|Life of a Prostitute
Author: GlitteR StuD PM
I was inspired to write a story about Prostitutes, mostly because I sympathise those who are raised and forced into Prostitution and Pornography leading them to live a tough life. I feel like people judge them on what they do rather than why they do it.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Drama/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,164 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 09-04-11 - Published: 08-23-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2946037
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Life of a Prostitute
There's always a reason for everything. I guess that never makes much sense when you were born and raised into doing something you've never dreamed of doing, nothing makes sense anymore but the same routine remains for a while, like a reoccurring nightmare.
Were you smothered, loved, hugged and cooed at as a baby? Well I was brought into this world accidently – as I was told - by two crack heads amongst the atmosphere of drugs, alcohol, lust and the unending hunger of needing money. Nobody understands, nor you or I but the world is full of madness that we alone couldn't possibly imagine.
"Whore!" She threw a dirty stare into my eyes, she then slapped her hand hard straight across my face causing me to lose my balance and fall hard against the ground. Coincidently I fall straight down onto the broken beer bottles which pierced into my legs causing my voice to shrill at the pain. To be honest the only pain I really felt was the word that spat easily out of that filthy mouth of hers. I may sell my body but that doesn't make me any different than everybody else.
I pick myself from off the ground, ran at her and pushed her from behind.
"The hells your problem" Raising my voice at her, demanding to know what her issue is.
"GURL. Get your dirty…slutty fingers off of me. Lord knows what you're paid to do wid dem… And I ain't wanna know." She stuck her hand out, about a centimeter away from my face.
"You don't know anything about me. Nothing." Tears start to roll down my face, the fact that you have to deal with names and vulgar people is too much to handle. The pain and shame that I go through everyday couldn't ever be in comparison.
"To hell with you." She gladly said and began to walk away. I refuse to let her escape without a fight, I ran towards her pushing her hard from behind causing her to fall flat against the rough ground.
"What does it feel like now? Ha? ANSWER ME. Did you really not think we go through enough already?" I look down at her and she stared up at me hopelessly, trembling with fear as I raise my voice at her.
When I walk away from that complete waste of time; Fire is stood there with a sympathetic look scribbled on that fairy like face of hers. She walks over to me and I just admire as her Ginger, curls bounce as she walks with pride. We may not be lady-like but if we don't show some kind of power, what else do we have to spare?
"Dawn" She placed her right hand on my left arm, stroking and comforting me. I remain crying from anger, I break out of her touch and walk away from her, and she grabs me by the wrist.
"This is who WE are. This is what WE do, Dawn. There's no backing out. You know what Stud would do to us; you know what he's like."
I turn to face her hurt by her words.
"Screw Stud. SCREW IT ALL. Not that we haven't been doing that for the past year. I'm tired Fire, I want it all to stop. Everything."
Have you ever asked yourself what the difference between a home and a house is?
A homeless person doesn't live in a house but calls a box, a home. Home is a place we belong even when nobody's there, no matter what shape or form. Whether it's a certain room or a dusty, old corner, we all belong somewhere. I go back to the Brothel, That's my home, where I supposedly belong.
I lay on the bed, thinking about what the woman had said to me. How could she simply not understand the true difference between a Whore and Hooker?
Females that have it all, choose to be whores, whether it's because of the lack of attention they receive, maybe it's the new trend of 'zero self-respect' but being a Hooker is starting out with nothing and wasting your whole life desperately trying to gain everything. We weren't tested on our abilities like a normal child would have. I close my eyes shut and try hard to remember a moment from when I was a child, I couldn't even remember holding a crayon against a piece of paper, I just happen to remember folding weed with paper.
I'd like to think that Hookers are paid to get raped, pretending is a game we play everyday and the best player receives the most green.
You don't want to do whatever it is you're forced to but you have no other choice when you're pinned down on the bed covered in the other person's body fluids as you're being penetrated. He slams harder into you continuously, assuming the harder and longer he does it, the more likely you are to enjoy it.
It all doesn't matter either way.