(This is a fictional story to highlight the issues involved in sexual abuse from the perspective of the abused).
I gripped and pulled up the waist definer or clincher or whatever it’s called. Surely that should help define my figure and make me more attractive along with some foundation and eye highlighting make up colours to follow a pore refining primer. No one knew the struggles I was going through that way. It’s been a few tough weeks after “mountains” of rejected job applications. Maybe a body shaper was the least of my worries now. Even more so was the shy visitor announcing itself as trickling red spots when I entered the bathroom at the coffee shop. I had been meeting my highly excitable friend, the sex lady , as we fondly called her, for her humorous expertise in dealing with these matters. If you knew anything about smiley Winnie, you know it will be a treat to meet and just talk! We usually talked so much…
A few hours before she had called to say that my name had been stuck in her head that morning and knew she had to get in touch. So the very rare phone call registered on my three-times-phone cracked screen with cut out edges, barely permitting me to see her smiley face. Tears trickled down my face as I saw her picture come up to announce the caller. “Thank God for these small mercies, technology, and its ability to connect long lost friends again.” “Where are you now?” Her caring voice asked. “I’m just getting up from another night of work,” I managed.
“Work? At this time! This hour of the night?”
I was too ashamed to admit I’d become a lady of the night. So I managed a smile and somehow found a way to dodge her question. Persistent, she said, “it’s 3am! I had not realised you were back in shift work? When did you start that?” She insists on her line of questioning.
“Ah! I responded, sex lady, I’m doing sex work”
“I have been holding back. There’s something I need to share with you.”
That was then. “Let me tell you how it all began, Winnie.” I continued.
Me as the parent
In the near distance are voices of the kids playing in their room. You can hear them argue also about whose turn it was to play on the computer. You see research suggests that limiting time on the digital device would at least help preserve the eyesight and social skills of the children. So as mum and parent, disciplinarian, provider, friend all rolled into one, she had to look out for these precious ones. One would guess the mission to the employment centre to find work would pale in comparison to this.
Oblivious to the children were the many thoughts, challenges and dreams of their mum as to how she would continue to provide for them.
It is a long story…
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