Tag Archives: paedophilia

Book Review: Sarah’s Story By Sarah Preston

Book Review: SARAH’S STORY BY SARAH PRESTON (http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0072HUZXQ/ref=pe_385721_48721101_TE_M1T1DP)

This is a true story of the horrific abuse of a young child by a paedophile. Sarah comes from a troubled background. Her mother is addicted to bingo and frequently takes her daughter, Sarah to the bingo hall when she should be attending school. Sarah’s mother has a scheme (scam) going with the bingo caller, Bill which allows her to win once or twice a week. The winnings are then split between Sarah’s mother and Bill.

One day Bill asks whether Sarah can help him prepare sanwitches. Sarah does not like Bill (a very perceptive child) but despite her reluctance to assist him Sarah’s mother pressures her into doing so. Over time Sarah is taken to Bill’s flat (the first time the excuse is that he has forgotten a cheque book). On the first visit Bill touches the 11-year-old Sarah inappropriately but on subsequent visits he rapes her.

The book is extremely well written and makes for harrowing reading. It is heart breaking to read how Sarah tries to pluck up courage to tell her parents about the abuse but due to Bill’s threat that no one will believe her she never does so.

The marriage of Sarah’s parents breaks down and her mother leaves home. Following this Sarah’s father who should have protected her begins to abuse his daughter. The abuse stops following Sarah’s mother’s return to the family home but, unsurprisingly the relationship between Sarah and her father can never be the same again.

Eventually, at the age of 14 Sarah stands up to Bill telling him that she will report him to the police if he continues to abuse her. Breathtakingly he responds that he thought Sarah liked it but seeing that she is determined not to be abused any more he takes her home and the abusive behaviour ceases.

Sarah has been happily married for many years but her traumatic experiences make her suspicious of strangers. She is suspicious when her young son says how he likes a particular teacher and asks whether the man has touched him. Her confused son confirms that he is just a good teacher and Sarah’s mind is set at rest.

I would highly recommend this true account of the horrendous abuse of a young child.

The Paedophile

The girl appeared to be totally relaxed as she lounged back in the straight backed wooden chair. Absently she twirled a strand of her long blonde hair around the little finger of her right hand. The girl’s right foot tapped on the chair leg in time with the beat of the pop tune which she hummed quietly to herself. Inspector Ruth Jones was puzzled. In her lenghthy career in London’s Metropolitan Police she had come across many victims of paedophilia. Ruth had witnessed varied reactions but the behaviour of this 14-year-old girl was bizarre in the extreme. Looking into the girl’s face Ruth perceived only tranquillity. Louisa Jenkins appeared totally at ease with herself. Ruth wondered what the psychologist would make of the girl.

“Louisa I’m Inspector Ruth Jenkins but you can call me Ruth and this is Sergeant Mary O’connor but just call her Mary. Would you like a drink or something to eat?”

“No thanks, I don’t need anything”.

“Louisa do you know why you are here?”

“No” Louisa said with a beautiful smile.

Louisa’s smile unnerved the two policewomen. They exchanged covert glances. Something was very wrong here.

“Louisa I need to ask you some questions about Michael Johnson, the man we found you with”.


“We want to understand about your relationship with Michael. Can you tell us about that?”

Louisa looked perplexed.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand”.

The Inspector spoke very gently

“Louisa when we broke into Michael’s house we found the two of you in bed together. Michael is 50 and you are only 14-years-old. It isn’t allowed for adults to have sex with children. You are a little girl and we want to protect you from harm. Can you tell us how you came to know Michael and how long you have known him for?”

“Always. I have always been his”.

The girl’s words sent a shiver down the spines of the two police women.

“What do you mean Louisa?”

“I have only ever known Michael. He is my love, my world”.

The Inspector tried a change of tack.

“When did you first meet Michael?”

“I told you, I have always known him”.

“Do you mean that you can’t remember when you first met him?”

“I am Michael’s. I have always been his Louisa”.

“What do you mean Louisa?”

“I am Michael’s girlfriend. His only love it has always been so. It is unalterable”.

“Louisa where did you live before you met Michael?”

“I have always been his. He is my only love” Louisa repeated patiently.

The Inspector’s head was spinning. Desperately she tried another line of enquiry.

