I recently became "friends" on facebook with another young Ukrainian woman that we've known for quite some time. She is studying in another city and since all of the schools and universities are closed, she is on-line a lot during the day.
A couple days ago she asked me what "coplete" means. I responded that it was misspelled and was probably either "complete" or "couplet" and what each of those words meant. She then wrote that a guy she knows wrote to her: "You coplete me."
Big humongous bright red flags sprouted up all over my computer. Well, at least in my mind they did.
Good grief. Are guys still using that old, worn out "Jerry McGuire" phrase?? I guess so!
I immediately responded something along these lines: Who is this guy? Be careful! Young men who say things like this just want to have sex with you.
The tone of her response was not happy - with me. She defended him and herself and their relationship and explained it to me in sketchy detail (she was writing in English - we are practicing English this way, you see, to help her with both comprehension and writing).
I prayed for her. There are so many guys out there preying on young woman via the internet. But she had actually met this guy while he was here. I won't go into detail due to privacy issues, but they had met in a legitimate way, not him coming here looking for girls. I still was quite concerned. I've thought about her and this guy (and all the other guys she may be corresponding with that I have no idea about) and I've prayed for her more than once.
This morning she contacted me again, while I was reading the news, and told me: Cindie, did u remember XX.
U told me about him truth
he really not serious with me
when I told WE just friend because other country. He told me of course we friends, but free love it`s really Ok for us
(I asked her)Are you feeling ok? I know it hurts.
I`m Ok
because I use my judgment
I pray for the girls here so very often. Many of them are quite beautiful and Ukraine has a bad reputation and is a target for these guys. Of course, some of the girls are no better than the men who prey on them - those girls are getting all they can from the guys who only want their bodies. But many of the girls who get caught up in this are truly only looking for friendship or real lasting love. We have seen it so often here and it makes me so angry every time it happens.
Showing posts with label hooker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hooker. Show all posts
Monday, November 09, 2009
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Four Hookers
June 18, 2005
I met the first hooker in jail. Actually – she was a prisoner, I was a guard. It was the winter of 1975 and I was a 20 year old freshman at Alaska Bible College in Glennallen, Alaska. Glennallen is located in the heart of the Copper River Basin, an area the size of the state of Ohio. At that time there were only a few State Troopers in the whole area, and no full time employees at the jail. Alaska was in the middle of another gold rush – black gold this time. Oil. The Alaska pipeline was being built and thousands of men had flown up or driven the Alaska Highway in search of work and the dream of making their own fortune on the pipeline. Pipeline camps were located at various spots along the route and one of those camps was south of Glennallen and the village of Copper Center. As is the case with all gold rushes, no matter the color of the gold, camp followers are sure to be in abundance as well.
Several of my fellow students at ABC were on the list of potential jail guards at the state troopers office in Glennallen. Late one night after everyone had already gone to bed, the dispatcher called to see if there was someone in the girl’s dorm who would come in and jail guard a female prisoner that a trooper was bringing in. None of the other girls in the dorm wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I got dressed and someone drove me down to the jail. Soon the trooper pulled in with a woman in the back of his patrol car.
