under the duvet. “I’m cold.”

“Me too. Turn off the air-con.” She leans over to the bedside table and tips a small heap of white heroin into a spoon.

Reluctantly, I push myself up from the bed. I open the drawer in the bureau and take out my pastel blue nightdress. “Wear this,” I say, holding it in her direction.

“I like being natural.” She drips water from a syringe into the spoon. “It’s what nature intended.”

I’d so much rather we were friends without the sex. The more I’m getting to know her, the less attractive I’m finding her. And I hate it that she’s shaven. I haven’t had a flashback so far tonight, but that’s probably because I haven’t been there yet. I know she’s going to want me to. And I really don’t want to.

“I’m sorry about your punter.” Lorna passes me my filled syringe. She gets up from the bed and walks over to the air conditioning unit on the wall. As she turns the control, the dull humming sound stops resonating in the suite. “At least you got your fifty dollars back.”

“Fifty dollars isn’t compensation for a missed job.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m so into the lie, I’m nearly believing it myself. If it was a missed job, I wouldn’t care less. But it was Mickey I missed, and I’m fuming with myself about that.

“If you need work while you’re here, I can set you up.”

“I don’t want to work in a brothel. No offence, but I can’t do that many punters a day, and I don’t work for pittance.”

“It doesn’t have to be a brothel. That guy in the Cross, he knows people.”

Wrapping my tan belt around my arm, I look for a good vein. “He’s a pimp, you mean?”

“Not exactly. I’ll introduce you to him. He can explain what he does.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“I’m not involved. I don’t know. Next time we’re there, you can meet him.” Lorna injects her hit. Her eyes close. She lies down next to me on the bed. Her long, blonde hair splays over the pillow, fanned out like the feathers of a peacock.

I insert the needle into a vein on my lower arm. I need to give the one on the inside of my elbow a rest. It’s not healing and I don’t like the mark there. “What do you do for money?” I ask.

“This and that.”

“Did you make much working in the brothel?”

“Yeah, quite a lot over the years. Put it all in my arm though.”

“Didn’t you–?”


“Doesn’t matter.” I don’t want to cause a row, but I’m sure she said before she worked in the brothel for two months. I can’t question her on it again though. Last time I did, she was upset with me for not listening to her properly.

I push down on the plunger. The rush pulsates in my body. Somehow, I need to keep alert. If she gouches out for long enough, I can look in her phone for Mickey’s number.

Intent – 27 December 2000 – 6.15AM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I run my fingers through Mickey’s short brown hair. It doesn’t wake him. I’ve been doing it intermittently for the last couple of hours while I’ve been watching him sleep. He looks like a roman statue with his straight nose, sharp jaw line, and his toned body. It’s not strange that I find it easier to touch him when he doesn’t know I’m doing it. There’s no danger of a response.

In my head, I’d love to be his girlfriend. He’s completely different from every man I’ve ever known. No man before him has treated me with the consideration and compassion he’s shown. Lorna must have been lying or exaggerating when she said he was dangerous. He doesn’t seem dangerous to me. But even if she did make it up and he is genuine, I don’t do relationships. Working as a call girl, it doesn’t go with the job. And even though I’m not working at the moment, fear explodes in my stomach at the thought of being with a man in that way. Men aren’t to be trusted. They all cheat and lie.

I couldn’t bring myself to trust the last boyfriend I had a few years ago. There was something blocking it. I think it was my intuition, but I didn’t trust that either. I didn’t realise how damaging the relationship with Pete was until I got completely honest with Dr Fielding about what was really going on. He was violent but I didn’t think it was that bad. He never actually left a mark. Well once, he did on the top of my arm, but I’d made him angry. I accused him of being with another woman. When we split up, I found out that he was in fact sleeping with her. I was right all along but he’d made me think it was all in my head – my insecurities because I was a hooker, because my father left us, because I’d been abused. When I used to have flashbacks during sex, he’d get angry and shout at me, “If you can do it with your punters, you can do it with me.” I felt I had to perform. I used to fuck him like I’d fuck a client. I hated it. Every time we had sex, I felt unclean and used, like I’d done a job and not been paid. I started sleeping on the sofa in the lounge to avoid being in bed with him. Maybe that’s why he was sleeping with the other girl. After he’d gone, when my annual statement arrived from the Nationwide, I discovered he’d withdrawn thousands from my savings account. There was nothing I could do. He knew I couldn’t go to the police. Money’s the reason men want to be with a call girl. Like Angel said, if a man really loves you, he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men.

Mickey’s snoring again. I don’t bother telling him to stop. I can’t sleep with the constant stream of thoughts. I return to stroking his hair. He’s a beautiful man. He’s far more handsome than Pete. He’s a lovely distraction. Rather than going over my past with Pete, I imagine the future with Mickey. I picture us walking hand-in-hand in a park, along the shoreline, on the promenade of Manly Beach. In a gothic church, I’m walking down the aisle. I’m standing next to him at the altar. I lift my veil and meet his lightest of light blue eyes with mine.

I shouldn’t let myself dream like this. Although he doesn’t know I’m a call girl, he does think I have a large inheritance. He could be with me for my money. He has been paying his share for the smack so far, and that’s a good sign, but it has only been a couple of days. I’ll need to see if he keeps it up. Not that I think I could get attached, but if I could get attached to a man, he’d be the one.