People often ask the question, how does a prostitute get raped? Her experience is often trivialized because she knew the risk by putting herself there or just ‘cried rape’ when she wasn’t paid. It doesn’t matter where you were, what you were wearing, what you were doing before hand, sex without consent is rape. Here’s an example:
I was a homeless fifteen year old runaway, not one month on the streets, when car pulled in front of me while crossing the driveway to a liquor store.
“Hey, do you wanna go to a party?” the rear passenger asks.
“What kind of party? I’m done working for the night, but I’m could use a good time.” I immediately think I shouldn’t have said the last part, but still wearing my short skirt, I figured my appearance was telling.
“It’s a bachelor party” he replied. The expression on my face said ‘uh-oh’.
“I dunno…a bunch of guys,” I protest.
“Naw baby, it’s cool. We already got two girls there. We just want you to dance. No one is going to even touch you,” he assured.
No touching, okay. I get in the car.
I go up the stairs to the apartment door. Sure enough, I see two strippers dancing in the living room as soon as I cross the threshold. I go to the far side of the living room opposite the two who appear to be ‘together’. I don’t want to invade their space so I start swaying, not in a rush to get undressed. I don’t know how many men are in the apartment. The music is loud; heavy smoke clings to the air. The numbness begins coming over me. Then someone takes me by the hand and says, “I want to talk to you for a minute”.
Okay, [smile]. I follow his lead down a hallway that seems too long for an apartment. The brown wooden doors are all closed. There is a hazy glow barely illuminating the walls painted burnt orange. The dense colors continue into the bedroom on the left. He asks me to sit on the bed and tells me he wants to have sex with me. I give him the price and he hands me the money. I lay back and we start. He kisses me. I think that the rules are no kissing, but I do find him attractive, so I kiss back. The lights are dim. We don’t make eye contact. In a flash I see the door open, lights turn off and silhouettes moving about until the door closes. I feel hands holding my arms and shoulders pinning me to the bed. At the same time I feel a transition on top of me and start to scream. A hand clasps my mouth and I try to bite it. I get a good one in, hear cuss words, then a punch to the face. I am stunned and eventually go limp after a time of futile attempts to wrestle my torso away are hindered as my limbs are gripped by hands, arms and bodies I could not see as each took his turn. I don’t know how much time elapsed before they eventually left the room. I rolled off the bed to the floor. I drew myself into a ball and wept. When I found my clothes, I discovered I’d also been robbed. I slowly dressed myself and began to contemplate how I was going to get down the hallway, traverse the living room, get out the door and down the stairs. Should I tiptoe slowly and try to sneak out, or should I just run for it? There’s no way I won’t be seen. I don’t want to die in the streets.
Eventually one guy came back in the room. He apologized that his ‘homies were trippin’ and asked if there was somewhere he could drop me off at. I did not know where to go. I wanted to be as far away from there as possible. All I could say was, “Please just walk me out to the street.”
I was gang raped two more times after that. It sucked each time, but I suppose the first was the hardest. I guess it’s like that with most things though.