The Last Post: Why I Have To Leave The Internet

I guess I owe you all an explanation for why I’m leaving Twitter and the blogosphere on the 12th of this month (isn’t that such a pretentious term? Blogosphere? Really?) [If you want a quick explanation without the words, scroll down for screenshots of Jem outing the wrong person as me.] Anyway, before I say this, I just want to say that I don’t want or need sympathy. I brought this all on myself by being too naive and trusting, by trying to overcome my trust issues, and by forgetting the lessons I learned as a child about not trusting anyone, ever. And also being really careless when I was trying to warn C.

So, what happened was, Jem a.k.a @notahappyhooker a.k.a. @ahauntedhoor a.k.a. @itsjustahobby outed what she believed to be my civilian account and only stopped tweeting it when the person proved to her that she wasn’t me. I’ve known she was trying to dox me since a few months ago; she’s even publically said I’m a fake and admitted of trying to find information about me. And another person, who shall remain nameless- let’s call her Q- well, I told her my identity when we met in real life. Q’s kid and my friend were present when I told her. I told Q that only 2 people on the internet know (C and X) and both only knew by accident. Q was the first person ever who I trusted with that secret, and she kept it secret for maybe two months before saying it publically on social media, possibly as a revenge for something she blames me for but which I didn’t do intentionally. And no, I will never reveal her identity any more than I’d reveal my own; the reason being that the end result would be the same.

So, that’s it in a nutshell: one person, Jem, is trying to out me and I’m worried that one day she is going to succeed; and another person, Q, already has that info. I do not know when Q will next strike and frankly I’m tired of waiting and wondering. To complicate things further, I outed myself to someone else and gave info to another person so they could warn C, who interacts a lot with Q and Jem, and has met both in real life. Those two people then refused to pass the message, so that was all for nothing. Now too many people know my identity or information about me. And the four people I like the most on Twitter are now the four biggest threats to me, as both Q and Jem are among these four; the other two (C and X) know my full legal name and are pissed off with me (in C’s case) and support Q and Jem outing me (in X’s case. She unfollowed me for telling her they outed me- I was panic-DM’ing X and two other people at the same time and they were all offline. I’m actually kind of embarassed of panicking like that and being all upset and scared in front of the,, because I’m known as being super confident. But there’s nothing I can do about that now.  Anyway, the next morning X unfollowed without replying, which I’m assuming means she supports Q and Jem. As she knows my full legal name, that hardly inspires confidence. I would never ordinarily dream that X would reveal info about me, but then if Q did it, why not? I trusted Q almost as much as X, and I trusted Jem too. There was a time when me and Jem were always retweeting and reblogging each other. Even C acted in ways I wouldn’t expect by believing Q’s side of an unrelated event and assuming the worst of me without asking me what happened. C stopped talking to me which meant I had to try to pass messages to warn her not to give her real name to Jem and Q. Which indirectly leads me to quit the internet. FML).

It doesn’t take a risk analyst to work out that this whole situation no es bueno; it is just a matter of time. An anti tried to out C and outed the wrong person once; I hope C escapes Q and Jem, but if they get pissed off with her one day and out her, I’ll lose no sleep over it because I tried to warn her. There is nothing else I can do. Quitting the internet is a pre-emptive move and at least this way I get to keep what I’ve already blogged. If I was outed I might have to delete this blog and Twitter or even my civilian social media. It’s a smart move and at least this way I’m in control and as long as I remember my passwords, it’s not irreversible. I’m working on something that could be damaged if I was outed, and I’m not about to let some randoms off the internet ruin everything I’ve worked for years to achieve. That’s my main reason for my fear of being outed.

It will come as no surprise to some of you that Jem was involved (though she and Q acted independently and I don’t think it was a concerted move, given that, according to Twitter gossip, Q apparently is wary of Jem too, like most people who know what Jem is like.) Jemima made around 8 public tweets ‘outing’ a feminist blogger as me, and also tweeted this information to a magazine, a sex worker ally, someone else I don’t know, National Ugly Mugs and Ruth Jacobs. Really Jem- a magazine? Nice try, but they won’t out me unless I’m famous, hun. Try Eamon Dillon next time, huh? (She also tweeted that I’m a fake). Jem kept tweeting until the feminist blogger proved to her that she isn’t me. Some of the tweets have been deleted, and Jem’s constant typos make a Twitter search difficult (though some of it does come up in a Twitter search) but luckily a DM alerted me just after it happened and I was able to screencap most of it. Today I did a Twitter search and screencapped more stuff.





Oddly, here Jem seems to be saying that we're not the same person. Consistency much?

Oddly, here Jem seems to be saying that we’re not the same person. Consistency much?

It’s Just A Hobby is a great blog though I’ve not been by for months; I’ve heard that she and Carter now have a new blog. For what it’s worth, I’m sure it’s brilliant. I’m not complaining; as this storify by Caroline Criado=Perez shows: Jem has a habit of turning on people who think they’re her friends, even people she’s had in her home. In the storify she accuses 8 or 9 people of whorephobia and of unfollowing her when in fact she had unfollowed or blocked them first. That’s actually nothing compared to what I’ve seen her tweet about other sex workers who were her former friends, as well as allies and feminist bloggers who she was friendly with. She actually hasn’t been all that shitty to me, apart from libelling me that I tried to frame people and get them sued (tweets are now deleted, unfortunately), and constantly claiming I’m a fake who deliberately “destroyed the Merseyside model” out of “malice” and “ruined any chance of the Merseyside model becoming UK wide” by, er, making a petition to get it UK-wide….(no, really. Yes, REALLY. See the screencaps). Which is kinda weird since Jem admitted months ago that I wasn’t working with Jacobs – and shared one of Ruth Jacobs’ blog posts, calling it “great”!


Here, Jem lies that “we” (who?) invited me to SWOU to campaign for the Merseyside model, but I didn’t go. Actually, I wasn’t invited. Rhoda Grant and others were invited but didn’t go. Nothing to do with me.


She publically- and constantly- gives Ruth Jacobs credit where it’s simply not due, acting as if Jacobs created the petition when actually we’d already split up by the time I created the petition. I may suggest that Jacobs hires Jem as her PR assistant and Jem can write me out of the story altogether and give Jacobs all the credit. Jem also thinks that sex workers have to “work with” Jacobs but that they won’t. I don’t see why sex workers would have to work with any non sex worker who supports the Merseyside model; aren’t there lots of random non sex workers who support Merseyside, the New Zealand model or decriminalisation generally? Don’t Object and another anti org support National Ugly Mugs? Don’t antis in Ireland support Merseyside? Especially allies, feminists, people who work in the medical, academic, legal or policy fields; relatives and friends of sex workers, random members of the public…and Ruth Jacobs is just one of these many people who support it. She’s nothing special. Jem glamorises her into some mythical ultimate enemy when really Ruth is just some unknown blogger on t’internet, with no bigger of a platform than Jem herself.

That being said, the fact that the head of the NSWP and the manager of Ugly Mugs, as well as sex workers, have interviews on Ruth Jacobs’ blog kind of disproves the “no sex worker will work with her” thing. Jem always has to be right. If anyone has “destroyed” the Merseyside model (a task which would be impossible for any lone individual to achieve), it’s Jem. She has made many public tweets and comments against me and the petition and tried to turn sex worker activists against the petition. She promotes the lie that it’s Jacobs’ petition, thus ensuring that some sex workers won’t support it. Apparently she doesn’t seem to notice that people go silent or change the subject whenever she lies about me. But perhaps Jem has a right to criticise others’ activism, after all she’s done so much sex work activism herself…oh, wait. She’s done fuck all about either Merseyside (apart from, like, being the person who tweeted Ruth Jacobs the link that started the idea for a petition, so God knows why she’s criticising me for creating the petition when she actually was its catalyst) or sex work activism more generally. Recently she’s been tweeting from @whorephobia – an amazing account I think everyone should follow- but tweeting isn’t any more activism than I or anyone else does. Her blog, It’s Just A Hobby, isn’t a sex work activism blog; though I can’t speak for whatever her new blog is called. Criticisng each others’ activism just seems so counterproductive and petty and bitchy to me; I feel so bad and small about writing the above sentences about Jem’s activism, but it had to be said. On that note, Jem made several statements that she should have created the petition and would be the best person for the job, then told me that her name should be on the petition, so I agreed and took steps to change it. When I tried to finalise the name change, Jemima suddenly backed out and declared the petition to be “permanently tainted”. That was my first clue that Jem’s obsession with me might be more about herself than about political disagreements.

It was not long after that that I received a DM which warned me about Jem and said that if someone is being raped or beaten, would they really care about who created the petition? When a sex worker is sitting in a police station reporting their rape to the police, will they even have heard of my name or Ruth’s, and will they actually give a flying fuck? Would the family of a dead sex worker be delighted that the petition failed because it was “permanently tainted” by Jacobs? Jem’s arguments were petty and they were the typical arguments of someone priveleged enough not to worry about rape on a daily basis. Others later warned me about Jem but I thought “it takes two to tango”. I found it difficult to completely believe their tales of Jem bullying, lying and accusing people of whorephobia or misogyny. No matter how much Jem hurt me and the petition, I still saw her as Jemima, the blogger I looked up to, whose politics I agreed with, who had so much to say about kink and law and sexuality; who reblogged me; whose posts I commented on and shared. I imagined meeting her in real life and telling her my real name. I’ve come close twice to telling her stuff about me that I don’t put on the internet.

Jemima also gives me too much credit. The petition is just a petition. Lots of people create petitions and lots of feminists, activists and sex worker activists do stuff all the time. Lots of people- sex workers and non sex workers- support Merseyside and have been trying to get it nationwide. I didn’t create anything new. The petition isn’t as special or important as Jem makes out. Sometimes I feel like she sees it as so incredibly unique because she wishes she had created it. Someone once described Jem as “toys out of the pram” and while I feel that’s a little unfair, Jem does seem to act like she’s the Chosen One who should be heading every campaign and only her politics are legitimate. The petition will not succeed – its deadline is approaching and there won’t be 100k signatures by that time (something Jem would know and be delighted about if she actually paid attention to the petition instead of obsessing over me). Jem’s very public vilifying of me and her constant lies as to Jacobs’ involvement and trying to turn sex worker orgs against the petition has no doubt contributed, but one person can’t “destroy the Merseyside model”, so I’m not blaming her for its failure. The bottom line is that there was not enough publicity and few people care about sex workers’ issues. My initial prediction that my partnership with Jacobs wouldn’t last very long and that the campaign wouldn’t work have turned out to be true – unsurprising really as sex workers have tried and failed to get the Merseyside model for years, so why would it succeed now. That’s what I thought, and that’s what has happened. Well, at least I tried.

Oddly enough, Jem previously said that the whorearchy idea that I don’t count as a sex worker was wrong (not that I really mind what people call me. It’s up to them) and said that whether people support my petition or not is up to what they feel comfortable doing. She would even brag about being the one who changed Jacobs’ mind- in her defence, that’s definetly something worth bragging about. Now, some of those who were my biggest critics retweet the petition account while Jem, who defended me from them, is defaming me. Jem’s violent U-turn was something I struggled to understand until five minutes ago, when a search for evidence for this post turned up a tweet by someone alleging that they’d had to block Jem “long before she turned against the banknotes petition which she previously supported”. So I guess maybe supporting then not supporting stuff is sort of her thing.

But I don’t want you to only get this side of Jem. Jem can be funny, sweet, a good educator and- the quality I most admire-she has real confidence. That’s the Jem I used to know and the one I’d like to remember her as. She’s not a bad person, she’s damaged and disturbed, and this isn’t me being naive, this is a view shared by several people who have been bullied and defamed by Jem. Looking at Caroline Criado Perez’s storify, I don’t see a bully or a troll. I see a good person who is paranoid and damaged. I see an articulate blogger and a loving mother who has been hurt.

As for Q, though- she did it deliberately. As a petty revenge. And it’d be so easy for her to out me and pretend it was a mistake; all she has to do is talk about Kalika on my civilian social media.

I’m down to one possible buyer. I am not sad to leave the internet because I did what I came here to do, plus much more. I blogged about earning £2,000 from selling services to Roland and the time before that, and while I didn’t get to blog the consummation (cos Roland moved away) I blogged feminist stuff and sex work politics stuff, met people I wouldn’t have otherwise, including C, who while I’m hurt that she assumes the worst of me because of what Q told her, I’m glad I got the chance to know her. If I do sell my virginity I won’t blog about it even under another identity. But maybe in a little while I’ll come back to Twitter. I’m all blogged out, but tweeting is addictive. I’ve recieved several tweets and DMs from those of you sad to see me go. Thank you all; but don’t be sad for me. I’ll be around in the future. Thank you to all my Twitter followers and everyone who has followed this blog, or reblogged, commented, or liked and faved posts and tweets. I have no regrets; not a single one. I am Kalika, after all.

Goodbye xxxx


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Update on selling virginity

Since being in contact with potential virginity buyers on AdultWork and Seekarrangement, all this has happened:

One guy offered £20,000 then changed his mind

I’ve met up with two potential buyers in Edinburgh (both were offering £12,000)

I’ve recieved shedloads of time-wasting messages on Adultwork and a couple of emails, asking if I’m available today for outcalls or if I’ll accept £100 or £200

One guy (offering £15,000) changed his mind after seeing my photos, though he apparently thinks I’m “very pretty” and “cute” but not “what [he] had in mind”

I’ve had several emails and Adultwork messages obviously hoping for a freebie, and others who have exchanged several emails  with me only to subtly try to beat me down to £200 or £500 at the last moment (I. Am. Not. Stupid.)

And tomorrow I’ll be taking a photo of my hymen while holding a bit of paper with the guy’s name and the date on it. If only I had the photo that Donny took of it. I love how perverted some of my potentials are, though nobody seems to want to get into anything more than ageplay and spanking. Maybe I’m more kinky than most people. A lot of them want bareback/without a condom but are more than happy to get tested, which is fine by me. Roland also wanted it bareback and would’ve got a test.

The good thing is that I’ve learned (from male virginity seller @LegendaryDiego) that both he and Natalie Dylan tok over a year to sell their virginity. So at least I don’t feel so bad that the last time I sold sexual services to my initial buyer, Roland, was a year ago. I’m considering going to an agency within the next two weeks if I don’t find Mr Right before then.



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Edinburgh saunas: Police Scotland’s non-legal partial criminalisation regime

Police Scotland are closing Edinburgh saunas so that sex workers will be “safer”. What irony. These sex workers are being forced into street sex work which is more risky, independent sex work which is a little more risky, agency work which is about the same. Or, of course, other massage parlours.

If they choose street work, they will suffer even more stigma from police and the general public. This means police will be less likely to believe them if they report violence against them by clients, partners or the community – just like what happened to @JasminePetite, who wasn’t believed when she reported to police that she feared violence from her ex, who later murdered her. This stigma also makes it more likely thhat these sex workers will recieve violence from clients and the community. Street work makes it more difficult for outreach services and police to work with sex workers – which is a very bad turn of events, considering that street work is the most dangerous type of sex work. They will also find it more difficult to change their jobs (or “exit the industry”) because the “revolving door effect” of being fined for soliciting and then having to work to pay off the fine will keep them in the industry. Criminal records also mean they’ll be discriminated against if they do apply for non-industry jobs. In fact, the stigma against street work is so bad that it’s possible they’ll be discriminated against when applying for some other adult industry jobs. If the police want to make sex workers safe, why not help them get into adult industry jobs which they deem are “safer” than working in massage parlours, for example adult films or agency work or pro-domming? (I’m not saying those jobs are safer than parlours, I’m just saying the police could take the option of finding workers adult industry work which they think is more safe. This would still be state control of sex and it would still be stigmatising and patronising, but at least it’d have, like, a sort of veneer of concern that wasn’t entirely see-through. ).

If the sex workers choose to work independently, they’ll also arguably be less safe because brothel-keeping laws mean that it’s illegal for them to work with a friend for safety. However, in the massage parlours there would have been other workers present so it was more safe. Police Scotland are not making sex workers more safe. They are putting them in danger, or at best simply forcing them to change their workplace or work further from home.

