personal musings, prostitution, relationship, sex industry, Uncategorized

Is a successful romantic relationship with a hooker even possible?

 

            About a year and a half ago, my very very best girlfriend and partner in crime (crime of course being whore-ing) met and fell head over heels for a man who seemed great for her at first and was super into her. She stopped working because he apparently disapproved, fine, that’s her business, and I didn’t ask a lot of questions. We still hung out, but she never came around me without him at her side. Now, I am completely open and frank about my work, and most of my friends thoroughly enjoy my raunchy and sarcastic anecdotes or recaps of a particularly funny client or session. Everybody laughs, it’s just fun. And she and I have some spectacularly funny memories together that we used to laugh about and retell over and over, but we couldn’t bring them up in front of him, because he’d think she was going to become a whore again. Eventually, he convinced her to break off all contact with me, because I am a whore and said whore things and might be contagious, I guess. Anyway, I know this situation is pretty specific to the people involved, but I mention it because when he finally stopped being such a prick, he and I talked, and he seemed shocked to learn that I actually agree that a relationship is unlikely to survive in an environment like this and wasn’t trying to hijack his relationship.

         Jealousy and trust issues, which most of us have, to some degree or another, are like a pool of gas, just waiting for someone to flick a cigarette and set off the alarms.

This is on my mind today because I received an email from a long-time client requesting my services and had to turn it down, the response that is the direct result of a relationship that has been unable thus far to maintain anything resembling healthy status whilst one of us (namely, me, obviously) was giving blowies to strangers for money. I persisted in my chosen profession through hell and high-water, insisting on my independence and indignant at the lack of confidence in my professionalism until finally my ego took a step back to allow reality to sneak in.

I have been with my fiance for almost 5 years, and except for maybe a month or so in the very beginning, and a few memorable situations since, I have a firm rule that he is not to be anywhere in the same building when I see a client, preferably he is not to even know anything specific that could set his thoughts on a course for disaster.

Not that he’d admit it, not for a long time, but for my fiance, the reality of the girl he loved with some stranger sweating and pawing at her had become a problem very quickly. He would be angry and mean towards me when I came home from working, accusing me of being emotionally invested in clients (i paraphrase of course) or allowing inappropriate activities (like kissing or not using protection, both sacred to a relationship but also mandatory safe hooker practices). I told him in no uncertain terms that he should find himself a hobby and to stay out of my business. I was convinced he was just being controlling, I resented his intrusion in any capacity, and we had a very rocky relationship for a while.

Gradually though, after seemingly endless discussions and observations, and some instances where I was put in his shoes, I was able to finally accept his point of view and even understand it.

He asked me to create and post an ad for him to escort, for ladies, to which he received a resounding negative, because…well.. MINE…. and finally, after finding out about a girl he’d been around, who had been basically a sugar mommy type “friend” and I in my jealousy and indignation was ready to destroy him, a girlfriend of mine suggested I take a good long look in the mirror first. How was this really any different from what I do? Well, obviously, I am there during my dates, so I know that it’s just business, that is the difference!

The simple truth is that, in my experience, knowing that the person you love is touching someone else, and being touched by someone else, no matter how clearly you understand in your rational mind the in’s and out’s of the business , it hurts a little, and part of you wants to rush in and scream MINE!

I have read about and seen examples of marriages and other romantic relationship that seem to be successful and have lasted for years, and I applaud everyone involved . Obviously, these people are superhero’s, and so I admire without any hope of achieving same.

These days, I am not working, and my fiance is overjoyed. I get it, I really do, and so I guess my final opinion on the subject is that any  romantic relationship with a hooker has the potential for longevity, however the degree of contentment probably depends on which person is the hooker and which one just has to quietly know about it.

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personal musings, prostitution, sex industry, Uncategorized

undercover angels


when you feel alone and work is overwhelming 

just remember that you're a part of someone's 

best memories. no dialogue just your presence, 

in exploring somewhere new, a reassuring smile 

and support you gave, or in lots of laughter and 

sun. it helps the days feel worth more, even if 

today felt like it didn't count, it did. you exist in 

so many ways you can't measure.

i read this somewhere on Twitter the other day and copied it because it is inspiring. In a profession as demanding and exhausting as providing fantasies, its a sweet reminder that it isnt all for nothing, or even all for just sex.