I was waiting in the jail when he escorted in a handcuffed woman. I had no idea who she was and why she had been picked up. But I soon found out. The trooper asked me to witness everything he did. He took a mug shot of her, with and without her wig on and then thoroughly examined the wig for hidden objects or drugs. I was shocked when she took her blonde wig off. Her age was in the early 30’s, but without the wig she looked to be in her 50’s. Next he dumped her purse out on a counter and went through everything, all the time asking her questions. Why had she been at the pipeline camp? She was selling magazine subscriptions. Where were all of her order forms and magazine samples? No answer. If she was just selling magazine subscriptions, why did she have only make-up and about 75 condoms in her purse? No answer other than some foul language. I have to admit – I’d never seen so many condoms in one place before, so many different kinds, flavors, etc. My next assignment was to take her into the bathroom and do a strip search on her. I had no idea what that meant, but the trooper was very nice – to me – and gave me detailed instructions on what to do. I took her into a small bathroom and asked her to remove her clothing. The trooper stood just outside the door and I handed each item of clothing to him – a black dress, a pair of black pantyhose and her shoes. No panties, no bra, no slip, just a slinky tight black dress and a pair of panty hose. The trooper carefully examined each item and then held them while I asked her to pee and then I looked in the toilet for any drugs she may have had hidden “in a body cavity” and tried to dispose of before she flushed. Fortunately I did not have to examine said body cavities! When she had finished and I had checked and given the ok, he handed her clothing back so she could dress again. I don’t remember all of the details of fingerprinting and back ground check on her. I only remember how old she looked and how unattractive without her wig she was, the many cigarettes she smoked that night, how she cursed me, the troopers, the men she’d been with at the camp, and life in general during the remainder of the night while I stayed next to her cell in the locked jail and “watched” her until the next trooper came on for day duty and could take over. There is a mystique about prostitutes that they are basically happy, sexy, beautiful and have great bodies. This woman taught me different.
I “met” the second prostitute while working as a maid in a hotel in Fairbanks. I actually managed to make it through two whole days before I quit that job – I hated it. I had been assigned to work with another maid who would train me while we worked. As we stripped beds, cleaned toilets and sinks and vacuumed she chattered about this and that. And as we came to new section of the hotel she pointed to a room across the courtyard and told me that everyone thought two prostitutes were doing business in there. That room happened to be ours to clean and just before we knocked on the door to see if it was empty a man came out. I swear he was literally zipping up his jeans and tucking in his red plaid shirt as he came out. We knocked and announced we were the maids come to clean the room. A female voice told us to come on in. Lying on the bed was a young woman, probably college age, stark naked except for a pair of sexy panties with a roll of money tucked in the waistband at the hip. She was counting several other bills and then proceeded to stick them in beside the others. The shower was running in the bathroom and I wondered which one of them had actually “serviced” the man who had just left – the one on the bed or the one in the shower – or maybe both of them? I think that was one of the most uncomfortable times I’ve ever had. Me dressed in a maid’s uniform, stripping a very well used bed, several used condoms in the wastebasket and eventually two naked women in the room with us as we cleaned and they began putting on more make-up in front of a mirror. The other maid later assured me that as soon as the management knew for sure that they were running a business in the room the two girls would be kicked out. All I could think of was what lousy ways to earn money for college – hooking or cleaning - but I’d rather clean motel rooms than let dozens of men use me. I quit the next day and eventually got a job in the laundry room at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where I spent the summer steaming in the heat, arguing with a communist and atheist, and being yelled at for never working fast enough no matter what I did. Better that than cleaning or prostituting, even if the money wasn’t as good!
The third hooker I met was a couple of years later. The pipeline was cooling down as most of it had been built, but there were still a lot of men in Alaska. Mel and I had been married for about 18 months. Kara was a baby and I was very pregnant with Peter. One afternoon Mel and I were walking down one of the main streets in Fairbanks, Mel holding Kara in one arm and holding my hand with his other. A hooker sashayed up to him, took hold of the arm wrapped around Kara and said, “Come on honey, let’s party!” Both of us were shocked. I guess she figured he was fair game. He was a man. I was obviously very pregnant so couldn’t be much fun in bed, and he could easily get rid of the kid. Or maybe she was just higher than a kite and not thinking clearly. Or maybe her pimp had told her to find a john fast or get beaten. I will never know why she grabbed hold of Mel, only that she was not very pretty, not very sexy – just crude, lewd and brazen. Mel shook her hand off his arm and we continued down the street.