The owners of the massage parlours and any non-sex-working staff such as receptionists, managers, bookkeepers, PR staff etc will also lose their business and their jobs. This is just contributing to unemployment. Does Police Scotland see these people (and sex workers) as collateral damage in their plan to police our sex lives and destroy our labour rights and freedom to sell and purchase services? Imagine the outrage if corner shops, newspapers or accountancy firms were suddenly shut down and people were losing their jobs and having their businesses – which they’ve built up over years- ruined. But, once again, it’s different for sex workers and anyone who happens to work in or own any adult industry business.

Though Rhoda Grant’s Bill has failed, Police Scotland are effectively continuing her work by implementing, if not the Swedish Model, then a non-legotimised, non-legally sanctioned Moralist Model of their own devising. Like the Swedish Model, it appears to be a partial criminalisation, but a criminalisation of sex workers themselves instead of criminalising the clients.  No new laws have been passed to give Police Scotland these new powers. So what gives them the right to endanger innocent people, destroy businesses, ruin lives and disregard our freedom to purchase sex, seeing as Lothian and Borders Police did not feel the need to dominate citizens’ lives so brutally? There needs to be a clear law limiting the police’s power over our personal lives and freedoms, and to protect businesses. They’re not only putting sex workers in danger, they’re taking away all our rigts to sell and purchase sexual services and to start and run businesses. At least Rhoda Grant MSP followed the democratic procedure in trying to implement the Swedish model. But the police ignored any kind of democratic procedure or transparency; they didn’t involve the public in creating this new partial criminalisation model. I wonder what Rhoda Grant MSP would say to this new model – the model of non-legally sanctioned partial criminalisation.

Police closing saunas:

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Posted by on July 25, 2013 in Sex work


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All The Shit Times: an epic tale of love, legal threats & internet bitchiness

I’m feeling kind of mellow. So I’m going to tell all. I am probably going to regret this. But I sense that the final consummation draws near, as inexorably as a bimbo’s boxers drop to his messy, sock-covered floor after a few well-placed pokes on Facebook. So here is my one last, pathetic, crazed confession before I blog what this blog was created to record. Forgive me, journalists, for leaving nothing for you by writing this tell-all; if I’m ever outed, your expose will lack spice. I am mad to write this; surely it’ll be bait for those who would still argue with me about the petition. But when have I ever done anything I didn’t regret lately? Or, perhaps more accurately, when have I ever done anything which a normal person would regret? I, of course, regret nothing. I see no point in ‘if-onlys’ and ‘what-ifs’ – it is what it is. Rise to the challenge and acquit yourself well, because the world is watching. Someday it’ll be yours, but until then, you must impress them.

I was a kid on 7th May 2012 when I sold sexual services for the first (or if you count being spanked on 28th April, then the second) time. But I’ve grown up so much in this last year. I want to tell you; tell you about all the shit times. As a sort of disclaimer, I’d ask you all to bear in mind that I’m not trying to blame, whinge or reopen any debates, nor do I claim that my emotions were proportionate, reasonable or logical; my descriptions of other’s actions will probably be unintentionally biased and are composed in part of my own assumptions. I note that certain people against the Merseyside petition have since changed their minds. For reasons of space and because this is about my feelings, a lot of stuff will have to be omitted, and I’ll probably come off pretty rosy, as the focus will be on others’ actions and not mine. This is a Diary post and hence not ‘official’; for my thoughts on sex work activism, Merseyside etc see the posts in the  ‘Sex Work’ category. As for my ‘official’ thoughts on Lynne, I agree with her on most, or perhaps almost all, issues; I’d plug her stuff right here if it wouldn’t out her. Her privacy is important to me because this blog post de facto defames her. No court would see it that way of course, as everything I write is true -well, I’ve learned that defamation includes outing people and publicising true stuff, so actually maybe it is sue-able. Though maybe I’d have to out her or publicise a lot of details about her (de facto outing) for it to be actionable. But I know she won’t sue me, because I’m as broke as a bimbo’s cock after he’s been shagged by a girl he met on Facebook. Anyway, what on earth was I talking about? Oh, yes: it’s defamatory because I only reveal how she made me feel, not how I annoyed her; and I’ve omitted the advice/help she’s given me and all our other interactions. Everything that follows belongs firmly in the past and the last thing I want is to dredge it up. I’m only writing about it because I dared not write it at the time, and I know I must write it if I’m to tell the whole truth on this blog. Oh, and go make yourself a coffee or something; this post is novel-length. Ain’t nobody gonna finish it.

I was always afraid of failure and rejection, so when Roland went AWOL it was bad for me. I was at a loss. I knew what I should be doing – advertising – but I couldn’t get motivated. Maybe I was subconciously waiting for his return. The worst had happened and I couldn’t seem to get moving. Growing up, I felt I had to be perfect. I was a geek- one of the brightest in my year and never touched drink or fags, never stayed out late or hung out with a bad crowd or wore skimpy outfits. But good was never good enough in my house. I’d been by far the highest achiever in one of my primary schools and that affected me for life; I felt like I should be the best and if I’m not, I’ve failed. Talking to Lynne about it seemed to help me refocus, though.

I felt out of my depth with the petition when Ruth tweeted that people against the petition might not be real sex workers and people turned on her. I felt like it was my failure, my loss of control, my negligence. I felt like I was a kid, out of my depth in an adult world. That’s crazy, because I’ve liked to think I’m on a par with adults since I was 12. When you’ve got the gift of the gab and are a perceptive debater, utterly determined and unafraid of authority, not to mention unable to be tricked or distracted by unscrupulous adults, you will have the advantage over many adults even though you’re a young teen. I was always able to hold my head up as I avoided the surveillancing and tricks of my powerful enemies on a daily basis. My confidence has always been absolute. I have seen through so many lies. I have tricked confessions out of high-ranking authority figures. Since I was 15, anyone who has dared cover up for their colleagues or lie to my face got taken down, and I would smile at them as I did it. Then I turned 20, and there were less opportunities; and I missed the fun, the wild joy of the chase. I have a confession (“amendment”) I negotiated as a teen in my laptop right now. I’d show you if it wouldn’t out me.

I am a weapon, a perfectly honed machine. That is what they’ve made me. Challenging bad people is my life, my love, my man, my everything. And here I was feeling like a kid for the first time in my life. It was sacrilege. It was beyond unthinkable. I wondered if my crush on Lynne had weakened me psychologically; surely it’s not natural to feel more than desire for someone’s body? Surely it’s wrong to be so enamoured with their ideas and writing and activism, to the extent that there’s little room left for actual thoughts of fucking them? My emotional ties to Lynne sickened me but I didn’t yet worry that I was in love. I’d told her about working with Ruth and she seemed supportive, and now I cursed my own incompetence at failing to stop Ruth tweeting that. I’d been stupid to think I could hold the reins; you can’t control someone’s every move and because I knew Ruth was coming from a place of care and had sex worker friends, I hadn’t watched the No One Unrapable account closely. I’d been too busy thinking about the media image and concerning myself with making sure that the public image of the petition wouldn’t look like it was a radfem or anti thing, but a sex workers’ thing. I was in control of drafting the Merseyside blog (which never came to fruition) for this reason. Lynne was helpful with ideas for which orgs to contact, and Ruth said she was a really nice person and criticised antis for talking shit about her and saying horrible things to her. As for me, I knew that if Lynne had told me not to work with Ruth, it’s possible I would not have (though secretly I hoped she’d be against it for unreasonable reasons and call me a traitor, which would lift my crush on her), and I was worried that this wouldn’t have been a professional decision, but a decision made because I fancied her.

I was getting scared at this point about where the downward spiral of my crush on her was leading me. I’d thought to ride it out and let it pass, as the longest I’ve ever fancied someone was maybe four months, the shortest being three days. Lynne was far from the four month record but my thoughts of her were unnatural; I wanted to be friends with her and see her again and again, which I’ve never wanted before except with Jay and another lovely. Usually I just think about sex and once will be enough. What was more scary was that I didn’t want it to be meaningless; I didn’t want a relationship with Lynne, but for the first time ever, I didn’t just want to be fuck buddies. I dunno what you would call that; being lovers, I suppose? I believe that if Lynne had wanted a meaningless one night thing, I’d have refused; it was all or nothing. She wasn’t single so I knew fancying her was wrong and destructive and that she’d be annoyed if she knew.

Around this time I ‘outed’ myself as the Rhoda Grant parody, @ing both Rhoda Grant and the Ruhama Agency. Laura Lee said she’d guessed it was me! I had to out myself because someone was worried they’d be sued for it. It was news to me that parodying could be actionable and I worried that I’d be sued. I put my main account in the parody’s bio so people would know it was me, then I changed the name of the parody to Abolitionist MSP instead of Fake Rhoda Grant, and put my name as Not Rhoda Grant, though I doubt it made a difference as I was putting Ann Widdecombe and the Pope into my parody by this time. This person didn’t ask me to out myself specifically, but I could see no other way of proving she wasn’t me than by outing myself under both identities. It was the second time I’d unknowingly done something online that could get me sued, and I was shocked that I’d been at risk all this time without knowing. I knew it’d be bad publicity for Rhoda if she sued me, but if someone else was worried about being sued then didn’t I run exactly the same risk? (It was lucky I’d told this person I was Kalika just a few days prior, or they might not have asked the parody to make it clear it wasn’t them). I took confidence from my anonymity, as I suspected that finding/outing my identity and suing would possibly be too bad PR for the woman who is saving the hoors for her to try it. After a few days of worry I completely forgot about this issue until months later when someone accused me of putting this same person in danger of lawsuits because sex workers wouldn’t let me save them (a reference to the petition). Someone else stuck up for me but I deleted the tweets anyway, because I’d genuinely forgotten about the suing thing.

Outing myself a day after announcing my partnership with Ruth was not good, as feminists and antis might not support the petition (Ruth’s role was to secure their support). Thankfully the whole new Pope thing meant that everybody was distracted.

I knew what the petition meant to Ruth. She thought that we wouldn’t see abolition in our lifetimes because drugs have been illegal for so long but there’s still drugs, and Grant’s Bill wasn’t a real solution because it didn’t include exiting strategies so she hadn’t supported it. But the Merseyside model was important to her, especially as she’s got friends in sex work. Me and Ruth disagreed on some issues, but I’d hoped the petition would go smoothly; if it benefits sex workers then that’s a great result no matter who I have to team up with to achieve it. Ruth would bring lots of feminist, politicians’ and even abolitionist support, something that would be harder to get without her.I’d heard about the Merseyside model a year before and it impressed me that Ruth was doing something about it after knowing about it for a few days. I felt powerless, watching the petition put at risk by her tweets, and though I took sole control of the account swiftly, I had to stand by helplessly as people said things about her that I knew not to be true (though I understand why people don’t trust her and as I said earlier, I’m not judging anyone or claiming that my beliefs were valid). Little did I know that I’d also have to stand by as the same thing was done to Lynne a while later, forced to choose not to defend the only person I’d ever previously thought I loved, and wondering how I was ever going to tell her (more on that later).

I wished that I could fancy Ruth instead of Lynne because at least that’s a traditional narrative – Shakespeare-style forbidden love, instead of fancying someone who’s, well, I suppose more of a networking contact than a friend, though I’d known Lynne much longer than Ruth. If I’d fancied Ruth, we could’ve scorched the codes of Twitter with our ill-fated passion until we were driven off to Facebook, riding into the sunset in a flurry of typing. I’d also previously blogged against Ruth, a blog I took down after hearing her story of her friend who she wrote about in the thingy I criticised. She’d told me to leave it up because people should write whatever they want on their own blogs, but I wanted to take it down.

The whole crush thing was getting on my nerves, so I asked Rachel and Alexis how to stop fancying Lynne. They said it was nothing to be embarrassed about and to flirt with her, and Rachel said she wasn’t mono. So the Lynne thing happened (for further details see The Lynne Blog). When I first knew, at 3am on 18th March, I giggled softly out loud cos I literally had no idea she was serious. Though I’ve no idea what I was giggling at – did I think she was flirting with me? I’ve actually had flirtations that went along those lines, which is probably because I’m kinky and so are the people who flirt with me online. (She said “Lady that tweet of yours was not on” and that made me giggle). I worked out she was serious cos when I tried to reply she’d unfollowed. I thought she was just letting me know she was annoyed by unfollowing the parody, so I tried to DM as Kalika but she’d unfollowed that too. I was upset about it but I wasn’t as devastated as I thought I’d be. I knew I wanted her to keep following me even before I realised I fancied her (which is weird cos now I don’t give two shits if she follows me or not and I’m assuming she’s not now, even though she did follow me again temporarily a little while back). But the next morning I felt worse about it, and hoped it was Ruth’s tweets she was talking about.  After I’d got clarification from her that it was the crush thing she was pissed off about, I couldn’t believe anyone could be that petty and I was so pissed at her for unfollowing instead of just telling me she wasn’t interested. Then I publicised the fact that I was no longer working with Ruth and the petition would be mine alone. I was DM’ing Rachel about Lynne and she seemed almost as shocked as I was, and I was convinced I was over her cos she treat me like shit (which turned out not to be true –  that crush took a while to die). Rachel…where would I have been without her? I went offline, marvelling at how much had changed in 24 hours and though I was relieved Lynne hadn’t ignored me or blocked me, I decided not to speak to her for a few days; ‘I can be a bitch too’, I thought.

After that Ruth and I went our separate ways, and recently Fallen Female has been solely tweeting from the account. Another sex worker told me someone told him that I’m an abolitionist, and that even if I was, he doesn’t care because Ugly Mugs is supported by Eaves and Object anyway, so as long as it’s good for sex workers, who cares who supports it. (If I am an abolitionist, then all the criticism of abolitionists, the law and police on this blog and Twitter – not to mention parodying Rhoda and Ruhama – is pretty deep cover). But I’ve nothing against this person; I’ve no interest in holding grudges or creating drama, nor do I have the time for it. Anyway I rather suspect this person now knows I’m not an abolitionist.

I’ve almost never fallen out with friends in my life so I was ill-prepared for ignoring someone (which I’d never done before). But I’d never been so annoyed in my life, so it was easy to not speak to her while I waited for her to realise she was overreacting and apologise. I was really miserable because I realised I wanted only her and I’d have stopped selling virginity if she’d requested it in exchange for seeing me; I’d have paid 4k just to have her; I’d have willingly given her my virginity instead of selling it. That’s when I began to worry that I was in love with her. NOTHING is more important to me than money, NOTHING. Since I was 13 I’ve loved money. And here I was willing to give up thousands just for one person out of the 7 billion on this planet. She wasn’t even Hawking or Miss Universe or an Olympian or anything (or even young, ha.) This is my biggest secret, and I guess I really can’t be outed now, because this is very shameful. Every time she tweeted I’d get a kick in my chest and even when she wasn’t tweeting I’d feel sad about it, which was a very rare emotion for me. I missed talking to her after about a week, but I didn’t want to unfollow her because she might see it as a childish reaction to her unfollowing me.

Being paranoid because of childhood experiences, for the first 2 days or so I waited for Lynne to publicise what I’d done in her tweets, and wondered if she’d said anything privately. In my experience, older women are out to get me and nobody ever doesn’t take revenge on me for saying or writing the wrong thing. Accusations about my sexual boundaries/behaviour (as they called it) were always followed by the immediate publicising of the accusations. It never crossed my mind that Lynne would be any different. I simply didn’t have any frame of reference for an older, educated woman’s benign irritatedness as opposed to nasty intent. So I wondered if she would tweet what I’d done or at least tell others privately on Twitter about how I’d insulted her with my presumptuousness and sexualised thoughts. I worried about what she would do next, who she would tell and how far she’d go in publicising my actions. I just couldn’t imagine that she wasn’t going to label me as dangerous, weird or predatory, or that she wasn’t interested in revenge or in punishing me. I planned to deny my intentions if she blogged against me (though I didn’t think she’d go that far, she’d probably just tweet or spread it privately) and was relieved that I’d had the foresight to tweet as the parody. I reminded myself of my past victories, that surely I could deal with whatever Lynne could throw at me, no matter how successfully she turned others against me. I was surprised the next day when Rachel said she hadn’t mentioned it to her. I would check her timeline for tweets about me but there was nothing, and my @connect tab was devoid of others’ knowing or mocking tweets. There were no more DMs from Lynne, nor any DMs from others referencing it. In my state of paranoia I didn’t just ascribe to Lynne the methods of my persecutors – I also wondered if she was laughing at me, telling other people how stupid I was to ever think I would have a chance with her. Maybe it was absolutely hilarious to her.   After 2 days of her failing to block me, publicise it or tweet at me, I began to relax and decide that maybe she was different or didn’t hate me. (Rachel had said she was just setting boundaries and didn’t hate me). After a couple more days of uneventfulness, I realised that she surely wasn’t biding her time for this long; Lynne really was letting it go. It was a curious feeling not to be hunted down by a group and have my name dragged through the mud; I was at least guilty as charged, for once!

