haunted by her eyes
On the way back from our trip to PA and IN, Spiritsolace and I drove through Nevada. Inevitably, its various vices came up, and we discussed gambling and then the fact that prostitution is legal in some areas. I'd known this for a long time, but was curious as to how it all worked, how the women felt about it, and what my opinion would be once I'd thoroughly researched the topic. So I went to Google, and started reading about the Nevada brothels on various forums where the women, johns, and brothel owners all post (sometimes with considerable insight) on the business they are a part of. It's fascinating, a look at a world most of us never see and rarely think about if we even know it exists.
I've always believed that prostitution should be legal, though regulated to protect the safety of women and their clients. My body, my choice covers more than just pregnancy, and if a woman wants to have sex for money, IMO that should be her right to do so. But I'm conflicted; although I realize that many people can have sex without emotional attachment, I don't see how anyone could bear having a man she found unattractive, even repulsive having sex with her. There's a world of difference between casual sex for fun and pleasure, and spreading them for any man who walks in the door, no matter how disgusting, ill-kempt, stinky, rude, etc. I think you'd have to dissociate to even do it...and that is not healthy for the psyche.
I tend to think (and this is reinforced by what I've read) that women who go into prostitution do so because they lack the education and/or life circumstances to make a different choice. I mean, does any little girl say "I want to be a hooker when I grow up?" Just like our military has a "poverty draft", the brothels attract women who have families to support (i.e. single moms) or others who can't or don't want to survive on minimum wage. I am sure that for a few sexually kinky women, it is their dream job, while most do it for a while and save up enough money to move on to something better. But I wonder, how much of their spirit is destroyed in the process, what scars does it leave on the soul to share the most intimate part of yourself with so many men who see you as nothing but a sex object, a meaningless valueless whore?
I look at their pictures, and most seem strong, defiant; their poses have a sultriness that says they've been through a lot before and they'll get through this too. I can move on without feeling as if I need to carry more than a few philosophical insights away from their world that is so apart from mine. But I cannot forget about Libby. Her face haunts me; her expression seems to beg for someone to see her, to hear her though no one has before. I wonder who made those eyes so sad, who hurt a little girl and made her grow into a woman who has no other hope in life but to sell what I have little doubt others before have taken against her will. Her face seems familiar, not unlike that of a friend from years ago who tried to take her own life...and still those who should have listened, including me, did not understand. But now, I do understand, and feel that I should do something, at least try, for this young woman whom I have never met, whom I know nothing about except for four pictures from a brothel in Nevada.
I could, perhaps, send her an e-mail, but what would I say, and even if she did respond, what good would it do? I am not sure what to do, or feel, and I've tried to let go and forget about this/her, but I just can't.