Thursday afternoon at the brothel

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Translation by Inge Kleine

This text is a diary entry from the year 2005, when Huschke wasn’t yet called Huschke, but was sitting around in the brothel as SvenjaorCharlotteorWhosomever.

Why this total break down yesterday, this total sinking and giving up?

Maybe I can’t do this job any more, maybe I even can’t deal with it any more even now already, that this lying system exists in which old randy men fuck young girls, in fact basically break them any which way they want them – because just as in earlier times “defiled” or “fallen” girls were consigned to prostitution (everyday practice in medieval times – and later, once “corrupted” what’s it matter?) – so nowadays daughters are abused by their fathers, brothers, grandfathers and uncles and then logically enter this business branch and are again treated like dirt, criminalised, discriminated against, and abused.

It is from my miserable condition, for which I also hold the German state as partly accountable, which does not deem it necessary to give a chance, a second chance at least, to abused, mistreated, “a-social” children who start out in life in dismal circumstances and circumstances which these children cannot do anything about, it is from this miserable condition that several men and patriarchal systems profit: my punters, my pimp and the German state. I have been used and discarded from society, as if it were my fault that I was mistreated,  and now I’m placed offside – anybody can do to me as he pleases, apparently everybody can fuck me just for wanting to, well not quite anybody any more, now only those who pay, and they would love for me to at last and finally place all my holes at their disposal, and then the gentlemen from the IRS (tax offices) also want their cut, don’t they, quite aside from my pimp, whose house, Jeep, S-class Mercedes I’m fucking into existence, while of course he can fuck me whenever he wants to, goes without saying he can, view his treatment of my colleague who mustn’t say no to him, or else.

And the punter too profits richly, and he still takes more than his supposed due, but God what on earth are you not supposed to be allowed towards one who sucks so many cocks, to one who according to punter’s logic must therefore be hot all day long and for that too she should be punished, really, all she probably needs is a real good seeing-to, a real good fuck.

For it is just that which we enact for them, every day, for they daily complain to us about whores who won’t play along with anything, either we are one of the bad ones (and earn nothing) or they tell us about their Odyssey through the bordellos and all the horrible girls there you really can’t fuck at all, and we always get our share of “praise”. That hurts so much you can’t imagine.

First, we don’t do enough. And then they’re outraged: “What, no French pure, that’s standard, like that I won’t feel anything at all, and it’s no fun for you either really with that rubber” (and what fun, I think, am I supposed to have, do they really think I’d rather have sperm in my mouth and an unwashed prick? A rubber, any day.) and: “you like swallowing it, don’t you, that’s part of it, isn’t it, and what? no anal included, why not, that can be so nice, and you’ve surely just never tried it before” (yes, maybe it is nice for YOU, and no, I don’t wanna try it, this may cause me pain at size 34, ever thought of that?), but no No is a No: “well if really no anal I at least get to play around with you there for a bit, right?” and then they just do it and still try to shove their finger up your arse. And discussions continue: “What do you mean, kissing isn’t done in this job, what’s that about, I didn’t even know that, why ever not, I don’t get it” – exactly, why shouldn’t you demand entitlement to every last ounce of us, since you have most of us already anyway? “Kissing is what you do while fucking and can I squirt on your belly, on your tits, in your face, on your cunt – no, why not, that won’t make you pregnant and I’m healthy as you can see” – (Yes that one does get said again and again, that phrase)  and anyway, “come on, I can rub my naked prick in your fanny for just a bit, can’t I, nothing will happen, it’s so impersonal otherwise, so without any feelings”.

And so they gleefully step-dance on our boundaries all day long, and if there’s one thing I learned when I had to “expand” my “services” so that I’ll make any money at all and won’t starve: It’s never enough. Never enough “service”. Blow it naked and swallow, offer kissing, then they demand fisting, squirting off in your face after a hard anal and choking. Offer that, and they want to piss in your mouth, have you lick their anus, and drive you to the brink of choking or vomiting with deep throat.

That aside you can, as you please, shove dildos or pricks inside me just as you fancy, and lubricating gel or wetting it or even just asking beforehand isn’t necessary, for I am hot all day long anyway. The best for me is to have a go at them and to pretend I’ve only been waiting for one like him. I wanted it this way is what they then say, I acted like an animal – partly through pain, actually, physical and emotional.

And how they whine! God, they’ve got it rough. First, they have to try forever until they find a girl they can live it up with and her not getting “stubborn” (= i.e. dares decline certain sexual practices or set up boundaries). Best for her to be horny all the time like a bitch in heat, tight, please and of course good looking, otherwise they won’t condescend to abusing her, otherwise she isn’t acceptable, and while outside none of these punters deserve a second glance in here sometimes my tits are too small for them, or my French with rubber isn’t right or the colour of my hair is wrong or whatever. Sometimes I don’t look “German” enough for them.

But when they finally “condescend” – yes, that’s how they feel about it – to fucking me, they want the whole job and bells and whistles, the King’s name is client, and do I ever get to see one like HIM, who truly does it right, “services” me right, but really right? And then I listen to stuff like “I’m really good in bed, right? I should be getting the money here” or “Come on, I don’t look half bad, we can do it for 80 too, right?”

But the most degrading thing remains to have to fake an orgasm for them. Filthy whores, that’s what we are, and we don’t deserve any better, but everybody needs us to shove his damn dick into, and everybody makes money out of us. That’s the peak of capitalism, I think.

And then they want to leave fast, for now they have jerked off, there’s a short whine still “it’s not all easy for us either, to bear this conflict, but what can I do, my wife isn’t really open to this!”, a short wallowing in self-pity, short pretense at remorse, short pat on the bum and “see you soon”. A great spectacle and epic movie. That is the price they pay for their entitlement to the institution of prostitution, and – this needs to be said loudly and clearly: they enjoy paying it, for it is paltry, the only thing more paltry than that is us, the whores.

Enough of this. I could not do another client today, it would hurt too much. To own up to this, to open myself to this, feels lethal. It does free me somehow, but the fear of Monday is back, where I mustn’t be this vulnerable any more, where I must push aside my knowledge that this is abuse, if I don’t want another murder to be perpetrated against my soul.

13 January 2005