Surviving prostitution: ‘Violence was my experience’

I hate maroon. Motels have some sort of preoccupation with the color maroon. The carpets are maroon, the lamps are maroon, even the shower stalls seem to have a maroon tint to them. Most of all I hate the maroon comforters, thin as the motel room sheets with big plastic threads running through them. There’s always one you know is going to poke you in the ass.

When I was in prostitution, I spent a fair amount of time staring at the maroon surroundings of a cheap, popular motel off I-5 near Everett. If I was lucky, the female pimp I worked for would leave an hour or two free between johns, and I’d get the opportunity to try to ignore my surroundings, losing myself in a Law and Order Special Victims Unit episode. This all after my self-administered fourth or fifth disinfecting shower that day.

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