The topic of prostitution has high-interest appeal across disciplines, and the narrative entries illuminate literature, art, law, medicine, economics, politics, women's studies, religion, sociology, sexuality, film, popular culture, public health, nonfiction, American and world history, business, gender, media, education, crime, race, technology, performing arts, family, social work, social mores, pornography, the military, tourism, child labor, and more. Each entry is signed and has suggestions for further reading. Then I cut myself for the first time. That smile was enough to undo me. Once we were on the floor, he asked me to have sex. Facing the antagonism of an interrogation hardly seemed worth it. We resorted to blunt butter knives for months, crookedly sawing carrots, cheese, peppers. A tight pain in a place I never knew could hurt.
Then I told her about my first assault, the details spilling out of me like gum balls from a broken candy machine. He was the first boy I allowed below the waistband of my Bluenotes, and underneath my fluorescent padded bra. I learned how my brain had betrayed me, tricking me into believing that negative, abusive behaviour was thumbs-up normal. I demanded too much. Last June, I saw my own experiences reflected in the media, when an ex—Stanford swimmer and one-time Olympic hopeful named Brock Turner was convicted of raping a woman known as Emily Doe while she was unconscious. He agreed to talk over FaceTime, even though I was vague about my reasons for contacting him. I blacked out on my way home and woke up in a nearby alleyway. He tried to charm me into a sip of his beer, grinning hard even as I said no. I thought that once the bruises on my thighs and arms faded, I would be healed. Her frankness seemed radical: I started to regularly cut after sex. A streetlight melted yellow. When I kicked free, he followed me into the hallway, tackling me to the ground before I made it to the first stair. The legal system requires proof beyond a reasonable doubt. I kept busy volunteering and working as a camp counsellor for kids with disabilities. I stayed with men who were cruel to me for months. Research shows that 25 per cent of women have been sexually assaulted. I agreed to everything. Oral sex often triggered my panic attacks—it was too intimate, too vulnerable. And when I asked what she would do if she were raped—would she report it? Flashbacks blazed without warning. Had I led him on? Then I cut myself for the first time. Thumbprint bruises on my thighs. The next morning, he smiled.
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