Boomerang Girl; Part IX

Hello, and greetings! I bet your wondering how many times it took me to get the roman numerals right on this one? Well all of about 30 seconds because Google is my BFF!

So my spike; well it had dropped a bit and it had now gone from ‘raging and ravaging’ to only ‘assertively trying to kill me’ which was much better! My thighs were no longer sweating, just my pits, tits and bits. Winning. I’d even had a visit from Aunty A and she’d bought me bananas, grapes, ginger beer (non-alcoholic obvz) as well as a pull out from the ‘Daily Mail’ on ‘How to dress like Kate’. Well thanks for the thought Aunty A but I’d need about 10 years in finishing school another 4 stone gone as well as to throw out all my short skirts and leopard print and I just wasn’t prepared to do that! I was more likely to succeed at being like Pat Butcher than friggin Kate Middleton who had recently married ole Will!  I guess it was her weird way of trying to be kind and help me through a difficult time, and lets face it she had no idea why I was really in there and she’d have died if she did.  Deep down inside her she’s the kindest lady I know besides when I’d had my lovely mum and granny around.

I’ve digressed sufficiently now.

I’d also had another visit too but this time by ‘Dec’ a lovely chap who had long hair and a beard who totally resembled Jesus. He obviously fancied me and I wanted to like him too but I just didn’t, it was a shame as he was kind and funny he’d even bought me in a poem that he not only wrote but I’ve still got! Dec and I had met one night in Southport when I was with ‘Baya’ and ‘J’, he’d been cool, danced like Austin Powers and asked for my number (we know I can’t say no right?). I’m glad I hadn’t said NO, Im glad that he came to see me that day armed with pound-shop treats his dog-eared expression of adoration for me and most of all because he nipped to the Macdonald’s and came back with a ‘Fillet O’ Fish’. Fuck yeh! Total winner! I’d never met a guy who’d done anything so kind like that before, James had always mumbled ‘Get it ya self’. Nice.

Life was looking brighter but I still had that bastard ‘R’ hounding me to death and now I knew where the expression ‘He’ll be the death of me’ came from. I was convinced this might ring true here though I hoped not. I’d asked Dec to do me a favour and bring me some forms from the job-centre as I had decided I was going to apply for job seekers allowance and when I was out of this hell hole I wasn’t going to go back to another. The little sweet thing had done and in a few days I’d been told that while I was incapacitated in hospital I would be able to getting a back- payment of nearly £700!! Woop woop! I was a millionaire and ‘R’ could go fuck him-self and not some poor young girl for a change! Though we know that wasn’t going to happen the scumbag.

I’d worked out it was the love of my life married bald nursey’s shift tonight too and had, had this confirmed by miserable Anne who was one of the day shift nurses. I couldn’t work out if Anne was so miserable she resembled a living Eeeyore or whether she was sarcastic af and just hilariously funny. How could I look attractive in hospital I wondered? Maybe I should try to knock something sexy up from my open back paper gown and hope he likes it? Jesus he’d already seen me at my possible worst (hopefully and surely it cannot get worse?). I had no makeup with me, as it had been the last thing on my mind when I took myself off to A&E 4 weeks earlier. Oh well, I could only dream anyway as he was taken and not just ‘taken’ he was married and I needed to remember that because I had wanted to rip the eyes out of the girls that James had been dipping into. Every single one of them I’d hated, and especially Clare who’d moonlighted as a good friend too, I’d felt betrayed, sick to the very pit of my stomach vowing to never to do that to another woman as it was pure evil. So for now I was ok with him touching my wrist and talking to me softly and giving me tingles (yes, he did give me tingles and not the type you rude lot might be thinking). As mentioned before, I’ve never been the type of female to have ever dreamt of ‘happily ever after’ and thought more about how successful I would be. Fairy tales to me had been fantasylands filled with animals that spoke, they certainly didn’t include tall handsome bald nurses. I had never ever dreamt of a big white wedding, and the one I’d had with James had made me feel very silly/anxious and embarrassed on the day and not because I knew I was marrying someone I was going to divorce but because I felt like a dick. I still marvel at beautiful wedding dresses but the idea of spending a shit tonne of money and wearing white just doesn’t sit well with me, its like wrapping yourself up as a fucking gift to a man! I’m not a gift babe; I’m a goddamn queen!

I saw his big tall shadow looming outside my door ‘Yuss’ he was coming to do my Obs obvz! Phew! My ginger beer bottle and two ‘Get well’ soon cards sat there pride of place on my little pull out dinner table attached to my bed. He smiled and said I was looking better, it was August 14th and I felt like I had to write it down like Cadie did in ‘Mean Girls’ but I didn’t. I just smiled and thanked him whilst being painfully awkward and British by replying with

“Thanks, so do you”

I mean he hadn’t needed to look better like I had but I said it, just like when someone wished me Happy Birthday and I said it back like the douche bag I am. This time he did look better, more handsome, mature, and a little rough and like a real man. Sure he was thin but he wasn’t puny, he could definitely save me from ‘R’.

That night I felt happier, the happiest I had felt in a long time, I wasn’t on the phones at night so that was a bonus but I felt calmer and it was because of him. It was this calming demeanour he had that soothed me, maybe it was because I did genuinely love him, It wasn’t the type of ‘love’ or lust I had felt before as a naive young girl who was simply vying for the attention from some undesirable who just happened to show me some. What most guys before him had wanted was to get their end away, and I quickly realised it wasn’t because they liked me it was because most hot-blooded males in their late teens and early twenties can’t bloody help themselves! I had my fair share of those dick heads and this time I was dealing with a man; in hindsight the BS I’d had from James had made me learn what I did’t want. My heart had been broken into millions of tiny pieces during that time and (cliche but true) I’d played a mixture of Carol King and Neyo’s love songs (wtf right?) on repeat whilst crying into some shit mug of weak tea. It took months but finally I was over the idea of ‘needing’ a man so this time I felt (though in the worst position of my life in other areas) quietly confident when it came to dealing with love interests. No more chasing them, texting them back and wondering when they would reply, no more fucking games! I just wish I’d have been able to treat ‘R’ that way too, its weird how shit scared I was really of him, he who really was puny and certainly didn’t act in anyway shape or form like a man!

Calm, serene and content I felt that night, waiting for round two of ‘obs’, there was a lump in my throat as I was so scared it would be another ‘nursey’ and maybe he’d have been tending to someone in a much more serious condition than mine, whatever mine was? He appeared for round two, I was over the moon, now was my chance to speak to him I thought and find out more.

“Hi, its nice to see you!”

“Its nice to see you too, why you still awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I hear everything in here and its difficult to doze off lately, plus whenever you come around I like it because I’m lonely”

“Do you want some sleeping pills? I can see if your allowed some? and why are you lonely? Have you no friends nor family to visit you, what about your husband?”

I explained briefly my situation regarding my parents and my twat of a husband.

“What about you? What does your wife do? And Haydn told me you have a son?”

“My wife is a nurse, but we don’t really see each other, we lead separate lives and my boy is my pride and joy, he’s nearly four”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that about you and your wife”

I wasn’t frikkin sorry!! I was bloody ecstatic!!! I felt cured! Like when you see those people on God Channel (yes I watched at times because it made me giggle) who are suddenly cured and can walk, then leap out their wheel chair. I wanted to leap out the bed, kiss him on the lips for him to then carry me in his arms into the sunset. But not the Southport sunsets as its grim, but somewhere nice, somewhere beautiful like Cornwall or Norfolk. It was destiny.

