I read an article recently on Sexis discussing the issue of rape and it prompted me to share my own experiences with various forms of unwanted intercourse.

Yes I am a sex trade worker- an erotic masseuse that also specializes in toy play and prostate stimulation. Many in our society – even though we live in first worlds, as we call them- sadly mistakenly believe that it’s not possible to rape a sex trade worker- others believe the same of husbands and wives. I have reached a point in my career where I can afford to say no to fs (in other words intercourse) but of course any sexual activity with strangers
is a risk of not just of STI’s, but of safety.
Boundaries seem to be my biggest ally- stating them clearly in my ads and in any communication with clients before and during appts. Seems to make the whole process go a lot smoother and be a lot more fun for everyone involved.
It has taken me over 37 years to learn how to have strong boundaries (I have another article in the works ALL about boundaries themselves) as I’ve spent my life sacrificing my own to appease those of others.
 It all began in gr10 one night when my friends brother came to town. He was 17 years old and I had such a huge crush on his brother that I instantly found him attractive. We were left alone while my crush went upstairs with his crush. We didn’t say much to each other, but I had just lost my virginity, a fact I think he was aware of, and it only took one move on his part to get his tongue down my throat. Within seconds I was on my back, my pants were down and by the time I realized what was happening, it was over. I do not consider it rape; what I do think it was, was a matter of me being young, naive and taken advantage of. My mom and some of my friends called it date rape as I’m sure some of you will agree but rape is such an extreme word to me that I guess I just didn’t feel right using it. Whether that was about his reputation or simply taking women who had been forced by violence into account, I am not sure. Either way it was upsetting but not traumatizing. I’m a strong girl.
Many fun years of monogomy and hook ups followed and though I was highly sexual, I must admit that I often had physically uncomfortable sex and occasionally when I wasn’t interested at all- simply to keep my partner interested. I remember one drunken (him not me) night in particular when an ex and I had snuck me into his bedroom, my motivation intimacy and an ego stroke, while his purely coital, that I came to realize the opposite side of sexual power. His drunkeness made him clumsy and forceful and I chose to stay, tears streaming down my face in the dark as he painfully thrust in and out of me. It usually didn’t hurt as our anatomies fit one another but my inability to relax and his inebriated lack of caring made all of that irrelevant. It definitely was NOT rape but it was not wanted intercourse either.
After that I had a few serious relationships and even less one night stands and though I spent a countless number of nights totally messed on various drugs I managed to avoid assault and luckily am not the type of girl that attracts abusive men.
Fast forward to my downward spiral into drug addiction ( I was addicted to meth amphetamine and heroin for a bunch of years while still managing to hold on to my prostitution virginity/chastity.)
By the time I ended up on the street addicted to cocaine and working a corner, I quickly found out what it felt like to force yourself to accept $$ to get molested -which is exactly how it felt. The first trick I turned was so quick and easy. As soon as I got out of the car I prepared for the shame and hurt I expected prostition to elicit but it never came. That in itself was devastating to me and I finally burst into tears.
A few weeks later, while I was staying in a shelter, a girl asked me to come spot for her- which means writing down licence plate numbers while she worked the corner (something I had only done myself a small handful of times.)
This jeep pulled up with 5 middle eastern guys inside . The girl asked me to go along in the car with her because it would be safer than her going alone .
We parked and while she got out and did her thing, I gave one of the guys a bj in the back seat.
When they dropped us off she told me that she had been paid in drugs. Little did either of us know that the drugs were laced with roofies (rohypnol). Ten minutes later I knew we were in trouble, as I was passing out and could tell from experience that it wasn’t from an opiate although even if it had’ve been it would’ve meant that I was overdosing and needed medical attention. The jeep pulled back up and the 5 guys asked if we needed a place to stay. We thanked them and went along, happy to be what we thought was safe. Several hours later I woke with a start because my body was in extreme pain. There was a penis in my vag, one in my ass and another attempting my mouth. I struggled and started freaking out but a fourth guy pushed my head back to the floor and told me that they weren’t finished . Luckily I passed back out which I think was better than the alternative which would have been being conscious for a gang rape.
In the morning I was justifyably very upset and accused my attackers of rape straight out. They laughed and then got mad and kicked me out calling me a whore.
Roofies mess with your memory. Not only could I not recall the night before but for the next couple of days I couldn’t hang on to anything that I was saying or doing. I went to the sexual assault center and then the police but I couldn’t remember enough for much of a case- when I had walked out of the house I tried to return a few minutes later to inquire about my friend and I couldn’t even figure out which house it was. Thankfully she was fine and strangely later denied anything bad happening that night.
I spent 3 days in a transition house, scared that they would come after me and left only because I didn’t feel comfortable comparing my situation to women with children hiding out from abusive husbands. Like I said I have a tendency to sacrifice my own needs and boundaries. I met a guy who recognized me from that night- he had delivered drugs to them and witnessed them having sex with my unconscious body. He said that he tried to intervene but they convinced him that I had agreed to it.
5 years of prostitution followed and I must have had horseshoes up my ass because I didn’t have any other bad dates. I must say though that 9/10 ‘tricks’ felt like I was being molested. Looking back, my self sacrificing tendencies lead me to consider how unfair a position I put the johns in- I mean I offered my time and my body to these guys, they had a certain expectation that I was okay with it and could handle it if not enjoyed it. Ha! I’m sure many of them (as they often expressed) actually thought that I was a nympho or that I loved ‘sucking cock’ for money. Life on the street was a repetitive violent cycle of self inflicted abuse – sex work followed by self medicating with poison to anesthetize the pain followed by hooking for more drugs etc etc . Somehow eventually me and my significant other finally managed to get clean.