My thoughts about her were ridiculous because she’d be the last person to publically humiliate me – she’s looked out for me and given me great advice, actually. That’s why I won’t answer any questions about her identity if anyone asks me – I can’t, because this post is very biased against her and does not show the truth. A balanced post would show her as being a caring person. It was her who told me I risked being sued if I went ahead with outing the ‘slutvote’ blogger BSkillet81 back in November. At the time I claimed I wouldn’t out him because not enough people wanted him outed. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell the truth and say I couldn’t out him in case I was sued.

Well, I lied to protect her, in case someone had seen her initial tweet to me before she continued by DM. I thought she might be criticised for stopping me from outing him (people will make up absolutely anything about her. That’s even clearer to me now.) However, now enough time has gone by that finding that tweet would be exhausting for the casual sleuth, and even Google cache records don’t last forever. It was a massive shock to me that I could be sued for that, and I don’t agree with it because if you can be sued for telling the truth then what does that mean for free speech? And it’s not like I’m outing him in the media; I mean, how many people even read my blog? Weirdly, my interactions with Lynne are often on the subject of lawsuits.

During these few days I worried I was falling in love with her, and I felt very sad that she didn’t feel the same way. Apart from taking a 2-day break from Twitter so I wouldn’t be tempted to tweet at Lynne, and also so I could mentally ‘regroup’ (I’d need all my faculties to defend against her if she publicised it – her intelligence would make her a formidable opponent) I kept my public image up, in case she or others she’d told were checking my timeline, whether out of concern or to gloat or check if I was bitching about her. I was  tweeting all the necessary stuff about the petition and running @NoOneUnrapable, as well as tweeting links to songs and generally making it look like I wasn’t pining after her every 2 seconds or desperately googling “how not to fall in love” and “decrease serotonin production immediate effect”. It was like the full version of the song ‘Jolly Sailor Bold’ in the Pirates of the Carribean film I bought to distract me from Lynne. I was like the stupidly besotted Maria of the song: “I disdain all glittering gold/There is nothing can console me/But my jolly sailor bold”. She leaves a life of wealth just because her “heart is pierced by Cupid”. And I was in the same idiotic mess; nothing could comfort me and all I wanted was to speak to her, for her to like me again, or ideally to love me as I believed I loved her. (God this doesn’t half make me feel icky just typing this…it’s like the godawful ramblings of a lovesick teen in a Disney adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.)

Though I missed talking to her, I was determined not to be the first one to speak again; I tried to apologise again, and admit it was true – I’d previously denied it, claiming to be tweeting as the parody; but could never bring myself to do it because I felt so annoyed with her. After that I kept avoiding Lynne so I wouldn’t be tempted to flirt with her, because I liked her even more now. I think I tweeted at her once or twice, to which she didn’t respond (or didn’t see) but mostly I fell into a habit of avoiding her even after I no longer had the crush.

Then it was exam season, and in the early hours of the 2nd of May, a lighthearted reply to someone’s tweet caught up with me: it sparked a four-hour Twitter war against me over the fact I’d worked with Ruth for less than 2 weeks. (Actually, given that I publically announced that I was no longer working with her on 18th March, shortly after Lynne DM’d me confirmation of why she was pissed off, it might have been just a few days.) A few were in a clique, then 2 others started independently after the main group had nearly stopped. I was shocked because I’d thought the Ruth thing was long dead – she’d been gone for months, before the petition was even up – before I’d written the thing. Nothing she’d worked towards had happened; I hadn’t gone ahead with the blog we’d planned, and used my own blog as the base instead. I successfully fended off all five with reasoned arguments, not missing beats even as sympathetic DMs poured in – some people even outed themselves to me as previous sex workers and clients! That really gave me strength, that all these people were being so supportive -in most cases to someone they’d hardly ever talked to. Some even gave me ideas for what to say. “This is why so few sex workers take up activism,” one person DM’d the following day; “you’re a real sex worker activist now”. I’m not a sex worker activist though. Actually, according to some of the people who were arguing with me, I’m not even a sex worker because selling virginity doesn’t count. That made me smile, because it reminded me of a blog post I’d written where I said the sex worker community is supportive and less divided than the feminist movement, and that nobody had said I wasn’t a real sex worker! (I still think that’s true. Sure, street sex workers get thrown under the bus, LGBT sex workers, partial service and male sex workers have less of a voice, and of course there’s the usual Tory vs anarcho-socialist drama that gets pulled in from the most mainstream sort of politics. And some activists are feminists, some aren’t. But it’s still a more cohesive movement than feminism).

That night, I realised I’m a very fast typer. Publically I was alone as people felt too intimidated to back me, especially those coming from positions of privelege and those who didn’t want to out themselves as sex workers. I was shaking and sweating, and that alarmed me at first because I didn’t understand what was happening. Then I realised it must be the effect of the adrenalin; I was getting such an adrenalin rush that it was wrecking my system. I was literally high on arguing! They called me a manipulative liar who was posing as a sex worker to lend credence to an anti. They said Ruth had deliberately created the petition to make sure it’d fail, that she and a hidden group of antis had used me as a pawn (that secret group doesn’t exist. Ruth is the closest thing to an anti I’ve ever talked to, unless you count @ing Stella Marr, Julie Bindel and Rhoda Grant in tweets. Oh, and my epically long, tongue-in-cheek Facebook reply to Richard Lucas, which I blogged). A brief search revealed one had bragged about “stalking” me and had blogged an expose of me, encouraging other sex workers  to “call [me] out”. I was kind of impressed until I realised that by “stalking” she meant “read this blog” and by “calling out” she meant “reveal to the internet that I’m selling virginity” which, like, I’ve already kind of done with this blog and my Twitter bio and my tweets and my Facebook account and this blog’s Facebook page and my short-lived LinkedIn profile and my comments on the Daily Dot, Huffington Post and Jezebel and… I mean, it’s hardly the standard of sleuthing I employed to find BSkillet81’s real identity, is it, dear readers stalkers? If they’d bothered to read my Twitter bio they’d have seen I was selling virginity and could have clicked through to this blog from my bio. The standard of “stalking” (i.e. reading my blog) wasn’t that great; they seemed to think I pledged to sell virginity on this blog but had yet to do anything, which isn’t true; by the time I created this blog I’d sold sexual services twice, sold erotic art and had a deal that after a couple more times I would sell him my virginity. I have never pledged to sell, lose or retain my virginity, whether online or in real life.

The Five also said lots of other things, but as I said, I’m not dredging up the past. At around 4 am it stopped, and I went offline and tried to stop myself shaking, which was hard because the adrenalin was still coursing through my bloodstream. I made a mental note to look into controlling adrenalin rushes, and went to bed. The next afternoon I wrote a blog post outlining why sex workers should support the petition, which was retweeted even by certain people who’d been against it. The irony was that I’d have deleted it if enough sex workers had wanted me to. But whenever I asked The Five if I should delete it, they ignored the question. The next afternoon most of the tweets were gone. I’d expected it but I was still a little surprised because they’d argued like they were sure they were totally right. I guessed that they felt brave enough at night when the people I talk to and the rest of the UK were offline, but as day dawned and my tweeps started logging on, it didn’t look like such a good idea. Perhaps another reason is that they thought I’d just take it since I’m young and they were in a group, but when I argued my corner till one by one they stopped, they realised I’m not such easy game. Maybe they even expected me to blog about it and deleted the tweets so I can’t prove it happened or blog the screenshots. But I had no interest in causing further divisiveness; I blogged (I was drafting the blog in my head while they were tweeting at me), but I blogged a reasoned argument about the politics of it and didn’t name names. That would have been counterproductive; it would have achieved my own ends, but the petition is much bigger than me or them or our differences. A lot of people thought I’d be upset about it, but conflict thrills me and I live for it. And when you’ve had the experiences I’ve had, you soon become desensitised to it all. I’ve taken down much more powerful people than them, and been subjected to far worse and more hurtful accusations and even more sudden attacks. The Five were calm and reasonable compared to some of the stuff I’ve dealt with before.

One person from the previous night said the petition was permanently tainted. I like her and her group blog, so I felt kind of surprised because though she’s not a friend, I talked to her a lot and we were always retweeting each other; we reblogged each other too, a few months back, and comment on each others’ blogs. It was her who said I was deliberately putting someone in danger with my tweets from the parody account because sex workers wouldn’t let me save them. I’d asked her to email me her real name so I could put her name on the petition, as she’d told me I should have put her name on it, but she refused saying it was tainted, so maybe that’s why she said I deliberately put someone at risk of being sued? (Because she felt she looked stupid refusing to put her name on it after saying her name should be on it). I’ll never know, and I don’t hold it against her. We’re on the same side, after all. Even if I don’t count as a sex worker, my blogging would at least make me a sex worker ally. Whatever I choose to call myself, I can’t deny that I’m not a part of this movement. And nothing shocks me that much anymore. Nothing compares to when I ‘lost’ Lynne, anyway.

The day of my last exam arrived – 26th May. We were planning to celebrate with a night out a little way away from where I live. Me and Leanne were in her house for pre-clubbing drinks and she asked me if I’ve made up with Lynne yet, I was like no, and maybe I just have to start talking to her again. I still didn’t want to be the first one, and I was worried she didn’t like me and didn’t want to speak to me, but I still missed her even though I didn’t fancy her. I think it’s because I like her (platonically) and I could confide in her, like I do Leanne, Lochlan and Rachel. A couple of hours later we were out in a small town in Fife with some other students and a couple of graduates, and we were in a pub and this guy we were with – an Eng Lit grad who was shown Lynne’s blog by Leanne’s friend Maria- was totally ranting about how much he hates Lynne and this was really distracting for me and annoying cos it made me wonder what she thinks of me. It made me miss her or feel uncomfortable every time he mentioned her. I couldn’t even defend her because of the situation; I had to keep my eyes on the prize and I think even Lynne would have preferred me to do this. He was going on and on as if he was auditioning for a part in a reality TV show called “Why I hate Lynne” and the prize was a brain transplant (believe me, the guy needs that transplant). He’s even more obsessed with her than I was when I had a crush on her.  I wondered briefly if he secretly fancied her or something.

Then he did something that I knew I had to tell her about, only how could I because if I talked to her she might think I was doing my personal designs again (see The Lynne Blog) or that I was using this as an excuse to start talking to her again. I actually did consider talking to her again by telling her this, but I wanted to avoid running back to her. I knew she was ignoring me (probably) but I wasn’t sure. I kinda wanted to ask her if she wanted me to stop it being publicised, because through Maria, I could’ve got the guy to not show anyone; but I suspected she’d probably want it publicised to show what a tool he and his friends are. I didn’t defend her over this thing, either, and just kept doing what I do best. What kept me going was knowing Lynne would support what I was doing and so would’ve probably preferred me to keep at it instead of telling the guy to shut it. Thankfully the guy left shortly afterwards to meet up with his brother and I told Leanne. That night me and Leanne were at her place talking about Carlotta, who used to be good friends with Leanne but hasn’t talked to her for months. I kinda miss Carlotta, too; I knew her to talk to. “Do you think of her [Lynne] every day?” she asked. “I think of her like every hour,” I replied, which was true, especially in those few days. Meeting Lynne’s friend Ramona and having the guy bitch about her hadn’t exactly made things easier; in fact, when I met Ramona it reminded me of when I’d met her. The circumstances were slightly similar. Me and Leanne made a deal that I’d make up with Lynne and she’d make up with Carlotta. Leanne said that if I know for sure that Lynne’s ignoring me, I’ll still feel better than not knowing.

Next morning I told Ramona what the guy had done, so she would tell Lynne. I knew Lynne would find out through gossip anyway but I thought that wouldn’t be a very nice way to find out. I knew passing a message would seem too obviously avoiding her, and I worried that Ramona would say I should tell her myself since I was there. It wasn’t really private enough to absolutely need a DM so I couldn’t say I needed someone to pass it through a DM because I couldn’t DM her. (Ramona didn’t tell her; Lynne eventually found out from a video that got shared on Twitter – the worst way possible). I felt kinda bad about that because I knew I’d put my own pride before her, which was selfish. And also paranoid – she would never think I was using it as an excuse to talk to her or flirting with her. There was no reason I couldn’t have just told her.

After that morning, I sent 2 tweets to her over 2 or 3 days, to which she didn’t reply. The first one she probably didn’t see. For the second one, I asked her directly if she was ignoring me – though I didn’t use the word “ignoring”, which she also ignored. So I figured she very probably was ignoring me indefinetly. Then she was talking to me about the video, and you’d think I’d be happy but I didn’t feel anything. I just didn’t care when Twitter said she’d followed me. I sort of did a mental shrug and thought, ‘whatever she wants to do.’ Then I was worried she’d seen The Lynne Blog and sussed she’s Lynne, and was following so she could tell me just how annoyed she is that I wrote about her on the internet. (She’s done it too, and I’d assume most bloggers have written about others without permission, but in my experience people think it’s okay for them to do it but get angry when others do the same thing to them. Nobody ever really thinks turnabout’s fair play.)

When she said it was re the video, that was a relief, though while DM’ing her I worried that since she’s not ignoring me now she might check this blog. “She’s DM’ing me now! Might delete the Lynne blog!” I DM’d Rachel (that’s an approximation; I’m not copy/pasting). “Lynne is? Yeah, you should delete it if you’re worried,” she replied. I highlighted all the text, copied it and was going to paste it into a document, when I realised something: if I delete it every time I worry she’ll see it, I’ll be forever deleting and reposting it. So I’ll keep it and this blog right here (she’s not following me now so chances are she won’t see this unless she clicks on a retweet). I was a bit annoyed at her ignoring me for months and then using me to get info, like she just uses me when she likes to. I mean, she’s all “I don’t interact with people who have personal designs on me” and then when I’ve got something she wants, it’s “email me”. I was careful not to say anything that might make her think I still fancy her (she probably thinks I still do, because how would she know any different?) and I didn’t want her to know I’d missed her. I think I pulled it off; Lynne’s very intelligent but I think I did the cool professional distance thing quite well. I mean, I’m not going to wag my tail like an excited puppy just because someone stops ignoring me to ask me stuff. But then I figured, she’s not using me because what other choice did she have; the info was important and she’s not using me for her own benefit. Really, I should’ve told her immediately; I sometimes tweet from my phone and that’s what I should’ve done, before we’d even left the pub. I think in the future I would never put my own pride before telling someone something important. It was selfish and counterproductive, and I should’ve thought a bit more about the fact me and her are on the same side against the guy. I was really angry with the guy. Not just pissed off, but actually angry.

And I know what I did made her uncomfortable by flirting with her and was a stupid idea anyway. It was definetly unprofessional. Aside from her writing, ideas and activism, the other thing that attracted me to Lynne is that I’m (usually) unable to predict what she’ll say next. With everyone else I can almost always tell and it’s very rare for me to be surprised by what anyone says. It’s also very easy for me to steer and control conversations. But I know it’d be hard or impossible for me to steer any conversation with her, unless it was her will that she be steered, or if we shared the same goal. Dear God; to have won over so many enemies, from teens to middle-aged professionals, only to at last find my match in someone I have a crush on, and realise that all my debating skills and tricks are useless against her (i.e. can’t make her fancy me). And to have got everyone I ever fancied on the internet (the only barrier to sexytime being distance, and we did exchange photos and videos and punish each other) except the only one I thought  loved…it’s ironic.

Back then, I couldn’t accept that she didn’t feel the same way and so I felt sad. But then I accepted it and so I felt okay about it; that this was to way it was to be. I don’t worry that much about her reading this or the Lynne Blog now, because she hasn’t read the Lynne Blog so far. I’ve been looking into blocking all IP addresses from her district to the URL of the Lynne Blog, but so far it looks like it only works with countries. If she ever read it I bet she’d say, “How dare you write about me publically and publicise your perverted designs! When I read it I almost barfed all over my laptop. But then I didn’t, because the food was too good to throw up- I made it all out of stuff we grew ourselves!! Pretty cool, eh?! Was fab noms. PS. OMG I just read that you thought it was love you sick little bitch, I think I am going to throw up now.” Then, five minutes later: “PPS. Did you know that cleaning vomit off a laptop is easier if it’s organic vomit? I might write an article about it.”