Obviously everyone is different, but I accepted many clients who’s needs were more than just physical, and those are the ones that to me are so rewarding, and they prove that my services are more than their tawdry reputation.

I believe that there is a value inherent in a willing encounter and time spent with a girl that can make someone broken feel whole again, even just for an hour.

 

 

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prostitution, rants, sex industry, Uncategorized

The Truth about Tricks

 

The Truth About My Clients~

I am often asked if I am ever attracted to my clients, or what I would do if they showed up and were ugly or smelled.  The truth is that the vast majority of my clients were in fact relatively normal, average attractiveness and most often in their 30’s, A few who were obviously or openly disabled, mentally and /or physicially, and many who were simply lonely.  And without exception, if anyone had the audacity to arrive unshowered or rude they were either offered the use of my own shower, or asked to reschedule when they would have time to clean up before meeting.

I advised potential clients in my ad and on my website that I expect and demand at the very least the same courtesy and consideration – hygenically speaking- as I would show them, specifically brush teeth, shower, use deodorant. The issue of “consent” that was sneered at as a joke in the blog I was reading is, to me, where my power and control over my own body is asserted and acknowledged and the decision to give said consent is by no means guaranteed nor should it be expected. The “purchase of consent” issue, which I have seen mentioned a few times recently aside from that blog, assumes that it is morally and in all other ways just not possible that consent given in company with a fee can be valid. This is supposedly because the girl is not consenting because she wants to, she is submitting her body to be used at the whim of a stranger because of the money…. to this I can only shake my head. I’ve worked fast food, retail, and I have had customers yell, insult me, hell at burger king some kid threw a giant cup of soda at my face through the drive through window. I hated it, the money sucked, but I had to eat and pay rent just like everybody else. The exploitation, the violations, humiliations, degradations, those are not an inherent part of this kind of work. Myself, I do not allow anything that would cause me to feel that the client is either in control of the session or disrespecting me or my rules.

 

The attractive factor is a non-issue, honestly. I consider myself to be a professional, and to me, what I provide is escape. Fantasy. Sure there are plenty of  guys who literally just want their dick sucked in the safeway parking lot and that fine if thats what you do, but the value a trick places on me and my services is set by the value i place on myself first. I love the transformation in the whole persona of a man who suddenly feels desirable or funny, who for whatever personal reasons was lacking confidence when he walked in, and leaves with his chin a little higher and a swagger in his walk. I don’t pay much attention to height, weight, hair color or the size of his dick. I make conversation, I soothe nervousness, I tell corny jokes and I play and flirt, and my “services” are my personal skill set which I take pride in and provide with enthusiastic energy, because the more they enjoy it, the more money they want to spend! Its free enterprise, America! Besides, some of the most interesting and generous people I have ever met were decidedly ugly and or fat, but their manners were a delight and their appreciation was genuine.

This industry is so wonderfully diverse and the options to individualize your service are endless. The major misconception at work here I think is the belief that any man with enough money has automatic permission, which could not be further from reality. I reserve the right to cancel or terminate at any time and for any reason, but especially if there is the smallest amount of disrespect or agression. I learned over the years to pay attention to every detail of a clients initial contact so as to be able to make that judgement based on a short conversation’s tone and manner.

The other misconception I’d like to comment on right now is the idea that we are homewrecking/husband stealing/in any way interested in your significant other after he’s gone. It’s a job, and there is no more emotion or attatchment involved than if I were cleaning your house. I put on my character as I open the door, and as it closes after he departs, my mind whispers “end scene”. I count my money on the way to the shower and by the time im rinsing my hair I couldn’t tell you his name if you paid me.  Numbers saved to my phone rarely had names attatched , only whatever quick descriptive nickname I could come up with that I’d hope would actually remind me who he was. My contact list has always been thick with “tall guy with beard”, “cheap ass trick” ” fat guy, skinny guy, 2minute guy, awesome vibrator guy, weird hawaiian shirt guy.

The idea of monogamy I believe to be a myth, and I know more about men than any woman has a right to. See, they don’t care a thing what I think of them which results a lot of the time in a raw and unguarded honesty. Yes, so many are truly douchebags, one comes to mind who’s wife was actually in labor and kept calling his phone while he was with me.  Yes, I finished the session, and told him he should be ashamed of himself and not to contact me again. I do have some female loyalty!

