What makes girls become prostitutes

PIP: In India, interviews with 33 female prostitutes in Domjur, Howrah District, West Bengal, were conducted to understand the processes by which women become prostitutes. The prostitutes tended to have most recently worked as domestic workers, casual laborers, or farm laborers. The main reason for leaving their last occupation was obligation to provide sex services.

I didn't like it, but the five men who dated me that night showed me what to do. They knew I was young and it was almost as if they were excited by it. I went home by train and I gave most of that money to my grandmother, who didn't ask me where it came from.

The following weekend I returned to Division and Clark, and it seemed like my grandmother was happy when I brought the money home. But the third time I went down there, a couple of guys pistol-whipped me and put me in the trunk of their car. They had approached me before because I was, as they called it, "unrepresented" on the street.

All I knew was the light in the trunk of the car and then the faces of these two guys with their pistol. First they took me to a cornfield out in the middle of nowhere and raped me. Then they took me to a hotel room and locked me in the closet. That's the kind of thing pimps will do to break a girl's spirits. They kept me in there for a long time.

I was begging them to let me out because I was hungry, but they would only allow me out of the closet if I agreed to work for them. They pimped me for a while, six months or so.

I wasn't able to go home. I tried to get away but they caught me, and when they caught me they hurt me so bad. Later on, I was trafficked by other men. The physical abuse was horrible, but the real abuse was the mental abuse - the things they would say that would just stick and which you could never get from under.

Pimps are very good at torture, they're very good at manipulation. Some of them will do things like wake you in the middle of the night with a gun to your head. Others will pretend that they value you, and you feel like, "I'm Cinderella, and here comes my Prince Charming".

They seem so sweet and so charming and they tell you: "You just have to do this one thing for me and then you'll get to the good part. When people describe prostitution as being something that is glamorous, elegant, like in the story of Pretty Woman, well that doesn't come close to it. A prostitute might sleep with five strangers a day. Across a year, that's more than 1, men she's having sexual intercourse or oral sex with.

These are not relationships, no-one's bringing me any flowers here, trust me on that. They're using my body like a toilet. And the johns - the clients - are violent. I've been shot five times, stabbed 13 times. I don't know why those men attacked me, all I know is that society made it comfortable for them to do so.

They brought their anger or mental illness or whatever it was and they decided to wreak havoc on a prostitute, knowing I couldn't go to the police and if I did I wouldn't be taken seriously. I actually count myself very lucky. I knew some beautiful girls who were murdered out there on the streets. I prostituted for 14 or 15 years before I did any drugs. But after a while, after you've turned as many tricks as you can, after you've been strangled, after someone's put a knife to your throat or someone's put a pillow over your head, you need something to put a bit of courage in your system.

I was a prostitute for 25 years, and in all that time I never once saw a way out. But on 1 April , when I was nearly 40 years old, a customer threw me out of his car. My dress got caught in the door and he dragged me six blocks along the ground, tearing all the skin off my face and the side of my body.

I went to the County Hospital in Chicago and they immediately took me to the emergency room. Because of the condition I was in, they called in a police officer, who looked me over and said: "Oh I know her. She's just a hooker.

She probably beat some guy and took his money and got what she deserved. They pushed me out into the waiting room as if I wasn't worth anything, as if I didn't deserve the services of the emergency room after all. And it was at that moment, while I was waiting for the next shift to start and for someone to attend to my injuries, that I began to think about everything that had happened in my life. Circumcised men have more difficulties reaching orgasm, and their female partners experience more vaginal pains and an inferior sex life, a new study shows.

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Some 85 percent of prostitutes in a Danish survey say they are sex workers because of the money. Their average earnings differ little from the national average. Photo: Colourbox. This was the only time during the session when I felt "dirty" about what I'd done. I felt he was judging me. I made a conscious decision not to let this bother me: I probably wouldn't see him again, and it was just a business transaction, so it didn't really matter what he thought about me. I would offer this advice to clients, though: be nice to your hooker, even after you pay her.

You're not the only one who has feelings about what just happened. In my post-university slump, I felt like my life was in the drain.

I had three crappy part-time jobs, my bank account was overdrawn, so I started browsing for "exotic dancer" want ads. In university, I had worked as a stripper for about two months and loved the dancing. The money was great for a part-time job, and it catered to my love for being the centre of attention. Now that I was in a new city, the area strip clubs were more plentiful.

I went to one "audition". The club was so low-brow I was shocked. The girls were snorting coke in the dressing room, and the bouncers seemed more malicious and oversexed than the customers. I did not go back. I remembered a roommate I had in university who signed up as an escort through an online service.

My first escort "date" was with a guy who called himself Tim. I drove two hours to his house, white-knuckled in anticipation of what I was about to do. He was middle aged, pretty average-looking — balding, in OK shape. I don't want to seem flippant when I talk about the sex.

There was nothing special about it except for the fact that it was the first time in my young life that I was literally prostituting myself. In retrospect, my opinion of prostitution is that it is fine if you have straightened it out in your head as to why you are doing it and what you get out of it, but you are risking your safety and your health. Can you charge a price high enough to compensate for that? And the sex was nothing I remember anything about.

He left his television muted on CNN the whole time. My biggest concern was that I had very little experience and that it would show I had only had sex a couple of times in my life. My next worry was that I would not be able to fill a full two hours with sexual entertainment.

It was not that hard. Most people are easy enough to talk to, and once the sex is over it is just pillow talk and back rubs. Aside from an almost overwhelming sense of danger the whole time, it went well. After two months, I started scheduling dates with men and then not showing up. I was starting to get real about why I was having sex with men for money. I had been feeling rejected by a former lover, and I was angry about being in debt and was discovering that my university degree was essentially worthless.

I felt like being destructive. My last job scared me out of it for good. He was a short bald man with a big spare tyre and smelled of cigarettes. He asked if he needed to wear a condom about half of the men asked this.

I put the condom on him, and then he spun me around and pushed me up against the dresser. The force of this manoeuvre was unexpected. He tried to get me to have anal sex, and I had to struggle to avoid it. It was starting to feel more like a violation than a situation that I was in control of.