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Author's Note - The articles that I write, are only my opinion and my experiences, not to say that every other SP feels in any way, shape or form, the same way as I do. I am not meaning to shove my values or opinions down anyone's throat.

For the Victims

I write this article for the victims of sexual assault.

What you are about to read will be much harder for you to swallow than it is for me to talk about. It is a part of who I am and I have accepted it. It is the story of my sexual assault.

On April 22, 1987 it was lightly raining and a couple of beat cops were patrolling the stroll. I watched the cops walk up to a couple of drunk guys wearing garbage bags while harassing a couple of the girls. I stood alone at the end of the street on the corner. It was 1:45am and I had been busy. I was wearing a black mini skirt, a small tank top and a cardigan sweater. I was just dropped off minutes before I was approached once again.

He drove an older big cream colored car. I got inside and we drove around the block talking price. He agreed with the quote that I gave him. As we came back around the block, going in the direction of my motel room, I went to roll down the window to tell my girlfriend that I was going. The guy said, "what are you doing.. there are cops there!" I explained that I was just telling my girlfriend that I would be back in a bit.

Now this is where my intuition was giving me a warning that I didn't hear. He asked me my name and without thinking I told him my real, full first name. To most, this may not be surprising.. however, I have hated my real first name for as long as I could remember it. I even refused to write it at school. My family called me by a nick name because I wouldn't answer to it. It became such a habit not to hear my real name.. that in a crowd of people, I wouldn't recognize it if you were calling out to me. When I had told him my real first name, it had been the first time in over 3 years since it had escaped my lips. It didn't occur to me until afterwards that it was my warning.

Once we arrived to the motel, he parked at the side. I was smoking. He parked the car and turned it off as I had put the cigarette in my mouth in order to open the car door. I reached for the handle and before I knew it, he had grabbed my mouth and threw me down on the seat, crawling on top of my legs. He began calling me a whore and ripping my clothes off. I kept telling myself, 'okay, keep calm, don't panic.' I could smell the alcohol on his breath and cocaine on his skin. At this point, I came to the conclusion that even if I did hit him, he wouldn't feel it because he was higher than a kite. He would only get angry. I tried to go along with him. He ripped my skirt and top off, then he proceeded to punch me in the face, but his fist hit the steering wheel. He was full of anger.

I practically begged him to let me perform oral sex on him. God help him if I got his dick in my mouth. He was smarter than that. Instead, he laid all of his weight on me, spread my legs and proceeded to rape me. He became more angry because he couldn't keep it up.. so he would pull out and punch me some more. He kept hitting and hitting, but I could tell from his face that he was surprised that I took his hits without any tears. Emotions of fear and anger welled up inside of me, but I wasn't going to let him make me cry.

He then told me that he was going to have anal sex with me (not in those exact words). I said 'No.' He asked me what I said as he punched me again. Once again I said 'no.' He hit me again. Strangely, I had a feeling that there were police very close. I tried to sit up slightly when he had turned to look out the back window that was fogged up. I was right about the police; there was a cruiser passing by. He panicked, through himself over me and covered my mouth so tightly he began smothering me. After a minute he got up and he began wailing his fists at me. He told me over and over again that he was going to kill me; 'Tonight you are going to die!' Each time he hit me, I only became more and more angry. 'Tough girl uh?' he said. I only looked at him with a blank look on my face.

He moved between my legs, leaning on my right leg which he had pushed up against the seat. He said, 'so you don't want it up the ass, we will see how you like this!' and he rammed his four fingers up inside of me. I felt my skin shred inside and my body shuddered from the pain. He did it again and said, 'what's wrong you fuckin whore where you love to fuck you motherfucker!' I couldn't contain the pain. The tears rolled down my face. The pain was so bad that I thought I was going to die. As he continued to ram his hand in me, I reached down behind my back to the door handle as I was moving my body about in pain so he wouldn't catch me. I remember thinking to myself, 'if he happens to see me reaching for this door handle, that is the end of me.' I prayed that the door wasn't locked. At the same time, I could see a shadow of someone walking by the car. I pulled the door handle as hard as I could and the door opened. I pulled up my legs from him and kicked him in the chest with both feet as hard as I could. I kicked him hard enough that the force pushed me out of the car and I fell into a puddle on my ass. I jumped up and ran to the man who was walking by while I screamed, 'he raped me.' The man turned towards me and I grabbed him by the jacket collar screaming, 'he raped me, get his plate number!'

The man took note of the license plate and the rapist attempted to run us over as he sped out of the parking lot. The man, my witness, took me to the lobby of the motel. The motel was run by Chinese guys who could hardly speak English. My witness is telling them to call the police and I am trying to figure out why my face feels so funny when I try to talk. The owners of the motel told my witness that they weren't calling the police there and to take me to the station that was only a few blocks away. So that is what he did.

I didn't realize it until I was in the waiting area of the police department, but I was naked from the waist down; all that I had on was my cardigan sweater. The officer at the front desk told us to have a seat and the sexual assault detective would be right down. I stood still in one spot. My adrenaline was slowing down and the pain was increasing. Suddenly as I stood there, I felt a warm feeling on my bare feet. I looked down and saw that I was standing in a puddle of blood.