That night he stayed in my room for two hours; we laughed and joked about stupid things, which luckily we both found so funny. My humour is ridiculous and I’d been watching embarrassing bodies on the hospital TV which we then pissed ourselves at too (cruel considering the state of my boobs). He asked me what my dreams were and I found myself saying things I’d never said before such as wanting a quiet life in the country with a couple of kids and Golden Retrievers. Most days Id spend my time writing best sellers and he’d do the same, it sounded bliss and until this day I’d never wanted any of that with anyone; just the Retrievers and lots of them.

I was getting better, he was breathing life back into me but I was so scared to leave now, as I knew it meant going back to my life with ‘R’ having full control over his harem of girls.

Not only did I have dreams of a happy marriage and wonderful life, but also I dreamt also of the police locking that rapist pimp up and being done with him. He’d get what he deserved, surely? Call me evil too, but I even fantasised about the abuse he’d get behind bars; I’d heard the general prison population disliked sex offenders a great deal, especially the kiddy fiddler ones. The police would help me, I just knew it, I mean after all I’d convinced myself I was doing no harm or was I? I realised I wasn’t just not sleeping because of my illness, but that in fact my mystery illness had been spurred on by my conscience. Thank fuck I have one. I wrestled with that bitch 24/7, every single moment in time that passed I thought of his crimes. Sitting wondering how I’d been silent and remembering a phrase I’d read once ‘Silence is Violence’. I had to do something, but then who was going to believe someone like me? Nobody. I’d just have to get out of it all myself and pretend it had never happened. I was a ‘boomerang’ girl I’d have to go back to him until Id worked out my plan.

Love Lo xxx



Reasons to stay alive; Part VIII

He was the reason I should keep inhaling and exhaling, the reason I wanted my ‘spike’ to come down so I could get better and we could run away together. He was also the reason I wanted to stay there forever, forever being nursed by him.

My heart sank. He was married too. I’d even cheekily asked if he was still with his wife to which ‘Haydn’ replied “Yes he’s married, lives with his wife and kid”.


I didn’t really know what else to say to that, that was the end of it for me. No happily ever after saved by my prince who was going to help me out of this shitty mess. My spike could sky rocket for all I cared, no one gave a shit and I felt so fucking miserable.

Haydn was the other male nurse on the ward, he was small ,thin and very tanned, in fact I’d genuinely thought he was Asian until I was informed he’d just been to Cyprus. That to some of you might make me sound bad, but it was an innocent observation and he even later on told me “Nobody believes I’m English”. Phew it wasn’t just me then! Haydn was funny, he whistled and sort of sauntered in and out of my room with a very happy disposition, I’d not only assumed he was Asian but I’d also convinced myself he was gay too, which was because Id never met such a happy smiley bloke before (I was very presumptuous and naive back then, thats what a Norfolk countryside childhood did to me).

Anyways I was crushed, my heart was in some black hole knowing it would never be loved and I was dying and that was ok because as I mentioned I felt like a total loser and an absolute joke. My friends from school were working high powered jobs or marrying rich folk in the city and doing exactly what it is was they were supposed to be doing. Clare was marrying a professional sportsman, Lizzie was working in Dubai and running her own PR firm (Daddy had been a PR superstar in London) and the rest of them were ‘lunching’ in London together talking about life and forgetting about me. I didn’t fit their circle, I never really did to be honest, I never felt good enough/rich enough or posh enough and now my situation proved my point.

For three nights in a row he’d attended to me, touched my wrist so gently it sent shivers up my sweaty body sort of like when someone strokes your hair and it feels lovely. This felt lovely too but in a way that I wanted him to never stop. He’d ask me if I wanted anymore water in his west country burr, of course I did! I had been constantly thirsty since arriving but also wanted water because I wanted him to have to come back in my room again. The first three nights he asked me a few questions such as where my family were, what did I do; normal everyday questions that were very embarrassing for me.

“Oh I work as a receptionist in a brothel” Yeh it wasn’t exactly going to go down well so I figured I’d lie and tell him I still worked in fashion. He’d probably seen my notes but was just being polite.

I was completely infatuated with this tall, skinny, tattoo covered bald headed male nurse! He wasn’t even my type, I usually liked hair ;). On his right forearm (the skin I did see was very hairy which I found odd considering he was so bald) was a tattoo of the Union Jack and what I thought looked like a monkey from the ‘Planet of the Apes’ until he laughed and told me it was a lion.

The next night he was gone, I was pining for him like a teenage girl, distressed and emotionally drained. I didn’t want blonde nursey, I didn’t want happy Haydn I just wanted him. For four nights I cried myself to sleep I had no idea where he’d gone and wondered if he was ever coming back.

I wasn’t just crying myself to sleep because he’d gone and disappeared off the face of the Earth but I was still frightened and had no idea how to get out of ‘R’s’ grips. In those 5 lonely days and 4 hellish nights ‘R’ had the balls to visit me in hospital, he’d given me the  main ‘work’ phone now and expected me to continue to make bookings via the BBM channel. Of course I didn’t say no, I couldn’t say no and by now you know this is my issue. Can’t say no to giving people money when Im skint, I can’t say no to lending a friend I know either wont give my dress back after wearing it out or the type to return it  with ciggie burns and I certainly couldn’t say no to drugs when I was that low and frightened to fall asleep in case I’d missed a booking. ‘R’ like many sociopaths and world class manipulators made me feel he was doing me a massive favour by giving me the responsibility of the phone whilst I dying in my isolated hospital bed! I should feel grateful, proud that no one back at flat 16 was as good as me at getting the girls punters! Jesus Christ what a friggin talent I had. How grateful I should feel that he wanted me back and like he kept saying “Your talented! You should be so happy I’m keeping your job open for you”.

We all know it wasn’t a real job; there was no security, no tax, no sick pay, no holiday pay nothing but stress and palpitations. I have to say since getting my first job aged 13 I have had my fair share of shit narcissistic wanker bosses and ‘R’ wasn’t the last either. From side room 7, Ward 15 at Southport and Ormskirk NHS trust hospital I was running 50 girls single handedly from my bed. I’d say at least 20 at the Liverpool apartment and around another 30 dotted over the North West but predominantly the rest were holed up in an apartment in Manchester City centre above the Premier Inn.

I’d managed to get out of night shift which started at 9pm and stopped at 8am! Lucky me. I’d had to say no to that part because most of time I was drifting in and out of consciousness after my meds at 9pm. Yum, Tramadol, codeine and an IV line to stave off the spike! Best bit about hospital besides him. 

I was exhausted, still sweating like a Bitch, still ‘down-Lo’ and still no closer to getting away from ‘R’ or getting closer to the other ‘R’ aka ‘Him’. That glimmer of hope, that fantasy of having a normal, stable, happy successful life was once again gone in the blink of an eye. Doctors were still totally clueless as to what I had and I’d refused point blank to let them do a lumbar puncture! Absolutely fuck that! Didn’t they know I’d read every single ‘Take a Break’ magazine my mum had ever bought and I’d read many times about how those dreaded needles the size of a telegraph pole pierced your spine and in some horror cases paralysed you! I’d told them “just treat me for what you think it is please” but they’d told me it wasn’t that simple. So for now it was plenty of antibiotics via IV and pain killers for the constant horrendous migraines that woke me up every morning just before the noise of that bastard phone did reminding me it was now my ‘shift’.