Or something like that. (That is what she actually sounds like.) Anyway I’m glad we’re on speaking terms now. It feels really good to have blogged all that, though I daresay SOMEONE will get pissed off about SOMETHING I’ve said. Such is the way of the world. It’s also interesting that, no matter how much I miss interacting with someone or want to tell them something, my pride appears to come first! What all of this stuff taught me is that while I can influence the world around me, my abilities are only useful in a battle situation. They can’t bring peace, understanding or induce someone to like me the same way I like them. I’m not, after all, invincible. Yes, I can debate and that’s how I saw off The Five on May 2nd, but I was powerless when the solution required wasn’t debate.

I know Lynne doesn’t see me as a friend, or she wouldn’t have hurt me like that, and that doesn’t bother me; though I think I’ll always like her more than she does me. And when I think back to the events of 17th and 18th March, it makes me smile. It is funny, and I never thought I’d say that! What fails to kill you does indeed make you stronger. Sometimes I think I don’t even give a shit if she sees this or The Lynne Blog. So what if she wants to whinge about how unfair it is that I’ve written about her; I’ll delete anything she thinks is defamatory, but it’s my blog and I’ll have on it what I fecking want. And since I’ve publicised all this, there’s no reason she can’t write about me (and call me Kalika) if she thinks I’ve misrepresented anything. And maybe she wouldn’t even care that I wrote about her, just like I vastly overestimated her pissed-offedness (is that a word?) about me flirting with her. Roland didn’t care (though he’s much more laid-back than Lynne). I bet she just says “those blog posts of yours were not on” and follows me so she can immediately unfollow. Heh.

Lynne’s dramatic rejection was humbling for a woman to whom the world has abused, disillusioned, given many injustices to, but, ultimately, denied nothing. Maybe my annoyance wasn’t so much at her, but the impotent rage of someone who discovers for the first time that they cannot take and hold with their brain and their two hands; that yes, they can balance the scale and redress the inequalities that the world has bestowed on them, but only so far, and that there are occasionally limits to one’s influence. When she was asking me about the video, I thought she is a world-class bitch who could bitch for Scotland, and soon she’ll make a successful career bitching professionally, maybe one day even compete in the Bitchlympics. But that’s totally untrue; what else could she do? If I’d had an ounce of responsibility and sense, I’d have told her; she wouldn’t need to ask. Like, I could be being sued right now if it’s not for her and yet I still don’t tell her something important?! Perhaps I’m the one who’ll be holding the Gold medal for the hundred-minute bitch.

How do I conclude this? These hot days, when the sun stirs my blood and all I desire is sex and conflict, it feels strange to look back to these times, though some of this happened only two months ago. Working with Ruth was a mistake, and I wish I could erase Lynne’s memory of that particular tweet, but as usual I regret nothing. I live, I miscalculate, and I learn. And so do we all. I should have been more direct with Lynne, I think, which is my usual style. I should not have deviated from my regular approach. My reason for so deviating was to avoid awkwardness on Twitter in future and because Alexis, Lochlan and Rachel didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her. But all of that is immaterial; the hour of my deflowering draws nearer, and in this as in all things I will somehow triumph. I am, after all, Kalika.


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Abolitionists and the happy hooker myth

One of the main criticisms that abolitionists make of the sex worker rights movement, and indeed any opposition to the Nordic/Swedish model, is that sex workers and their allies wrongly believe that all sex workers are “happy hookers”. This of course would mean that to be an ally or against criminalisation, you would have to believe in the happy hooker myth. It’s quite a clever device, actually, because to suggest that your opponent believes in a myth that’s fed to us by Hollywood can instantly discredit them.

When I studied sex work (which our course referred to as “prostitution” throughout), my general impression was that abolitionists focussed on street sex work and the stereotypically poor, substance-dependent sex workers; the group best known to academics and lawmakers, while sex worker rights campaigners held the ‘happy hooker’ myth to be more true than the dim view of the industry. But none of that is true. I’ve seen sex worker rights campaigners who would probably be seen by antis as the epitome of the ‘happy hooker’ acknowledge their privelege and say that the Nordic Model is most harmful to vulnerable workers and trafficking victims. Just because someone is a happy hooker doesn’t mean they believe all sex industry workers are. It doesn’t mean – as antis often claim – that they want laws to suit them, the 10%, while throwing all the 90% non-happy hookers under the bus. And I rather suspect that sex workers who absolutely love their jobs are outnumbered by sex workers who just see it as a job, just another means of making a living in their long and varied work history. Just a job, with its good bits and bad bits. Sex workers are just ordinary people doing ordinary jobs; it’s just that priveleged ones who love their work and exploited or vulnerable ones who hate their work are the ones who come to public attention. It’s a bit like Michael Kors and exploited child labourers who work in sweatshops. We hear about them, but how often do we hear about sales assistants or fashion bloggers or the people who go out and source the merchandise? Without glitz and glam or pain and poverty, stories aren’t media-worthy.

Abolitionists also tend to categorise any sex worker who doesn’t hate themselves and their job as a ‘happy hooker’ – even though the person might be just as against the ‘happy hooker’ image as abolitionists. This means that abolitionists see every sex worker who’s brought before them as not representative, as a happy hooker. So you can’t win. Bring 10 sex workers’ testimonies to an anti, and they’ll say “They aren’t representative. 90%  of people in the industry are trafficked and being beaten and raped by gangster pimps.” Bring 100 and you’ll get the same response. But show them just one testimony from a sex worker who hates their job, and they’ll hold it up as if this one person speaks for absolutely everyone in the industry, from the glamorous Australian brothels (legalisation) to the streets of the USA (criminalised in most states) and those working for agencies in the UK (decriminalisation).

It does irritate me that the happy hooker and sex slave dichotomy is so prevalent, leaving little room for presentations of the majority experience. But then I’ve done nothing to challenge the status quo; this blog probably falls into the ‘happy hooker’ category, as Roland was respectful, rich, and well educated, and I was earning a grand a night. I’m also a student (happy hooker cliche alert!) and young, while many sex workers are middle-aged non-students. And maybe the existence of the dichotomy isn’t so surprising. After all, our understanding of most industries is dichotomised; I mentioned the fashion industry earlier, but what about the publishing industry? Jameses and Rowlings are the vast minority, while writers who don’t get paid are also a minority. Most writers don’t earn much and so fall somewhere in the middle, though closer (in my view) to the ‘starving artist’ perception of writing. Another example is business – the struggling self-employed guy running the local corner shop while being targeted by neds, versus the powerful big shot ruthlessly controlling an international corporate empire. And actors aren’t just either Zac Efron or the hopeful student who gets bit-parts in community plays.

In conclusion, the happy hooker/sex slave dichotomy is not harmful in and of itself – especially since both extremes are true, albeit only of a minority of sex workers. But it becomes harmful when the sex slave angle is worked to create emotive responses to promote criminalisation, which only endangers sex workers and creates more sex slaves. The sex slave angle should always be a reminder of how much harm the Nordic model, full criminalisation, and (to an extent) legalisation cause. If all sex workers were happy hookers, criminalisation would be less problematic.

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Posted by on July 7, 2013 in Sex work


My reply to Richard Lucas

So, the Bill fell. And I’m getting a lot of responses to my Adultwork profile. Life is good. I might post some of my emails to Kane, the poly dom. I saw them again today and got a bit of a shock. Howl! Seven days to the wolves! (copyright Nightwish – it’s a great song, by the way.) A she-wolf meant a prostitute and of course there’s my Seven Nights stories and fantasy…But before I blog the good stuff, here’s my hilarious (even if I do say so myself) missive to our friend Richard Lucas, a homophobic anti-abortion abolitionist who debated Laura Lee and Douglas Fox. You can watch it here: I’ve got a reason to dislike -maybe hate – the guy. I don’t usually hate people I’ve never met, but this guy…he’s worse than Ann Widdecombe. And what he said…and my other reason for hating him, which only a couple of people know. This blog would be so much more interesting if I could just tell you. I guess I can say that he made me powerless and uncomfortable, even though I maintained control of the situation. He also defamed people, and I really have a thing about lies.

Anyway, Lucas was giving his usual whorephobia/pro-full criminalisation moralising to Scot-PEP, and Glasgow Sex Worker, who was Facebooking for Scot-Pep at the time, replied. So did Gaye Dalton and Matty King, and Lucas was of course steadfastly maintaining his position and questioning someone’s story of abuse in their childhood. (He also pointed out his views differ from Grant’s – yes, they’re WORSE!)

Here’s my incredibly long reply:

Oh Richard. Truly it is a privelege – nay, an honour – to meet such a uniquely arrogant moralist-driven oppressor as yourself. I bow to an inflated pride far greater than my own. Your sense of entitlement to govern the careers and bodies of your fellow humans is indeed a wonder to behold. Oh Lord Richard, I am so angry right now that I’m aroused and could hatefuck you – but all in its own time. For now, to work:

Okay: So, what you haven’t addressed is what gives you the right to moralise. Yes, you say you evaluate sex work “on its own basis” but you’re candid about your religious beliefs – for which I do genuinely respect you. So, what if Muslims, Jews, Pagans, Wiccans, Hindus and Mormons all got their way with the law? Every religion as a different view. Why is Christianity the chosen superior religion that should rule the masses? In 2013, should Britain turn from a democracy into a theocracy? When laws are based on religion, that is theocracy; so you are prepared to condemn these sceptered isles to a future of theocratic control? And come to that; why is YOUR brand of Christianity the supreme truth over Catholicism, Rastafarianism, Jehovah’s Winess(ism?) and those loonies who cast out demons? You want full criminalisation, and that results in murder, rape, increased trafficking and sex workers being arrested and so unable to exit the industry because employers wont hire criminals.

Their children get stolen by the state just because the mum or dad is working in the sex industry. You have children, oh Richard the Saviour of All the Unsaved. Imagine if social workers snatched your sons just because you’re a minister. Imagine losing custody battles, being imprisoned, being outed in the press, just because of your job. Sex work isn’t my career, unlike other sex workers you’ve debated. I’m not representative. But I still fear being outed. I know 5 people on Twitter who have been outed, as were Laura Lee and Douglas Fox. (I believe LL was outed twice- once in the 1990s and once more recently.) You cannot comprehend how much I wish I could say this with my real name. But so many people get fired for past sex work, even if it was 10 or 20 years ago, that I cannot risk it. Though it’s not my career, my blog’s existence and its explicitness put me at more risk of discrimination than the few other virginity sellers who’ve been documented. So, Oh Prophet Mine, the question is: are you really going to have women and men murdered, raped, mugged, exploited, fired, outed, separated from their children, stigmatised, discriminated against by potential employers, and saddled with criminal records JUST TO SATISFY YOUR MORALISM? Will you do that? If you are against prostitution then criminalisation – whether full crim or criminalising the buyer – works AGAINST you. It stops sex workers finding jobs in other industries and keeps them doing sex work. One woman was fired after her boss found out she acted in a porn film several years ago. She ended up going back to sex work for five years – the very job that her boss hated! Besides, other industries cause much more harm than sex work. We’re killing people in other countries. They are starving right now because we have to have nice clothes and drink at Starbucks and buy cheap jewellery. We’re killing animals. We get fat stuffing ourselves with chocolate and the farmers don’t get a fair price; their kids never get an education or enough food. This laptop was probably made by children working 14 hour shifts, or it’d have cost thousands of pounds.

Richard, if you’d like to buy my virginity, DM me on Twitter (@KalikaGold) Offers over £12,000 considered. I’m a Masters student, young, 22D, 5″6. Photos on request. I’m a bit bi so could do your wife as well or any grown-up children you may have (I could do you a family discount). (My original client went AWOL after I sold sexual services twice for £2,000).


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The post where I tell you how I wank

As I prepare to go in a new direction (re finding/vetting clients) in this journey of mine, (and yes it is my journey, the only thing I have that is created by me, for me) it is time for some reflections. -Nah, screw it; let’s cut the excuses; I want to tell you how I masturbate. Just because. Because it turns me on; and that has always been reason enough for me to do anything.

I do it with gloves. You know those rubbery, slightly rough gardening gloves? Yeah, I do it with those. I’ve tried it with washing-up gloves – I prefer them pink – but they aren’t textured enough to produce enough sensation.

I get my gloves from Poundstretcher’s. I walk around looking at the gloves, and then I rub them lightly on my face to test the texture. My face is much more sensitive than my fingertips to texture. Some gloves are too harsh and some too smooth. (Though I had this great pair of smooth red gloves back in 2011; I think they worked because they were thick. They were a ride and a half, and I kept them for 2 or 3 months until my OCD-like tendencies got the better of me – no matter how much I wash my gloves, I can’t keep them for long without feeling like they’re dirty.) Then, after a while, I’ll buy the gloves. The pair I have now are purple. I’ve also tried wanking with face cloths of a texture that’s neither too smooth or too rough, but they’re just an emergency measure for when I’ve thrown out gloves without having bought a new pair. Back in ’10 I had a fab green pair, and I ‘used up’ one and threw it out before cutting the fingers off the other one and just wearing each finger as a sort of finger-cover. So the glove lasted much longer than usual. Not all gloves can fit snugly on your finger like that, not slipping but remaining faithfully bound to your skin as you bend, flick and manoeuvre. The green gloves had that. I bought them 3 times. I prefer gloves to be pink because that way I can pretend it’s, well, a cock. Or a finger.

When I wank, I do it on all fours. Roland once filmed me doing it. I once did lie on my back and do it, and it was successful; I used cream and a rough towel that time. But usually I get into the same position I’ve used since I was nine, my head resting on the bed. After a while I’ll let my thighs sink onto my calves. Wjen I was nine I didn’t masturbate; what I did was rub and stroke my bottom as I fantasised about boys being spanked, burned with fire, burnt with hot iron, caned, whipped, forced to wear nappies or girls’ pants. They were put in prams and dressed like babies. They were dressed as girls, or tortured by the cruel Authority and its Wardens. They were put in spanking machines or had hot forks stuck into their dicks and twisted in front of crowds. They wet and pooed their pants in public and were spanked for it. They were put in spanking machines and torture machines.

These days, my boys (aged 15-25 instead of 9-17 like when I was nine) also get publically gang-raped and filmed, given enemas and sodomised with all kinds of stuff. I’m a bit artistically inclined and created this blog’s logo and my ‘K’ Twitter avi. So it follows that I’m creative with my boys.

I do have girls. It started at nine but I quickly lost interest in my mousy-haired Alice’s spankings. At 17, though, Alice returned as the 14-year-old sister of my oft-spanked 18-year-old Alex and later on the redheaded 16-year-old  American Jilly moved in. Her devious friend, the black-haired Nadine, turned up later. So did Chastity White, unwilling heroine of The Seven Days, my fantasy based on The Ring movie. Roland is the hero of that fantasy (and subsequently the name given to my original client). If any of you ever leafed through my 5 notebooks in which all my wanking writing is kept, you’d be amazed that it took me until Lynne to figure out I am a bit bi. (Though I did wonder about it last year and I have said I’m not totally straight.) I  thought that what I was doing was roleplaying that I as one of these girls, though God knows how I justified all the F/F spanking scenes. (My favourite pairing is M/M, then F/M).

I’ve never allowed myself to orgasm, or should I say to complete an orgasm. I get to the stage where it’s like there’s electricity rippling through me and the contractions become powerful, then I stop. This keeps me in a near-constant state of sexual frustration, which focuses my mind. I was originally saving it for my first time and I must shamefully admit that I felt that it wasn’t ‘real’ masturbation if I didn’t orgasm. I did feel guilty about wanking when I started aged 19, whacking myself off to a fantasy of committing murder. I must also admit that I never wanked over She Who I Loved, i.e. Lynne, because it was disrespectful…despite the number of pics of her that must be available via Google Images. Well, I couldn’t even stalk her online or search for pics, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t flick myself off to her photos. Who I have wanked to include a neighbour, a school friend and, at age 13, a fantasy (though I didn’t masturbate then) of a female pupil who I despised.

