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Trapped

In the UK, 2,228 victims of trafficking in the sex industry sought help in 2017! Not all of those are trafficked in the way we would imagine.

Sometimes when something happens to you, you have to tell the story from the beginning to have your side heard. Nothing ended that day how I thought it would, and I have to tell you my secrets and criminal activities to honestly paint you the whole picture. I know you will judge, that is your purpose as a jury. But this is my story, as a mother, a working girl and someone who’s life changed in an instance. So here’s my story:

I carefully blended in my last layer on foundation and added my highlighter, using only the light of my mobile phone, squatted by the mirror. Desperately trying not to wake Rosie, sleeping peacefully in her Moses basket across the room, or worse awaken Darius from his sleep, when he’ll be keeping his eyes on the other girls while they’re out working this evening. I hated the morning shift because it meant sneaking around in the dark, getting ready and then turning on the client phone and waiting patiently for the first request to meet up.

With makeup fully applied, I snuck across the bedroom and with one last look down onto my peacefully sleeping baby girl, I had to go to start the day of turning tricks. I had no other way to provide for her, she was my beautiful blessing from Darius and if I didn’t go out to work, I feared that he’d take her away, far beyond where I could ever see my gorgeous daughter again. Even the thought of it filled my heart with agony and dread;

And with this, I picked up the lingerie that Darius had laid out for me to wear today and I started to put it on. As I pulled the Basque on and tightened it, the artwork of bruising across my body was hidden and I suddenly felt like a seductive and sensual goddess, pulling up my stockings. Slipping my feet into stilettos, still silent, ever conscious of waking my sleeping baby and sleep deprived business man boyfriend, I snuck downstairs, pulling a little black dress on over the top and turning my client phone on. Now all I had to do was wait…

I sat thinking about the types of requests I would prefer to come through today, while I disliked some of the more "unusual" client requests I could really charge for those, and there is nothing that pleases my man more than when us girls come home with pockets bursting with cash.

The start of the day was slow, but once it hit 9am, I was confined to the "den" where Darius had set up an area for us girls to get ready and wait for our next client because this method of solicitation was far safer than trawling the streets. It was gestures like these that really separated Darius from being a "pimp," he cared for our welfare, especially mine. Despite the bumps in the road of our relationship since Rosie was born. He was more of an entrepreneur and a responsible boss, who would be respected if his trade wasn’t illegal.

Finally, my phone buzzed. I felt sickened and excited. Every time that phone went off, I knew I was being offered a pay-out, which we desperately needed but there was always a small voice at the back of my head screaming “at what cost?” I picked the old Nokia phone up and opened the message. It was simple request to start the day, meeting two roads away in ten minutes, just an elderly gentleman who I regularly visited and performed oral sex on. I pinned my hair back into a high ponytail and replied, “Heading straight over, money first as always.” I added a line to the blank piece of paper on the dining room table, so Darius would be aware how many calls I’d had when he awoke if I wasn’t in. I strutted up the street and quickly made my way to the client’s house, walking was such an inconvenience… Every moment I wasted commuting was a moment I could be offering upgrades at added costs or finishing the job and moving on to my next client.

I knocked three times, as we always did. Mr Knowley opened his front door in only his red silk boxers, “Hello Darling, Make yourself at home.” I started to make us both feel at home right away, we headed into the front room where he sat on the sofa as I slipped of my dress and ran my hands over my body, I knelt down in front of him, running my hands up his thighs and caressing his tender testicles as I underdressed him from his boxers. I looked up at his face, which had a wild grin spread across it as I teased him with my hands along the shaft of his penis.

I remember the first time I saw this client, I struggled to pretend I was fully immersed into the act because he struggled to maintain an erection due to his age, only afterwards when he offered me a cup of tea did I learn I’d just had intercourse with a man over 70 years of age who as he described it "still had wild urges." The difficulty maintaining an erection meant that this client needed more teasing and foreplay than a usual client would get, but this came at a price to his wallet.

I was stroking his shaft aggressively when signs of stiffness appeared, I followed this by carefully caressing the tip with my tongue, he let out a loud breath. He was already having the time of his life, and all I could think about was how the head of his penis tasted like stale biscuits. It was every thought I had like this, that made me shudder and wish I didn’t have to do this, but I have responsibilities now. Before I was a working girl for my fix or heroin, and now I have no choice, because I can’t let my Rosie end up another casualty of the social care system like me.