I needed to tell someone, I just had to. Maybe if I couldn’t have him he’d be my friend anyway and I could get him to listen to me offering perhaps some sound advice. Then again I didn’t want him to think of me as another ‘fuck up’ one thing I’d learnt is that blokes don’t like crazy according to James who’d told me daily I was crazy as well as having AIDs

Worryingly now Id started to freak out that I actually did, that working in that environment had somehow given me a new air borne strain.

Fuck sake, I just had to pray for a miracle.
Thanks for reading my blog you bunch of beauties xxx stay tuned for the next part

I’m not dead: Part VII

First of all I’d like to admit My knowledge of Roman numerals is shocking and before every blog post I google this shit! Enjoy!

For most people the idea of 4 weeks in hospital sounds like hell; for me it was fucking bliss! I felt safe, I was fed 3 times a day and I was warm at night (ok so not just because of my through-the roof temperature). On one hand I was petrified because I really did feel like microwaved shite, convinced I was dying and baffling doctors even more by the day; and then there was the other side that left me feeling elated, free and finally able to get the fuck away from that psycho ‘R’.

It was day 3 and I showed no signs of getting better, my temperature was still ‘spiked’ (if I had a quid for every time I heard that friggin word) and I was still shitting through the eye of a needle, spewing my ring and screaming at the nurses to get me a fucking ice bucket! Apparently they don’t have an ice machine in hospitals which I still find absurd! I was sweating my pre-enhanced tits off, well it was dripping off my chest and even my thighs, I mean who the hell knew your thighs could sweat? Mine had never sweat before but now even my eyelids were sweaty and I lusted after a cube of ice like you couldn’t believe. I now knew how Renton felt in trainspotting and I needed a fucking hit (of ice not coke or meth) but instead I settled for Luke-warm tap water. My aunt was away and they’d called my ‘next of kin’ who happened to be my first husband still at the time. A blonde smiley nurse came in with a phone on wheels, it looked like it was from 1985 “your husband is on the phone'” my fucking what?! The bloody cheek of him! Still nevertheless I took the call hoping someone was going to feel sorry for me. Yet again I was wrong and instead he spoke to me like a piece of shit telling me that I’d got AIDs from being a whore. James ALWAYS called me a whore long before I’d ever ventured into this world so in hindsight, if you call someone something enough they will bloody become it. I need to explain that James was a weird germaphobe and always telling me in arguments that I was riddled with AIDS which I found most peculiar though it all made sense when going through his sock drawer that fateful day I caught him out after I found a specimen pot in a plastic sandwich bag with a laboratory form ordering tests for 1. The clap, 2. The ‘HIV’ and a load of other diseases that hadn’t been discussed at my rather lovely private all girls school (though shout out to Mrs Gafford who was a gem!). What the hell was he worrying about having all these crazy STDs when he was only sleeping with me? Oh right, hmmm yeh he wasn’t! Turns out me and miss waif-like blonde weren’t the only girls and in fact he’d not only ordered these tests from the GP but his other girlfriend had mentioned in a text I’d found on his phone that she too was taking a test;  a whole different type of test though! Yup! You got it! She was possibly up the duff! Great.

Anyways I’ve digressed again but you guys needed to know that bit I felt. So I’m in hospital with a ‘spike n’ a half’ and I’m still dying though I’m not dead. Thank fuck. I’m terrified of dying as you lot already know. So day 3, no one has visited me and of course they’re not going to, I was being silly, blonde nursey was sweet but I was in ‘isolation’ as they didn’t know what type of lurgey it was I had so I had little human contact. By the way you also need to know I’m in my hospital bed being harassed to fuck by ‘R’ on the ‘work’ phone (your probably wondering why I’m even bothering but he petrified me) he’s asking me when I’m back and I kept telling him I was really sick wishing he’d believe me. That afternoon a nice nursey pops into my room, she’s small with cropped hair and mum like demeanour. ‘Kath’ (yes her real name!) asks me if I can think of anything that could have caused me to get ill? Urmmmmmm ….

I start to cry, tears streaming down my face, salty little drops of misery and regret landing in the corners of my mouth (probably the only nourishment I’d had in a while). Kath is a total Hun and she’s telling me it’s all going to be ok, and I wanted to believe her sooo badly, in fact I wanted her to adopt me right there and then. I told Kath most of it, mainly about the drugs and how miserable I was and even admitted that I was for the most of it (meaning during my drug taking) suicidal. Yes, I have a fear of dying but I had also been very suicidal wondering what the hell I was doing and wanting to never wake up again, I couldn’t believe I was even in this position to begin with it wasn’t supposed to happen to me I just really wanted my mum even at the age of 26. I had the perfect opportunity back then to tell Kath about ‘R’ as I knew what he was doing was criminal and that he was a evil bastard rapist but I was too scared still.  After an hour of Kath comforting me she left my side and in came a gaggle of doctors staring down at me firing questions at me I don’t remember whilst prodding my stomach. Another IV line fitted with different drugs to try and bring down this bastard spike. They left and I drifted off until I was woken by a terrifying bald figure standing there looming over me and holding my wrist.

It was the night shift and this nursey was a bloke! A gruffly 6ft odd bloke with a bald head and the most soothing voice that sounded like he’d just finished ploughing his fields in Cornwall. Wow. I was definitely high on the all the drugs I was being pumped with but this bloke was beautiful and an overwhelming indescribable feeling of ‘he’s mine’ came over me. He held my wrist so gently and told me he found it easier to take my pulse that way than using “those bloody machines”.

Love at first sight is real and I wanted to stay awake all night just so I could speak to him when  he returned. I was already technically married but I was going to marry this man……

stay tuned

Love Lo xx

Im dying; Part VI

I’m now in a rigid routine of misery where I find myself being scared to ask if I can go home, I know the answer you see meaning the drama isn’t worth it for me, I don’t want to be ‘punished’ I know what that entails. My anxiety levels are through the roof and I find myself on day and night shift because I am told there’s no one better than me on the phones. They are right there, I’ve always had the ability to fake it to people’s faces, come across confident, happy and well-rounded when inside I’m a total fucking wreck. I’ve always had the need to be a people pleaser and it’s to my own detriment, I just can’t say NO. That simple two letter word is my own worst enemy and I want to scream and shout it from the roof tops but I simply can’t. I can’t say no to staying on the phones 24 hours a day, I can’t say no to him when he comes here after work every night to take a terrified girl into the room where he abuses her and I can’t say no to him when he tells me I’m wasted on the phone and should be working too. All I can do to avoid the latter is to be better on the phone so every girl is booked out so much so that I don’t have to do any ‘jobs’. I don’t want to, I’m fuckt up enough and I know that’s going to fuck me up even more and I don’t think I can handle it.

