feral girl

Last week I went to Tooting Bec Common. I wanted to go into Streatham anyway and I thought I would just sit and read my newspaper. I didn't expect to see any girls there, but one came and sat next to me. She was quite young. She was shabby and was wearing lots of make-up inexpertly applied.

I didn't want to have sex with her. She was quite miserable looking. Usually street girls on the Common are quite friendly and chatty, but she was different. I tried to talk to her, but she seemed distracted.

She wanted me to have sex with her. I said I didn't want to do that and she said "Am I not pretty enough?". She mumbled it and I had to ask her to repeat herself. I said that it wasn't that, I was short of money. She asked me how much money I had. I said I would rather not say because I wasn't there for sex that day.

Perhaps she would have had sex with me for the change I had in my pocket. I don't know. She asked for some change so I gave some to her just to help her out. The last thing I saw of her she was walking away from me and counting the money. I hope she spent it on food.

Just before she went off I asked her what her name was and she said 'Teresa'. I said "I used to know a girl called Teresa". I remembered that once a few years ago I fingered a girl called Teresa on the Common, and that later I had regreted it because she seemed so unhappy about it, unlike the other girls I have done it to.

I have written about this incident on this blog in December 2007. The Teresa then had been wearing a short skirt and had long hair. I'm not sure if the girl I met last week was the same girl. I did not recognise her, but then I only met her once about four years ago. Memories can fade and people can change their appearance. She did ask me for a light for a cigarette, and the girl I met several years ago had done the same.

Teresa seems to fit the description of what most people think a street girl would be like. She looked unhappy, depressed and with no confidence. It's almost as if she thought she did not deserve better in life. I wonder if she does heroin but not crack and if this accounts for her different demeanour.

If I saw her again I would offer to buy her something to eat. I could take her into Streatham to a cafe for a meal. I did this a few years ago with another street girl called Debbie. I would ask her about her life. I would not try to have sex with her.

What they often need is somewhere to live (like a hostel to begin with), a methadone script and getting onto benefits. Before that rehab. I could point her in the right direction, as I would any woman I met on the Common or in my neighbourhood.

I remember that when a few years ago I asked a street girl which other street girls I should avoid, she had given me Teresa's name, among others. So I don't know what Teresa has been up to; perhaps if I had gone with her into the bushes she would have robbed me.

the real Belle de Jour writer and drugs

In today's Evening Standard (London local free paper) it gives the real name of the writer of Belle de Jour. Her name is Brooke Magnanti. It says her father was a crack addict and spent a lot of time with prostitutes. She met some of them, and it doesn't sound as if they were street girls. He seems to blame his association with them for him becoming a drug addict.

So drugs are not just part of the world of street girls, they are also part of the world of Belle de Jour. A man who uses a high-class escort cannot be sure that his money is not being used to buy cocaine or crack cocaine. He cannot be sure that he is not going to get done under the new law.