Mr Knowley’s erection was in full force, this was my time to act because I was working on a time limit with this customer, I licked my lips and looked deeply into my eyes before I dove down, submerging his penis deep into the back of my throat and thrusting it in and out, repeating this for about 3 minutes; the job was over. As an odd taste and texture filled my mouth I felt sickened, looking down at the wrinkled testicles and legs in front of my face, my mind was wandering to "what ifs?" Mr Knowley had finished off everywhere and as I cleaned him off with a pack of wet wipes, he fetched me the payment out of his wallet. I took the £40 and left, as I left he called after me “I’ll see you soon..”

The whole walk home I felt like filth, I had to go home to see my baby. What kind of example was I? I couldn’t stop thinking of Mr Knowley’s leathery skin or the gross taste and texture of his semen. I knew I didn’t have a choice but to continue as one of Darius’ girls, it was that or he’d take Rosie. I had the bruises to prove he didn’t like to be questioned. My heart was racing, even the thought of standing up to him was petrifying.

I walked in the door, Rosie was upstairs crying. She was screaming. I could hear Darius talking to Ciara another working girl.

I saw red, work should never come before our baby. Especially when I’m out sucking the penises of the elderly and he’s getting a 70% cut of every penny I earned and I get the pennies and no child support because "he has her while I go to work…" Bullshit. I stropped up, honestly I was utterly pissed off that our child was being ignored to organise a "how to fist a man" lesson downstairs with some other working girl in what was meant to be our family home.

I stormed up the stairs, making each step damn well heard from the floor below. I picked my screaming girl out of her cot and held her in my arms, swaying her side to side. “Mummy’s here. Mummy’s here.” I felt disgusting, I could still sense Mr Knowley had been near me which was why I liked to be showered and sorted before tending to my daughter.

I started to change her nappy, cleaning her soiled legs and back also telling her “One day, it’ll just be you and Mummy and we’ll be safe.” I heard the door creak, I didn’t even have time to act. His arm was gripped around my arm and he pulled me fiercely and threw me to the floor, I still had Rosie in my arms from changing her, she was flung violently in the air. I don’t honestly have any recollection of what happened next, until I woke up from surgery.

I’ll tell you what I found out when I woke up from that surgery, I was beaten so severely that I had lost sight in my left eye, I had 6 broken ribs, a punctured lung and was going to be relying on this damn chair for the rest of my life. I’m not here to ask you to punish him for that your honour. I’m the least of my interest. Maybe this is the punishment for my crimes.

HOWEVER, what I lost that day, that I cannot bare he walks away a free man from, is my Rosie. The police came to me, and they tell me she died in that incident. Just imagine, the turmoil as I’ve just learnt that not only am I disability severely for life now, I am no longer a mother either. My perfect Rosie at only 9 months old was already an angel, just take a moment to imagine.

Not only was there an impact with the wall when he grabbed me where Rosie’s head was crushed and indented permanently damaging her fragile brain... my gorgeous 9-month-old baby laid crying and screaming for help, in agony. The coroner reports showed he stamped on his own daughter’s head until she stopped crying. She didn’t stop crying until she was dead your honour.

I’m still waiting for you all to tell me this isn’t real because I still can’t fathom how a parent could inflict such trauma on a harmless girl as gorgeous as ours.

If I knew this would have happened, honestly, I would of given oral sex to every man I ever saw and given him 80% because sure I felt dirty as a working girl. But you can never clean away your own daughter’s blood of your hands, when you weren’t strong enough to escape the man who murdered her.

I called you a boss for so long Darius, but you weren’t a boyfriend or a boss, you were just another low life pimp. Rosie was perfect and you took her! You took the only thing I had. My reason to live. Why? For what reason? And you stand there with no grief or remorse… She was just an innocent baby. You’re a monster.

He stood.

“And you were nothing more than another working girl who I accidentally knocked up.” His face was straight, calm and collected.

I lost it and ran for him, straight into securities grip, as I was dragged away could only scream, “Please do my baby justice. I’m just grieving.”

Titanium Jen
Titanium Jen

I’m a 23 year old aspiring writer, who writes a selection of work inspired by my personal experience as a Brain cancer patient as well as a selection of creative writing pieces! All money earnt from any views is for charity! 

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