I’d gone on ONE ‘job’ and had been very lucky, these types don’t come around often; in fact, we’d call it a ‘white whale’ because it’s so rare. The well-spoken nice guy who reminded me a lot of Mark from ‘Peep Show’ had paid a grand for the night but I was only getting £650 as ‘R’ took 35%. I didn’t mind because I met him at the Crowne Plaza, Liverpool and I was glad to be away from the hell-hole of flat 16.  ‘Mark’ wined, dined and in no way shape or form did he try to well… if you know Alanis Morisette songs then you’ll get that bit. We went back to his room and he stripped down he then rang for a dominos and let his fat gut hang there wearing grey Y-fronts until he fell asleep. I sat there wide awake all night fully clothed with shoes on the bed feeling uncomfortable yet also relieved that I wasn’t in the Flat. I’d ‘texted’ the girls all night to see how they were going but mainly to make sure they knew I was still alive (by now you should know I’m a paranoid mess). 7am came and I was barely awake, my eyelashes sticking together every time I ‘rested my eyes’ and my heart pounding every time I drifted off and woke up again. Luckily for me he woke up at 7.30am and said he needed to get ready for work, thanked me for a lovely night and handed me an envelope with the fat wad of 20s in it. Yet again I couldn’t believe there was a world where all this happened, I was exhausted and over the moon he hadn’t expected anything other than my company (as I said this was a rarity). My only regret was that I hadn’t begged him to rescue me from my enslavement, I’d been desperate to speak to somebody about how I’d been feeling but was just too scared and when I thought about what I’d even say it sounded stupid and mental.

‘R’ rang me at his usual 8am time whilst driving to his job as an accountant where he was seen as an upstanding member of society (ha if only they knew), he demanded I go back to the flat and get back on phones again. I got back filled with dread and exhausted that crazy tired where you start to feel delusional. When I got back Mandy and Brandy were there, brandy you already know about and Mandy not so much. Mandy was a buxom blonde in her thirties who was brash and intimidating yet tried hard to portray an image of a decent genuine woman who was there to help and listen. Truth was Mandy was just a cow bag who was nosey and wanted to know everything to use it as ammo if she needed to. The look of jealousy on their faces when I returned was horrific and heightened even more because I was exhausted and an anxious mess. I’d only just stepped through the door when the questions began about what he was like and what did I have to do… blah blah, I couldn’t be arsed to deal with them so I had a coffee and ran a bath. I felt disgusting and filthy even though I’d not even removed my shoes the night before let alone my knickers.

I made the fatal error of leaving my handbag in the lounge that morning while I soaked in the bath for what felt like hours yet was about 25 minutes. When I got out that was when I realised she’d got off with my money and she’d never return. Mandy denied all knowledge and joined in with me when I slagged Brandy off for being a scum bag Bitch. Brandy wasn’t answering her phone and let’s face it she wasn’t going to. She’d stolen my money all £650 plus another 100-odd quid; I’d already posted ‘R’s’ cut into the actual post box attached to the wall in the cleaning cupboard where all ‘fees’ were posted until he came over in the evening emptied his money box and his load into some poor girl.

I was raging inside, I was furious, I had plans for that money and I was supposed to be using it to help me get out this god-awful situation. I rang ‘R’ to explain and knew he wouldn’t give a fuck so wondered why Id even bothered, a part of me thought he might have some kindness in him and say to keep my ‘fee’, but no I was being silly doing that thing where I think people are as fair as me. I was so fuckt off and Mandy was loving wallowing in my misfortune, pretending to be nice and supportive yet I knew she didn’t give a fuck. I couldn’t call the police, now could I? So, I had to sit there miserable and even more depressed than I already was. Life was shit and I felt like giving up, but that was never an option, Ive always believed Id make it somehow but at that time I didn’t have a clue how.

Susie came in at 6pm for the night shift, it was Friday night and boy was I glad to see her, she always cheered me up and when she was on night shift I felt safe. The Little pit-bull she was, taking no shit from anyone especially men! Ashleigh showed up and Serena too, we also had a new girl called Priya who was scouse as they come but ‘R’ was passing her off as an asian girl as they sold so well. We were at ‘Full House’ capacity and that was great because weekends meant lots of outcalls too and I hated sending girls on them, but Susie could handle coked up drug dealers whereas the likes of Serena couldn’t. Still reeling and exhausted from weeks of no sleep and constant anxiety I decided to go halves on some ‘lemmo’ with Susie (scouse word for coke), I thought ‘fuck it’ I needed to keep awake as Id nearly been ‘punished’ the week before for falling asleep on shift. Id asked to go to sleep for a bit as I was flagging big time and so I popped a Zopiclone. Serena had been on shift too and so took the phones (thank fuck) but I fell asleep for 6.5 hours and by god when I woke up I felt better until I realised how much trouble I was in. I couldn’t believe I was even asking when I was allowed to take a nap!

The resident dealer turned up and dropped off, we’d ordered in a fair amount knowing we’d be up all night and knowing my nights merged into days and vice versa. ‘R’ had scheduled a photo shoot for the next day and had been banging on about his new ‘Green screen’ so he could do us new pics for the websites, urgh! The thought of him turning up made me sick and luckily he wasn’t coming that night so I was over the moon i didn’t have to deal with him until the next day. Susie racked up the lines and poured me a vodka orange, I’ve never been a big drinker really and can’t handle it at all, but I drank it to be polite. I had two all-night (drinks that is) and I probably had around 1 and a half grams of lemmo. The night was a blur and I was knackered, 12 bookings had gone through by 3am and I was on fire, the girls were happy except Serena who was never happy unless sat with her nose in a book. 3am came and I was so messed up I stood up and remember a feeling like I’ve never felt before, a feeling where I nearly passed out and felt my heart beat out my chest. A party of 4 guys had just turned up and wanted a girl each, except there were only 3 girls available meaning one had to wait in the lounge with me whilst I struggled to function. We got chatting, and he was a nice guy, Priya emerged from the big bedroom 15 mins later with his friend and called the last guy through who decided he then wanted me. The look on Priya’s face was of anger and disappointment, she’d told me earlier she did this job to pay for her 7-year-old daughter and give her a better life yet in the few hours I’d known her she’d hoofed at least 4 grams of the white stuff herself and I realised she was yet another tragedy. Luckily I managed to convince him to go with Priya as I’d started getting a horrendous headache and my heart was still skipping beats every now and then.

I looked at myself in the mirror, I’ve never been a skinny girl, in fact id always been a sturdy size 12-14 and at 5ft 8 that was healthy, but I looked gaunt, exhausted and a total mess. My skin was sallow and my cheek and hip bones stuck out so much so that my hip bones hurt when I laid down. I was frightened for my physical health for the first time ever, like properly scared, I’d always been scared of most things but this was a new feeling. I told myself I needed to chill, lay off the coke and go and snuggle on the couch under the blanket to see the early morning through until someone might kindly take the phone from me.

