MY LIFE AS A TEENAGE PROSTITUTE
Kimberly Schwartzmiller
language
(Kimberly Schwartzmiller, July 18, 2013)
Payton Williams was raised in a house of prostitution and drugs. From an early age, clients would drug her mother to get to the beautiful young girl with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes. At the age of eleven, Payton was hardly able to fight them off, and finally learned that fighting was useless. When her mother dies, Payton is shuffled from one foster home to another until she finally runs; opting to make it on her own. But, being alone on the streets at 16 with no money, identification or an address, Payton was finally forced into doing the one thing she swore she never would do…she followed her mother’s path by using her body to survive…Ryan Dempsey has had the perfect life. Loving parents, the best schools and all the support anyone could ever ask for. Taught from an early age to be a gentlemen, he refuses to take no for an answer when he finds a young beautiful woman stranded in the middle of nowhere, even though the brunette with the stunning blue eyes makes it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with him…Excerpt from My Life as a Teenage Prostitute:I was raised in downtown Los Angeles by my mother, Elena. I really shouldn’t say she raised me so much as simply gave birth to me. I don’t know who my father is and neither did my mother. She was a prostitute, plain and simple. And not one of those high dollar call girls, but the street-walking, drug addicted type of prostitute. So, like I said, she really didn’t raise me, I more or less took care of her…until she died when I was 12. As childhoods go, mine wasn’t especially unique, at least not until I met him…he saved me…now that was unique. This is my story…My name is Payton Rose Williams. As mentioned before, I grew up in Los Angeles. I learned at a very early age what men want from women, or in my case, girls. No one grows up thinking that they want to be a prostitute, but sometimes things just happen and suddenly you’re thrown into an unavoidable situation. I was a good girl and I tried to stay far removed from not only my mother, but the lifestyle she had been thrown into. She had been beautiful at one time. I saw pictures of her once, when she was young. But drugs and time ate away at the beauty until all that was left was a hollow shell of a woman. At the end, she was hard and cold and had nothing left to offer me or anyone else and she refused any help or love in return. So she died all alone, and even though I was at her bedside, she was still alone. She had long since stopped caring about anything or anyone, and that included her only child…me.I’m not complaining or whining, just stating it like it is. I don’t want sympathy, just a chance to speak. And maybe I can save some other unfortunate soul from suffering, not as I did, but as my mother did.No matter the circumstances, I loved my mother but learned from a very early age that my love was not reciprocated. It wasn’t because she was selfish or heartless; it was because drugs were all she could think of…all she could see. I blamed it on heredity; my mother followed the same path forged by her own parents and she was unable to veer from that path, not even for me.When she died, I followed her down the same path, but somewhere along the line I took what I thought was a wrong turn…but it was the best mistake I ever made.