“Can you tell me about your parents Louisa?”

“My parents?”

“Yes, where do they live? What are their names?”

“Michael is my everything. He is my dad, my lover, my reason for existing”.

Ruth opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted in her intention by a knock on the door.

“Come in”.

Constable Maureen Sykes entered.

“Sorry to interrupt but there is a Professor Mills asking for you” she said addressing Ruth.

“Maureen I told you that I was, under no circumstances to be disturbed” Ruth said her face clouding over.

“I’m very sorry but he was very insistent. He said that it is regarding the current case” the constable said glancing in the direction of Louisa.

The Inspector sighed.

“Louisa I need to leave the room for a few minutes. Mary will look after you”.

“Where is he?” Ruth said as she closed the door of the interview room behind her.

“I put him in your office Mam” Maureen replied.

Ruth strode into her office. An elderly white haired man, a pair of reading glasses precariously balanced on his nose rose stretching out his hand.

“I’m sorry to disturb you but there has been a terrible misunderstanding. I understand that you have one of my patients, Michael and his therapist with you?”


“I lead the Paedophile Management Unit. We are responsible for managing child sex offenders when they are released back into the community”.

“I know what the unit does and quite frankly Professor you are doing a lousy job. Michael was found in bed with a 14-year-old girl earlier today. We where alerted by a tip off from a concerned neighbour and when we broke down the door there he was, not a care in the world in bed with the kid”.

The Professor put his head into his hands.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. We deliberately chose the property due to it being so isolated and some nosy  neighbour wrecks the experiment!”

“Are you saying that you deliberately placed a 14-year-old girl in the company of a known paedophile? If so you should be arrested! Christ I’ve never heard anything like it in all my born days!”

“Let me explain. This must go no further, you understand?”

“I’ll be the judge of that” Ruth said.

“Look Inspector this work has the backing of the Home Secretary. The clearances go right to the very top”.

“Go on Ruth said.

“The problem with paedophilia is that most (if not all) offenders have a compulsion to reoffend when they are released into the community. Drugs and monitoring are of limited success”.

“I know all this” Ruth said impatiently.

The Professor continued seemingly unperturbed by Ruth’s interruption.

“Do you know anything about the science of robotics Inspector?”

“What the hell is this Professor? I don’t have the time to play silly buggers!”

“Have you heard of the Turing Test?”

“Yes the idea that if a machine could fool a human being into believing that they are communicating with a person rather than a computer then artificial intelligence would have been achieved, but what has this got to do with the matter in hand?”

“Well for some time now I have had the idea of producing an artificial child so that paedophiles can indulge their behaviour without endangering the community and, in particular children. Louisa is the prototype of a machine which will, I hope revolutionise the management of paedophiles in the community”.

Ruth stood gaping at the Professor with her mouth open. Surely it wasn’t possible. However the robotic answers of Louisa coupled with her apparent lack of trauma served to convince her of the veracity of the professor’s words.

“Surely the science isn’t advanced enough to produce child substitutes convincing enough to satisfy the average pervert?”

“Tell me how does Louisa come across?”

“Now I know the facts she comes across as what she is, a robot. Her answers where somewhat wooden”.

“Yes indeed. However Louisa is only a prototype. As the science develops we will produce ever more convincing child substitutes. It’s brilliant. It prevents harm to real children and from the perspective of the Treasury it saves money. As you know keeping offenders locked up is very expensive while a robot lasts for years and once they go into mass production the cost of manufacturing will decrease dramatically”.

“But what if some paedophiles want the real thing? What if they get bored with the substitute?”

“I hope that won’t happen but who knows” the professor said shrugging his shoulders. “Now can I have Michael and Louisa back please?”

Book Review: Lucky Girl How I survived The Sex Industry By Violet Ivy

Several weeks ago I was approached by Violet Ivy with a request to review her book, “Lucky Girl – How I Survived The Sex Industry” (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lucky-Girl-How-Survived-Industry/dp/1621419959). Being interested in the subject of Violet’s book I readily agreed. I should add that I received a free electronic copy of “Lucky Girl – How I Survived The Sex Industry” from the author.