But men, truly, just need to have some kind of release and female contact in their life.

My absolute favorites though, the ones I actually have some respect for, were the sweet, gentle, loyal gents, still deeply committed after decades of marriage, who love their wives and would never ever leave them, even though sex is no longer a viable option, and so come to me for a faint bit of comfort and having gotten it go back to their daily lives renewed for a while longer, loving without bitterness, without resentment.

 

 

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essay, human right, human rights, personal musings, prostitution, rants, Uncategorized

renegāre meaning to renounce; from Latin re- + negāre meaning to deny.

Renegade…I love the way it rolls off the tongue. I enjoy the state of being….Renegade. It makes me think of a wild and rebellious woman, maybe an outlaw in the wild west, the reckless beauty that is the stuff of legend, or is at the very least, a source of fierce independence, strength of body, strength of mind. The definition of a renegade, the dictionary definition, was perhaps the inspiration behind the term being applied by pimps to label an independent/unrepresented hooker. Webster’s defines a renegade as a  traitor, deserter, betrayer, dissenter. Any outlaw or rebel. Well, I would tend to agree that in the mind of some chauvinistic pimp, a woman with the audacity to promote her own body as a means of financial gain, would need to be discredited as a traitor, to dissuade her from being imitated.

 

I personally prefer the original meaning from Spanish renegado; from Medieval Latin renegāre meaning to renounce; from Latin re- + negāre meaning to deny. Renegade, renegado, or renegare, all have an implicit theme of rebellion, independent thought or actions, and the willingness to be scorned, ignored, or attacked in defense of your independance, and your unwillingness to be victimized, or manipulated.

      My personal experience is rather limited on the subject of pimps, mostly because, I think, they don’t really like me, or they figure I’d be too much work to keep in check. There have been a few who thought they might throw a line or two in my direction, just fishing. There have been none who came back a second time, at least not with any serious intent. I mean, I can’t be entirely positive, of course, but a girl learns to be on guard for the treacherous little fucks, or they will pounce when you are unaware, and then your future gets a little sketchy.

        Me personally, I have one very solid, unwavering, immutable reason to not mess around with a pimp, in any way, shape, or context. Girls like me, we don’t last long in male dominated situations, especially masochistic/chauvinist types who demand abject subservience, obedience, and believe that their’s is the only functioning brain  and therefore the only brain that is needed.

        I had a pimp once. It was a rather short lived experience, but not entirely unpleasant, mostly due to this particular gent and his particular preference for me. I thought of it as a game, where I was the  porcelain doll, who was to be petted and admired for being pretty and good. I would do “me” things like take off with the car to renew my driver’s license , and show up 6 hours later in a new outfit without my DL, and everyone would tell each other how badly he would beat me, which presented me with a new and exciting challenge in my acting skills. I played the game, and I played it superbly. I was ever the “star”, driving “daddy” and his pals around, always sweet and when in trouble, always contrite and in desperate need of “daddy” to explain to me what I had done wrong, and how ever could I make it up to him? Ugh, the retelling is making me throw up in the back of my throat just a bit.

        I was entertained for the most part, never really doing anything productive which did not do much to foster any warmth from my “wives-in-law” who saw me as a lazy mooch, just living off of their work, and getting away with it because I was pretty and good. They hated me. However, it all came to a crushing end one sunny afternoon in spring, with the whole “family” assembled haphazardly in the living room upon our return from some seedy chain motel, everyone talking at once about some non-sense that one girl had done. I could not tell you for the life of me what it was she had said or done, but what spewed forth from his mouth offended me on an intellectual level that had heretofore been unmolested.

           He starts yelling, at all of us, in general, that we are absolutely neither required to, or expected to think. That why any of us would assume that our brains were of any use whatsoever was a mystery, that we should quit attempting the use of our own brains and for any decisions or thoughts needed, we should be grateful to be able to defer to him. I paraphrase, of course, his grammar was atrocious.

      In a righteously indignant fit of anger, I stood up, looking in horror around a room full of blank faces and vacant expressions. Not a single one of them seemed angry, or even mildly offended. That total want of any will to be an intelligent, self reliant human being was astounding. I hadn’t even considered that I might be the only one to whom this was a game, an acting exercise. My own opinions, thoughts, and feelings had been casually disregarded as part of a group of non-thinking, brainless, empty bodies, unworthy to contribute thought? This was unacceptable to me, it went against every belief, every standard of decency, and every aspect of who I believe myself to be.

