My name is Nicole Williams and I’ve been running like hell from hell! There’s nothing spectacular about me, or the roads I’ve traveled, but you couldn’t prove that by the story I’m telling relative to the male species of whom I’ve catered to as long as I can remember. They all felt that what hung between their legs were golden rods. There are beginnings, middle passages, and endings to every story that vindicate and justify redeeming value. What you have to go through for the latter to manifest purpose, mean that you have to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’ for complete satisfaction. You see, I was a woman of pleasure...a whore by trade, and by any other name it wouldn’t lessen the impact of the ramifications of my journey. I must say this though, my life didn’t begin as such. Please buckle your seat belts because the story that is about to unfold may be a bit much to digest in reference to the vices and misguided virtues that I was privy to. It may not be unique in the sense that there are countless girls being misused and abused in familial situations unbecoming of moral standing, even as you read what I’m depicting. It’s a sordid tale leaving no stones unturned, full of revelations of physical and sexual abuse gone awry, including continual molestation and blatant bouts of fear, denial and shame. I will give it to you uncut with nothing left out —straight with no chaser. An adolescent child, including young adults past puberty shouldn’t be subjugated and forced to adhere to grown men’s sexual fantasies. I’d like for you to read it with an open mind, despite the vivid details I supply. I was forced into prostitution, and as a result it made me dependent on sexual gratification without the joys of matured intimacy, and ultimately my innocence couldn’t save me in the beginning. I always considered myself blessed and full of the good things that a girl of my time could have despite the fate that I was befallen to before my biological father died.

     I’m putting all of this past tense purposely so that you would understand why I had to run, tell somebody what I went through, and exact some meaning of justice. I did it finding the courage after giving my life to Christ and plucking all of the righteous apples off of trees with roots and branches that held more spiritual fruit. It’s my way of being pulled up by God and doing the right thing. I’ll cut to the chase later. What you read above and what is to come is no joke, and it's disgusting as hell, right? I feel the same. Some men the world over are like dogs! They’ll do anything to get what they want and often use the wrong head to think logically. But to exploit young girls taking away their virginity is not part of the thread that weaves good fabric, nor are the ties that bind when doing the right thing in an appropriate ways garnering respect. What I’m sharing with you is NOT a figment of my imagination, nor is it a fabricated account...it's part of only a fraction of the prologue of my life. I’m a product of one man’s sadistic realm of pleasure that affected a whole family, ruined a working class community, and ALMOST destroyed a woman’s dream of freedom. I’ve promised myself that I will bring to justice the progenitors of my fate, both for redemptive value and to bring peace to my mind, body and soul no matter what and how long it would take. This is my story and only I can tell it the way it really happened and why I had to do something about it to save myself, and the souls of others caught in the same predicament. It’s all about vindication, redemption and salvation for justifiable means.

     In everybody’s existence there’s defining moments that determine your destiny if you’re not fortunate enough to be in the right time at the right place. Well, for me I had no such fortune and the timing definitely was off. The callous attitude and bitterness I carry with me stems from working hard all of my young life, and I did it on my back, often looking up at men that cared less about despoiling and defiling girls who may be exploited for sex. I’ve been accused, abused and misused, but I’m still a woman...so much so that bed and board didn’t silence me from extracting justice for my redemption. No, I refused to be a figment of anyone’s imagination who have not walked in my shoes and have worn any of the fabrics that wove me threadbare and wanting; nor am I one of your broken women who hide behind the sexist claims that women are always subservient. Rebuke and scorn are merely by-products of my angst, but I shall not be removed or reminded how men continue to force their will on vulnerable women, least of all, myself. I’ve been there and done it! I’ve seen a lot of hatred and humility in my time of lay-me-down blues, let me tell you. I am who I am now because the fire this time is hotter and burns much deeper within me as  measures of escapism found me before I found it.

     I’m on a mission and want to be seen bigger than life just like my ancestors before me, who toiled and tallied while suffering in their wake. Am I once the naive youngster who for years suffered the injustices of abuse at the hands of a despot step-dad and men without valor? Hardly, but know this: justice is not just us, the exploited, but about the sordid situations and circumstances that will come to a halt with my growth. It’s also about the satisfaction of me bringing this whole affair to a crashing halt and my sisters will have their day. Not on their backs, but standing firmly on feet with solid ground!