A Prostitute’s Story

a prostitute's story

The red light district in our town is under a bridge and the surrounding areas of pavement are very narrow. To make matters worse, the road bends sharply at both ends and drivers do not reduce their speed when navigating through it.

This makes it easy for vehicles to mount the pavement and knock over anyone loitering beneath the bridge.

As we were driving past it one evening, I pointed out to my husband how dangerous it was for prostitutes to gather there.

He gave me a quizzical look and replied:

“Can’t you see the irony of what you are saying? You are concerned because you observe the speeding traffic and state it is dangerous – their whole job is dangerous!”

I saw his point. Every day they are at risk of being brutally attacked or murdered. They could contract deadly diseases, become drug addicts if not already, and give birth to children who are vulnerable to child sex slavery.

Many of them are trapped and terrified of their pimp. Those lucky to leave the trade are caught up in a web of Satan’s lies that tell them they are trash, no good for anything else and such a disgrace to society. Their own guilt eats them up from the inside and after having given themselves away to so many men, they don’t feel like there is much of themselves left that they can be proud of.

The sex trade is dangerous for ladies of the night also because most end up hating themselves so much that they deem it impossible that a holy God would ever love them, accept them or forgive them.

But he does. All three.

The poem below is based on a true story about a Brazillian prostitute. But it could relate to anyone, anywhere.

All My Friends Are Pretty

(Based on a true story)

I should have worn a see-through blouse,
And put on more eye-liner.
These stockings are too thick,
I wish they were finer.
My skirt’s not short enough.
The hem is too long,
It hides my lovely thighs,
Oh, I’ve got this all wrong.

I wish my hair was longer,
And look what I’m concealing,
My top should be lower,
That would be more appealing.
I’m usually the first,
To be picked up out here,
But they’ve all driven past.
No client has come near.

All my friends are pretty,
Perhaps I’ve lost my looks.
I really hope my pimp
Doesn’t scrap me from his books.
Each girl has been approached,
And jumped into a car.
This is humiliating,
The worst night by far.

Now there’s only me left.
It’s cold and this sucks.
Tonight, I’ll be grateful
If I make a hundred bucks.
All my friends are pretty,
But I’m approaching thirty.
I feel old and worthless
And I feel so very dirty.

My toes are numb
From three hours in high heels.
Will I ever get used to
These nightly ordeals?
Delay prolongs the torment.
I want to sleep and forget.
Being alone on these dark streets,
Always makes me fret.

To help with oblivion,
I’ll roll up a strong spliff,
And I’ve got a stash of needles,
And white powder to sniff.
We give ourselves away,
So many times a night,
That there’s no time to wonder,
If what we do is right.

The behaviour of some men,
Often leave me shaken,
So I inject to numb the fear,
That my life could be taken.
I really need a coat,
And I need to rest my feet.
Ah, who is this strange guy,
Strolling down the street?

Does he want to get acquainted?
This part’s always scary,
But there’s a girl behind him,
So I am not so wary.
But, is he mocking me,
With his great big smile?
Now he stops and asks,
If he could talk a while.

Don’t want talk, I want business!
Can this man afford my price?
He hasn’t got a car,
And he’s being much too nice.
But all my friends are pretty,
So they’ve already got their work,
Seems like I have no choice,
But to go with this jerk.

He holds out a small book,
And beckons me to read,
Then says to me softly,
“Here, this is what you need.”
It says, “For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only son…”
Oh no, I need a quick escape,
Shall I grab my bag and run?

Then, suddenly I realise,
These are words that I should cherish.
It says if I accept God’s son,
When I die, I will not perish.
This book, this book, this book!
Now I know what he is holding.
The words inside have come alive,
And this mystery is unfolding.

It was twenty years ago,
Someone did the same thing,
By showing me a bible,
Which made my small heart sing.
Wanting to hear more stories,
I searched the next day,
But to my disappointment,
I heard he had gone away.

I want to know this Jesus.
I need no more persuading.
I want to be completely free,
From a life that is degrading.
Oh, I must tell all my friends
When they finally get back.
They think they have all they need,
But this is what they lack.

All my friends are ugly,
They are trapped and in despair.
They block out the reality
By pretending not to care.
All my friends are ugly,
For inside they are crying.
Because life without Jesus,
Means one by one, they’re dying.

I gave myself to many,

Who wanted to use me,

But God has forgiven

For he’s full of mercy.

I won’t compare myself

With others anymore,

For right here, I have found

What I’ve been searching for.

Thanks for taking the time to read this very long post to the end. May you also find freedom from whatever trap you are entangled in – God is waiting to set you free.




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