 

            My feminist notions were  scandalized in the wake of this blatant attack on my until that point uncontested belief that as women, we were stronger mentally and intellectually than men.  The propaganda necessary to condition women to accept this total dehumanization is astounding, and can even be conveyed in such a subtle manner that they are drawn in and caught without any idea what sort of monster they serve.  I agree wholeheartedly with any group working to end what is nothing less than a disgrace.

Do not misunderstand me- I am not singling out pimps.  The anti-prostitution rescue crusader’s attitudes towards prostitutes, and their determination to label any woman in the sex trade a victim, is that not also dehumanization? Is that not also a disgraceful lack of basic human rights, to further degrade the group of people that you claim to be rescuing? Is it not also exploitative to gather up women and force them to assume the necessary roles to further a cause that dismisses their choices as a deluded product of someone else’s propaganda?

 We are human beings. Intellectual beings, with brains that produce independent thought, whether the choices we make are morally distasteful or totally incomprehensible to society’s social norm’s, we should be afforded the right to be treated as equal to any one of your “crusaders”.

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human right, human rights, human trafficking, prostitution, sex industry, sex worker rights, Uncategorized

crime victim impact letter

 

Hello, Your Honor, my name is **Karmin** and would like to speak regarding sentencing, and the impact of a crime. At the time of his arrest, I was engaged to be married.. And while my life, my relationship, and the life of the man I intended to marry have been torn to bloody pieces, I’d like to state, for the record, that I still have every intention of making this man my husband, in spite of the valiant efforts of a twisted system to dissuade me from doing so.

 

  These last 13, almost 14 months of my life have been the most stressful and frightening of my life. Stressful because I wanted to fight these lies, and frightening because nobody would listen to me.

Steve Webb may not mean much more that just another name on a paper to a crowded court system, but to me and to the rest of his family, he is everything. He is a fiance, he is a son, he is a father, he is a brother.

He is loved and he is needed.

He is not perfect, his mistakes are not secret, and for those crimes in which he participated, he has faced consequences, and deservedly so. But how long must we all be punished for a crime that never happened, and now one that is a result of that incarceration? This unnecessary theft of almost 14 months of life is a tragedy in itself,

 

The arrest that began it all was literally where it all began. My initial confusion, trying to figure out why these detectives were asking me questions and accusing me of lies . My confusion became utter disbelief 3 days later, after I downloaded the probable cause from the internet, thinking to find out what exactly was going on. But those were not my words, those allegations were untrue, the honest denials I had given to the police were not there but had been replaced.

 As time progressed and I came to the realization that this nightmare was in fact being accepted as truth, and I and my feelings and reputation were defamed and drug through the mud by lies. My disbelief turned to outrage, which in turned was tempered by helplessness and fear, as weeks became months, and my world continued upside down and unsteady.

 I replayed all of those moments between us that his insistance that I stop working, that I needed to come home had been met with my senseless need to thwart any possible threat to my independance. The times that I would yell and scream in stubborn spiteful fury at the audacity of a fiance who loved me and wanted me at home with him.

It never occurred to me that my lifestyle choice would affect anyone else. Nor do I believe that it should have.

  I immersed myself in research, writing letters to news stations and the governor, and the department of justice. I created a website, a facebook page, and a blog, detailing this case and downloading every available document online. I tried to explain that my choices were mine, that I am independant  and intelligent, and my fiance had no part in my work. I tried to explain that I am very passionate about what I do, and that I am entirely my own boss. All this to no avail. My letters were ignored, my pages of little interest to anyone but me.

 In a vain attempt at what I had been led to believe was a chance to explain all this to the prosecutor, I described my personal opinions, my awareness of and heartfelt sympathy to those girls who were in fact the victims that I absolutely am not. I stated facts, explained and defended both my choice and whether I am even capable of making it when it was implied that i was not. I was called a liar, and told that not one word out of my mouth would be believed. That the state of mind causing me to believe that I chose this was understandable and probably a result of trauma. I was so far stereotyped that I was also informed that I am no different than any other prostitute, that he’s seen it all, that he knew that I am simply damaged, abused, or the victim of poor parenting.