The next thing that I remember, I was in the hospital getting a rape kit done. They pulled pubic hairs, hairs from the top of my head, did a pap-smear and took any dirt from under my nails. All that I kept saying to the doctor is, 'I want to know if I am pregnant or if he gave me a disease.' I was shaking, crying, cold and madder than hell.

After the tests were completed, the doctor called me into his office. He said he had some very bad news for me. I began to cry.
'The good news is that you aren't pregnant and he didn't ejaculate inside of you. We did recover a very little bit of dead semen, but nothing to be concerned about. The bad news is that he really did a job on you on the insides. It looks as though someone had taken a garden rake to your vaginal canal," the doctor lowered his head. "I am sorry Miss but you are permanently damaged along your vaginal walls. It appears that a great deal of your nerve endings have been torn and damaged, something I can not repair."
I was confused, "please, just explain it to me."
"Otherwise," the doctor said, "for the rest of your life, when you make love with your husband, you will feel much less than an average woman would."

I just stared at him blankly as he continued to tell me of how my jaw was paralyzed an inch to the right and it would take at least a week before it would realign itself again. He went on about multiple bruising and small cuts in my scalp. I was still stuck on the permanently damaged part.

After the hospital, my witness went home and the detective took me back to the station to look at a photo line up. He told me that the pics he was about to show me were at least four years old so I should take my time, bla bla bla. I spotted him in two seconds and pointed him out. The detective took my statement then took me home.

I was raped on Friday night. The police arrested Kenneth on Sunday. His car had been cleaned, he had six witnesses to say he was at a hotel drinking at the time of the rape and he denied all charges. Either way, the officers who picked him up, took him to the station and laid a beating on him. He was then later released on bail. The girls outside were notified of him and what had happened to me.

By the time the preliminary had arrived, 9 other girls had come forward to say that he had raped them as well and a 17 year old, who was not a prostitute whom Kenneth had picked up while she was hitch hiking. In court, I was asked by the prosecutor to make a deal with Kenneth's lawyer, 'because after all, you are a prostitute and no one will believe you,' the prosecutor said. I spoke to the judge and I requested the prosecutor to be replaced with someone who was on my side. The judge took the prosecutor into his chambers and when the prosecutor came out, he had a new attitude. He told me, 'we will go for sexual assault in the second degree.'

I can't really blame the prosecutor for thinking that I didn't know any better, but I knew the laws. I told him, 'no we are going for sexual assault in the first degree. As far as my understanding goes with the law, sexual assault in the first degree is when the victim is maimed for life and I am. Sexual assault in the second degree is causing bodily harm; he did more than that to me. I also heard that the sentence for sexual assault in the first degree can be up to life in prison. Am I right?' The prosecutor smiled, 'you are a smart girl,' he told me. That is what we fought for, sexual assault in the first degree. That is what Kenneth was charged with even though the lawyer tried to make me out to be the scum of the earth.

Kenneth was sentenced to a 'global sentence', which is a sentence of ten years. As far as I know, I am the first prostitute in the province to convict a criminal of sexual assault for the period of ten years. The other girls who charged him as well fell for the first deal the prosecutor tried to get me to agree to.. a sentence of eight months each. The seventeen year old got him for a couple of years I believe. He had to serve his sentences concurrently.

It was a few months later when the same sexual assault detective came downtown to visit me. He warned me that Kenneth had arranged a contract on my life from prison and the detective was concerned for my safety. It just so happens that one of my regular clients was the head placement officer at the prison that Kenneth was in. I won't go into details, but Kenneth walks with a cane today and he will never walk without it. I have never seen him again. By now, he is out of prison and doubtfully reformed.

The moral to the story is that many girls in the industry fear pressing charges. They fear the publicity, the scorning of society and most of all, the fear what they feel to be the inevitable; losing the fight. Many women in every day life have the same fears.. the only difference is that a prostitute has a more difficult chance at winning because she sells her ass for money. A sad truth that comes along with the territory.

So you may ask.. how do I talk about it so easily.. how do I feel about it now?

Kenneth raped me; not a man. Personalization of the rapist is the first step to healing. I once had a psychologist lecture me during his free time on how he is so successful at helping sexually assaulted women get over their assault. I asked him a simple question; 'what does a woman who has been raped feel like?' He went on to give me his version of saying, 'she is angry' mixed up in his fancy words. When he was finished with his long explanation, I picked up my lighter from the table. I said, 'if you reach out and take this lighter from me, I can take it back. When a woman has been raped, her rapist has felt a part of her and taken something from her that she can never take back.'

Do I regret being raped? No. Why? Because I have helped over a hundred women survive the devastation of a sexual assault from my experience.

Some women who have been violated in a lesser degree can be devastated for the rest of their lives and some women who have experienced worse may walk away mentally sound. It all depends on the woman some say. It is a choice; a victim or a survivor. But to me, I wanted to wake up in the morning knowing that I didn't let him get away with what he did. I would never forgive myself.. and that is something that I couldn't live with.

Article written by Kayla



Submit articles to: [email protected]


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