The book is a roller coaster ride through Violet’s career as a professional escort or call girl. Coming from a small rural community in Australia the author left to attend university in the big city. At first she works in a bar but loses her job due to providing free drinks to her then boyfriend Toby (she was going to pay for them later but the bar manager still sacked her). Lack of money leads to Violet becoming a topless barmaid in a seedy establishment where she endures the stares of men who regard her as meat (a sex object to be enjoyed). She later graduates to stripping and, from there to escorting (I.E. high class prostitution).

The title “Lucky Girl” derives from Violet having made a great deal of money in the sex industry (she owns several properties and has made many friends including fellow working girls and some clients). However Violet is not always Lucky. On one occasion she is confronted by a madman in a Vegas brothel. There is no panic button in the room so Violet’s only option is to flee into the communal area and summon help. On another occasion she feels physically ill when acting out the paedophile fantasy of a banker in London. Her client gets aroused by her pretending to be a very young schoolgirl and in order to make money Violet must play along much against her own conscience (there is a school near to the client’s home and as she leaves Violet prays for the safety of the children and their parents).

Other stories are rather touching such as the client who has never had sex before. Violet takes great care to ensure that his experience is a positive one and extends the booking without charging the customer any extra. As a consequence he leaves satisfied with a smile on his face. On the one level the incident is deeply moving, however I couldn’t help feeling that it was a pitty that this man’s first experience of intimacy was with a working girl rather than with a girlfriend or at least in a one night stand situation in which the exchange of money is not involved. However we don’t live in an ideal world and I for one don’t feel in a position to judge either Violet or her clients. At least the customer had an enjoyable experience in a consensual albeit paying situation.

From time to time Violet touches on the ethics of prostitution. On the one hand she argues that it is better for a man who’s wife is no longer interested in sex to obtain release through a prostitute rather than via an affair (he may still love his wife and a connection with a prostitute is uncomplicated unlike the messiness which stems from affairs), however on the other hand Violet admits that she would be upset where a partner of her’s to see a prostitute.

One of the parts of the book which moved me most was Violet’s description of her love for Derek. They where on the point of marriage but on finding out via accidentally coming across a contact for a sex establishment on Violet’s phone that she is a working girl Derek very gently breaks off the relationship. Heart rending for both parties.

There is so much more that I could say about this book. For example the discussions between Violet and her best female friend regarding prostitution (the friend dates well-to-do men and accepts expensive gifts from them, however she is not paid for sex as such. Violet asks whether there is such a big gulf between her and the friend – a very interesting question)?

I’d wholeheartedly recommend this well written and very interesting book.



An Act of Madness Part 5

Below is the final part of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 4 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-4/.


Ian woke to the sound of the dawn chorus. Even in the heart of Brixton the birds sing, Ian thought. For a few moments he was at peace listening to the sound of many birds singing fit to burst. All to soon the recollections of the previous evening’s debauchery came flooding back. He turned to see Lisa one arm around that beloved bear and the other draped over Angel. Despite being only 13 Lisa had attempted to protect Angel from Ian’s drug and alcohol fuelled lust. It had, of course been useless. Ian had struck Lisa a crushing blow across the face sending the girl flying across the room. As Lisa lay dazed on the floor Ian had raped Angel while she watched helplessly. Lisa’s face was deeply scarred where Ian’s ring had sliced into her cheek. Both girls face’s showed signs of dried tears mixed with the blood which Ian had drawn during his animal rage.

Ian turned away. He couldn’t look anymore. Getting out of bed he dressed quickly, opened the bedroom door and headed for the stairs. This time there was no Tom to detain him at the front door. Ian pulled back the heavy bolts and stepped out into the cool morning air. The birds still sang but Ian did not hear them. His thoughts where dark, no joy filled his soul.

“God, god what have I done? What have I done?”

Ian wandered aimlessly for over an hour. He wasn’t conscious of having been aiming for Brixton Tube, however, looking up he found himself outside. He entered, bought a ticket from the ticket machine and headed for the Victoria line.

The platform was relatively empty as at just after 6 am the morning rush hour had not yet begun in earnest.

Ian stood close to the yellow line, the point of safety which the public should not cross when trains are approaching. He felt nothing, absolutely empty. His life was meaningless. Looking into the future Ian saw more young lives blighted by him, scores of children stretching forward all brought to the depths of depravity due to his selfish desires.

A tube approached.

