Due to the sensitive nature of this topic, the author chooses to remain anonymous. Some details were changed.
I’m not sure where I was born, but I do know that ethnically I’m Korean. I was adopted in a very rural area when I was two years old. My foster parents were a pair of middle-aged redneck Caucasians. The story of a sex slave doesn’t always begin with a kidnapping and drugs. It can just as well be done by manipulation and love.
I remember I loved my foster parents. So I trusted them when they told me I was going to meet a couple friends of theirs at a party. I was probably 4 or 5 at the time.
They told me that the “friends” I would meet would “make me feel good” by touching me in certain places, and I remember I believed them when they said it. I remember feeling very weird when an older gentleman started touching me outside of my underwear. It wasn’t necessarily a bad sensation. I didn’t feel hurt by it. I did feel awkward and weird, but being so young I didn’t really know what to think about it. They told me that these older men were “special doctors” that could make me better. That I had a sickness that other kids didn’t have so I couldn’t tell anyone about these special sessions.
This continued for several years. In retrospect, as an adult, I know that my parents were getting paid quite a bit for each of these “sessions.” I had been sold as a sex slave by my own parents.
It was all to fund their drug addiction. I recall seeing bags of cocaine and weed hidden in various spots in my parents bedroom.
And I didn’t think anything of it at all. I seriously thought I was just getting regular “checkups” by the “special doctor.” It wasn’t until around the 2nd or 3rd grade that I realized that the checkups were actually sexual in nature. My discovery came from talking about it with a boy in my class who had heard about sex. In my mind, though, I still never thought anything was “bad” yet.
But then my parents’ “business” went online. There were many avenues for my parents to advertise my services. They told me that now I had to speak to an “online doctor” to get checkups. I found out years later that the fetish for young Asian girls is very lucrative. In general I would start webcamming with an older gentleman, generally Caucasian. By around 10, I lashed out at my mom because I was embarrassed about showing my vagina to strange White men.
That’s when things got really scary.
My parents both had alcohol and drug problems, and in a rage they hit me and locked me up in a small storage basement. My mom also pulled out a kitchen knife. I remember hearing things like, “You inconsiderate brat. You worthless daughter.” I legitimately thought my mom was going to kill me that night. I was in that small dark storage closet just bawling my eyes out, and at one point I thought I was going to die from the lack of air.
Keep in mind that up to this point I actually never felt in danger, just awkward and weirded out.
After a few hours, my mom let me out of the closet. She cried and said I needed to keep doing this so they could have enough money to survive. I think she kind of regretted punishing me, but she wanted to try a different angle to get me to continue to be her sex slave. My father wasn’t in the room while this was happening. In many ways I think my father was less to blame than my mom, but he sort of complied with the whole thing because he also needed the money.
During this whole time I was still kept in school. After the incident I contemplated telling my school counselor. My parents were careful so I didn’t have any markings on my body that would lead anyone to believe that I was beaten. I was so embarrassed by the whole thing, but I finally mustered up the courage to tell my counselor.
It was unfortunate that my counselor happened to be probably one of the dumbest people in the world, and she did the stupidest thing anyone could do. She told my parents that I had talked to her instead of reaching out to the child protective services to get me out of that situation.
Of course, my parents weaseled their way out of it somehow by saying I was an over imaginative kid that had watched too many movies. That I was lashing out because I was mad at them so I was trying to get them in trouble. As a grown woman now I sometimes still get enraged about how stupid that counselor was.
That night I was locked in the same closet for the whole night. Again I believed I would die that night.
That’s how these things get covered up so well. My parents, on the outside, seemed like a very normal family. I was a great student that didn’t have any character flaws. My parents made me study and get good grades. No ONE believes that the straight A student with seemingly “normal” parents would be a victim of human trafficking.
The mental abuse I suffered caused me to never want to tell anyone else anything about the incident. Especially after I felt so betrayed by the counselor. So I never reached out to anyone again about it.
The next stage of my life was horrifying.
When I was 13, my parents forced me into straight child prostitution. That was the first time I actually had real sex with any man. Up till then it was just webcamming, fondling, and molestation. I pretty much had given up on defying my parents.
Around 16 I was having sex with a gentleman who said that he “fell in love with me.” He told me he was going to take me away from this place. My parents agreed to let him take me, for a fee of course. For the sake of this article let’s call this man Mr. Smith.
At first it wasn’t all that bad (do you see a cycle here…)? He bought me tons of things clothes, food, and a cell phone.
Turns out he was the owner of a ring of massage parlors, and I was put to work there shortly. It was pure manipulation. He told me it was good money (and it was), and that I could “earn” my living here. My view of the world was so warped that I thought that what I was doing was normal. And I won’t lie, I actually felt better here than at home so I kept on doing it without complaining. The other workers were pretty nice to me and so was mama-san, a lady he had hired to manage the massage parlor I was shipped to. This was also the first time I actually earned my own money since previously it was my parents who had pocketed everything I had earned them. All in all I felt that I was in a much better situation.
I never actually felt any hatred towards the Johns that would come in and pay me for sex. Not even the disgusting ones. Most of them treated me very well and I even made friends with a few clients. I had a sense of gratitude towards these men — they were the ones who helped me sustain my lifestyle (which is messed up, I know). Smith was also pretty much a perfect gentleman to me. Like I said I didn’t really think of him as a guy who forced me into prostitution. I thanked him for taking me away from my parents and giving me more freedom. Because of that I had a lot of respect for him and admired him in a way. I even had thought of him as my boyfriend.
One night I was beaten badly by him after we had a major disagreement. He took a lot of different drugs that night. I was bruised quite a bit all over my face and my body. Imagine a tall, 6’2” buff White guy hitting a tiny 100 pound 5’ 1” Asian girl. I was being used as a punching bag. After a few hits I blacked out and woke up at the hospital. My ribs had been broken. My face was completely swollen and I couldn’t see out of one of my eyes. Like the event with my mom, this beating felt like it came out of nowhere. I had once seen him slap another massage parlor worker, but that was it. There was never a moment where anyone got seriously hurt until me. That night I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I had a little bit of savings so I started living out of cheap, shady motels.
You may wonder why I never talked to the police. Well as a sex worker, you sort of lose that option. Your credibility goes out the window. Not to mention I was high off of many drugs. Going to court or pressing charges would’ve be a losing battle.
That money started running out, and I was desperately trying to fund my cocaine addiction. I began prostitution again after I wasn’t able to find a legitimate job. The good part was now I was in control without a pimp. Backpage was a great resource, and I was making upwards of $2,000 per week and sometimes more if I needed more money. Most of it went to drugs.
You might think there’s some kind of happy ending to this story, but there isn’t. Unfortunately, I’m not completely out of the sex worker lifestyle, but now I’m exclusively a webcam model and do not escort. Am I bitter about my life? Not really. It was a terrible experience but I survived it. Yes I admit that I am probably very messed up in the head, but the more important thing is that I’m still alive.
I wanted to share my story to show the perspective that not many people have. A very large amount of sex workers like me were forced into it and continue to do it because we have to survive. I actually had great grades in school (up to the 10th grade), and I could have possibly been a marine biologist or veterinarian. I could have gone to college. I loved writing and science.
I also wanted to share the statistics on human trafficking for children because I think this is something that we can help prevent. Human trafficking is a very profitable business, even in the United States. I want to let other kids know that they CAN reach out and that there is a way for them to get real help, even when their loving family are the ones who are abusing them. I’m hoping to help put this issue in the limelight and help others in need.
If my story resonated with you, please share it on your social media to raise awareness of an issue that always seems to be taken lightly.
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Written by Editorial Staff