Category Archives: Prostitution

To Catch a Rapist

A while ago, I came home from work to find my mother forgoing her usual routine of reality television to watch PBS Frontline’s “Sex Slaves“. The documentary was about sex trafficking, particularly of women and girls.

Now, I think that this issue is enormous and poignant and heart-wrenchingly serious. But somehow the entire two hours or so of the documentary managed to not show the face of a single man who was guilty of raping a prostituted sex slave. What it featured instead was candid-camera shots—reminiscent of titillating homemade sex tapes—of bared mid drifts, jean-glad backsides, and five inch heels. Human interest stories and interviews primarily featured white European women, and men that had “rescued” or wanted to rescue their sexual property damsels in distress from other men.

The entire thing was sickening to behold. Invariably, my mother—not very savvy on feminist issues—thought that my objections were “silly” (thanks for the condescension, Mom). Wasn’t it enough that someone was paying attention?

Of course it isn’t. The problem with sex trafficking is not about how pimps and traffickers are “victimizing” the poor whittle men and breaking up their nice white familes. It’s not about stealing the virginity of European girls. It’s certainly not just another story about “Bad Stuff Happens to You When You’re Poor”. It’s about the sexploitation of women and girls and the men who feel they have the right to rape women in order to express their sick conflation of dominance and sex.

What the fauxomentary actually showed was nothing progressive or at all helpful. It was just the same pathetic human-interest stories about nice white virginal women being kidnapped and then being saved by their knight in shining armor. Women of color and of other nationalities were dissected into flashes of boobs and asses to titillate the viewer. Women who did not fall within the patriarchy’s idea of “sexy” were not shown at all. Apparently, it’s only rape if you’re hot.

The result was the fauxgressive capitalist-friendly hand-waving treatment of sex trafficking. No men were shamed, only glorified as heroes. No unsexy women were shown. No trends were explored. No cultural critique was done. The expose of one of the most grevious manifestations of patriarchy reduced to sexploitation. I could picture liberal dudez sitting around their televisions debating over which formerly trafficked woman was hotter, and which used vagina was still pure enough to have the priviledge of being approved of by their cock. Their thoughts would have only been encouraged by plentiful erotic camera shots: the sexploitation of the sexploited. The hypocrisy was utterly disgusting.

Now that I think of it, the only television program that has succeeded in doing anything positive for the victims of rape is To Catch a Predator with Chris Hansen. The show doesn’t sex-up the would-be victim, who is blurred out and seen from afar by hidden cameras. The predator is the star of this show. His victim exits the stage within the first minute of the footage, and then we are treated to close up of his quivering visage and “oh shit” face. We get to hear his pathetic excuses and justification of the rape of children. We curl our lips at his explanations of why he has condoms and lube if he’s meeting a ten year old. We get to see his shame when his sexually explicit and criminally damning online conversations to a supposedly underage plant are read back to him.

What To Catch a Predator does is expose the subject and perpetrator of a heinous crime to the loathing of the population. It doesn’t shame victims who “led on” the poor wittle man in need of sex. It doesn’t warn parents to chain their whorish daughters to their beds and not let them touch a computer. Instead, it presents the criminals to public and says, “look, the emperor has no clothes, and he likes to rape small children”.

That is what PBS should have done. Instead of filming what looks to be a pornography on the subject of sex trafficking, they should have made clear who exactly was causing the demand for rape-for-pay. It should have raided brothels of trafficked women and exposed the rapists and traffickers (and called them such, instead of “johns” and “pimps”) as the disgusting pieces of shit they are. It should have waved a bright light in their face and said, “explain why we found you raping a non-consenting woman”. Then it should have plastered their full name, occupation, and age all over the television as they were escorted in handcuffs to a police crusier.

Wet streets don’t rape and traffic women. Men are out there, right now, demanding and dirving a multi-billion dollar economy bought off the backs of viciously exploited women, children, and the occasional man. Showing the faces of these women is just another drop in the bucket for the porn-sick consumers of America. They either become tainted women in need of rescuing, or whores you can jerk one off to in the imagining of the hopelessly indoctrinated patriachial shitstain.

What the world needs is to for PBS to take their stupid blur off the faces of the rapists and ask them to “take a seat over there”. We need to know who these sick fucks are. We need to know that they are responsible for their crimes and that their excuses are hollow and hypocritical. We need to see the law deal seriously with their transgressions.

Only then will a documentary about sex trafficking be about something other than HOT WIMMENZ FOOLIN POOR WITTLE MENZ INTO BONIN THEM.

And now, an interjection from a sex-positive feminist

When I usually encounter a “sex-positive” on the internet, they are about as far from being feminists as humanly possible. I submit for your evidence: Bang-Bros (don’t worry, it’s just a wikipedia link).

Occasionally, I actually stumble upon an actual feminist, not someone who is posing as one to write off their nasty exploitive shit as art, who submits that they are “sex-positive”.