“Stand back, stand behind the yellow line” the underground official on the platform yelled at Ian.

“Sweet Jesus he’s jumped” could be heard over the radios carried by his colleagues.

It is often said that people who jump in front of trains frequently  don’t die immediately. Rather they linger on in agony, sometimes for days before merciful death relieves them of their sufferings. Others do survive but with severe disabilities. In Ian’s case it was quick. The wheels of the train cut him in half. There was a moment of acute agony, a pearcing scream and then what had been the essence of Ian was snuffed out, forever.

An Act of Madness Part 4

Below is Part 4 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 3 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-3/.


Ian felt that sense of forboding which often afflicts one before the breaking of a powerful thunder storm. He craved yet feared the coming of the thunder and lightening. His temples throbbed and he needed release but how and when that deliverance would come Ian did not know but the thought of it thrilled and scared him half to death in equal measure.

The pent up sexual frustration churned around inside Ian struggling to get out. He became careless. Ian had long regarded Anna, the teenage daughter of the Browns who ran his local news agents as material for his fantasising about teen girls. At 14 Anna was tall, slim and blonde. She stood not quite on the cusp of womanhood and this state of becoming drove Ian wild with desire.

One morning as Anna pushed The Guardian through his letter box Ian, to her great surprise opened the door.

“Morning Anna. It is a beautiful sunny day. You must be hot, would you like to come in for a drink?”

It was indeed a baking hot summer’s day and Anna hesitated before answering

“No thanks Mr Right. I have water with me but thanks for asking”, then with a smile and a waive Anna turned and headed for the next flat.

Once the door closed Ian stood shaking uncontrollably in the hallway. He knew that had Anna accepted his invitation to come in and have a drink that he would have offered her the £50 he had in his wallet for sex. Had he done that Ian knew that Anna’s reaction would, almost certainly have been to run straight home and report

“that filthy pervert from number 5) to her parents. The police and possible imprisonment would have been the almost inevitable result.

“Thank Christ that she didn’t come in” Ian muttered.

It would, he thought be far safer to call Tom who could provide a young girl to cater to his needs with minimum risk of discovery. If he didn’t call Tom then Ian knew that sooner or later he would do something which would lead to him getting caught.

Ian wondered whether the number he had for Tom would still work. He guessed that people like Tom changed their numbers and location frequently to keep one step ahead of the authorities. It had been almost six weeks since he had visited that hovel in Brixton so it was quite possible that Tom (or whatever his real name was) would have long since moved on. There was only one way to find out. With a trembling hand Ian picked up his mobile and located Tom in his contacts. His finger froze on the call buttond. It was so easy to make that call and so simple to delete the number. Yes he would delete the number and seek counselling for his addiction. Obviously he wouldn’t tell his counsellor that he had sexually abused a child (they would be obliged to inform the police). He would, however confess to a liking for young girls and do whatever was necessary to co-operate with the counsellor in tackling his perversion. But no, he was beyond redemption. Once a paedophile always a paedophile. Slowly, almost imperceptibly Ian’s finger pressed down on the call button.


“Is that Tom?”


“Its Ian not sure if you remember?”

“I thought that you had forgotten old Tom! I’ve something very special for you. Two girls, one you saw before, Lisa and the other, Angel. Angel’s petite and black. Real cute. You’ll like her. I like you man. You can have both girls for £600”.

Ian’s hand was trembling so much that he almost dropped the mobile.

“Are you there man?”


“Wanna come over?”

“OK, is it the same place?”

“Yeah, see you in half an hour?”

“No, say an hour”

“OK man, see you then. You will love Angel, Tom don’t provide no rubbish”.



Ian sat on the top deck of the bus as it wended it’s way towards Brixton. Looking out of the window he saw a park full of bright flowers. The reds, purples and whites combined to make a magnificent floral display. Someone rang the bell. Ian half rose from his seat,he was tempted to get off the bus, forget about Tom and spend the day walking in beautiful parkland. His groin twitched at the prospect of the two young girls Tom had waiting for him. With a wistful look back at the now receeding park Ian returned to his seat.

An Act of Madness Part 3

Below is Part 3 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 2 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-2/.


For several weeks following his rape of the 13-year-old Ian dare not turn on his computer. He knew that, for him the internet signified searching for child pornography and, even worse young girls to abuse.