I met the fourth hooker just a few years ago and I see her often. I know this girls name. Her name is Natasha and she is now about 13 years old. She lives with her mother, a prostitute in the city of Kherson, Ukraine, and with several siblings. Her mother has a two room flat – one room is for living, the other is for business. Natasha spends a lot of time on the street just to get out of the house. She spends a lot time doing business in the cemetery as well – there are bushes there that offer “privacy”. When we happen to meet in the city center I can always tell if she’s doing business – her clothes are quite fancy, she has on lots of make-up and her whole attitude is hard as nails. When she comes to the Street Kid Drop-In Center I have seen another girl – a young girl who needs love, real love, not sex. I’ve seen a girl who wants to trust someone, to believe that there is someone who really wants to help her, play with her, touch her with affection, give her good food and clean clothes and not demand that she give her body back in return. I see a young girl who has gone from a fierce protector of her younger brother to a girl who is now pimping him, if not sexually, then at least using his cute looks to beg money off complete strangers. Knowing what happens to these street kids I am quite certain that she is pimping him sexually as well. I would like to castrate every man who has ever had sex with her, orally or intercourse. We have been told that Natasha has at least one STD, has had it from the age of 8. I don’t know if she’s ever finished a full course of medical treatment. I don’t know if she’s had her first abortion yet. I don’t know how much money she makes or who takes most of it from her. I only know she is a young girl who should have had a real childhood – but that it has all been taken from her. I don’t know if it was taken by her mother, a stranger, a relative or someone she knows. I only know that she is a young girl who will probably never know how wonderful sex can truly be between a man and woman who love and respect each other.
These are four of the prostitutes I have met in my 51 years. I know I’ve met more, most of them recently and most of them under the age of 14, both female and male. I know that the older American prostitutes that I met each have their own story as to how they got started and some may have been as simple and ugly as Natasha’s story. Others may have gone into it for drugs, out of anger at a man in her life, because she had been sexually abused by her father, brother or other relative or “friend.” Some may have even been sold into it and just couldn’t get out. There is an attitude in America today that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone and that it can be a great way for a woman to earn a lot of money. I wonder if Natasha thinks that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone. I wonder if the woman working the pipeline camps thought it was really a great way to earn a living (not only the act of having some kind of sex over and over again each day with different men, but the humiliation of being arrested, strip searched, lack of basic respect from the trooper and my actual presence watching over her during the night. I was far from being a naïve virgin, but the difference between us could not be hidden.). I wonder if the two young women in that motel room are still healthy or if they may have contacted AIDS or any number of other STD’s or if they may have been beaten to death by a pimp or a john.
Ukraine has the reputation of being the number one provider of white prostitutes in the world. Thousands, literally 3-4,000 or more work in Istanbul. Hundreds more work in Amsterdam. And those are just two cities. Hundreds of women have been sold into prostitution all across Europe, Asia, Africa and yes, even here in the United States. It’s called human trafficking. My heart weeps for these women, no matter the reason they ended up as prostitutes. I have no love or patience for prostitution, but the woman/girl involved breaks my heart.
I met the first hooker in jail. Actually – she was a prisoner, I was a guard. It was the winter of 1975 and I was a 20 year old freshman at Alaska Bible College in Glennallen, Alaska. Glennallen is located in the heart of the Copper River Basin, an area the size of the state of Ohio. At that time there were only a few State Troopers in the whole area, and no full time employees at the jail. Alaska was in the middle of another gold rush – black gold this time. Oil. The Alaska pipeline was being built and thousands of men had flown up or driven the Alaska Highway in search of work and the dream of making their own fortune on the pipeline. Pipeline camps were located at various spots along the route and one of those camps was south of Glennallen and the village of Copper Center. As is the case with all gold rushes, no matter the color of the gold, camp followers are sure to be in abundance as well.
Several of my fellow students at ABC were on the list of potential jail guards at the state troopers office in Glennallen. Late one night after everyone had already gone to bed, the dispatcher called to see if there was someone in the girl’s dorm who would come in and jail guard a female prisoner that a trooper was bringing in. None of the other girls in the dorm wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I got dressed and someone drove me down to the jail. Soon the trooper pulled in with a woman in the back of his patrol car.