Via Feministe, KaeLyn’s Feminist Porn: Sex, Consent, and Getting Off. I was pleasantly surprised. No overt anti-feminist sentiments were expressed. No glaring logical holes were presented. The comment thread, quite long at this point, is mostly civil.

Nevertheless, the post bothered me. Not in the way that inspires me to hurt inanimate objects, but in the way that I felt that the work of my feminist icons and my own opinions were being unintentionally misunderstood and discarded.

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Stripping is not a fucking revolution

Seriously.

As much as people say it is, it still is not. I’m amazed I have to say this.

Yes, and this post will alienate a very large population of the sex-positives and liberal dudez. I don’t cater to hypocrites though1, and there is such a large pile of rotting fecal hypocrisy in the notions that stripping is a revolution that I’m amazed that very little people (beside the ever wonderful Twisty or Nine-Deuce2, for example) have pointed them out.

Namely, it is this: those that profess stripping, porn, and prostitution are feminist in nature, can be feminist, or are progressive in any way or form are typically enamored of using some sort of appeal to history, such as some deviation of the phrase that “prostitution is the oldest profession”.

How telling! Did anyone else notice that?

If prostitution, the buying of a woman’s sexuality for the pleasure of a man (or a richer woman) is the “oldest profession” there really cannot be anything revolutionary, progressive, or new about it and its various forms3.

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Eww: A Rad Feminist Reads About Johns and Their "Pain", Provides Witty Commentary

In my long look into the sex business, I came across many primary sources on what exactly it is like to be a porn star, a prostitute, or a stripper. I felt connected to the experiences of the women I read. I felt that what they did was so normal and wrongly stigmatized. I could see myself doing what they did, hating doing what they did, and most of all, hating the people that asked them to do it. Part of letting go of my zealous relationship with the Madonna/Whore dichotomy was to stop looking at sex workers as whores, manipulative she-witches, and weak downtrodden sex objects.

What I discovered, however, from reading the first hand account of Johns was anything but empathy. I am a serial monogamist. When the inclination to stray is strong enough, I cash in my chips, break the poor guy’s (and one woman’s) heart, and engage in sowing my oats without being a lying sack-of-shit cheater. The thought that fucking random people would be fun is not something that I have never entertained. However, I have never understood the point of being self-destructive and letting my libido do the driving, so I do not understand the actual action of cheating.

Perhaps I am a rare and horrible imitation of humanity, but the objectification of a sexual partner does not turn my crank either. Paying someone to mimic an intimate action, which should be a gesture of mutual respect and affection, never occurred to me. I’m not a fucking kind of gal. My bullshit detector runs smoothly. I am not some pathetic slob that invents romance and respect where there is none. Chances are that if you shop for a sexual partner with all the emotion of shopping for a television set, you’re not getting the best deal.

So I do not sympathize with the two primary motivations for buying sex: (1) I’m too good for monogamy and (2) sex is all about me, me, ME!

Morality in hand, I delved into Letters From Johns, a blog that features the sexploits of random johns, most of which are men. My knee jerk reaction was a feeling of intense sorrow for all of humanity. As I nit-picked through the various misogynistic woe-is-me confessions , I was struck with the thought, “okay, your intense angst is nice, but what about the other side of the equation — isn’t it quite ridiculous to do all of this introspection without once thinking about the humanity of the woman you just bought?”

Well, one sympathetic John was nice enough to make sure that the Chinese woman he purchased was not trafficked. After, of course, he climaxed. Orgasm before morals, you know:

I like Asian girls (have since I was a teen). I like their skin, their soft features, their hair. I ordered one over in the middle of the day a month ago. I was very horny, and only wanted a little talk before sex, but after fucking her, cumming on her face and helping her clean up, it’s always a good time to get to know someone with the remaining part of the hour. She was straight off the boat. With Human Trafficking being the boogie man of the 21st century, I wanted to find out how she came to NYC and this line of work.

Retroactive concern does not work. I am guessing that a guy that will fuck a potential sex slave before he determines whether or not he is raping her is not very nice. The half-assed interest in her personhood does not fool me.

I also really liked the guy who was “Faithful in Every Other Sense of the Word” and very good at authoring horribly ironic titles. His reason for buying sex was not the simplification of an entire culture to attractive things to look at while fucking (see above), but because his wife had the audacity to ask for sexual satisfaction in bed:

I’m happily married, but my wife and I don’t have sex nearly as often as we used to before our daughter was born, and unfortunately, it’s starting to wear on me. Not only that, but when we do end up having sex, I have to do all the work, get her all worked up and then get to humpin’ at her command. It’s fine and everything, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone focus on me, and my sexual needs and wants, for a change.