It was midday when I was roused by ‘R’ and I heard his booming annoying sickening voice behind me. Jesus Christ my head was pounding like fuck and I felt terrible, Susie was leaving and looked a bag of shit herself so I hated to think what I looked like. The other girls were all sleeping and Serena was curled in a ball on the leather chair opposite me on the couch. Off he went with her into the room, for fuck sake I thought, I hated him and felt for her more than the others because he ALWAYS chose her. Emily had been AWOL for a few weeks and no doubt would return to face the punisher when she needed money so Serena and Ash were getting it big time. Susie would tell him to fuck off and he wasn’t interested in developed women anyway, he was clearly a lover of the child like physique. Grim. Sure as shit I did look like shit and my headache was worsening, I had sweat pouring off my chest and I was shaking like fuck, I made some toast and downed some codeine I found on the side belonging to ‘R’ no doubt he loved his prescription pills. When he returned from forcing himself on poor Serena I said to him that I felt like shit and needed to go home, I was feeling that rough I didn’t give a fuck. Out came his ‘Drugs are bad for you’ speech before agreeing to let me back to the comfort of my bedsit in Southport.

That train journey of 45 minutes back to Southport from Liverpool central was the longest ever, I don’t remember much other than my head spinning and it feeling like I had some form of head trauma. The headache had worsened, the worst of my life, my temples were caving in and I was sure I was going to be one of those people who dropped dead from a brain haemorrhage; BOOM- gone. I started thinking awful things like well at least it would save me from the hell hole, maybe it was my destiny and that perhaps I was never destined for anything other than this and that just like my dad anything better were just delusions of grandeur. Finally, I was back at my bed-sit, I got a taxi back from the station which was all of two minutes if that, thats how weak I was. Fifteen minutes I’d been back and I couldn’t handle the loneliness, I rang the only friend I had made in the town and asked him what he was doing even though I was dying. 30 minutes later I was at his mate’s house who was lovely too, we all became good friends when I was recovering and still are. Relaxing was something I’d not done in a while so I figured having a joint with these two and chillin was just what I needed, ‘J’ gave me some of his mum’s back pills to ease my headache and I managed to relax until he noticed the sweat pouring off me again. I was soaked and so off I went back to my bed-sit for an early night, I hadn’t been to bed at 8.30pm since 1998 and it was 2011. 3pm the next day I woke up! 3 friggin PM!!! I shit myself, that wasn’t normal! I had 128 missed calls from the work phone and ‘R’, Oh god I’m for it I thought but I felt worse than the day before and something told me I wasn’t being my normal dramatic self.

Ten minutes I was in A and E for before they admitted me, I knew that was a bad sign I mean you always have to wait for hours on end and id expected to but didn’t mind. Id collapsed and the next thing I knew I was in a cubicle being told I was going to a ward immediately because my temp was 40! I finally relaxed as I felt like this was it, I was going to die but its ok because at least it will be from an illness and not at the hands of the psycho ‘R’ or some gun-toting addict desperate for cash (yes that happened and I will discuss that in a later post).  I arrived on the ward and was put in isolation; they had no idea what the fuck was wrong with me but again, I woke up 14 hours later with an IV line in and feeling rough as fuck.

Ward 15A was my home for 4 weeks.

Sorry it took a while,


Love Lo xxx

Part V; I’m being Groomed… 

If I think back to that time and ask myself to be honest then I’d say I realised ‘R’ was a bit of a shit from the moment I met him (understatement of the century),even before what he did to me in that flat. I get ‘vibes’ like we all do, his vibe was bad to begin with and I should have listened to my heart and head but I didn’t. As I always say “desperate people do desperate things” so I chose to ignore my gut and my intuition instead going along with it. It wasn’t just purely financial, I must also admit that from the word go I was like putty in his hands, I was there ripe for him to pluck.

It’s a weird thing to say, but I had spent my entire teenage years praying to god I wouldn’t end up a rape victim or even worse, murdered. Your probably all thinking wtaf who the hell even thinks like that?! But I had good reason to. When I was 12, my classmate disappeared in the summer holidays, he’d had his life tragically ended by some horrible bastard who owned the local shop where I’d ridden my bike just like him to spend the 50p pocket money a week on one penny sweets. What made it so much worse was the fact the evil murderous bastard evaded capture for 18 months, still selling his sweets like nothing was even the matter. I can’t imagine what it was like for his parents, the whole community was left stunned but the tragic event was sadly over shadowed by the death of Princess Diana. The day after his disappearance was reported he’d been found naked and strangled in a lay-by 50 miles from the village. I will never forget that summer of 97′ for the rest of my life. From that day I spent my life fearing men I didn’t know, crossing the street if I saw a man coming towards me and having palpitations if I had to go anywhere alone in the dark. I had an irrational fear of men which is why it was so out of my character to have even agreed to meet up with ‘R’ that fateful day. I was often told I was ‘hysterical’ by my parents, granny and aunts, funny thing is though they were the most hysterical people I knew all certifiable nut jobs. I hate being labelled ‘hysterical’ and instead I like to think im just vigilant, I swear to god that being like that has actually saved my life on many occasions. I had that terrifying ‘hysterical’ feeling when I met ‘R’ but as I say, I couldn’t afford to so I’d managed to convince myself that yes I was a drama queen and often hysterical so I needed to calm my crazy thoughts and stop being so bloody dramatic. ‘Not every man is a rapist or murderer’ I would repeat in my head over and over to further convince myself.

Deep down I knew I was being groomed from the moment ‘R’ opened his mouth, he spoke utter rubbish and jabbered away at 100 miles an hour, half of which I didn’t understand due to his very strong accent but also because he was wasted. I soon realised he was a prescription pill junkie as well as an alcoholic who would often drive drunk up and down the North West’s traffic heavy motorways. Our first conversation had been about all the wonderful things he’d be able to do for me and how if we worked together and had each other’s backs then we’d be rolling in it. I wondered how a man who knew nothing about me or my back ground could be so trusting? There it is! Thats what they do! They trust you from word go so you almost automatically have to trust them and having any kind of ill feelings towards him would mean that surely your the one with the suspicious mind and you need to stop being like this! You know when those piece of shit ‘fuck-boys’ (more on my stance on fuck-boys at a later date) tell you its all in your head and that your the crazy one all the while using subtle tactics to have you believe their BS?! Yeh well ‘R’ was the same except much more dangerous and predatory, he gave me a black berry phone within minutes of meeting him and showed me how to work the phones, he rambled on about how he’d been waiting for a girl with some intelligence to come along who would be able to work with him and not for him. He seduced me in a different way, he made me feel special, like I was the chosen one, the one with class and intellect, not just another ‘working girl’. News Flash! I wasn’t special, I wasn’t better than the other girls and never surround yourselves with people who compliment you by putting others down! Thats not fair, thats competition nobody wanted to be in and is downright cruel and nasty not to mention it being one of his vile ways of luring me in and making me feel special. At the time I truly belived he’d picked me for my intelligence and the fact I had some class (yeh right), truth is he could smell my vulnerability a mile off, I wreaked of it, I was there for the taking, no parents around, no family to really intervene and no significant other to get in the way. Perfect prey.

