Katherine

Reprinted by permission of www.escapeprostitution.com

Do I ever get mad at the women who pose for porn? Yes, because they are me. No, because they are me.

I've attempted several times to share about this question and have stopped each time because it brings so much up. So much shame, so much fear of censure.

When I was in my last year of college the man I had a crush on told his sister that he did not want to date me because I was too ... too ... something. His sister never could remember what he said I was "too". I substituted every adjective I was ever afraid of being into that blank space. He was the first guy I had ever let get close to me and I was too too something to turn him on.

The next day the last light bulb blew in my apartment. I had no money to buy any more. Once the rent was paid I had $3/week left for groceries. It hadn't stretched to light bulbs in months. My Mom was out on strike and couldn't pay her mortgage and was supporting my niece and her mother anyway.

I was angry and I was hungry and I was worried and I wanted to prove that I could attract a man. I had heard about a job that paid well for few hours. All I would have to do was take off my shirt. I called and got an interview.

Another girl interviewed at the same time as me and told me, "I'm not doing that to myself. That's degrading."

Despite the churning in my stomach I had no idea what she meant. I did not morally believe that the job was wrong, so I forced myself to do it. I never knew it was possible, let alone okay, to say to myself: "Dear Katherine, you don't have to do this if you are not comfortable, even if the sole reason is that you are not comfortable."

I know I raped myself by performing that job.

At that job, I learned to put a veneer of femininity over the "too too" something that I truly was. But I felt the truth underneath and it was a constant battle not to let it show. I was always afraid of being found out by men. I thought most men could sense it anyway, I could only fool a few. When I was able to get a man turned on and to get him to give me money because of my sexual prowess, I felt desirable and ... powerful. I believed in the veneer for a minute.

I have read in books that the next stage in the cycle was for me to feel empty and drained because I had given everything and gotten nothing in return. I remember the tired, trapped, disgusted revulsion I felt. I remember hating sex and everything to do with it. Then the next stage was for me to try to fill myself up by doing what I had always done. I remember coming alive as I put my makeup on, anticipating how much money I was going to make, how attractive and powerful I was going to feel, was beginning to feel. Ignoring the churning in my stomach when I remembered how vulnerable I was going to be when my clothes came off.

I saw my co-workers ignore their churning and quiet their revulsion with booze and coke. I wasn't going to do those things. I quieted mine with a click in my head into fantasy. I imagined my customers were my lovers and would carry me away from all this and we would live happily ever after. I accommodated myself to them; I became whatever they wanted me to be.

Eventually, one of the customers wanted to date me. I wasn't attracted to him or repulsed by him. I couldn't think up a good enough excuse not to date him so I ended up at a restaurant with him. Then I couldn't think up a good enough excuse not to sleep with him so I ended up having sex with him.

I thought it was because I couldn't think up a good enough excuse and if I tried hard enough I would think up a good enough excuse. I just realized that that is what I had thought when my brother was abusing me. I never knew I didn't need an excuse, all I needed was "no!" and walk away. Hell, the walking away would have been good enough.

I never could think up a good enough excuse to say no to that customer whenever he knocked on my door at 3 am roaring drunk and wanting sex.

After three months of sporadic midnight visits, he impregnated me with my son.

I knew I could not keep going on working at that job or letting this guy have sex with me while I had this precious child inside me. I knew the child would be harmed by it and I desperately wanted to shield the child.

So I quit the job and I told him "no more", period, end of discussion. I never saw him again. I shake at the mere thought of seeing him again.

So when I see hookers or strippers or porn stars - my heart aches for them. I know how devastated, how dirty, how self-loathing they feel after opening their bodies to stranger after stranger. I know.

I think the men know too. I think it is part of the allure for them. I don't think this type of thing is about sex, love or passion. I think it is about power. I think it is men being able to say to women "You WILL do this for me. You WILL show me your body. You WILL give me pleasure." I think it is about men wanting to believe they have that power. And women saying to men, "Pay me and I will let you believe you have that power." And men saying, "Now I have paid you so I DO have that power." And women saying, "Shit, he does."