    To insist that any and all women who trade sex for money are always “victims” who are being “exploited” by men is simply a way to dehumanize women, as it presumes women to lack agency and capacity to consent. I ask you, should I be treated differently, or as someone inferior, by an officer of the law, simply because my lifestyle choice is deviating from that individuals notion of“decent” female sexual norms? Am I so morally offensive as to be unworthy of fair treatment?Is this prejudice and degradation to be expected all around, or just for lowly prostitutes that have the nerve to think for themselves?

  I recently recieved a letter informing me that I may attend this sentencing and speak regarding sentencing  and this case’s impact upon my life. This is the most accurate summary of the crime who’s prejudice and caprice knows no bounds, the crime who’s victim is the man in the defendents chair, who’s victim is the assumption of equality and justice. Who’s victim is my naive illusions of world where liars are ridiculed and honesty is rewarded.

To conclude, my thoughts regarding sentencing are these.

14 months in a county jail is a challenge even if you’re guilty, even if you have a solid freedom date.

14 months in a county jail, fighting for the right to take part in the rest of your life, being forced to acknowledge the fragility of it, the real possibility that even though you were trying to do right, everything can be taken from you, in the blink of an eye.

I personally have never experienced that kind of trauma, my experiences are limited to 3 months at a time for stuff I was absolutely guilty of.

My heart aches for the man I love, and I am desperately impatient to wrap my arms around him. I am ready for him to come home, I am ready for this nightmare to end. I would ask, no beg, that you take a moment to really see us all.

I am a whore, but is it such a crime for whore to be loved?

**I wrote this letter to the prosecutor’s office of Pierce County Washington, regarding the unlawful and unfounded arrest of my fiance, and their charges against him of human trafficking, as well as their arrogant and dehumanizing insistence that I am a victim, incapable of making a concious choice about my own body. He very nearly lost his entire life because of this prejudice and stigma.

#notyourrescueproject

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personal musings, rants, relationship, Uncategorized

fighting shadows …

I don’t know why  lies are so much easier to believe.

I don’t know why I put pen to paper, or open my mouth to speak

I don’t know why I am asked for truth, while they secretly redefine honesty

I don’t know why I am compelled to play along with that disingenuous and rather vague presentation of assistance and support

I don’t know why we are presumed to be so easily maneuvered into a collapse of our constancy, our integrity,  our very common sense

I don’t know why anybody would steal a life,  and I don’t understand why I can’t steal it back

I don’t know how many memories I have forgotten, in my desperate quest for escape

I don’t know how a battle is fought when the war is born from a lie

My heart, in all it’s cold ferocity, aches unbearably in its lonely confusion  I don’t know why I  can never dance in front of you

I don’t know why God pulled you away, or why I can’t  do anything about it

My  love, I don’t know why I  couldn’t make them understand, I don’t know why my tears  were exploited

I  don’t know why I couldn’t believe that justice  would not prevail

I don’t know why innocent lives are pursued with such deadly intent,  or how simple truth can be so categorically ignored

I don’t know how to explain to my children that the country of freedom or the system intended to uphold it

are a myth. Nothing more than nostalgia, a bit of whimsy,  a dream

Justice.

Right. Wrong. Good. Bad.

I don’t know why such simple principles are so used and abused, so filled with foggy gray areas  and predjuce

I don’t know why it is so difficult to see a person, instead of a paper, or to ponder the possibility that there are other possibilities

Your mother asks me questions to which I have no answere. I don’t know when you will come home. I refuse to even allow myself to consider the alternative.

I cannot even fathom the idea…My own psyche will not allow the idea to materialize…my chest constricts, my muscles clench, my head begins to spin

I don’t know if I want to know how to be strong enough for that

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human right, human trafficking, sex industry

my first letter regarding human trafficking as it is affecting me personally

Wrote a letter to the News Tribune and the Seattle Times today- if you happen to give a fuck about the sex industry, read it. Let me know what u think~

My fiance has made mistakes, and plenty of bad choices, as have I and millions of people every day. On April 8, Lakewood police organized a prostitution sting that resulted in the arrest of Steven Webb, my fiance, for the crimes of human trafficking & promoting prostitution. 47 years is the sentencing range he is looking at, and he’s 44 years old now. The rash and impulsive panicked lie of a 21-year-old scared to spend a week in jail has already cost him 7 months of his life. In exchange for saying she was forced to work by a pimp, she was given special treatment and allowed to go free. She had an incentive to allege force or coercion to avoid charges herself. Faced with the alternative of jail time, obviously such a practice openly encourages the creation of fictional stories about imaginary pimps. Or, to quote a Denver post article, “Prostitutes often avoid charges if they cooperate”.