You mean like porn, right? Where the other half of the equation is nothing but a place to sheath your uncontrollable prick and tell you how much they love it when you ask them to do demeaning things with no regard for their pleasure. Oh yeah, exactly like that:

The last time I went, I got to have sex with an older (then me, she was about 38. I’m 31) Russian lady, who still occupies a warm place in my heart because she looked me in the eyes as I climaxed and genuinely seemed to be interested in my pleasure. That’s what turns me on.

I am guessing that she was faking that interest. Probably because you paid her to, genius. I am also guessing that your wife would be more interested in your pleasure if you were more interested in hers. Reciprocity: it’s hot. Random John B wants all the pleasure without the work. I also find it unspeakably pathetic that he is bored with his wife and has affected such a world-weary tone at the tender age of 31.

I also found the woe-is-me letters, from Johns that want our sympathy so badly:

The answer that I have [for seeking prostitutes], and that many others in this website have also provided, is rejection. Rejection, and its close associate, the loneliness that comes after it, leads many of us to believe that we are fundamentally unloveable. And for us, the prospect of trading some of our money for the affection and the satisfaction that an escort, or a masseuse, or a prostitute (you name it) can provide is not just about sex–it’s more about safety, the feeling that all you have to do to keep this girl by your side is treat her right and pay her promptly.

My guess if that if you have to pay someone to fake liking you that you are generally unlikable. That is probably not anyone’s fault but your own, probably because you really do not care if you are raping a trafficked woman:

My latest experience was with an escort called A. She came from the same South American country I did, a tall, dark-haired girl with a great body. She says she’s in town to “learn English,” which I doubted, but who cares? For an hour and fifteen minutes, I had someone listen to me wholeheartedly, rub my back, provide me with the ersatz-girlfriend that I crave for but feel that I am unable to attract, and then at the end of it all she even asked for my phone number.

“You will call me again, right?” she asks.

I would like to say that I won’t. But my hour with A. felt like water washing my wounds, easing the pain of my brutal loneliness, helping me feel accepted and valued again, a feeling that I haven’t felt in many, many months.

Some people say that love is priceless. Well, to those people I say, for two-hundred and seventy Canadian dollars, something quite like it is there for the taking. At least until the hour is done.

If you are such a sorry human being that you equate “something quite like love” to raping a sex slave, then you probably belong in jail or the ninth circle of hell. I am also guessing that people that find nothing more sublime that sticking their dick in a woman/object/rape victim because they are “lonely” should probably remain lonely far far away from me and the rest of civilization. The best word I can use to describe someone that only feel goods about himself because he just raped/fucked a potential trafficked sex worker is criminal. Perhaps that’s why nobody wants you, even though you describe yourself as “obedient, fundamentally good man in his 20s”.

Those gems came from just the first page. The blog is packed of pages and pages of people justifying the objectification of female, and a few male, prostitutes. The harder they try to make their reasons sound plausible, the sillier and more pathetic they sound. Nothing is more unspeakably disgusting than someone that avoids responsibility for their actions with appeals to their humanity while avoiding the topic of a sex worker’s humanity.

If it really needed saying after that long post here it is: I am absolutely and fundamentally against prostitution. I commiserate and have nothing but empathy for those women that choose to make a living doing something so potentially dangerous. However this feeling does not extend to the other end of the equation: the Johns that profit off of the exploitation, objectification, and rape of sex workers.

The aforementioned blog does nothing to foster the sympathy for Johns. Our rage should know no limits for those who excuse death, rape, and misery with hollow excuses.

Eww: A Rad Feminist Reads About Johns and Their "Pain", Provides Witty Commentary

In my long look into the sex business, I came across many primary sources on what exactly it is like to be a porn star, a prostitute, or a stripper. I felt connected to the experiences of the women I read. I felt that what they did was so normal and wrongly stigmatized. I could see myself doing what they did, hating doing what they did, and most of all, hating the people that asked them to do it. Part of letting go of my zealous relationship with the Madonna/Whore dichotomy was to stop looking at sex workers as whores, manipulative she-witches, and weak downtrodden sex objects.

What I discovered, however, from reading the first hand account of Johns was anything but empathy. I am a serial monogamist. When the inclination to stray is strong enough, I cash in my chips, break the poor guy’s (and one woman’s) heart, and engage in sowing my oats without being a lying sack-of-shit cheater. The thought that fucking random people would be fun is not something that I have never entertained. However, I have never understood the point of being self-destructive and letting my libido do the driving, so I do not understand the actual action of cheating.

Perhaps I am a rare and horrible imitation of humanity, but the objectification of a sexual partner does not turn my crank either. Paying someone to mimic an intimate action, which should be a gesture of mutual respect and affection, never occurred to me. I’m not a fucking kind of gal. My bullshit detector runs smoothly. I am not some pathetic slob that invents romance and respect where there is none. Chances are that if you shop for a sexual partner with all the emotion of shopping for a television set, you’re not getting the best deal.

So I do not sympathize with the two primary motivations for buying sex: (1) I’m too good for monogamy and (2) sex is all about me, me, ME!

Read the rest of this entry