rape

In the Booth with Ruth – Kate, Escort

Kate, a current escort, shares bravely from her heart, talking about times when she was attacked and raped and didn’t turn to the police. She is doing this to help others by showing why the Merseyside model of making all crimes against people in prostitution/sex work hate crimes must be made UK wide.

She says: “I would like to think that no matter which part of the spectrum you belong to – pro or anti, the actual health and safety of those working in the here and now would be uppermost. The Merseyside model should not be allowed to become part of the sex trade debate – it’s more important, more urgent than that. It should be a separate issue.”

Ruth Jacobs's avatarRuth Jacobs

Kate, Escort

How do you feel about the police?

Ambivalent, I suppose. In everyday life, were my car stolen I would contact them. If I saw someone committing a crime, I think I would contact them, and I watch the work they do under difficult circumstances here in my part of Ireland with some interest and sympathy for their difficult circumstances. But when it comes to my work, I view them with deep suspicion – I can’t deny that.

Would you say your feelings/trust in the police is influenced by being in the sex trade?

Undoubtedly, and especially as so much emphasis has fallen recently on the issue of human trafficking. That’s a good thing, where human trafficking is taking place, but I feel it has skewed their perception somewhat. And that’s not necessarily their fault. There are tremendous political pressures on the police to combat the issue. This is a highly…

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Update on Voices of Prostitution Survivors Page & Call for New Contributions

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

“Do I Have Prostitute Written on My Forehead?” is the latest entry on the Voices of Prostitution Survivors page. There are now eleven stories up there, but I am keen to have as many voices as possible to dispel the ‘happy hooker’ myth and show the reality of working in prostitution at all levels.

If anyone would like to submit a piece to me, I would be very grateful. My email address is ruth@soul-destruction.com or you can use the contact form on here. It could be a few sentences or a few paragraphs. You can use your own name, a pen name, or just ‘anonymous’. If you would like your blog/website and twitter account linked to your piece I can do that for you as well. I also don’t mind if you use a piece you have already published somewhere else, such as your blog or website.

My website has had over 15,000 hits since I launched it just a few months ago. I want not only my fictional work to show the reality of prostitution, but for that to be backed up by firsthand accounts. I have gone some way to doing this with my charity publication, “In Her Own Words… Interview with a London Call Girl”, from which all royalties are being donated to a charity called Beyond the Streets, which help women exit prostitution.

With all my work, I want to show the reality of working in prostitution, not the glossy image the media has been feeding society. I want to reach all sections of society so women in prostitution are not judged and seen as fallen women, but are treated with compassion and understanding as they are some of the most vulnerable women in society with 75% having suffered childhood sexual and physical abuse, 70% having been raped multiple times, and 67% meeting the criteria for posttraumatic stress disorder. It is correct that 95% of women in prostitution have drug addiction issues but it is often the case that addiction to drugs comes after entering prostitution in order to continue to work in prostitution. Research also shows that 9 out of 10 women would like to exit if they could.

If you can be part of what I am trying to accomplish, changing the stigma society has against women who work in prostitution, dispelling the ‘happy hooker’ myth, deterring young, vulnerable girls and women who are the most likely to enter prostitution from making that decision by showing them the reality then I would be very grateful if you could take part in this endeavour. I also hope it will touch women working in prostitution and give them the strength to seek help from specialist charities to exit when they are ready to do so. I also want my work to reach johns, who will think twice before using the services of a woman in prostitution, knowing that she most likely has been abused as a child, been raped multiple times, has posttraumatic stress disorder, and needs to use drugs in order to have sex with him.

I know I want to accomplish a great deal with my work, and I feel the way forward is to use all mediums possible: my fictional series of Soul Destruction novels, my charity publication, and the Voices of Prostitution Survivors page. In the future, perhaps this can be used as a documentary or my novel turned into a film. In the meantime, I need to work with what I can, and I am asking for your assistance with the Voices of Prostitution Survivors page of my website please.  If you can’t submit a piece, please could I ask that you share this page as widely as possible. Many thanks, Ruth – ruth@soul-destruction.com.