It’s been incredibly freeing to sit at a bus stop or in a cafe and allow myself to think ‘that girl is hot’ instead of pulling back the thought as I used to BL (Before Lynne). I allow myself these thoughts now because I understand that I can’t deny who I am, and my bisexuality can’t be suppressed; I spent so long denying it only to have it revenge itself on me by condemning me to have serious (non lust-based) feelings for Lynne, instead of someone who’d be receptive and who I could have fun sexytimes with. Back when I stopped pulling the thoughts, I still fancied Lynne and believed she was probably ignoring me (which she may or may not have been – it’s hard to tell, because I avoided her for a while). So I thought that if I’m in love (which I believed I was) with someone who is very annoyed about it, why not allow myself to have much healthier, lustful thoughts that make me happy instead of sad? The Lynne thing also taught me the futility of ignoring my bisexual thoughts. They’ll come and get you in the end.

Re her, I’ve looked into blocking all IP addresses from her region but you can only do that with countries, so I’m stuck. I can’t figure out all this PHP stuff anyway. And I’d really only block her from seeing the Lynne Post and not the entire blog, because she’ll probably figure out it’s her if she reads it. I’m just worried she’ll be annoyed that I’ve written about her without her permission, especially since I’m writing about something which pissed her off so much. Though it’s not like she hasn’t done the same thing. I don’t want her to know my private thoughts about her, though granted they were Disney-esque and Puritan in the extreme (except that I would’ve wanted her to spank me).

I love wanking to comics, cartoons and anime art of boys getting spanked or crying after a spanking. Ditto pissing or shitting themselves. Girls also work for me, too. I had a flash drive with 6 massive Word files of all these pics and I used to have loads of such files on my old laptop so I could scroll down while I was having a wank. Once, I left my flash drive at the uni library and someone found it, located my CV to find out who I was and texted me that she’d handed it in to Lost Property. I’ll always wonder if she found the porn. It was a good thing that happened, or I might keep my CV and backups of this blog and individual blog posts on the same flash drive now. I think if you’re a sex blogger or blog about sex work, it’s safer to have two flash drives for your different identities. Or your normal and secret life, whichever you’d choose to call it. My laptop has all my stuff, so I password-protect some files in case it gets stolen. Lochlan’s laptop got stolen. I’ll wipe the hard drive if I ever sell it (which I won’t; it wasn’t a very expensive one, so it wouldn’t fetch much).

I’ve also wanked to porn videos of people shitting or peeing themselves, but never to bloodplay, knifeplay, torture or scat/watersports videos. That’s a bitty too far for me. I am an innocent young virgin, remember?


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Non lust based crushes: degrading and not cost-effective

I was meant to be writing a post about wanking, but I find myself constantly exulting in the wonderful freedom from thoughts of Lynne, the blogger I had a crush on three months ago who I previously blogged about in the Lynne Blog.

Because Roland went AWOL, my journey was prolonged by months and I’ve done stuff I never thought I would do – blogging about sex workers’ rights, having a one night stand sexytime, the petition, and other stuff. I’ve met people – both online and  in real life- who I never thought I would. I have known something I thought I never would; if I don’t know what love is, then at least I know what more-than-lust is. I’ve known the pain of pseudo-loving someone I’ll never have. It was like a cage. The destroyer of all freedom, more degrading than anything; a debasement of my most precious and most private part, which is my mind.

And it is degrading and debasing to that public part of me: my vagina. The toxic cocktail of chemicals being fired off from my libido which concentrated my thoughts on Lynne when there is a world of worthy dick out there – it betrayed my body. It denied satisfaction and pleasure to the organ naturally designated to crave and find pleasure. I was born for sex, like all humans. Therefore, a blend of chemicals instructing the genitals to go out into the world, find another set which interlock, and conquer all such mates in the vicinity would be the blend that glorifies the temple of the body. That fixation on one person – Lynne- cannot be healthy or dignified (though thankfully I was never reduced to thoughts of monogamy). That, at least, I can say.

Let me expand on that: we eat food to get nutrients which we convert into energy to fuel our brains and bodies. So, energy is required to power the libido (fancy someone) and power cognitive functions (the decision to approach them). But my thoughts of Lynne were more numerous than would be necessary to incite me to pursue her. Therefore, they were a waste of energy, especially since I thought about her for a while before Alexis and Rachel suggested that I flirt with her. My thoughts therefore were not useful as a catalyst for me to act on my thoughts; Alexis and Rachel’s cognitive functions and successful communications to me were the catalyst. And all the energy spent thinking about Lynne could’ve been better spent on thoughts of several people, which could potentially have resulted in sexytimes with a few of them. Thinking solely of Lynne could only ever have resulted in sexytime with one person (unless Lynne has Multiple Personality Disorder or is possessed). Finally, thinking about other people could have been fun, but my thoughts of Lynne didn’t bring me pleasure because I wouldn’t allow myself to fantasise about her, as I felt it was disrespectful. I just thought about how well she writes and how it would feel to run my fingers through her hair (which I imagined would be kind of soft.) So it’s obvious that anything more than lust is not cost-effective in terms of biological economics.

I still like her, but not like that; I don’t think I fancy her any more. It’s kind of hard to tell because I’m worried that if I declare myself free of her, it’ll all come back like the other 2 or 3 times. I’d like to say that if I had a time machine, I’d go back and change things. But I wouldn’t. It was an interesting experience, after all. And if we could shield ourselves from sadness, hurt and confusion, how would we know when we were happy, loved and confident?

It was my own fault really; not content with a prolonged flirtation, I acted to force a tweet from her from which I could easily tell ‘yes’ or ‘no’ from – and which I knew might possibly make her suspect what I was doing. In this, I was absolutely successful in getting an answer; so what am I doing whining just because it’s the one I didn’t hope for? While I was surprised she worked out what I was doing, now that I think about it, I intentionally made her at least suspect. (I’ve never been very patient and getting a quick yes/no seemed the least time-consuming way to go about it). When I think back, I wasn’t surprised that she’d found out I fancied her. I only felt surprised about it when I realised she was pissed off. Maybe my subconcious was protecting me from the realisation that I’d engineered my own failure by making me think that I had nothing to do with Lynne finding out.

I kinda miss being ‘in love’ with her, because now she appears much more normal and boring. Still an analytical and amazing writer, though. Not that I’d tell her; it’d just go to her head.

How wonderful it is to be free of her! To think about selling virginity and wanking instead of not allowing myself to fantasise about her because it’s disrespectful, so I’d have pathetically Puritan thoughts of her instead. (Ooh look, WordPress’ spellcheck system doesn’t recognise “wanking”. Or “WordPress”. Or “spellcheck.”)

Speaking of writers, I think now would be a good time to deploy a phrase in Alan Warner’s book ‘Morvern Callar’: “And now, to work!” (on the wanking post).


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Why sex worker activists should support the decriminalisation of street work

First published on Harlot’s Parlour.

(I’m not a sex worker activist and though I’ve been planning this post for months, I wasn’t sure if I should write it; if I’m not a sex worker activist, or even a representative sex worker, then how can I tell sex worker activists what to think? But after a  brief conversation on Twitter, I decided to finally post this. – K )

If you’re for sex workers’ rights then you have to be for street sex workers’ rights too. Otherwise you’re not standing for ALL sex workers. If you think that your brand of sex work, whatever it is, should be decriminalised and that you deserve rights but that street sex work should remain criminalised, then that’s elitism. You’re saying that you’re “better” than street workers, or that you’re different to them in a way that you aren’t different to other sex workers who work in different areas of the industry but not on the street.

And if you take the view that street sex work is dangerous and therefore should be criminalised – well. Doesn’t that sound familiar? It’s the antis’ argument against the entire sex industry (including the adult entertainment industry). So, basically, you’re an anti – just an anti who wants non-street work decriminalised but is still for the abolition of street work.

Finally, if you believed that street sex workers have agency and can choose to work, how could you deny them human and labour rights? So it’s clear that to be in support of criminalising street sex work, you have to see street workers as having no agency or in need of “rescuing” by sex worker activists. Again, this might sound all too familiar.

And let’s be practical – criminalising street sex work in the UK has been proven to create what academics call the “revolving door” effect: street workers are fined for soliciting and then have to do more sex work to pay off the fine. While working to pay off the fine, they’re arrested again and hit with another fine, and so on. Which actually stops them from “exiting” street work (oh, how I hate that phrase – for all other jobs we say “finding another job”.) So, if you’re eager to rescue street workers, criminalisation actually works against your objectives. Not to mention the fact that a woman or man with several soliciting offences on their criminal record is not going to find it easy to get employment in another industry.

The Merseyside model includes exiting strategies and only uses arrest as a last resort, though unfortunately the use of exiting strategies instead of fines is, in my view, just as intrusive and is also a harassment – not to mention insulting as it implies that street work is unacceptable and that the worker doesn’t have agency. (That’s the one bit of the Merseyside model that I would wish to see changed. I mean, if they’re so obsessed with rescuing, why not rescue street workers into another type of sex work, like indoor work or, if they fit agencies’ preferences (or there are ‘specialising’ agencies nearby), agency work?)) Not that I’m for rescuing anybody anywhere; it’s just an interesting question why the police feel that the entire sex industry is exploitative but other industries are totally fine.

The fact that street sex work is criminalised might be making it more dangerous. Since clients were criminalised for kerb-crawling, maybe the law looks more equal, but it might be having the effect of weeding out the clients who don’t want a criminal record, leaving only those who might already be known to the police. How are the workers and clients supposed to report any violence they witness or experience if they know they’ll get a court appearance and a criminal record? The clients know that the workers might not report violence so they might not be deterred by the possibility of police action. (This could also be true of the sex workers, who might be more prepared to perpetrate crimes against clients because they know the clients won’t report it.) I’m not just talking about violence here, but blackmail or theft as well.

Therefore, the more dangerous you think street sex work is, the more you should be in support of decriminalising it. While there is some evidence (in the Home Office report referred to below) that criminalising clients forces street workers to work indoors in relative safety, that was a small-scale study and it’s obvious that there are still street workers even though street work is criminalised in the UK.


R. Matthews (1986) “Beyond Wolfenden? Prostitution, Politics and the Law” in R. Matthews and J. Young (eds) Confronting Crime, London: Sage

R. Matthews (2008) “Prostitution, vulnerability and victimisation” in Prostitution, Politics and Policy, Abingdon: Routledge-Cavendish

The Scottish Executive (2004) Being Outside: A Response to Street Prostitution (about exiting strategies and small red light zones in non-residential areas of cities. Proves that there’s only about 2,000 sex workers in all of Scotland who street walk OR work out of flats – meaning that less than 2,000 are street workers, as the number includes independent indoor workers.  Available at:

J. Phoenix (2000) “Prostitute Identities: Men, Money and Violence” British Journal of Criminology 40 (1) 37-55  (There is violence, but it’s not as bad as some NGO’s make it seem, and it’s hard to see how criminalization would enable these sex workers to report violence to the police or leave violent boyfriends. Oh, and non-sexworkers also experience domestic abuse, even rape.)

R. Matthews (1993) Kerb-Crawling, Prostitution and Multi-Agency Policing”, Police Research Group Paper 43, London: Home Office

1 Comment

Posted by on June 18, 2013 in Sex work


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All My Loves (5) The Lynne Blog: Personal Designs

Finally – the Lynne blog. It is here. Delayed multiple times and delayed again because of the Rhoda Grant debate. I was originally going to make it password-protected so Lynne can’t see it, but I suspect that rumour might actually make her think it’s worse than it is. And password protection isn’t foolproof; anyone with the password could send her screenshots or show it to her in real life – something which might be possible, given the number of people I’d have to mass-DM or mass-email the password to. The other thing I was thinking of is asking people not to RT it in case she’s following them, but I don’t believe in such half-measures or requests to control others’ freedom of expression. I’m not sure if I agree with people like Slutocrat who’re all, ‘If you want anonymity or protection then don’t put it on the internet’ because I don’t see the internet as a contract where you agree to risk by engaging with it. But I do think that in this situation I’ve no right to ask for any special consideration, and neither would a half-arsed security measure like that protect me from Lynne reading my blog if she wants to. (Lynne isn’t her real name, of course – apart from protecting her privacy, a pseudonym is definetly needed for this post as it’s bound to be biased. I do not believe that anyone could write about this sort of thing without bias.)

So, what I’ll do is I’ll keep it vague so she won’t be sure it’s her. I know the juicy, juicy details are what you all love – and, in this instance, they’re hilarious. I think she’ll be pissed off if she figures out it’s her, though Leanne doesn’t think so. However, I guess that the worst thing that can happen is a) she blocks me on Twitter or b) gives me a restraining order. I’ve never had a restraining order before so I think it would be interesting to have one.But I do know that she isn’t going to engage in petty or dangerous forms of revenge like trolling or outing me, so the risk to me is low. (It’s good to be my old calculating self again.)

Anyway, why am I writing this if it entails some form of risk and no reward? It’s because I promised to write the truth. What I’m about to write is a portrayal of myself at my weakest, my most whimsical, and my most contemptible. I’m not in control of my emotions and am driven not by riding the waves of wild impulses – as I usually am – but by skewed and base feelings. I regret nothing, of course – I never regret anything I do, and anyway it would’ve happened some day. But I am ashamed of my depth of feeling.

It was the middle of the night in March that I first told someone I fancied Lynne.  – The 13th, according to my handwritten diary:

“[Alexis] is such a reasonable person and I’d screw her given half a chance, though I don’t fancy her at all. I have though told her that I have a crush on Lynne [weirdly enough, it’s actually written as “Lynne” in my diary!] and that it’s much stronger than any crush I’ve had on boys, which is weird. [Alexis] says to find out if Lynne is mono […]I dunno why I’m even attracted to her – I mean yeah she’s pretty but then I’m prettier (I think) and so are lots of other people […] it’s her writing and who she is that I love. […] [Alexis] doesn’t think my feelings are silly even though there’s like a […] year age gap (I mean she’s older than me, not that I’m a paedophile).”

It was Lynne’s politics and writing – on multiple subjects – that made me fancy her. I guess that’s why she’s the only non-lust-based crush I’ve ever had in my life. But only lust is pure. Anything deeper pollutes the soul and stains you; anything deeper is an affront to your dignity and a perversion of your identity. I knew that, but romance was tempting, and I was weak.

Alexis actually had to prise the identity of the mystery person out of me, for two hours. She kept guessing – everybody from Maggie McNeill to Jemima, before concluding “Well I don’t know who it is – not unless you’ve got a crush on Stella Marr!” and we laughed like loons. I eventually admitted that she’d already guessed correctly, and she started guessing again. “I’m sticking with [Lynne],” she said. “I want the truth about [Lynne].”. I kind of wanted to tell someone, actually – another weakness of mine – so after a decent show of evasion, I admitted it.

Alexis almost seemed to feel sorry for me that I believed my feelings to be destructive and wrong. “I don’t see why you’re so embarrassed about it. It’s normal,” she kept saying. Instead of telling me how to stop thinking of Lynne – I resented the power she had over me without even trying or knowing – Alexis brought me round to the idea that it was okay. The idea that it wasn’t a bad thing was not an idea that I had hitherto entertained. I pointed out that Lynne wasn’t single and Alexis countered that she might not be monogamous. I pretty much think that my fate was sealed. Alexis’ idea was to see if there’s reciprocity but not to let Lynne know I fancy her. “Just act flirty,” she said. I wasn’t looking forward to this because the boys at my uni are THE WORST for picking up when a girl is flirting with them. I hit on Jay for months and emailed my BDSM porn fiction to him and he still didn’t get it until I told him directly on Skype. By then, he was seeing someone – a medical student at our university, I believe. “But I don’t think there’s much chance of anything happening, because of who she is,” Alexis added. I wrote in my diary “But now that I think about it, her [partner] is probably nobody special either. And she’s a very down to earth sort of person, not all snobby and glamorous like you’d expect. Nobody is the way they are portrayed”.

The next day I told someone else on Twitter. This was a risk – Lynne wouldn’t have believed Alexis over me if Alexis had gone to her with it. But Rachel would’ve been believed. Rachel shared Alexis’ view that this was perfectly normal and told me Lynne wasn’t mono – a piece of info which I believe made all the following events inevitable. Rachel also said that there’s no point trying not to think about it and the best thing to do is see if she feels the same way, but not tell her how I feel. Rachel also listed out everyone on Twitter she had a crush on, which is loads. “For some of them, I dunno if I’d even want to snog them in real life,” she DM’d. “For others I’d do top BDSM but I can’t imagine doing much more with a woman.” Neither can I -though I have no preference re top or bottom for BDSM, and even with boys BDSM is my first preference. The only time I did anal it hurt.

