HA! I am not proud of the following rating...

Cash Advance Loans

Sex and the Streets.

Africa

An African woman’s husband strips her. Strips her of her right to live by tearing off her clothes. He is HIV positive. And condoms just don’t make sex as pleasurable. So fuck you, Bitch, it’s sex or the streets.

Sex or the streets? She stands at the door, staring at the streets. The shadow of her naked body stretches outside. She wants to step through the doorway and join her shadow. To free herself from these 4 walls that renders her a sex slave, not a spouse.

But she won’t find freedom on the streets. The streets are synonymous with sex, sickness and starvation. Not unlike her own home. So she stays.

Fuck you, Bitch.

Toronto

A Torontonian woman’s pimp hands her some hooker boots. He is hiding the searing burns that he gave her as he whipped her legs with a copper clothes hanger that he heated in the oven. He needs crack cocaine. And she didn’t bring home 2 000$ last night. So fuck you, Bitch, it’s sex on the streets.

Sex or a beating? She stands on the corner. She could forego the condom, raise her selling price, and save herself a beating-- for tonight. It’s true that she might contract HIV. But what the hell. Life is hell anyways.

She can’t walk away from her corner. Fear keeps her there. Fear of the next beating, of not making enough money, of being found if she hides. So she stays.

Fuck you, Bitch.


...why?

I’ve been really haunted by these two stories this week. I went to an AIDs fundraiser, where I heard the first woman’s story. I did outreach for the sex-trade workers in Toronto, where I assumed the second woman’s story. It doesn’t matter that one woman is from Africa and one is from Toronto. It’s pretty much the same story, different setting: the lack of voice, the lack of freedom, the exploited vulnerability. And it makes me so angry and hurt.

sands of time.

Today I was mistaken for a 19 year-old and a 33 year old in the span of an hour. The end.