Waking in a Stranger’s Bed – 25 December 2000 – 2.30PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I open my eyes. I’m in a blue bedroom, ocean colour blue. Pink Floyd posters line the wall opposite me. I’m lying in a double bed. I lift up the duvet, peering underneath. I’m completely naked – no knickers, nothing.

Whose bedroom is this? Did I sleep here alone? I slide my fingers between my legs. I rub myself. Bringing my hand up under my nose, I sniff my fingers. I smell of sex. I feel sick in my stomach. I feel sick in my throat. I’m going to throw up.

Rolling out the bed, I look on the carpet for my clothes. They’re not there. I run out the bedroom, naked. This landing is not the landing I saw last night at the party. The bathroom door is open. I throw myself on the white floor tiles. On my knees, head over the toilet, I vomit.

I wipe my eyes with toilet paper. I blow my nose. I rinse my mouth with water from the sink. I run the shower. I need to feel clean. I’ve had sex and I don’t know who’s fucked me. Did they use a condom? I might have caught a disease. I’m sure they’ll find something when I get checked at the clinic, if not from using Lorna’s syringe the other night then from this.

I doubt I’ve been paid, but maybe I was. While I’m waiting for the shower to run hot, I return to the bedroom. My hobo bag is on a wooden chair. I check my purse. There’s four hundred and twenty dollars inside. I’m sure that’s what I had in there yesterday. I haven’t been paid. I’ve had sex with a man for free. Perhaps it wasn’t a man. It could’ve been a woman. That won’t be so bad but it isn’t as likely. Most women wouldn’t have sex with someone as drunk as I was last night.

Back on the landing, I can hear voices coming from downstairs. I’m going to have to go down at some point. I can’t stay up here forever. I tiptoe into the bathroom. I step into the bath and get under the shower. I turn up the heat. The water has to be as hot as I can take it. It’s the only way.

There’s a sponge on the side of the bath. It doesn’t look clean. How can I scrub myself? Tears are making their way into my eyes. I need to scrub my body. I have to scrub it. Ten or so times, I wash the sponge with shower gel under the scorching water. It’s not as clean as I want it to be but it’ll have to do.

I wash my hair three times then finish with conditioner. While the conditioner’s working, I scrub my body thoroughly and rinse. I rinse my hair. Then I scrub my body again. I rinse. I do it again, and rinse. I do it again, and again, and again, until my skin feels raw and I can’t bear the heat and the rawness any longer. I don’t even know who I’ve been washing off me. I don’t feel clean. I need to know who it was and what happened. That should help. Knowing should help. I hope it does.

I sniff the towels that are lying over the bathroom radiator. The black one doesn’t smell of anyone. It smells of fabric conditioner. Wrapped in the towel, I sneak out of the bathroom onto the landing and back inside the blue bedroom. With the door shut, I look around for my clothes. There’s a pile of clothes in the corner by the window. I rummage around and find my underwear and my black skirt and purple top in amongst them.

Before stepping into my knickers, I sniff them. I don’t want to wear them if they smell of sex. Thankfully, they smell clean. Fully dressed, I rub my hair with the towel. I slip on my six-inch heels then return to the bathroom. I replace the towel over the radiator.

Standing in front of the mirror, I open my handbag. I have mascara with me because last night Lorna wouldn’t wait for me to finish my make up before we left my hotel. I apply my mascara then dig in my bag for a lip gloss. I sweep the pale pink shimmer across my lips. I don’t look too bad, though concealer to cover the trademark smackhead spots on my face would have been ideal if I had it in my possession.

With my hobo bag over my shoulder, I wait on the landing. I hear the voices again. There’s at least one woman and two men. I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying. It’s too distant. Do they even know I’m up here? The person who had sex with me might not even be here now.

I will not be ashamed. These things happen. Holding my head high, I walk down the stairs.