I knew I’d have to act quickly, because thinking about her was incredibly annoying to me. It was being dominated by another person, dominated mentally – the worst way possible. The fact that Lynne was able to wield such power over me, not only remotely but also without even trying, terrified me. Like Basil Hallward in ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’, I delighted in tweeting stuff about Lynne (using the name “Lynne”) that were exaggerations of how I felt. Just for kicks.

My personality is the thing that matters most to me and I felt that my identity was under threat from these uncontrollable emotions and constant intrusions. Blogging what I do, I sometimes feel like I blog under her shadow, that what I write is compared to hers and will never measure up in terms of success (which is mostly the fault of my friends making references or jokes). This tension over my blog’s originality and how I got the idea to blog was hardly conducive to making me indifferent or welcoming to Lynne’s intrusion into my brain as well as my blogging. I was determined to get her out of my mind. Yet, at the same time, Rachel and Alexis’ advice made sense – if I’m condemned by my libido to fancy Lynne- of all people- then why not get something good out of it?

This is where it gets hilarious – it’s almost like I was being set up to fail. You see, I’m used to getting whoever I want online. I found Kane by trawling a BDSM site and sent him a message because he seemed well educated and was poly. I also had others – American Guy, Florida Guy, and that other one who’s name for him I can’t say. Oh, and the Student Guy. And Scientist Guy. The only thing that saved my virginity and enabled this ill-conceived blogging adventure was the distance involved – London, South East England, the USA, and elsewhere.

So I didn’t dream that I wouldn’t succeed with someone who I considered a sort of online ‘friend’ because that’s got to be easier than trawling the net for strangers, right? And doing all the initial message-sending? I mean, right?

You could say I was arrogant. My online successes had been followed by getting spanked by a photographer after knowing him for 45 minutes. You can’t say I don’t work fast. I thought he looked good and I liked him so I started being a bit flirty and 5 minutes later he was spanking me. Maybe I thought I could get whoever I wanted. Especially since Lynne’s seen me in real life and knows I’m pretty (albeit with uncontrollable hair, like Ana in Fifty Shades.)

And as I’ve already mentioned, I was used to boys being thick when it comes to flirting so I wasn’t really expecting anything much different from Lynne.

The most hilarious bit of all is that I never googled Lynne (except in conjunction with her blog’s name because her blog is so hard to get to). I just couldn’t- it felt like invading her privacy. Only I could fall for someone who probably has loads of photos on the web and lots of hits to her name and not take advantage of that! And I couldn’t fantasise about her because, as I said to Alexis and Leanne, it’s disrespectful. They thought it was funny and so do I; I don’t have a problem fantasising about men, though admittedly most of my fantasies are about fictitious people.

I can’t report what exactly happened, in case she reads this. But suffice it to say that she worked out what I was doing after about 2 days and 2 or 3 tweets (1 or 2 during private messaging with her, 1 not) and was really pissed off. As I said to Leanne later, I wonder if she knew almost instantly; she said “sometimes caution is a good thing” or something like that, and added a wink sign. Was that her trying to tell me, or just a typo of a smiley sign? I’ll never know.

Anyway, I was unsure whether she was pissed off because of me flirting with her or because of  what Ruth had tweeted from the No One Unrapable account the previous night. So I asked her and she made it clear it was the flirting thing and said I have “personal designs” on her, which is a lovely quaint way to put it, though it does make me sound a bit predatory. If I’d had the wherewithal to reply, I’d probably have said “I assure you my heart is pure” or whatever  they would’ve said in the 17th century, which is obviously the era Lynne gets her tweeting inspiration from. Not that I’m knocking the period; it’d be so cool if we said “I find you aesthetically pleasing. I have personal designs on you. Let us return to my abode and engage in lewd activities” instead of “You’re stunning. I really like you. Let’s go back to mine and fuck.”

At the time I was pretty shocked and I didn’t see why she couldn’t just say ‘I’m not interested’, which would’ve only taken like a line to type, instead of making a big deal out of it and unfollowing me. I was certain she was about to block me – I mistakenly believed you have to unfollow someone before you block them. I used my last tweets to her to try to get something for the Merseyside petition – I forget the details. I don’t know what that says about me, that I “wasted” what I believed to be my last communication with her.

I said I was sorry at the time – right after she accused me of having personal designs – but I don’t think she really cared. I’ve no idea what she wants from me; I don’t have a time machine.

My reaction was my go-to strategy: denial. (Which kinda negates the apology, I’ll admit.) (I’d set it up so I could easily deny it – I had a feeling she’d be annoyed if she found out how I felt, though Alexis didn’t think she’d be annoyed.) I was sure she was gonna block me, I was scared because this was all new territory and I’d never thought she’d know I was coming on to her, never mind that she’d be annoyed about it. Lynne didn’t believe my denial for a single second, though she chose not to argue the point.

When I told Rachel about Lynne’s initial reaction, she went “Yikes” and I said I didn’t actually feel anything because I hadn’t worked out that she was serious. I went to type “I’m sorry, okay that was inappropriate” and Twitter told me I couldn’t DM because she’d unfollowed (this was from my Rhoda Grant parody account). So I went onto my main account but she’d unfollowed that too (which I really should’ve been expecting – Lynne isn’t stupid). It was only then that I realised it’d backfired spectacularly and I lay still and cast around in my brain for a suitable course of action to present itself. But none was forthcoming, because this had never happened before. I’d have to figure this one out manually. I wanted to retreat, but a dignified retreat was impossible as she’d cut the lines of private communication. I couldn’t just change the subject. (Though maybe whatever I was saying to her about Merseyside was some sort of subconcious attempt at that?)

So I was upset for a while and Rachel helped me a lot, just by listening. I was so pissed after she unfollowed me that I  reckoned I was over her, but then the feelings returned. Twice more I believed I had finally won over my emotions, only to have them return. So I started looking into controlling my emotions by limiting my body’s production of oxytocin and serontonin. I was absolutely determined that this should never happen again as long as I live.

By the way, you should’ve seen me at this time. I wasn’t eating much so I lost weight and looked ABSOLUTELY STUNNING. I’ve since piled it back on. What really got to me was the humiliation of failure and, especially, the fact that she’d worked out what I was doing almost before I’d started – another thing that’d never happened before. Of course, being humiliated by Lynne turned me on a bit – you can’t suppress your libido, after all – but it irritated me, too. Lynne didn’t tell anyone – she’s not that kind of person. Though if she had gone public with it on Twitter, that would’ve been pretty hot. I was kind of worried about her next move and that she might publicise it as a sort of revenge for my ambitiousness; but she’s a calm, measured sort of person.

“Time heals all wounds,” Leanne said; and I’ve found that to be true, but I’m not subjecting myself to that ever again.  My research indicates that it was serotonin and not oxytocin that was responsible. Oxytocin is produced after orgasm and while bonding, but me and Lynne had never bonded in real life.Serotonin, however, controls attraction and is necessary for the production of oxytocin after you’ve shagged them. Unfortunately, cutting down on serotonin would also make me depressed and not alert so it looks like I’m stuck and it might happen again with someone else.

I think what upset me most was that I’d done something to make her uncomfortable. I felt that she’d made a big deal out of it to punish me for my ambitiousness – Alexis’ words about her being out of my league (this isn’t what Alexis said but it’s sort of what she meant, I think) were still with me. And I felt that she didn’t care about how I felt at all because she knew I fancied her so she had all the power; she could do anything to me she liked and I’d still come running back to her. Of course, when I calmed down I realised that Lynne probably didn’t see herself as being in the position of power; for all I know, she was wary of a backlash from me after rejecting and unfollowing me. Maybe that’s why she unfollowed me – not to punish me by cutting me off from her or to send me the message that she was pissed off, but so I couldn’t keep DM’ing her. I’d thought that her experience of social interaction, which is far broader than mine, meant that she knew she had the upper hand. And I believed that it was this experience/abilities which had led her to make a calculated decision to unfollow me as a sort of message to me that she was really pissed.(I have a lot of problems trusting older women due to childhood experiences; I’m fine with men and younger women.)

But you could equally look at it the other way; that because I’m young I’m actually more of a threat because of having less social skills, instead of being at a disadvantage. Like, I could do anything; keep tweeting at her or harassing her, or anything. (But I have way too much pride to do that.)

At the time I thought she hated me but Rachel said she was just setting boundaries. And Lynne does care about me and has helped me in the past and with finding new potential buyers – I wouldn’t want you guys to get the wrong impression of her. She’s one of the few people online who gets me and I feel like I can tell her anything. I certainly don’t regret telling her my identity and I’m sure it’s safer with her than it is with me! (I’m so impulsive).

I thought of deleting this blog and Twitter because everything was going wrong – Roland was AWOL, I didn’t have any potential buyers, the controversy over Ruth’s tweets was at its height that day and now Lynne. I regarded selling virginity and bloggng as a failed experiment; I would go back to my normal life and resume it; forget about all this. I just didn’t want to interact with Lynne ever again at that point. It was No One Unrapable that kept me around. Having taken sole control of the account the previous night after the controversy, I had a responsibility. And if I was going to be tweeting from that account, why not keep my personal Twitter? I decided to delete this blog after the petition closed. Of course I calmed down soon after that and realised that deleting the blog or simply not logging into Twitter again wouldn’t solve my problem, which was basically that I believed myself to be in love – or close to it – with someone who was utterly repelled by the thought of any kind of sexytime- no matter how casual, I guess- with me. But what I was most upset about was how easily and coldly she’d unfollowed me.

Aaaaaand…like all good news articles, the reactions from around the world:

Lochlan said I was “unprofessional” and Lynne was annoyed because she might get objectified by people sometimes so I should apologise and “reconcile with her”. [Which was my view too, but by that time a lot of time had gone by so it was kinda too late to apologise.- what if Lynne’s totally forgot about it? And anyway I did apologise at the time].

Leanne said I wasn’t in love with her (as I’d increasingly worried I was, and wondered if it’s possible to be in love without having had sexytime). She said that nothing about this incident surprised her at all because she thinks that very few people are completely straight or gay – a view similar to Kane’s. She thinks that Lynne overreacted.

Kathryn said I should be honest with Lynne, find her on Facebook and message her that I like her, if she’s still annoyed then “she’s not even worth knowing”. [I said I couldn’t see Lynne having Facebook unless it’s private].

Alexis said she was “being ridiculous” and joked “I think she’s jealous, she’s jealous that you might have a crush on me” but also that “maybe she’s been stalked before and it might have made her more anxious about something like this”.

Lynne’s name is more of a code word than a pseudonym; like much of my code, it’s based on meanings and phonetics (related to her real first name), and nobody is going to get it.

It was really confusing for me, as I told Leanne on Facebook: “Re: [Lynne] it was…complex. I dunno why it’s so confusing for me because it must happen to lots of other people too. I think it’s explaining it all at once that’s hard; I’ll copy/paste from another convo (cos that took place over weeks so I could say it then). [..] Well she found out, I don’t know how […] So I was really pissed off and sad but then I figured, that’s life, and it’s going to happen to me lots more times in my life as I’m still only […].”

And: “Then I thought maybe she was annoyed with one of the tweets from the petition account and not the crush thing, so I said it was Ruth who tweeted that, and she DM’d me that it was the crush thing and said “I do not interact professionally with people who have personal designs on me” which I think is a hilarious way to put it.”

Leanne said “[…] it sounds complicated but from what I gather [Lynne] was a little petty about it.”

Me: ” Thanks for not saying that it was a really stupid thing to do. Cos I know it was stupid; some lads I know wouldn’t even have got it but I should’ve realised she’s older and more experienced than everyone else, even Kathryn [..]. I spent months trying to get rid of it cos I thought it was a bad thing till a friend of Lochlan’s (the guy I was talking to in the copy/paste) told me [Lynne] isn’t monogamous (she also talks to her online). I think it upset me cos I thought it was a bad thing from the outset and was really embarassed about it and her reaction only confirmed it.”

“I know this whole thing is farcical anyway – it’s the stupidest thing I ever did. All the guys my own age in real life and online who I might actually have a chance with and I choose [Lynne’s pseudonym] of all people. […] I mean seriously, if its so hard to get through to people how does she figure it out in a second?”

I can’t really think of an ending for this, except that life is so shit sometimes and I’m glad I had this experience as a young adult instead of as a teen or when I’m older and looking for meaningful relationships. I’m happy that this has happened because it’s reminded me to beware of love and to focus on casual, meaningless sex instead of adulterating lust with deeper feelings. Last year when Kane first opened my eyes to the idea that I’m not entirely straight, I thought my discovery of my bi nature would be exciting and thrilling, not all horrible like it was with Lynne. But hopefully the weak, needy part of me has been culled by this. The whole Lynne thing delayed my search for a buyer for over a month, but I’m back on track now and negotiating with a couple and two men.

The third-last time I saw Leanne, we were in a Japanese restaurant in Edinburgh. “I hope you find someone it works out with,” she said, and added “If that’s what you want,” which was quite perceptive of her really. Because the Lynne thing has refocused me and I know what I want for the rest of my life – no entanglements, no complications, no barfingly mushy shit that interferes with your cerebral processes – just good old-fashioned pork. And for my first time, I’m getting paid for it.

*This blog was written to fulfil the function of Diary of A Virgin Whore, which is to document my experiences, and I wouldn’t suggest that anyone tries experiencing deeper feelings or acting on them like I did.*

It obviously works for some people but it’s best not to risk it.


UPDATE 04/8/13: I just re-watched the movie Ted and apparently Lynne DIDN’T create the “personal designs” phrase out of her own creativity- it is how Americans talk! A character says in the movie “I don’t have any designs on your girlfriend” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, I thought Americans speak practically ghetto language. What’s with the overly-literate discourse?! So all Lynne did (yep, she hails from the McDonalds Nation) was put “personal” in it. I literally WASTED HOURS OF MY LIFE trying to figure out what exactly she meant by “personal designs”…to me it sounded as if she was saying I’m creepy, wrong, dirty or predatory in some way. But it turns out she wasn’t accusing me of anything at all, other than fancying her (which was true). So she was never as pissed off with me as I believed.If only I’d known, I wouldn’t have been that pissed that she unfollowed, or initially a bit irritated when she asked me stuff about the dickhead guy a couple of months later (cos I felt she was ‘using’ me after treating me like crap. But later I realised I should’ve told her the info without her having to ask me. Yes, I can be a bitch). I also probably wouldn’t have ignored or avoided her for that long, if at all. And I wouldn’t have worried that she might tell people what I’d done. Literally. Hours. Of. My. Life. Goddamn cross-cultural slang differences.


All My Loves: I get revenge on the boy I fancy with police, drugs & an anonymous note

So…this time we’re going back in time! This is because a true story about plotting revenge on your crush by getting the police on them through sending an anonymous note to the school admin with cannabis taped to it is interesting. Oh, and because I want to delay the Lynne blog. I do not want to blog about her. I’m worried she will see it, get pissed and block me on Twitter. Or see it, get pissed and internally combust from rage, explode and drift down all over Scotland in little Lynne-fragments. And then her partner and friends would kill me. Though the nasty horrible people would love me – I’d probs get some sweet, sweet action. I can imagine myself pumping away on their hateful ignorant arses while certain activists and bloggers duel to take Lynne’s place in a Highlander-style ‘There can be only one!’ epic battle. But I digress.

I was 14 and 8 months and had been trying to get a stunning, popular blonde guy at my new school. It’s always the same story of me trying to get a stunning blonde. He was called Billy. I also fancied his friend Leroy. Luckily for me, the popular clique  took a shine to me and came to my house once or twice. They had their own popular clique-slash-youth-gang website. My friend Lochlan, who I already knew at the time, also had a website which was basically WikiLeaks for our school. Think that episode of South Park where the rat has a gossip site. Lochlan’s website was more of a blog, though nobody knew what a blog was because this was 2004 or 2005.

Anyway I knew the clique (they were aged 13-16)and I liked one of the girls, Shirley who was in my year. I was friends with her. I thought another girl, Lena, was beautiful and I understand now that I must’ve fancied her in a vague way. She was blonde, which might explain that though in her case it was a dye job. 15 year old Lena was Billy’s ex but they were still friends. She usually only took older boys because they had bigger dicks but Billy was tall so she’d made an exception for him though he was in my year and a year younger than her. Billy did have a great dick and she’d tested all its capabilities, especially on holiday with Billy’s family when they were 13 and 14, where they’d had a room to themselves.Shirley stuck up for me when I got into a very short punching match with another girl. The girl left me alone after that cos the clique made sure everyone knew I had their protection.