Ian wasn’t stupid. Some of the men on the paedophile forums which he had visited from time to time spun clever arguments that children enjoyed sex and that “caring” adults could introduce them to a world of sexual delight. Ian felt physically ill when he recalled how the teenager had begged him not to hurt her.

“I won’t hurt you” he said as he forced himself deep inside the child.

Yes he felt a deep sense of self loathing, this was, however mixed with sexual excitement. When he recalled his encounter with the girl a frisson of excitement drove him to  masturbate.

“Masturbation is my safety valve. My fantasies are hurting no one” Ian told himself. However Ian knew in his heart of hearts that the pleasure he derived from masturbating stemmed from the recollection of his rape of a child, it wasn’t a harmless fantasy, rather it merely served as a means of further exciting his interest in young girls.

When at last Ian finally went back online he searched for 18-year-old escorts who catered to “the schoolgirl fetish”.

“I can have fun and not hurt a child” Ian said to Lucy a petite 18-year-old who arrived at his flat wearing the uniform of a sixth form schoolgirl under her long coat.

“That’s good mate. Fantasising never hurt anyone” Lucy replied as she slipped out of her uniform.

“If only you knew the truth” Ian said to himself.

The visits of Lucy and other girls helped to scratch Ian’s itch. However in the dark recesses of his brain he longed to indulge his lust for very young teens. At night Ian would lie awake often into the small hours fantasising about young girls. Masturbation and the attentions of escort girls in their late teens no longer served to satisfy what Ian knew to be his perverted desire for underage girls.

Ian grew pale through lack of sleep. His bosses raised concerns regarding the quality of his work. If he didn’t pull his socks up Ian would be “out on his ear” his employer said in no uncertain terms.


An Act of Madness Part 2

Below is part 2 of my story, An Act of Madness. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-1/.


Ian knew that he had a problem. For a long time he had convinced himself that he could control the fantasies. There was after all no harm in fantasising Ian told himself. Indeed if everyone was locked up due to what went on in the darkest recesses of their brain then half the population, perhaps three quarters would be behind bars.

Ian had for so long as he could recollect felt an attraction to young girls. This did not present a problem when, as a boy of 16 he fantasised about girls a year or so younger than him. However, as he grew older the fantasising intensified. As a man of 25 he found himself making excuses for taking public transport at times when he knew that the buses would be full of teenage girls on their way to or from school. He would sit on the bus pretending to read the paper while allowing his eyes to take in the school girls as they sat giggling with their friends. On reaching home he would dash into the toilet or his bedroom and masturbate while the images of the teenage girls remained fresh in his mind. After he had obtained his release the temporary feeling of elation would soon give way to one of utter self loathing.

“You fucking pervert, you should be locked up” he told himself.

For a while he managed to stop. At the times when he knew that the school buses would be full of young girls he stayed at home and attempted to read the paper or a book. It was no good, the words on the page made no sense, his mind was far away on the bus watching teen girls giggling with their friends or flirting with boys of their own age.

At first he saw the internet as a way of safely indulging his fantasies.

“I’m not harming anyone, they are only pictures. I’d never, ever, ever touch a child!” he reassured himself.

Initially he searched for “teen girls” and found mild stimulation in the pictures of nubile 18 and 19-year-olds in various states of undress or engaged in sexual activity. However bordom soon set in. “Teen girls” was soon replaced with “barely legal teens” and “underage sex”.

Every time he turned on the computer he felt his heart start to thump. The sense of breaking a taboo, of kicking against convention caused excitement to course through his body. Still, he reassured himself he was only looking. He would never harm a child. It was pure fantasy, where was the harm in that?

Then it happened. He was looking at a site displaying teens many of whom where clearly under 18-years-old when a pop-up advert directing him to a teen contact website appeared on screen.  Ian’s heart began to thump so loudly that he fancied that the people in the neighbouring flat could hear it. With sweating palms he clicked on the pop-up and was directed to a poorly designed webpage with a line of text

“For teen fun call –“.

There where no pictures, just the single line of text. Ian could feel his manhood stir.

“No this is so, so wrong, close the site, forget you ever saw it” the voice of conscience and common sense whispered.