It was about 3 weeks into the ‘job’ I’d picked things up quickly and had settled into my routine and had one hell of a repertoire that seemed to be making me and him lots of cash as well as the girls. Things were seemingly rosy, ‘R’ would call me twice a day, once in the morning before I started shift and again at the end of my shift when I would leave to return to my bedsit which i’d recently been given by a local housing charity. I felt like everything was coming together and putting up with ‘R’ was doable, I mean he hadn’t done anything since that day so this wasn’t so bad was it? Anyway, I’ve digressed like fuck but I can talk for England and as mentioned, Ive never told anyone about the hell we went through so this is verbal diarrhoea and unfortunately you guys are the splash backs. So… 3 weeks roughly into the position, I had my evening call from him and was about to leave when he asked me to stay as he was coming over. ‘R’ had been to cash and carry to buy supplies for the flat; toilet roll, condoms, towels and bin bags. I didn’t think anything of it but something in his voice had changed, I can’t tell you what exactly but his tone had become more sinister. I had been with Serena, Emily, Susie and Ashleigh all day and the bookings for Susie and Ash had been mad busy, the two younger girls were just not into it, I wondered why did they even bother when they clearly didn’t like it and I knew the likes of Emily would be the first to moan when I didn’t send any her way. When guys had been ringing for ‘teens’ Id always offer Serena because of her beauty she looked like she could have been in a vintage classy type playboy spread but she too would turn them down. Luckily Ash was also a genuine teen and so she snapped them up as she was saving for her little boys christening and in Liverpool a christening is BIG, no wait HUGE fucking deal! its all about ‘the baby’. ‘R’ knocked on, It was always me who answered the door and I could see him standing there peeping through with an arm full of Andrex and Durex!

He hurried in and gave me an awkward smile, into the open plan kitchen/lounge he marched like the Big Pimp he thought he was. He called me through and asked me to put the stuff away, I did as he asked and didn’t think about it. Susie was a in a booking in the big room with the ensuite and so the smaller double was free, he whispered to me in the kitchen “Who shall I fuck tonight then?” and he laughed. I laughed too, nervously and also in disgust (I laugh when in pain or frightened too it turns out). He then laughed again exclaiming he liked them young. He fancied the arse off Serena quite literally but with Emily you could tell he just knew he’d get what he wanted more easily though it actually seemed to turn him on when trying or forcing himself on S. ‘R’ took ‘S’s’ hand and asked if she was ok then demanded a kiss on the cheek from all the girls who obliged including me. I felt so uncomfortable and thought what a fucking prick he was but I said nothing. “I need a meeting with you Serena, come” and off he took her into the smaller bedroom. I could have left because Ash was taking the phone for the night but I wasn’t leaving until he’d come out of there with ‘S’, I knew he was taking her in there to fuck her, to force himself on her and just like me saying nothing, she’d also say nothing and do as he wished. You know when they say in books about having a ‘lump in my throat’ ? well I had it, there it was a massive fucking plum stuck there and obstructing my breathing, the thought of her having to fuck him made me sick and I felt sorry for her and yet so helpless because I realised I was frightened. I realised what I had gotten myself into that night and it put the shits up me something chronic, it was a feeling that made me want to have a bloody big drink or even a line like the one Ash had just racked up.

I declined the kind offer of the line and instead just waited in silence for the next 10 minutes until he came out. Out he came alone looking sheepish like he knew I knew, he too said nothing and just like that Id accepted his behaviour.

“Im going now, I’ll be back tomorrow, see you all then”. ‘R’ followed me down and said “I’ll take you to the station”. I explained that it was only round the corner and that it literally would be a waste of his time but he insisted and so I got in his car; a ford focus but a brand new one of course, hardly the car you imagine a pimp to drive. That was what made him get away with it for so long though, he didn’t flash his cash he looked like the everyday successful accountant but also looked like Mr.boring, Mr.Playitsafe. That hysteria came back to me as I got in wondering if Id make it home at all. The palpitations started and the lump in my throat grew. He started wittering on about the girls and the money, he said he’d been recruiting some beautiful fresh meat and they were going to be real cash cows, the radio was on and so i tried to listen to Jessie J’s ‘All about the Money’ song rather than him. Suddenly the radio switched to something else, it was girls voices and there was lots of giggling. It sounded familiar and I realised it was Susie and Ash chatting away. The look of surprise must have been showing on my pre-botoxed face big time because he laughed and looked at me like he was finding it so fucking funny. “Whats that?” I asked.

“Oh that? thats the girls in the flat right now, I bug all my apartments so I know no one is cheating me or no one is slagging me off”, and he laughed some more.

Suddenly we were outside Liverpool central station and he was saying bye to me. I didn’t hear him I’d gone momentarily deaf which seems to also be another thing I do when I’m frightened. It was then I really knew. From that moment on I feared him and he knew it.

Love Lo xxx

Repertoire; Part IV


After a couple of weeks in flat 16 Id assumed the role of maid/receptionist and without realising, pimp, I had mastered my repertoire. In the beginningI manned the phones until I went home (usually 7pm) and it seemed I was a natural on them. Men would mainly call when they wanted a booking and some would text the blackberry. ‘R’ had set the phone up so that every message coming through was visible his end too (just an added element of control) he was the most paranoid man I have ever come across. ‘R was always thinking girls were plotting against him, funny because none of them were until the day I decided to go to the police. Every message that came through to the phone and was left for longer than 5 minutes he’d text or ring me bawling down the phone and raging like a mad man! No excuse even though genuine was ever good enough and i started to get stressed pretty quickly, I cant handle people shouting at me, Ive never been able to, I go quiet, lose all concentration and then get brain fog! I felt controlled and spied upon every time I was there and it was getting to me, I felt like I was in big brother and the ridiculous money I earned was the prize.
The girls liked me pretty quickly because it seemed the Liverpool folk liked my accent meaning a lot more bookings were going through. I often got ‘do you work love?’ to which of course in the beginning I replied ‘no I don’t cheeky!’ but with enough flirtation to make them book anyway, I was good at that, talented I guess. Men would mainly ring up for the girl they’d seen on the website which was either the one ‘R’ had made or one of the well known punter sites (yes there are many that I didn’t know even existed in my naive little bubble). ‘R’ insisted in photographing the girls for the sites’ in the sleeziest cheapest outfits making them look cheap and he’d blur all their faces. That man knew how to sell girls, I used to log to be behind the camera so I could take classy black and white pics of them in vogue-esque poses but that didn’t sell he said. I soon learned blurred faces wasn’t because he was protecting his girls identity but actually so that if that particular girl wasn’t working we could do a ‘pass off’.

A ‘pass off’ happened all the time, we also advertised way more girls than we even had; we’d keep those who had left ages ago because it drummed up more business. A guy would call for ‘Taylor’ a generic slim hot young blonde but Taylor wasn’t working; we didn’t want to lose the booking so instead I was told to lie and say ”yes Taylor is here what time and how long do you want? do you have any special requests?”  Most ‘special’ requests came in the form of ”does she do A-Levels or OWO?” To which I once replied “sorry she’s doing a B-tech” Laughed at by the girls I learned that it didn’t mean they were interested in her academic ability and that A-levels actually meant does she offer anal!!?  Serena and I still laugh hard at this little faux pas, shocking I know but hey I’m just telling you like it was.  Good ole’ Urban dictionary came to my rescue many times and I found out OWO meant ‘oral with-out’, meaning will the girl give a blowey with no condom on?… yuk! In my head I thought fuck off you dirty feral bastard course she wont! I was shocked that actually they all did; they all charged a measly extra £20 on top of the booking fee! I couldn’t bloody believe it but then I knew nothing, nothing at all. Horrible.

