A woman, who wants to remain anonymous, sent us this #MeToo account of her life in prostitution through our Share Your Story page. This provides a space for women to tell their stories in their own words.

Imagine going to the cops because you have been severely raped/beaten/robbed and they laugh at you because you are a whore and you got what you deserved.

That was my life as a sex worker, and is still the life of any sex worker who gets turned out on the track instead of on the internet, where sex workers are just living their best lives.

It has always been amusing to me the hierarchy in prostitution. Women thinking they’re better than other women because of the method they use to sell sex. Instead of focusing on the fact that regardless of how you do it, it is all the same.

I was 17 the first time I sold sex. Broken girl from a broken home. Met a man who promised her the world but she only had to sell her body to obtain it. Only had to turn over every dollar that she made to support him and what he wanted. Only had to be beaten by him when she didn’t make quota. Only had to be raped and robbed and degraded by tricks. Made to feel like nothing, made to feel worse than nothing, like she was just disposable.

My parents knew that I was a prostitute and my mom told me that I deserved it. I tried to leave so many times but he beat me, and in reality, I didn’t have anywhere to go. So, I worked the streets. Every day of the year. Sometimes for hours, all depended on how long it took me to make my $1K a night quota. I was arrested and then let me go only to be back on the streets the minute I was out. If I was raped/robbed/beaten it didn’t matter.

But one day, I just had enough. It was the night of my 25th birthday and I was working and I was having a good night and then as I was exiting my hotel room I was held at gunpoint and robbed for everything I had. Even my phone. I flagged down the cops and they laughed at me. And then they raped me. And I was so tired and hurt and somewhere deep down inside I knew it had to stop.

So, I started hiding money so I could escape. And I did, but not without almost dying. I spent six weeks in the hospital recovering but I was done. I still struggle with occasionally going back to sex work for the money, I still have a sugar daddy who helps me pay my bills, but I hope to one day be free from it.

Share your story

If you’ve been in the sex trade, or have been affected by it in other less direct ways, and would like to share your story anonymously, please see our Share Your Story page.