Another voice chipped in

“What harm is there in calling? It will be an advert for 18 or 19-year-old hookers. Maybe you can have some safe legal fun with a teen girl. You can indulge your fantasies and scratch that itch once and for all”.

Ian reached for his mobile. Several times he started to dial only to delete the number and replace the phone in his pocket. Eventually he dialled and pressed the call button. The phone rang. On the second ring a man answered

“Yeah man?”

“I saw the advert and …” Ian trailed off not sure how to continue.

“You want some fun with a young girl?”

“Yeah, so long as she is legal”.

The man at the other end of the line snorted with laughter

“Sure man you and me both no the score. I’ve got a real cutie, very young with blue eyes and blond hair. Slim”.

“What do I need to do? I’ve never done this before” Ian said through his constricted throat.

“Its £400 for the girl. Wana come over?”

“Yeah” Ian managed to whisper. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

“Is this your number?”


“OK, I’ll text you the address”, with that the line went dead.

An Act of Madness (part 1)

He awoke to a thousand little imps banging their tiny hammers inside his skull. Tentatively he opened his eyes. The battered old chair on which he had flung his clothes the previous evening with such wild abandon swam into view. Cans of beer some still half full littered the threadbare carpet but it was the scent of sex, cheap perfume mixed with the sickly odour of rutting animals which made him lean over the side of the bed and vomit onto the filthy brown carpet.

The act of vomiting made him feel a little better. Slowly his mind cleared. He focused on the girl lying beside him. She lay her head resting on the filthy pillow, her right arm clutching a battered old teddy bear. The bear had been brown long ago but the years had turned it almost black. The sheet had fallen away leaving the girl’s body exposed. Her almost hairless vagina and barely formed breasts showed that she was in her early teens, 13 or 14 but no older.

“Christ what have I done?” the man said.

His words spoken out loud made the girl open her beautiful blue eyes.

“Please, please mister don’t hurt me again” she said clutching the bear protectively against her.

“I’m sorry” he mumbled attempting to put his arm around her in what was, he hoped a comforting manner.

“Please, no more” she pleaded her eyes swimming with tears.

Without another word the man got out of bed and flung on his clothes. As he reached the bedroom door he looked back one final time at the girl. She lay her head buried in that bear her shoulders shaking convulsively with deep sobs.

The man descended the rickety uncarpeted staircase, his feet seemed unnaturally loud to him in this silent place.

“God I need to get out” the man muttered as he descended the final stair.

“Enjoy yourself did you man?”

The man’s heart leapt into his mouth. He haden’t seen the Jamaican standing, in the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Little cutie isn’t she. Just turned 13. I told you that Jo could find you fresh young meat. I didn’t lie to you”.

“No she was lovely” the man said. He wished the Jamaican would step out of the way of the front door so that he could get the hell out of that stinking flea pit.

“OK man, remember Tom and the next time you want some fun give me a call”.

The man nodded and Tom stepped out of the way allowing him to open the front door and leave.

Paid for: My Journey into Prostitution by Rachel Moran

I am currently reading “Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution: One Brave Woman’s Account of the Violence that is Prostitution [Kindle Edition], by Rachel Moran (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00C7735X8?ie=UTF8&ref_=oce_digital). The author grew up with two mentally ill parents. Her father committed suicide when she was still a young girl.  Rachel’s mother’s schizophrenia worsened following his death leading to increased pressure on Rachel and the other children of the family to grow up before their time. For example the author relates how she had to collect her younger sister from the hospital unaccompanied by her mother while still a young child.

The pressure cooker environment leads to Rachel leaving home in her early teens. She moves from hostel to hostel experiencing periods of homelessness in between. Due to hunger she turns to shop lifting but not being adept at it frequently ends up in the local police stations.

At the age of 15 Rachel’s 21-year-old boyfriend suggests that she enters prostitution. Believing that sex work will empower her Rachel agrees to this suggestion and at the age of 15 enters street prostitution.

I am under half way through the book and have therefore not formed a view as to it’s overall merits. What I can say is that Rachel Moran knows how to string a sentence together and that the reader feels compelled to agree with her assessment that given her chaotic childhood the author’s entry into prostitution was predictable (I don’t think that one can say inevitable).

I will post a full review once I have finished reading Moran’s book.