Fast forward again after 4 more years with a wonderful guy who would tickle me to tell if I was in the mood and never push further if I didn’t respond. We parted ways incredibly amicably -in fact I just ate dinner at his house last night. I mention his demeanor because I want to point out that I am not attracted to abusive men or violence itself. I am also not scarred for life. Just because a person is involved in sex work – no matter how degrading or objectifying or sexually assaulted or molested during childhood does not automatically result in promiscuity or frigidity. (Not that either is something to be ashamed of but I am proud of my healthy sexuality).
Yes,  I have gone back to sex work- but this time I have boundaries. I don’t need the money to fuel and addiction and can pick and choose who I want to see, when, where and how far I go. I love what I do- every successful appointment feels like sexual healing and I’m almost giddy walking them out the door. All except one so far……
Last year a client asked if he could introduce me to a Dom that I could possibly do doubles with. She in turn asked if I was willing to take her husband out dancing and then return to my place for whatever I was comfortable with. I expressed that I was not willing to do full service and she was fine with it. Soon after her husband texted and we made plans to go out the following Saturday. Once again I repeated that I was NOT willing to have sex (anytime I just say ‘sex’ and not ‘oralsex’ or ‘analsex’ in relation to my own body, I always mean sexual intercourse as in penis and vagina (although I never allow penises in my ass either but TMI)) with him and made it very clear EXACTLY what I WAS willing to do- straight up too, nothing coy or suggestive.
By Saturday I was looking forward to a night out, because to tell you the truth, even though I’ve been dancing most of my life, I hadn’t been out in over a year.
This might have been a mistake, but probably just crappy business skills that I went out for free- agreeing to get paid the following day for any ‘services’ rendered. Even those totally ignorant to the sex trade know that you are ALWAYS supposed to get the $$ first. Anyway we went out and I admit it was fun. I even posted a pic on my personal fb page. A couple hours later we returned to my space, me having discussed what I do for a living while still keeping my unspoken agreement not to tell him that he was actually a client; that I was hired by his wife. Again I informed him that I wasn’t into sex- just oral and toy play. His wife may be a Dom but he’s not into the lifestyle, in or out of the bedroom, and I suppose I didn’t think it would go there. Am I a stereotyping racist bitch if I say he was total white Texan trash that honestly sounded earnest when trying to convince me “just the tip?”.  I said no over 10 times and bitchy too – never coquettish. When he whined “Why ya gotta be like that girl?” I sat up, looked him straight in the eyes and said “Because  I don’t want to have sex -those are my boundaries and I say so!!” Well he wouldn’t give up and I know that this is the lamest thing ever but I kept thinking about how if things got ugly I wasn’t going to get paid. But my choice wasn’t all about money- it was about avoiding violence and being in control. It became obvious that things were going to get ugly one way or another. I don’t do violence I really don’t, and assessed the situation. Looking back I realize that this wasn’t where I let him win- rather this was where I took control – even if it is a little hard to understand.
No I did not jump up and scream and kick him out. No, I did not yell RAPE . I didn’t even leave. I turned to my gigantic stash of sex toys and grabbed a JJ Form2. Maybe there’s a message in there somewhere that I chose a toy by that name, I’m not sure, but it sure changed the form of the scene. Within seconds I came – something I’ve done during sex very very few times. Fortunately I have enough experience with my limbic system and how orgasms are triggered. The same part of the brain responsible for fight or flight response is responsible for arousal. Women have orgasms during sexual assault all the time – not as a kink but as a defense measure. Instead of the cellular memory of trauma and pain, years of prostitution had given me the ability to reach for pleasure instead. I’ll be damned if I was going to be left scarred from this asshole!
He was still there in the morning when I woke up and had the gal to ask for seconds which I promptly refused. This time he listened . When his wife arrived after he had left hours later I explained what had happened. She did not freak but she did apologize. Even stranger, she started begging me to let them adopt the baby if I had gotten pregnant from the incident. I may be schixophrenic but some people are just plain crazy I tell you!! Fortunately my period came a couple days later.

I just moved into a  great new basement suite with a wonderful landlord . One of my neighbours recently revealed to me that she is a direct family member of one of Willy Pickton (link)s victims. He was convicted of second degree murder in her sisters death. Andrea Joesbury was last seen in 2001, the same year that I started working the street and was drugged and raped not 2 hours away from where she was assumedly tortured, raped and fed to a bunch of farm animals. Her remains were found in a bucket in Pickton’s barn. I tend to shy away from calling my attackers rapists because of my guilt at having avoided crimes as violent as Andreas death.
I write this for a few reasons. 
One for the catharsis of getting the “sexual adversity” I have survived down on paper.
But more importantly because I want to make it clear that victims of sexual assault are not instantly scarred for life. Please don’t get me wrong each incident hurt like hell and I AM left crying each time I am touched truly lovingly but though I don’t live in a society that treats me as marred or wasted and broken and used due to sexual assault I do live in one that treats prostitutes as such. There are few that understand that street prostitution is survival sex and even fewer still that don’t look down on an escorts choice to be a part of the oldest profession in the book.
I love what I do but I have to do it with strong boundaries. Please stay tuned for my  “Boundaries” article! Thanx friends and readers
Sangsara (Julie to my clients)


My experiences with unwanted intercourse

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