Radfem Footnotes

✨ SWELF = Sex Worker Excluding Liberal Feminist ✨

aka the girlbossy libfem who platforms shiny, privileged onlyfans creators as “empowered” but instantly silences anyone who shares a story of coercion, poverty, grooming, migration, or trauma.

SWELFs love to say things like: 💬 “you’re just a minority voice.” 💬 “that’s not representative.” 💬 “you sound kinda SWERF-y for saying that.”

…while literally being the one excluding women who are in the huge majority of sex workers in the statistic, that did it out of poverty, addiction issues, migrant issues or grooming.

sometimes I couldn't even see their faces, only their hands, only the way the room smelled, cheap perfume, sweat, their breath, their voices like echoes from another floor, another city, not really here, not really them, just a sound playing for me alone others put their phones on speaker, I stayed still, listened, work, friends, trivial mishaps, sometimes it repeated, sometimes it overlapped with the squeak of shoes on the tile, the car horns below, the way the air smelled when the heater clicked on, face neutral, hands supposed to be steady but restless, one wandering at my blouse, one on the receiver, nodding, smiling, pretending, shrinking inside

Someone cried in the middle of it and I counted the seconds like stretched chewing gum, sticky, slow, slow, slow, his shoulders trembling. I sat still, shadow, sometimes he wiped tears on the bedspread, sometimes on my arm, I let it happen, counted, tick, tick, tick, sometimes imagined the clock melting into the carpet, the carpet breathing under us

Some called me by their sister's or daughter's name, sometimes both, sometimes a name I almost recognized, almost, and when they left I thought to follow, thought I could see their apartments, their front doors, little vestibules, carpets smelling faintly of eggs and bread from a morning that never existed, hands never meant for me, only the glimpse from the window, shiver, and still I stayed in the apartment.

I carried their secrets, sometimes smelled them, sometimes saw them in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows of the ceiling, their faces sometimes burned into my vision when I closed my eyes, they stayed, between us, locked, I walked tall, I spoke sharp, hands steady, outwardly, but under my ribs it coiled, pulsed, whispered, kept silent, hand pressed to chest, felt it echo in bones, laughter could not hide it, smiles could not, the world could not see

Sometimes the night brought it back, sometimes it didn't, sometimes it led me to other rooms, other men, other names, other echoes, and I followed, only in my mind, tracing footsteps on tile that wasn't there, listening to door squeaks that were echoes of memories I didn't want, sugar stains, half-empty coffee, the smell of old cigarettes, the small laugh I alone could hear, slipping between seconds, slipping between days

Hey Baby,

When it snowed outside last year, I almost wrote to you. Do you still smoke on the balcony? Do you still keep your records in those milk crates you never wanted to replace? I wonder if you still talk in your sleep. You always said strange, half-formed words that made no sense, and I loved listening.

I still think about the apartment above the record store.

I have never felt safer than up there with you.

The small bookstore down the street is now closed. Phil sometimes calls, but I never dare to go, so I make up excuses. I think he doesn't want to live in a city where you're not either.

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All in all, I feel better now than back then.

Only last year I had a bad relapse.

I was so close to call you in the middle of the night. Thought that must’ve been like when you did and I didn’t respond… I did not. My finger hovered over the phone, but then I put it down.

I never told you I was pregnant. But you were the first person I thought of when I found out. The guy just took off his condom. He wasn't a nice man, you know.

He’d lean across the doorframe, his breath thick with beer, always talking about money he didn’t have. He said that women like me should be grateful. Grateful for what, I still don’t know. He didn't even give me the money for it, he just took off. I never saw him again.

After that, that was it. I had enough.

I sat in the bathroom staring at the test for an hour. It was raining, I remember, and the sound of water on the window. Your stupid, endlessly long, pretentious names for our never-born children immediately popped into my head.

It wasn't my fault I lost my goddamn job. This last case just killed me and it all started again. You know best how it is.

I didn’t keep it. I couldn’t. Sometimes I dream that I did, and there’s a child with your eyes running down those old stairs, laughing like nothing ever broke us. Then I wake up and it’s just me.

But in this life it is not meant to be.

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Anyways, after you left, it was pretty uncomfortable up there. I didn’t keep it. Moved to the other side of the country just like you as I heard. Don't worry, it's somewhere else entirely. We won't cross paths and reopen old wounds.

I couldn't keep it. Instead, I bought a secondhand jacket at the old thrift store next to where we used to live and wore it every day like armor. I rode the bus to nowhere just to stay in motion. watch the neon signs blink on and off from the shops across the street, and I’d pretend each flicker was some kind of answer. Now I have a decent job and maybe soon the job of my dreams. I would be so proud if I got it. But I would be even prouder if I heard that you did the same.

I carry the secrets with me. Recognize their faces. And sometimes their smell.

This remains between us.

Outwardly, I walk tall, unshaken, my voice sharp and my hands steady.

But under my ribs, it coils, a trembling pulse that no one can see.

Keep your mouth shut.

I press my palm there in silence, feeling it whisper through my bones. Even smiles and laughter cannot hide, the world’s eyes cannot reach.

The night might bring it back, or not, and maybe return to what I