Decades Before Epstein: A Child Sex Slave’s Dark Journey Into the Ritualized Sex Trade
Long before the Hunter Biden laptop reveal, Podesta-Gate, the “Epstein Island Awakening,” and a long-deferred societal apotheosis regarding childhood sex trafficking as the sacrament of the New World Order, I met a young woman who had lived through all of it and was willing to tell her story. On camera.
Her harrowing recounting of ten years as a child prostitute subjected to every manner of sexualized trauma became an Emmy-winning television documentary in 2006 and in hindsight, gives a rare and tragic window into the “currency kids,” whose lives have been devoured by the pedophilia networks of the world.
This is her story.
“You know, I can’t say that I have a family to go to. I can’t say there’s a lot of people out there for me. But I have myself. It just makes you stronger. I’m lucky to be alive. Very lucky. And I thank God every day.”
Sixteen years ago, only a handful would even believe her story. Far more called her crazy, delusional, troubled or insane. And who could blame them? They couldn’t help but protect themselves from a reality too terrible to exist.
It was winter of 2004 that our chance meeting would eventually lead to an unfolding of an unthinkable journey into the very pit of hell, through a doorway into a hidden world of Satanic perversions, secret transactions, forgotten wasted lives and a network of users, pimps and stealers of innocence. A cross country journey of a child prostitute, raped, imprisoned, abused, destroyed and left for dead by her own mother and her mother’s boyfriend. Used up in every way until she was too “old” to be considered a child. Useless and unwanted and too big to fully control and consume. Finally rejected by those who had stolen and ripped away all that she had and all that she would ever be.
And it was just six years after that I would find her in the aftermath of it all. A scarred and stunted waifling who had by then spent two thirds of her life tied and chained to soiled beds and sold by the hour for the perverse sexual pleasures of pedophiles and seething devils in human skin.
And so on four consecutive nights on the television news, “Tonya’s Story,” it was. And would forever be….
Her haunted eyes and halting words are as poignant in my mind today as the day she finally spoke them, seemingly transported and transformed in an instant into the four-year old girl she’d been when it all began.
Her eyes dampen and glisten in a thousand yard stare as she describes in excruciating detail being bribed with gifts and toys to submit to things no child should know about or experience.
“At first I thought it was something that would just fade away. But my mom told me that this is just the way families work. You kind of just accept it until you get that feeling that it’s not supposed to be that way. After a while it wasn’t a game. And it wasn’t fun.”
We were beneath the dirt poor and she wanted a roof over our heads and so I did what I was told. What she wanted me to do to make him happy. It started out as me just being the toy for them in bed.”
“He pulled us in and they started running that business together. So he met people online and sold my pictures, selling the porn on the internet.”
He was photographing and distributing images of child molestation, using bulletin boards and chat rooms to meet fellow pedophiles and sell pictures. And finally, advertising Tonya online as a child sex slave to be purchased by pedophiles, tied down in her childhood bed and raped by strangers while her mother and boyfriend watched and photographed it all, for profit.
At first they started out charging $175 an hour. Whatever you wanted for an hour. By the end of an hour they would leave anyway because it just becomes a bloody mess because you’re so small. Eventually they would leave.
For a total of ten years, Tonya’s life would dissolve into a horrific tale of the most craven abuse. A childhood of torture and misery and constant fear that she never expected to survive. An eternity of vagabond lifetimes that would take her hopscotch from Fargo to Reno to Las Vegas to South Dakota and finally leave her huddled and bleeding in a Sioux Falls alleyway, a discarded and broken 15-year old girl with a shattered history of shame and neglect. But finally, miraculously free.
Or, perhaps as free as she would ever be again. And surrealistically reflective on her horrific life and a turn of events that would find two of her mother’s male associates behind bars for sex crimes and her mother barred for life from having any contact with the daughter she destroyed.
And most of all, grateful in a way few humans ever know or understand for simple things, small moments of freedom and space to breathe in the strange new air of possibilities she never expected to have.
“I never learned how to drive, or set a table for dinner. Nobody ever took the time to teach me that stuff. But I’ve learned on my own and I learned most of all that life can change. You’re not going to have everything or everything you want all at once. But I have myself. And that’s enough.”
“No matter how bad things get you can’t lose hope. You have to believe that you can make it. If you want to make it through, you can.”
“And I have.”
Recalling those words, there is a deepened awareness that the passage of time has made, “Tonya’s Story,” more relevant and believable now than when it became a television documentary for viewers so long ago. A story I was destined to tell for her because I knew that nothing else mattered in a world of shadows and monsters where not a single child is truly safe from evil. A world where real monsters exist and always have, even if it’s taken decades for the awakening to finally arrive.
But you know that now, don’t you? Because you finally believe that monsters exist. Finally. At long last.
The red pill has taken effect.