I was waiting in the jail when he escorted in a handcuffed woman. I had no idea who she was and why she had been picked up. But I soon found out. The trooper asked me to witness everything he did. He took a mug shot of her, with and without her wig on and then thoroughly examined the wig for hidden objects or drugs. I was shocked when she took her blonde wig off. Her age was in the early 30’s, but without the wig she looked to be in her 50’s. Next he dumped her purse out on a counter and went through everything, all the time asking her questions. Why had she been at the pipeline camp? She was selling magazine subscriptions. Where were all of her order forms and magazine samples? No answer. If she was just selling magazine subscriptions, why did she have only make-up and about 75 condoms in her purse? No answer other than some foul language. I have to admit – I’d never seen so many condoms in one place before, so many different kinds, flavors, etc. My next assignment was to take her into the bathroom and do a strip search on her. I had no idea what that meant, but the trooper was very nice – to me – and gave me detailed instructions on what to do. I took her into a small bathroom and asked her to remove her clothing. The trooper stood just outside the door and I handed each item of clothing to him – a black dress, a pair of black pantyhose and her shoes. No panties, no bra, no slip, just a slinky tight black dress and a pair of panty hose. The trooper carefully examined each item and then held them while I asked her to pee and then I looked in the toilet for any drugs she may have had hidden “in a body cavity” and tried to dispose of before she flushed. Fortunately I did not have to examine said body cavities! When she had finished and I had checked and given the ok, he handed her clothing back so she could dress again. I don’t remember all of the details of fingerprinting and back ground check on her. I only remember how old she looked and how unattractive without her wig she was, the many cigarettes she smoked that night, how she cursed me, the troopers, the men she’d been with at the camp, and life in general during the remainder of the night while I stayed next to her cell in the locked jail and “watched” her until the next trooper came on for day duty and could take over. There is a mystique about prostitutes that they are basically happy, sexy, beautiful and have great bodies. This woman taught me different.
I “met” the second prostitute while working as a maid in a hotel in Fairbanks. I actually managed to make it through two whole days before I quit that job – I hated it. I had been assigned to work with another maid who would train me while we worked. As we stripped beds, cleaned toilets and sinks and vacuumed she chattered about this and that. And as we came to new section of the hotel she pointed to a room across the courtyard and told me that everyone thought two prostitutes were doing business in there. That room happened to be ours to clean and just before we knocked on the door to see if it was empty a man came out. I swear he was literally zipping up his jeans and tucking in his red plaid shirt as he came out. We knocked and announced we were the maids come to clean the room. A female voice told us to come on in. Lying on the bed was a young woman, probably college age, stark naked except for a pair of sexy panties with a roll of money tucked in the waistband at the hip. She was counting several other bills and then proceeded to stick them in beside the others. The shower was running in the bathroom and I wondered which one of them had actually “serviced” the man who had just left – the one on the bed or the one in the shower – or maybe both of them? I think that was one of the most uncomfortable times I’ve ever had. Me dressed in a maid’s uniform, stripping a very well used bed, several used condoms in the wastebasket and eventually two naked women in the room with us as we cleaned and they began putting on more make-up in front of a mirror. The other maid later assured me that as soon as the management knew for sure that they were running a business in the room the two girls would be kicked out. All I could think of was what lousy ways to earn money for college – hooking or cleaning - but I’d rather clean motel rooms than let dozens of men use me. I quit the next day and eventually got a job in the laundry room at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where I spent the summer steaming in the heat, arguing with a communist and atheist, and being yelled at for never working fast enough no matter what I did. Better that than cleaning or prostituting, even if the money wasn’t as good!