One night the clique offered it to me – join them and be popular. I wanted popularity. I’ve always had instincts for getting ahead. And when I looked at Shirley I knew I wanted to go where she went. She had a way about her – she wasn’t conventionally pretty like Lena but – okay let’s just say I probably fancied 4 out of the 6 people in this gang, to varying degrees. Shirley gave me a wee bit of cannabis when I asked her. I wanted to keep it safe in case I needed it to use against anyone in the group. Yeah, I must’ve had a premonition.

But I had to choose. Their life – taking drugs (not just harmless ones like cannabis) or the life of mundaneity. I chose mundaneity.

We continued to contact though and I eventually managed to get a date with Kenny set up. The group came to my house. “What’s up, Monique?” said Shirley, quoting from I don’t know what and flipping out her hand. She had a bottle of vodka in her other hand and in the darkness she looked – somehow real. Not gorgeous but real. Her brown hair and dark eyes – she looked like a film star as she enunciated each syllable perfectly. Leroy was there and he was looking at me. His body was lean and looked good in that shirt. I thought, delicious. He would be mine. That hair, just waiting to be ruffled. Everything was going perfectly – except that my mum wouldn’t let me out cos we were having dinner. She wanted them to wait 20 minutes. I was filled with frustration at the idea of waiting even a second to hug Leroy, to feel his hair. I wanted to flirt with him right now. The delay didn’t sit well with my blonde Billy either. He smashed one of the garden ornaments and stuck a lit fag through our letterbox. My mum called the police.

I still fancied Billy. Leroy’s parents, who were reputedly rich, didn’t want him hanging around with Billy any more and my mum felt the same way. I’m not sure why I decided to take revenge on Billy. It could’ve been the incident I’ve just mentioned, or maybe because he threw eggs at our windows a few weeks later, or because he didn’t fancy me, or maybe all of these reasons. Anyway I asked Shirley for another wee bit of cannabis (having lost the first bit). Next day at lunchtime I headed to the library, where me and Lochlan often hung out.

I wrote a note after making one or two drafts. The note said that since I’d joined this school, the clique had been nice to me and helped me settle in and so I wanted to help them by getting them off the drugs. “Please help Shirley” I wrote, saying that she was nicest and I liked her the most. The note named them all, and though I didn’t write in everyone’s surnames, there was enough info for the school admin to know who they were. I knew that the clique was under incredible surveillance by school staff and the authorities. The note’s focus was on Shirley and Lena, so it wouldn’t look like I was taking revenge on Billy (the school admin knew about the incident). I wrote that I was sticking a bit of cannabis there as proof. I said I didn’t want to give out my name in case the group was told I’d written this and felt hurt, but that if the authorities wanted to find me I’d given enough info in this note for them to track me down.

I knew I had no hope of anonymity because of the admin staffs’ constant surveillance of both me and the clique. They would already know I was in contact with the clique. To appear as though I had honest intentions, I shouldn’t try too hard for anonymity . So just before writing the note I told the school librarian what I was doing and showed her the cannabis which she sniffed. I let her see the note and asked if it was clear. Of course, I knew she’d be reporting what I was doing to the school admin. I knew that once she told them, I wouldn’t have to wait until next time the bully box was emptied to get revenge. I knew the school would give me enough time to stick the note in, then read it as soon as possible.

Then off I went to put the note into the bully box (a box in a corridor where any pupil could anonymously put in the names of bullies). I planned to wait till home time to do it, though I dunno if I did. As I put in the note, (and as I’d been writing it) I whispered “I’m sorry I have to do this, Shirley, it’s not to put you in trouble. It’s not for you, Shirley. But sometimes things just have to be done. I’m sorry.”

I put it in, condemning 6 people to their fate as I did so, and all to get revenge on one of them.

Now, all I had to do was wait. Council policy meant that the school administration’s hand would be forced; they would have to call the police on Billy and the clique just for possessing the harmless drug.

Two days later I was sitting in Maths class and the door was open. The police and a school admin staff dragged Billy, Leroy and another boy out of their maths class across the corridor from mine. They were ordered to empty their bags and the police searched them. Everyone in my class was interested but only I knew what was going on. The teacher shut the door and told us to stop gawking and get on with our work. I successfully hid my grin.

Later I heard that drugs had been found in their bags. They all got suspended. A day after that I came across Shirley at lunch time, walking near the school grounds. She said she’d been excluded because drugs were found in her bag. Did she know how the police knew she had the grass, I wanted to know. She shrugged miserably. Dunno. Who knows how the polis work?

I felt sorry for Shirley and went away satisfied.

When I was 18 I was on MSN with Lochlan from my student flat and I told him. He had a good memory of all of it and was amazed. I asked who he thought had been responsible or how he thought the police knew about the drugs. “I thought it was just random,” he typed. But ain’t nothin’ random when Kalika’s around.

Though I’m glad to say that I’ve calmed down a lot and picked up some ethics and morality as I’ve got older, and I no longer think it’s acceptable to sacrifice innocents as collateral damage just to take revenge on your target.


All My Loves (3): Kane the poly Dom

So, we’re going to jump from when I was 13 to when I was 20 and just turning 21. Not that interesting stuff with boys didn’t happen in between – there’s a reason why Portishead’s song ‘Teardrop on the fire’ reminds me of sexual freedom. If only I’d gone home aged 19 with “The Toyboy” as I called him in my conversations with Lochlan, this blog wouldn’t exist. Or if, a few weeks later, I’d gone all the way with my gay friend in the bushes instead of just wanking him off. But anyway. This is about Kane or “American Guy” as I call him.

I was 20 and scouting the personal profiles of members on a BDSM website I’d joined aged 16. What was I looking for, people have tended to ask. Well, this was B.L. (Before Lynne) so the only thing I was ever looking for was to fuck, and right now, like yesterday.

Kane was a polyamorous dom and a quick message soon got us talking on a regular basis. We were always honest with each other. I felt we wanted different things, though – he was already thinking about me becoming one of his life partners. He was single at the time but had lived in poly households before. I could easily envision me with a couple of husbands living with Kane and with – or near – his other wives and their men. But the idea of commitment worried me. Actually, it terrified me. Going to the USA for the summer to be with him – that was what I wanted. But to live with him for months? For a year? Years?

Kane opened my eyes to politics. He’s a libertarian, which means he’s for no gun control and no drugs control as well as no welfare state. That’s not as evil as it sounds – he explained the complexities of the arguments to me and while I don’t yet know exactly where I stand (though I do support the NHS) it was very interesting to realise that people who seem completely opposed often have the same goal – the best for everyone. We just disagree on how to get there.

The guy supported the Iraq war, a position we remain opposed on. I’d told him we weren’t compatible early on (because of our political beliefs and he was, like, really controlling – probably too much for me.) But he refused to believe it.  I was also in regular contact with three other guys – one was my age, one a year younger and one a few years older. The youngest didn’t approve of my relationship with Kane. Although we’d never met, Kane and I considered ourselves in a relationship and had made plans for me to go to the USA in the summer. I believed that selling my virginity would help fund that. Kane was an older guy, the kind that my ex-flatmate would’ve gone for. I didn’t give two flying fucks about age, I just wanted ‘tae git ma cock’ as Irvine Welsh would probably say in that delightful way of his..

Kane taught me so much stuff. We had a shared hate of Creationists (though he has near-Creationist friends and I have Creationist relatives.) I would tell him hot torture and spanking stories I made up. Through our talks, I came to appreciate the beauty of the Blood Eagle when performed on a hot man, and the exquisite aesthetic of government torture. (When it’s fictional.) Kane wanted to turn me into a kittygirl and had used Saran wrap to make wormgirls before. He also turned people into puppygirls. He critiqued my erotic fiction/porn fiction and I’d often stay up till 3am or even till 7am talking to him. Kane helped me see that I had bisexual tendencies. He believed that most people were bisexual to some degree but that after experimentation he’d determined that he was straight. That night I had a dream about snogging these two girls in a bar – a blonde and a redhead – and going to this flat and then they were topless and I touched their breasts. My dreams are vivid but they’re usually about my family, friends and acquaintances. It was one of the few dreams about women that I remember, though I do dream about men. He called me his bratling.

Kane pursued knowledge vociferously, reading books like ingesting knowledge was what kept him alive. He was a sciencey type and had a black belt in a martial art. He had information I very much wanted, such as how to make your own gunpowder and bullets, and how to drive someone to suicide. Kane was an executive and he had long hair. He was good looking. Like Leanne, he wasn’t surprised when I told him about selling virginity to Roland.

With all this talk of him maybe being my baby-daddy some day, the inevitable happened – I wanted to please him, wanted to try to commit to him in some way. I eventually believed I was in love with him because I thought of him every time I woke up and I would say his name before I slept. Sometimes I slept facing America. He was in my thoughts all the time. I’d never felt that way about a guy before; perhaps I was destined to marry Kane. I decided to tell him, and I logged on from one of the university computers, opened his last email to me, and it was really short. He said he was dumping me because I didn’t want stability and didn’t think that DNA testing my future kids to find out if he was their dad was important. It was a calm, measured, polite email – which sums up Kane perfectly. His last words to me were that I would become “a formidable person” which is his sincerest wish for me. I consider that the highest praise I’ve ever received.

I emailed back that I thought it was for the best, and that I’d never forget him. I also asked him if he’d tell me how to drive someone to suicide (not that I’d ever do it of course) and added that I knew he wouldn’t reply. Then I went on this blog to blog about it briefly. I felt no sadness – nothing. It seemed nothing more than an interesting experience in my life that would equip me for future challenges. I was delighted by my lack of emotion, believing that I had mastered my weakness and was in control of my emotions. I believed I could never be hurt by love and other barfingly mushy stuff like it.

I think the problem was that Kane had a specific goal of getting a wife in mind, so he ignored the warning signs and decided I was the one, before rejecting that decision. And that’s why I don’t think that trying to find husbands or wives by picking up people in bars really works.

But anyway. At the time I first wrote about Kane on this blog – immediately after he’d dumped me – I was flying high. I was selling virginity and had other shaggables on the internet, and no sad lovey-dovey crap was going to ruin my pursuit of pleasure. The future shone ahead, full of the kinky exploration of my sexual identity. As I sit here a year later, without a confirmed buyer yet (Roland moved to the USA before completion of the contract) and knowing that at any moment a Lynne-like episode might strike me again, and with only the experience of selling sexual services and the £2,150 it got me to show for the year, I feel kinda sad…




My first post on Harlots Parlour (the sex industry blog). It’s about the Merseyside model petition. Also, follow Harlots Parlour; it’s an interesting mix of sex work politics, musings, current events and what they call ‘citizen journalism’ by multiple authors.)

Harlots Parlour

Please welcome and support our new author Kalika Gold and support her petition to have the Merseyside model adopted by all British police forces.

The Petition

The petition aims to extend the Merseyside Police’s strategy (declaring all crimes against sex workers hate crimes and working in partnership with sex workers’ organisations to catch violent criminals) to all UK police forces.

You can sign it now:


The petition isn’t in my name because for Government petitions, a legal name and current address are required. All names and addresses are verified – which took a week- before petitions are made visible. The name is publically visible on the petition. Although I’m currently still studying, I’m worried that future employers might discriminate against me when I graduate and enter the job market. I could have done a petition, but a Government petition has more chance of success because if we…

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All My Loves (2) A bet, a murder fantasy and I tried to force a girl to wet herself

My diary entries from ages 9 to 10 are mostly in code – an earlier version of the code I use now. Some of it is undecipherable, but it’s clear that they’re about boys who I believe I’m “in love” with.

Well, I’ve told you how I accidentally evacuated a shopping centre while chasing this Sam guy when I’d just turned 13. The next guy I lusted after was the stunning blonde and popular Ricky. You might actually have heard of him.


Claim to fame: Gorgeous

Length of pursuit: 2 weeks

Conclusion: Lost interest

I betted one of my enemies who also fancied Ricky that I could get a date with the popular and absolutely luscious Ricky. This wasn’t the  smartest thing to do but I was a very confident 13 year old and I liked taking risks. So lots of people knew about the bet – I forget what the stakes were, or even if there were any.

Ricky had shown a wee bit of interest in me and I talked to him and somehow got him to ask me out to McDonald’s. I swear, I was much better at flirting in the old days. So I’m waiting outside McDonalds and people from school are walking past – more people up the town than usual, because everyone knows about the date. My enemy and her friends are hanging around nearby. Will Ricky show up? That’s what we’re all waiting on. That’s what my rep hangs on. I’ve got a sort of insurance in case Ricky doesn’t turn up, though. I’ll say I was waiting here for my friends. That’s what I’m telling all the acquaintances and randoms who stop by to talk to me or tell me to go while I can cos he’s not showing up, or silently rip the pish.

At this age, I’m a prude who thinks sex before you’re at university is wrong. But I’m wearing red underwear just in case, even though I have no intention of having sex with Ricky. Though I do fantasise it, and I do have wet dreams about him. (My libido has atrophied since).

I remember one of my friends, Kim, seeing Ricky’s mate pull down his trousers and I was so jel. I also heard about the time he stood on the roof of the slide in the park and peed into the air. One time me and my friends were all meant to be going somewhere (it was an isolated spot) and Kim’s mum kept ringing her to check she wasn’t being abducted by paedophiles. Then we saw Dylan, Kim’s boyfriend, and they disappeared into the bushes for 45 minutes while the rest of us chatted and I felt myself burn with jealousy; what would it be like to touch Dylan’s body, or Kim’s? When would I have my first kiss? When would it be my turn to have sex? The day culminated in us all getting lost and me deliberately sliding down a really big hill on my bum. Took me twenty minutes to slide and I came out in these fields. I’ve got a good sense of direction, so I made it home easily. My jeans were ruined though with all the mud. I felt happy as I floated through the fields, running free. I might not yet have had sex, but I could excel at wild stunts. They told that story of my slide for weeks.

Ricky didn’t turn up but my ‘insurance’ meant that my enemy had a hard time taking the pish. I fancied Ricky’s black-haired friend, Tom, at this time. Years later, about four months ago, Tom tracked me down and told me he’d fancied me back then. I was shocked cos I had lots of spots back then. Tom wanted to shag me but I already had the deal with Roland then. I thought about a spanking sesh but Tom’s not kinky and I don’t fancy him now.


On my first day at my new school I sat down beside Lochlan and we hit it off instantly. I decided I’d shag him once he grew taller than me. I didn’t put this plan into gear until I was 19 – I called him late at night. He was at a bus stop, having left a club. I was reading ‘Driver’s Ed’, a book about teens who steal a ‘stop’ sign, resulting in the death of a woman. Lochlan said having sex might muck up our friendship, and I definitely think he was right there. After I got off the phone I cried and then I masturbated for the first time ever. I did it for over six hours to that book, to the idea of committing murder. It was daylight when I fell asleep.


This next story I’ve got to tell is not something I am not proud of. I really wish we’d learned more about what counts as sexual at school. If I’d known about BDSM, or that you can be bisexual without knowing it yet, I would’ve known what I was doing was wrong.

I don’t remember the girl’s name. I didn’t realise what I’d done until I started thinking about writing the “All My Loves” posts. I was 14 at the time. Sheryl was one of three girls who came round to my house 2 or 3 times and one of them might have stolen my Gameboy Advance SP. Anyway, we were talking on the step and Sheryl said she was bursting for a pee and could she come in and use the toilet. I shut the door. “No way, I want to see you pish yourself,” I said, making Sheryl’s friends giggle. Sheryl continued to plead with me and I got my skipping rope and grabbed her, pulling her to a nearby tree. I was only a year older but I was always tall and strong for my age. I got her against the tree and tied the rope around the tree and around her. She struggled and her friends laughed. As far as they were concerned, I was playing – but I knew I wasn’t playing. I knew I wanted this although I didn’t know why.

I managed to keep Sheryl there for 2 or 3 minutes until she eventually struggled free and ran away. I made a couple of attempts at holding her still so she would pee herself, but each time Sheryl got free even when one of her friends tried to help me. Sheryl pleaded once more for me to let her in to use the toilet but I didn’t. She told me the next day that when she got home she was “leaking”. They all thought it was funny, as did I. I didn’t understand that I’d tried to force her to do something sexual or that I was kinky or bisexual.