Back to pass-offs; a guy would ring for a particular girl but she wasn’t on duty or maybe had buggered off a long time ago never to return. ‘R’ had told me to save every single clients number for safety purposes (yeh right) but to also know who was a time waster too (many of them) and I’d save their number in the phone as ‘John: Busty brunettes-Susie’.This way when John who’d last seen Susie and liked big tits rang up again I knew I what he’d want so would be able to secure a booking for her or a similar girl, this wasn’t a pass-off this was a standard name save. If it was a pass-off this meant that their number would be stored as ‘John: Ashleigh as Taylor’ so stupid unsuspecting John would think he’d seen Taylor but he’d actually seen Ash and so when he rang again asking for Taylor I’d know to give him Ash and present it was Taylor. Pass-offs happened ALL the time, it never became a problem and even if the guys did work it out when they got there which honestly wasn’t often then they were always too horny to care! Its true what they say , a standing prick has no conscience and doesn’t know any better! There were thousands of numbers on that phone which the police couldn’t quite believe after I had handed it in probably not surprising to them that a few of them belonged to some of their own.

I answered the phone with my normal voice, I didn’t think to put one on but I was lucky that they liked it. As I say I’ve always been told I have a nice voice even by women but it actually pains me to hear any recording of my voice as I sound like an obnoxious teenager. They’d ring and ask for the girl, 90% of bookings were made for 30 mins or 1 hour and sometimes they would extend but this only tended to happen on weekends when men were drunk or coked up. 1 hour was £150 and 30 mins was £90 any extras were at the girls discretion and rightfully she kept all the money for that. 35% of the money the girl had to pay in ‘fees’ e.g. Pay her pimp a fat wedge, infuriating. On a bad day 10 bookings would go through and on a good day we could do up to 50 with both Liverpool and Manchester. I was able to do bookings for girls in Manchester too from the one phone. Once a booking was confirmed, I would BBM it or text it to the girl. Often I’d just tell the girl who would already be waiting in the apartment ready for a day of fucking. I liked it when the girls were in the apartment as I often felt frightened when alone or when it was just a couple of us, unless it was Susie for some reason she made me feel safe. ‘R’ also insisted ALL bookings went through on a BBM channel he had set up so that he could see his money rolling in and then work out with his accountants brain how much he was banking. Actually it was me who physically banked his cash into his Halifax account down on bold street twice a week, I often wondered if they ever suspected anything.

Bookings on the BBM channel would go as follows ‘Serena, 30mins in-call @£90 Trevor regular, pls confirm’. I would wait for them to text confirmed and then ‘R’ would see that too. Girls didn’t mind doing in-calls which meant men came to the apartment but it was hard graft getting them to go on outcalls for various reasons and I deffo didn’t blame them there. We had some fab outcall clients quite a lot of them being rich international students or business men ordering girls to their fancy hotels but we also had some friggin nutters too. Hotels could be tricky, some girls would be turned away with the staff knowing exactly what they were really there for. Outcalls to homes I didn’t like the girls doing either, it’s a whole new ball game; girls going to punters houses on the punters turf where they are comfortable… that made me anxious beyond belief. In the back of my mind every time I gave a girl a booking I’d hold my breath until they were ‘out’.

We had no security at the apartment ever and that made me feel on edge though ‘R’ always told me I was being ridiculous… a couple of months later Ash was held at gun point by a cheeky chancer who knew it was a knocking shop with a lot of money on site. Turned out the guy had a fake gun, but you don’t really know when your frozen in terror. Instead we had made our own safety instructions. Every time a girl went into a booking she would text ‘in’ (I must say I found that part hilariously ironic because Im crude af) when they left they texted me ‘out’  and that applied for both incalls and outcalls. ‘R’ only nosed in on this because he wanted to know if girls bookings got extended or not and if so he wasn’t going to miss getting his fee for the extension too. Everything he did was about money and with money you have power no matter what anyone tells you, I believe ‘R’ got off on the fact he ran girls and made money from them and not necessarily because he wanted to fuck his girls.

Hope you enjoyed this one, more juicy, hard-hitting, straight-talking shit in the next part! Stay tuned lovelies! xxxx

Love Lo xxx

Part III ; The girls

‘We were like the girls from ‘Annie’; a slew of misfits, orphans and outcasts, with nowhere else to go, waiting for someone to save us. ‘R’, well he was too like a character from the beloved musical, he was like some fucked up ‘Miss Hannigan’ – Lauryn, 2017.

So, you already know how fond I was of Hungarian Susie, the kindest ‘take no shit’ woman in the industry, whom I met during my time at Flat 16 when working for ‘R’. Ive also briefly introduced you to ‘Brandy’ who, as mentioned, I had little love for. She was the first girl I ever met in the apartment, and was just next door at the moment he sexually assaulted me during my ‘interview’. Brandy was tall, thin and always on edge, which in turn made me on edge, and thats not cool because I’m a bloody anxious mess on my good days! She never wanted conversation, wasn’t interested in anything other than smoking, shagging and doing speed. In hindsight, she was a sad girl, who probably needed some love and kindness directed her way but she had demeanour that said “I’m not here to make friends so don’t fucking speak to me”. She got what she wanted because from the first meeting I barely spoke to her, unless it was to give her a booking and in all honesty, she didn’t get many. She would have been pretty, had she not abused her body and let her body be abused in ways which made her appear harsh and cold, she looked like the kind of girl who fucked them like a robotic doll then told them to get the fuck out (not that I’d blame her if she did). She put up no façade, she was a ‘wham bam, thank you Mam” kind of woman.


One of the main reasons I ended up disliking Brandy was because she was the only girl in the lounge alone with my handbag for all of 2 minutes, I came back from the toilet to find her gone and £750 missing out my purse, I never saw either again. The rage I felt towards her the moment I found out she had done a runner with my hard earned cash was overwhelming, I am naturally passive and HATE confrontation, in fact Ima pussy bitch and always admired those who know how to handle themselves, but I’d have definitely knocked the girl out if I had caught her. Brandy didn’t care, she was scum in my eyes and she didn’t give a shit about what I’d done for that money (I will talk about that in a later post), at the time I took it personally and now I realise that an addict will steal from their own bloody Grandma, so why the fuck would she consider me?! My entire life I have always been told when upset to ‘harden up girl, the world is not nice and you have to face that’, true but I don’t have to accept it. I later learned Brandy’s own boyfriend was abusive, had got her on the drugs and ruled her life, he’d send her out to ‘work’ then once she’d earned enough she’d piss of back to the Wirral and spend nights in seedy boozers in Birkenhead, feeding the pairs drug habit. Tragic.

Two girls started at around the same time as I did; Serena and Emily, so naturally we stuck together, I felt a sense of duty to look after them as they were both only 18 (later I learned during the police investigation they were not 18 when starting). Baby faced petite, pretty girls from Manchester, I had wondered how the hell they had ended up in a place such as this, I mean I knew why I had, but these were girls who still had families who wondered where they were? Like why, what drove them to debase themselves this way?

