Despicable, My Mother Trained Me to be a Child Prostitute

The memories of being 5 years old have become quite clear these past two, three weeks. When I was 5, my mother struck a deal with the neighborhood, corner store grocery man. I would sexually service him every Monday in exchange for a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, and flour or sugar or baking powder. I also received one or two quarters and a sucker or handful of candy.

I would feel so proud carrying the grocery box home to my mom. She would smile big with her red lipstick. She said I could keep the candy for myself, I didn't have to share it with my brothers, because I earned it. Just like daddy earns his paycheck, I earn my candy and quarters.

Mom called me "whore 1". I don't know if that was a joke or what but she smiled when she said it. She smiled with the grocery box. She smiled when she called me to go over to take care of my customer.

Mom said that working with Gustav, the German grocer, was like doing the stuff I did with daddy but different. She said each man liked it different, their way, a certain way. My job was to pay attention so I would automatically know how to do them without them having to ask. That was a big part of my job.

Mom didn't want me to talk about being with Gustav to daddy much. She said daddy would get jealous so I should mostly just talk to her about it.

I don't know if it was ever said or if it was just another straight index finger held on lips but it definitely was a secret not to be talked about to anyone but her.