Like with many sexual assaults or coercion, I was Sheryl’s acquaintance and not a stranger.


Make the Merseyside petition a sex workers’ project by supporting it

Last night two sex workers bombarded me with block caps tweets for 2 hours about how I’m not a sex worker and am privileged, arrogant and too immature to be doing the Merseyside model petition. Apparently I’m a manipulative liar who made the petition because I want to “be a leader” in the activist movement, while also being the naïve poster child who has issues and is being used and “pwned” by Ruth Jacobs. They also seemed to think Ruth Jacobs is involved with the petition, when in fact we stopped working together well over a month ago and her name isn’t on it. I’m not going to name names or post screenshots, because this isn’t a reply to them and, (as far as I know without yet going on Twitter) they’ve stopped.

What this is, is a clarification: I’m not working with Ruth, she has no control over the petition. She can’t claim it as hers because her name isn’t on it. Jaynie’s  name is on it but posts on this blog, as well as Jaynie’s public tweets, prove that she only created it for me because of the legal name requirement. (All Government e-petitions take a week for approval while names and addresses of the creators are verified).

Before I realised a legal name was needed, I asked for sex workers to put their names on it since I’m not a representative sex worker (or, according to the people from last night, I’m not a sex worker at all). One person wanted to but then we realised it had to be a legal name, while one who I DM’d refused (because they seemed to think Ruth was still involved in it).

The important thing is that whether or not you like me really shouldn’t affect you signing or publicising the petition. Politics isn’t about whether you like the person or not. What if a sex worker met Rhoda Grant in a pub and didn’t know who she was – they might get along! But we’re against Grant’s Bill – her politics, not what she’s like personally. Similarly, if she were to make a Bill to implement the Merseyside model, I would support that while simultaneously challenging her first Bill.

Stopping rapes and murders is much more important than whether you personally like me. And I doubt that sex workers who benefit from Merseyside (if the petition succeeds) would really think “Oh I wish Merseyside hadn’t succeeded because it was a non-representative sex worker who clicked ‘create a petition'”.

If you really care about who created a petition more than the good the model can bring, it just hurts sex workers’ goals. Infighting over who is and isn’t a sex worker is not going to help with Merseyside or labour rights or anything else. Sex workers’ safety is the most important thing about my petition, not who created it.

And if I’m not a sex worker, that means I’m volunteering my time in a cause that isn’t mine and won’t benefit me.

The worst thing about this is the vicious cycle: that sex workers see this petition as an anti’s idea (although the model was created and supported by sex workers and the NSWP, as well as politicians and ACPO) so some may not want to support it. Then, because sex workers don’t support it, other sex workers see it as an anti’s idea. And so it goes around and around. And the petition doesn’t get publicised, and if it fails, that doesn’t benefit sex workers.

So what I want to say is this: It’s not an anti’s idea, it’s a sex workers’ idea and as we all know, it always was from the beginning in Merseyside. Ruth Jacobs (who isn’t sure about the Nordic model because it doesn’t offer exit routes and makes poverty worse) just wanted to expand the model to all of the UK. She didn’t create it and so owes everything to sex workers. And I’m not being “used” by her because I heard of the model at university then later on Douglas Fox’s blog (I think) and I’ve read about it on other sites and a Telegraph column too before Ruth showed up.

But, if you do think it’s still an anti’s idea or that Ruth was co-opting it, then support it yourselves. Because that will turn it into a sex workers’ idea if most sex workers and sex worker orgs support it.

I asked the two people last night if they wanted their legal names on the petition or what they wanted me to change about it. They wouldn’t even answer me about what they wanted me to do, instead resorting to swearing and name-calling, as they did throughout the 2 hours.

And I’ve been thinking, that they obviously wish I’d never made the petition. But if I hadn’t, who would? Lots of sex workers and sex worker activists have known about Merseyside for much longer than I have, and while there’s always been lots of support for it, nobody has done a petition that (if it gets 100,000 signatures) will be debated by the Government. I’m not trying to disparage all the activism, media work and demos that sex worker activists are doing right now and have been doing decades before I was even born. I’m just saying that if someone had created the petition before me, I wouldn’t have needed to and we could’ve avoided what happened last night. So how can they attack me for, basically, not waiting for a ‘real’ sex worker to create the petition, when they themselves didn’t create it?

The fact that Jaynie’s name is on the petition was seen as an excuse by someone else, who was implying that I’m merely the puppet or poster child of a hidden group, but seeing as sex workers are usually anonymous, I can’t see any way past this. If anyone is willing to out themselves and put their name to it, tweet me.

This isn’t about who counts as a sex worker or me working with Ruth in the past (which is irrelevant as it’s got nothing to do with the petition as I’m not working with her now) or what anyone thinks about me. Whether I’m a sex worker in their eyes or not, we’re all people, and people doing sex work are being raped and attacked. It’s these people who matter. And if who created the petition matters more than these people, matters more than sex workers, that’s pretty shitty politics. However we’re all entitled to our politics, whether they’re shitty or not. So if you don’t like me, don’t sign the petition.

But  I hope you do – not because I want to lead the sex worker activist movement (I mean, come on, I don’t even call myself a sex worker activist! And I suspect that lots of contacts, years of experience, tons of media work and influence in sex worker organisations would be required to successfully be The Leader of Sex Worker Activists.) I hope you do because I do want sex workers to be safe – and I do want the petition to be a sex workers’ initiative. If lots of sex workers support it, it WILL be a sex workers initiative and that’s how the media will see it (if it gets media attention or is debated).

Kali xx


All My Loves (part 1): how I committed a crime, made the papers & got away with it

If you read old poems and texts – whether Scots or English ones – you’ll see that the word “love” was previously used to mean any kind of attraction. Hence the phrase “my love is pure” (ie you’re just after one thing). I used to read Lines of Life –(an anthology of women’s poetry from hundreds of years ago to today, edited by Germaine Greer) on the bus to uni, or write poems in my notebook. I was always writing. It’s like a compulsion. Anyway, in that book it’s obvious that “love” is sometimes used to mean what we’d call “like” or “attraction”. So, that explains the title of this post. I’m only going to include the dramatic or interesting bits, of course – from me aged 12 running away from 5 police cars after a standoff with my boyfriend’s girlfriend went wrong, to trying to force a girl to wet herself aged 14 and preparing for a life in the USA with a polyamorous dom. This post was originally going to be titled “All My (blonde) Loves: how blonde Americans are all out to screw me (but sadly not literally)”. But despite being funnier, it’s a bit bitter and too influenced by Kane, Roland and Lynne. (More on Lynne later – she might get a post of her own, actually. Kane did.)

At age 4 or 5 I would kiss this black-haired same-age boy and we said we would marry when we were 20. Our parents thought it was cute; I’d kiss him in the playground. I’ve always had a thing for black-haired guys.

I was 8 years 11 months when the Calamity James strip oin the Beano awakened a feeling of wild excitement in me. It was in a supermarket in the late Nineties. Yeah, even from the first, I was aroused by violence. I drew comics and wrote stories about boys from then on – I was always writing stories anyway. At age 9 and 2 months I drew a comic at school about a boy having his bum bitten by dogs and burned with hot frying pans, stabbed with needles and stuff like that. I went to the front of the classroom and showed it to my teacher. My teacher was a young dark-haired guy. He said it was good, which was probably true as I’ve always been good at drawing (but rubbish at anything musical).

After that I did spanking comics and spanking stories which included burning, spiking and toryire.

The first laddie I fancied was a good-looking blonde boy in my class. I was 11. Some other boys fancied me but I was after the one I couldn’t have. (This would turn out to be the story of my life.) I soon moved on to fancying other boys. At 11/12 I had twice fought boys I fancied because it gave me pleasure (it was normal in the school for similar-age kids to arrange to fight just for fun).

The Sam story

This is the story of how 5 police cars were called to a shopping centre because of a 12 year old’s pursuit of the boy she fancied. Unlike my previous crushes, this was more real – rivalry, revenge, and the first appearance of the personality I still have now. (Though I’m nicer now of course.)

In my high school there was this 15 year old lad called, let’s say, Sam. He was blonde. Lots of lassies wanted to go out with him. I was a first year, he was in third. My friend told me she’d fancied him but when she told her auntie, she’d said “he’s your cousin but dinnae tell naebdy.” I was 12 but I sometimes hung around with the 15 year old girls and I invented a game of calling the older boys and pretending I was calling from “the prostitution agency”. I could keep up the pretence for 20 minutes and more, saying “you called about an hour ago and spoke to Shirley, you ordered one of our girls? To-” and I’d make up an address or a meeting place. The older girls had a go too, but it was usually me with the phone’s speakers turned on so they could all hear. I was the best at it.

Profile of Sam:

Initiator: Him

Length of chase [refers to me trying to get him]: About 3 weeks

Result: Unsuccessful

Conclusion: Concluded by revenge

Sam hung out with these girls and sometimes we spoke. I’d probably pranked him, too. He flirted with me and showed me his arse (in the playground, in full view of everyone). He used cannabis and at the time I despised “druggies” as I called them, but a druggie boyfriend sounded kinda cool.

What follows happened after I’d just turned 13 and is re-typed from my cute furry blue diary, which I still have:

“I went to buy my first CD – Let Go [by Avril Lavigne] and then a single, When I See You [by Macy Gray. Still got it]. Well, then I see the Girls and, as promised, Sam. I remember when he hugged me – it was today, Thursday 8 May […] he cuddled me and I stroked his back, and I loved it.

Last week he felt my bum and put his arm around me and I laughed and said he would have to impress me first, and gently took his arm off my shoulder. I mean, we’d been talking for five minutes.

[A lot of boring stuff about me and Sam talking and all of us wandering around the shops]

I say “You could have me. I have much more to offer.”

“Would you have sex with me?” he asks. “No, but [apart from that] I’ll go as far as you want,” I say. [Worth noting that I fantasised often about getting him drunk at a party and having sex with him – not that I’d ever tasted alcohol].

[We all go to McDonald’;s and Sam’s “fat, lunatic” sister appears. We leave McDonald’s and are either in or approaching the shopping centre].

Sam’s girlfriend comes up and says “Stay away from him. I am his girlfriend.”

“I’ll be as close to him as I want and he’ll dump you soon anyway,” I say. We almost fight but she gets scared so her and the others jold the doors [of the shopping centre] against me. I kick the door and the whole door shatters 3/4. [The alarm went off]. A security guy grabs my arm but I push open the door and run.[in a loop, then stayed in a bus shelter where I could safely observe proceedings without being seen.] I watched a security guy [in front of the centre, illustration included]. After that 5 police cars came and talked to the security guys and examined the door. [4 fire engines and more police were coming so] after that I took my jacket off [so as not to be recognised that easily on CCTV as the same person] and went home by a circuitous route in case of surveillance.

The fire alarm was still on and it started rumours about a fire in the changing rooms at school. The whole mall evacuated. Sam liked me a lot more the next day and stopped the guys throwing balls at me.”

[Transcription from diary ends]

The next day I got called into the Head’s office. Everyone knew, of course. The police had been seen in the school for hours, and I’d seen them too and knew they’d seen the CCTV footage of me. The newspapers were claiming it was a Mystery Fire or arson that’d evacuated the mall, but by lunchtime everyone knew it was a swift kick that’d done it. For my part, I was unsure if it’d been a coincidence, that the fire had set off the alarm just as I’d kicked the door. That made me uneasy as I wanted to believe I’d achieved the evacuation of a mall. I basked in the glory and was treated to, at worst, respectful disbelief of the rumour and at best unbridled praise. Unsolicited promises of not telling parents or talking to police – who were appealing for any information – quieted any fears I might’ve had. At that age we weren’t that aware that giving journos the inside scoop could get you money, but some of us must’ve known. (I did and my family didn’t read the papers). That’s a sad indictment of adult behaviour right there – that 11 to 16 year olds wouldn’t give up their schoolmate to the press.

People said ‘They’ would make me pay for the door, but I was pretty sure insurance would take care of that. Apparently the door was worth thousands cos it was “reinforced”. “Well, it wasn’t reinforced very well, was it!” I’d say, lifting my right foot.

So, when I was called to the Head’s office from the lunch hall, all heads turned. So many eyes watching, fearful, troubled, just not knowing how this would all pan out, this thing that’d never happened before. It was all new territory and the police were involved. Rumours that I’d been “lifted” walking away from the scene or caught by the security guard or found hiding in the changing rooms were suddenly dispelled. I finished my lunch, got up, gathering my stuff.The consensus was that I was going to prison and the van was outside. Some thought they could see it. I informed them that I had a plan and anyway the prison van wasn’t outside cos I’d need to go to court first. Vows of silence were renewed – it was assumed the police would now question everyone associated with me and those who’d been there. We expected others to be called to the office after me. “Good luck,” my friends and others said as I rose. The way I’d calmly finished my plate had surprised them. “I dinnae need luck,” I’d laughed. Even girls who hated me nodded at me or stared in shock as I walked, smirking, head held high out of that lunch hall.

There was silence as I walked out and the feeling of bravado faded a bit now I was on my own and didn’t have to keep up appearances.I knew about CCTV and forensic science. But would they use forensic science on a door? Wasn’t it only used for serious crimes? But I knew that CCTVs don’t consistently film an area, they take stills of several directions in turn. It can also be hard to identify people from such images. I ran through my lies – no use saying I wasn’t there, too many witnesses and fingerprints. I eventually came up with a better version of the plan I’d thought out while fleeing the scene, and entered the Head’s office.

Apart from smiling and saying a polite hello, I said nothing. Didn’t want to incriminate myself. There were no police and I was already suspecting this was about something totally different.

And I was right. It was.

Everyone was shocked at my triumphal return into the lunch hall. My friends had been waiting for the police to call on them. When nothing had happened, people reckoned I’d cracked under interrogation, confessed and been shipped off to the police station. Some reckoned I was lying and had confessed, but I didn’t get suspended and the papers didn’t report finding a culprit – then reported that there hadn’t been a fire, if hearsay is to be believed. After a week they got bored of the story and thereafter it only lived on in the collective memory of the young teens.of our school. The door didn’t get fixed for weeks. It had tape round it and a sign warning against its use. A constant reminder to all the pupils of what I’d achieved. It was called “The Door Kalika Kicked In” or “Kalika’s Door”. And of course it was my preference to enter and exit the mall by the door right next to it, re-living the incident and reminding anyone I was with of what had happened.

The incident left me with a sense of my own physical power and emotional holding-it-togetherness. It also left me with a lifelong (superficial) fear of forensic science. It was the 2 or 3 days of worry that’d done it, before the papers said They reckoned the door was damaged by accident when the fire alarm rang and people evacuated the mall. I thought this was a cover-up for the failure to find whodunnit but now I see why they thought that; someone fleeing before the official evacuation does make sense – if you disbelieve the guard.

Sam’s girlfriend and her cronies treated me with more respect after that, having seen my kicking ability and believing rumours that the police had questioned me at school that lunch-time but that I’d lied my way out of it. As for Sam, people told me he was just winding me up, and I confronted him about it. We argued, he punched me twice and I kicked him in the balls. I should’ve remembered how much damage my leg can do. He was in agony and I laughed as I stalked off. He had to see the nurse and couldn’t ride his bike home. He was pushing it along the street. I heard from his friends the next day that he had to see the doctor.

I still pined after him though I knew he was just winding me up. People were interested in our story- Sam was popular and I was famlous in the school, not popular yet at the time but notorious for what I’d done to the door. I tend to be well-known everywhere, not popular but one of those people everyone knows. So I felt humiliated that he hadn’t been serious, but my natural resilience allowed me to bounce back and write a song about it, which I read to some people who slyly mocked me. I showed them I wasn’t upset by it. The still-broken door and rumours that Sam had been in hospital cos of me allowed me to hold my head up, and it was true Sam was off school for 2 days after I kicked him, and still walking funny after.

So I got a great thrill out of the Sam saga and the fear of the police taught me to avoid committing crimes unless you really want to. I’d like to say that it taught me to be less impulsive, but caution doesn’t seem to come easily to me. Which is just as well, really, or we wouldn’t have the Lynne blog, would we? (I know it doesn’t exist yet, but it exists in potentia, as Terry Pratchett would say.) Anyway, I’m going to hit ‘Publish’ on this thing. It’s long overdue to be fired into the deep space of the web.