Emily looked about 16 and had a chubby but pretty face, she was very flighty and often seemed agitated, I definitely think now looking back that she had a cocaine habit, as she was always gurning and always had residue of white powder dried round her lips. Emily was always on the phone to ‘R’ and seemed like his favourite girl, I asked her how she had got the job and whether she came into the job wanting to work as a call girl, she seemed very distressed when I would ask her so I didn’t press her. Emily was also a nightmare and I soon quickly realised she was just a wayward teen, her mum totally oblivious to her daughters behaviour and whereabouts; the perfect type of girl ‘R’ could groom. I remember Emily having a rich client who had come to Liverpool for the Labour party convention, he’d asked me on the phone when making the booking to order him 5 grams of cocaine as well as asking for ‘the youngest girl you have and she has to be ok with abusing me’. I felt disgusted and shocked and thought in my head ‘mate I’ll abuse you for free, you fucking scum bag’, after his booking with Emily, she came out high as hell and clutching wads of cash laughing and looking like that crazed ‘Annabelle’ doll, boasting she’d robbed him and he better not say anything as she took a picture of him on her phone…Christ. Emily was troubled and she was trouble. She made me feel uneasy, let’s face it ALL of us were troubled, even No Shit Susie, but there were different types of troubled and I think she was often psychotic, highly intelligent I’d say, but clearly being abused by ‘R’ in other ways I didn’t see at the beginning. She would, like most girls, come and earn some cash and then disappear, only reappearing when she was skint again; this was a cycle for most apart from me, Susie and Ashleigh.

Serena was our designate “English Rose”. Beautiful, intelligent, porcelain skin with the most fabulous figure (she walked around in next to nothing most of the time). She was the same age as Emily, but she had a nice energy, she was sweet and I liked her a lot. I still do. Serena was a terrible escort, she would moan, refuse bookings if she wasn’t in the mood and often got bawled at by ‘R’ down the phone. Looking back, I can see why, ‘R’ would often pick her out and take her for a “meeting” the minute she arrived. No guesses to what went on there. Serena had been estranged from her Mum since she was 16. She found herself in a position of working two jobs and no way to study. She wanted money to escape her miserable life with her mum so would eventually and reluctantly do jobs. She came back every weekend from March-December, until the day I sent her away and told her to never come back. Serena’s mum was psychotic, so no wonder she’d been vulnerable and perfect prey for ‘R’, he was so good at getting these vulnerable girls because he’s an evil predator and I just couldn’t see it clearly in the beginning, I thought it, of course but told myself I was being dramatic, that this was probably normal and my sheltered childhood in Norfolk riding ponies and spending my summers hanging out at the beach with friends, was so far removed from the concrete jungles of Manchester, that I was probably thinking he was much worse than he really was, because like everyone had always told me, I needed to harden the hell up. This was how the sex working world worked, right?


Serena was the only girl along with Penny who spoke up to the police after I went, they stood up and spoke out when the others refused and didn’t want to know. There’s a code of silence that I was naive to, I believed that bad people should be reported and never understood why people were reluctant to go to the police, when they are there to help us; I now know why the code exists, my experience taught me that largely, they are incompetent, and vulnerable women are still being failed and badly. Then they wonder why crimes are unreported? Liverpool has the third highest murder rates in the country for sex-workers, after London and Glasgow. Sadly, this stigma around sex-workers often means that authorities don’t take violence against sex workers as seriously as they would when dealing with non-sex workers who are attacked/murdered/raped. In our case I truly believe that the we were all groomed just like those in Rochdale and Rotherham.

Ashleigh, a blonde bombshell, tall, athletic, generically beautiful with a gorgeous smile and dimples like Cheryl Cole. She was as scouse as they come and had come from a very poor area of Liverpool. Ashleigh was a single mum and by god she was a good mum, he was her life. Ash’ would get loads of bookings and her family had found out about what she was doing which resulted in her dad’s girlfriend doing a brief stint at the flat! She along with Serena and Emily was one of the girls that ‘R’ abused and forced himself regularly on for his own pleasure. I liked Ash but she was unpredictable, she was only young, 19 at the time I met her, she thought she knew it all but she had no idea and she too ended up surviving on coke to get her through the dark times. Ash could easily make 1k in a couple of days and she was asked for a lot. Ash had many problems with her family, they took the piss out of her, she funded them and in a way, was like me, trying to save her family from poverty just totally different scales and circumstances. At one point, Ash had got into trouble in town and had been drunk, swilled a door man and ended up on electronic tag and no shit her bookings went through the roof! That electronic tag was a badge of honour and all the rich well to do business men flocked being turned on by a hot criminal who sells sex. Ash suffered a lot at the hands of ‘R’ and I witnessed it, he did things to her that made her spend an hour crying in the bathroom where I tried to console her whilst feeling guilty that I hadn’t entered that room and twatted him around the back of his head to get him off her. For that I can never forgive myself.

Lastly I’ll introduce you briefly to Bex the Norwegian, Penny and Lolly. Of course, there were many other girls but these girls left the greatest impressions. Penny was hilarious and kind but smoked 60 a day! She literally left the couch to shag or go and buy more fags, but she was funny and I enjoyed her company, plus she backed me up with the police. Penny, you are a fucking star and for what you did I will always love you! Penny was also like a 45-year-old in a 22 year olds body, she reminded me of Deirdre from Coronation street too, it might have been the smoking and the accent 😉

Norwegian Bex was a very odd girl but I liked her, she’d come to the UK to study and get a job however had somehow answered one of ‘R’s’ dodgy adverts for a job promising the earth and that was her doomed. Bex was filthy and I wondered if this was because she was more relaxed about sex and wondered if it was because she was ‘european’, you often hear ‘them europeans are kinky fuckers’ so I figured she fit the bill. Bex started out rather normal but filthy, then she got involved like we all did in the coke and ive never seen it ruin someone so quickly like it did her. She became a total mess and ‘R’ used her to open another ‘brothel’ in the city but promised her the apartment was hers so long as she was ok with it being used as a whore house. During the police investigation, we later found out ‘R’ had bugged ALL apartments including his manchester ones, and when Bex had told me I thought she was just paranoid; she was right. ‘R’ forged payslips and created bogus documents to get her into the apartment, it suited him too, as his name wasn’t attached to it. Bex knew I went to the police and waited to hand over crucial evidence at her apartment to the police, but they never came as they didn’t take it seriously back then. She waited only for so long til she rang me and said “I’m off now back to Norway to sort my life out”. I hope she did.

Finally, we have Lolly, who turned out to be 15. This information sent me over the edge and cemented it in my mind that I was going to report ‘R’. How the fuck and where the fuck he found these girls he groomed, I didn’t know then, I do now but after finding out her age when she accidentally slipped it out, made me physically sick. I had been unwittingly selling her over the phone and she had been super popular advertised as a ‘fresh tight teen’ urgh he made me sick he really did. I have no problem with porn or the sex industry, when women are empowered, protected and are at least 21 years old, but escorting and sex work like this gets to even the soundest mind and strongest woman. Lolly was the not the only underage girl we’d had in fact it turned out there were many and when I confronted ‘R’ about this he laughed and said ‘the younger the better, give the men what they want’. Lolly looked young and I had questioned her age prior to me finding out but I was told ‘of course she is of age’ ‘R’ made girls fake ID’s too and had presented me with a copy of her passport.

I remember ALL the girls who i met during that time but these are who I worked with the most or they happened to leave the impressions and I still think about them all today hoping they are happy and living well.

Stay tuned for Part 4 next week

Love Lo xx