This is not a case where any force or coercion was involved, nor is there even a hint of evidence that he ever received a penny from any of it. There is clear evidence and sworn statements that both alleged victims voluntarily and independently engage in sex work. These have been ignored, with the prosecution going forward with not the slightest hesitation. Other cases across the country have been dropped because it is the ethical obligation of the D.A.’s office to pursue only those charges which are supported by the evidence. The evidence in this case, the only evidence, was the alleged statements the Lakewood police detectives claimed were made by the alleged victims.
This begs the question. Why? Police departments around the country receive grants from the federal government to fight sex trafficking. So it stands to reason, that when they don’t find any “forced against their will” prostitute victims, they make them up, so that they won’t lose funding. That’s one theory, anyway. And a scary one.
Most (if not all) of the women I have met were not forced into prostitution, they were willing and wanted to do this type of work, and some went out of their way to do it. It is a lot of fast, easy money, and you don’t need a degree or a green card.
But the government has created an enticing incentive for a demographic that is often preconditioned to accept victimization, especially when it can be so obviously beneficial. All they have to do is lie and say someone forced them to do it (a favorite excuse since we were children, but not a valid one until now).

For example, if an illegal alien is the victim, all they have to do is lie and , based on the USA anti-traffic prostitution laws:

They don’t have to go to jail or be arrested
They get to stay and live in America
The U.S. government will provide them with housing, food, and education
They will be considered victimed refugees, and can can become American citizens.
The police and the prosecutor’s are potentially wasting hundreds of thousands of dollars of taxpayer money and distorting facts while trying to find the elusive “victims” of a crime that is being grossly over prosecuted. Boyfriends, friends, anyone that a girl might have depended on to be able to call in an emergency, are being charged with a heinous crime, while the real criminals are free. Police are so determined to justify their actions that they openly refuse to believe people who claim they’re not victims and are just trying to make a living in today’s post-recession world. To claim insistently that all sex workers are simply brainwashed and manipulated by pimps is another paternalistic way to deny her collective voice. It is a common accusation and a subjugation strategy that has been used before and against many groups. It is eerily similar to women being accused of being manipulated by the church to be deprived their right to vote. Why can’t I just be an adult involved in sex work of her own free will?
What so many well-meaning people don’t seem to understand is that the “tough-on-crime” approach being applied to sex-trafficking is not legitimately helping sex trafficking victims, or any sex worker at all). Arresting an adult woman for prostitution, and calling it a “rescue” (involuntary rescue?) does not justify perpetuating the exploitation. If someone with a badge says she does not have the ability to make decisions for herself about sex , whereby the oh so humanitarian government steps in to “help” you realize that you are whatever they tell her, with added threats of criminal charges if she dares to proclaim her independence, how exactly is that any different from the theoretical “coercion” and “exploitation” from which she was supposedly just rescued? Exploiting a person for a good cause is still exploitation.

This is unconstrained and misplaced enthusiasm fueling the decision to prosecute a case in which the so-called victims have submitted signed declarations for the defense, effectively destroying the very basis of a case where by definition, there must be a victim.

People suspected of a crime have extensive due process rights in dealing with the police,and people charged with a crime have even more extensive due process rights in court. The decision whether or not to charge a person with a crime or dismiss them is possibly and probably the single most important event in the chain of criminal procedure, and it rests solely with the prosecutor. The unsuspecting boyfriend of any working girl could have his whole life, in a matter of moments, reduced to a prayer resting on the whim of an office that has become permeated by a culture of self righteousness that leads inexorably down a road where a conviction rate serves as a proxy for real justice.

Cases like this are a thinly disguised witch hunt , an unethical and unreliable narrow view of the sex trade, and leaving legitimate sex trafficking victims wide open and unprotected.

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