The third hooker I met was a couple of years later. The pipeline was cooling down as most of it had been built, but there were still a lot of men in Alaska. Mel and I had been married for about 18 months. Kara was a baby and I was very pregnant with Peter. One afternoon Mel and I were walking down one of the main streets in Fairbanks, Mel holding Kara in one arm and holding my hand with his other. A hooker sashayed up to him, took hold of the arm wrapped around Kara and said, “Come on honey, let’s party!” Both of us were shocked. I guess she figured he was fair game. He was a man. I was obviously very pregnant so couldn’t be much fun in bed, and he could easily get rid of the kid. Or maybe she was just higher than a kite and not thinking clearly. Or maybe her pimp had told her to find a john fast or get beaten. I will never know why she grabbed hold of Mel, only that she was not very pretty, not very sexy – just crude, lewd and brazen. Mel shook her hand off his arm and we continued down the street.
I met the fourth hooker just a few years ago and I see her often. I know this girls name. Her name is Natasha and she is now about 13 years old. She lives with her mother, a prostitute in the city of Kherson, Ukraine, and with several siblings. Her mother has a two room flat – one room is for living, the other is for business. Natasha spends a lot of time on the street just to get out of the house. She spends a lot time doing business in the cemetery as well – there are bushes there that offer “privacy”. When we happen to meet in the city center I can always tell if she’s doing business – her clothes are quite fancy, she has on lots of make-up and her whole attitude is hard as nails. When she comes to the Street Kid Drop-In Center I have seen another girl – a young girl who needs love, real love, not sex. I’ve seen a girl who wants to trust someone, to believe that there is someone who really wants to help her, play with her, touch her with affection, give her good food and clean clothes and not demand that she give her body back in return. I see a young girl who has gone from a fierce protector of her younger brother to a girl who is now pimping him, if not sexually, then at least using his cute looks to beg money off complete strangers. Knowing what happens to these street kids I am quite certain that she is pimping him sexually as well. I would like to castrate every man who has ever had sex with her, orally or intercourse. We have been told that Natasha has at least one STD, has had it from the age of 8. I don’t know if she’s ever finished a full course of medical treatment. I don’t know if she’s had her first abortion yet. I don’t know how much money she makes or who takes most of it from her. I only know she is a young girl who should have had a real childhood – but that it has all been taken from her. I don’t know if it was taken by her mother, a stranger, a relative or someone she knows. I only know that she is a young girl who will probably never know how wonderful sex can truly be between a man and woman who love and respect each other.
These are four of the prostitutes I have met in my 51 years. I know I’ve met more, most of them recently and most of them under the age of 14, both female and male. I know that the older American prostitutes that I met each have their own story as to how they got started and some may have been as simple and ugly as Natasha’s story. Others may have gone into it for drugs, out of anger at a man in her life, because she had been sexually abused by her father, brother or other relative or “friend.” Some may have even been sold into it and just couldn’t get out. There is an attitude in America today that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone and that it can be a great way for a woman to earn a lot of money. I wonder if Natasha thinks that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone. I wonder if the woman working the pipeline camps thought it was really a great way to earn a living (not only the act of having some kind of sex over and over again each day with different men, but the humiliation of being arrested, strip searched, lack of basic respect from the trooper and my actual presence watching over her during the night. I was far from being a naïve virgin, but the difference between us could not be hidden.). I wonder if the two young women in that motel room are still healthy or if they may have contacted AIDS or any number of other STD’s or if they may have been beaten to death by a pimp or a john.
Ukraine has the reputation of being the number one provider of white prostitutes in the world. Thousands, literally 3-4,000 or more work in Istanbul. Hundreds more work in Amsterdam. And those are just two cities. Hundreds of women have been sold into prostitution all across Europe, Asia, Africa and yes, even here in the United States. It’s called human trafficking. My heart weeps for these women, no matter the reason they ended up as prostitutes. I have no love or patience for prostitution, but the woman/girl involved breaks my heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)