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There are three kinds of work for a foreign journalist in Beijing: state media, such as China Daily; international bureaus, which are sparsely staffed and tough to crack; and freelancing.

With no desire to reenter the state media and no job offers in international media, I reluctantly resumed my career as a freelancer.

The staff of Asia Weekly continued to go into the office after the magazine folded, a way to provide us newly unemployed a semblance of routine. We had met through friends on my first weekend in Beijing, a year and a half earlier. Tom had arrived in the city in early and, like me, had put in his time in state media before joining Asia Weekly. Tom and I got along well and had become good friends over the summer.

Only minutes after Jasper told us he was closing the magazine, as the staff absorbed the news in silence, Tom popped his head over his computer and called my name from across the office. I was in. We decided we would report a few stories while on the road, but which stories, and where, we had no idea.

After a few brainstorming sessions, we were still without a plan. Tom and I realized Sex trafficking girls getting fucked trip would have to be more than just an adventure.

We were both in our late twenties and not where we wanted to be in our careers. Tom wanted to be in broadcasting; I wanted to Xxx black photos hd writing features for international publications. We both knew that to take our careers to the next level we needed to establish names for ourselves, and we felt like we were running out of time. Whatever stories we were going to report, they needed to be good.

A week after he shuttered the magazine, Jasper took the Asia Weekly editors for lunch. He apologized for what Sex trafficking girls getting fucked happened and said he was confident we could all make it as Sex trafficking girls getting fucked if we resold our stories in different markets. And remember, sex sells. Sex sells. Back at the office after lunch, Tom and I thought about sexy stories we could sell.

How did they end up in China? What brought them? It was a story waiting to be written. Tom and I did some research online. We found the U. Many were recruited by deceit, often by friends and relatives, and the vast majority ended up in China. Many came to the bars and karaoke rooms of Beijing, Shanghai, and other major Chinese cities; others ended up farther south, in the saunas and casinos of Macau, the Las Sex trafficking girls getting fucked of Asia.

We found a story posted online by a nongovernmental organization about human trafficking in a city on the Chinese side of the Mongolian border, called Erlian.

Neither of us had heard of it. According to the Home housewife porn real video, Erlian, a thriving oil town, was also a major human trafficking hub, the first stop before victims traveled farther inland, and the last stop for human trafficking victims, who, fearing discrimination at home, had no other place to go after being trapped in brothels abroad.

The article told of streets in Erlian lined with brothels and of abused trafficked women who lived and worked in tiny, filthy apartments. Tom and I searched the Internet for any similar articles written in the mainstream press. We found nothing. This was a great story, we thought, and we started plotting our strategy to report it. We drew up a list of potential contacts and threw out a few possible dates for a trip to Erlian, where we would, somehow, get into the brothels and find trafficking victims.

Tom and I contacted several NGOs to find out more. They confirmed the problem and filled in some of the blanks. Most of the victims were uneducated and desperate for a way out of poverty.

Some were already prostitutes but had been misled about pay and conditions; others were enticed by advertisements in local newspapers promising overseas scholarships or vague offers of employment. Recruiters usually had contacts in destination countries—often women who had once been trafficked themselves. As soon as the women reached their destination countries, NGO workers told us, they were routinely abused, physically and mentally.

Many were beaten, forced to take drugs, raped, and repeatedly sold. The debts could be crippling. Some girls ran away, but most, lacking money, travel documents, and help of any kind, were forced to stay for several years. Some women who found their way back to Mongolia continued to suffer. Many needed counseling for depression and treatment for sexually transmitted diseases. They were shunned by their families. With no work experience and few options, some returned to what they knew, becoming traffickers themselves or returning to prostitution in cities like Erlian.

Our plans continued to move forward. Tom contacted a friend of his named Esso, a former Mongolian journalist who lived in Beijing, where she was raising her Sex trafficking girls getting fucked teenage sons. She would come along as our Sex trafficking girls getting fucked. We got in touch with a photographer, Jim Wasserman.

Jim was a forty-six-year-old from Philadelphia who had worked for news outlets around the world. We decided to meet at a bar in the Holiday Inn in Lido, a place known as a hangout Sex trafficking girls getting fucked Mongolian prostitutes.

Over beers, we told Jim about our idea—travel to Erlian and later south to Macau to write a story we hoped to publish in a major American outlet. He was up for it. In an attempt to get a head start on our reporting, we tried talking to some of the Mongolian girls who had gathered in the bar.

They were happy to chat, but not about their stories. In truth, I wondered if we would be able to get the story at all. But jobless and broke, I figured we had nothing Sex trafficking girls getting fucked lose.

The night bus from Beijing to Erlian smelled of feet and body odor and cigarette smoke. Passengers sprayed cans of air freshener to mask the cocktail of odors, but to Sex trafficking girls getting fucked avail.

It was after midnight and outside it was cold and black. There were about fifty other passengers on board, most of whom were speaking Mongolian. They carried with them large red, white, and blue plastic sacks wrapped in masking tape and packed with cheap goods bought from Beijing markets to sell back home, across the border.

Everybody was crammed into rows of bunks. Lying at awkward angles trying to squeeze my stretched frame into the tiny bed, I tried to read a book to the glow of a pocket flashlight held between my teeth. We arrived in Erlian at 5 a. A cabbie took us to a hotel. When the night attendant showed us a room, cockroaches scurried under the beds. I had stayed in hostels with cockroaches and worse in my travels, but after the long and sleepless bus ride, I needed something more comfortable.

We all did. The second hotel the driver showed us was passable, with clean rooms and hot showers. Within minutes, we were approached by two gnarled old Inner Mongolian women with black teeth who asked if we were looking for girls. It was before noon.

We told Sex trafficking girls getting fucked no but asked where we would find them. On the north side of town, they told us, on Golden Bridge Street. We continued walking through Sex trafficking girls getting fucked city.

We asked locals what it was supposed to symbolize. The beauty of Mongolian women, they told us. Around the corner from the square was the town market, a heaving place where dozens of Jeeps were parked, loaded with goods, drivers standing nearby, smoking, waiting to make one of the many daily trips across the Mongolian border.

We hired a taxi driver to take us around town for the day, a thirty-three-year-old ethnic Mongolian named Havar. We asked him questions and he answered in Mongolian, via Esso. We asked Havar to take us to the brothels. He pulled up outside a police station around the corner from the red-light district, Golden Bridge Street. We decided that the four of us together would attract too much attention, so Esso and I would go in first to see if we could talk to anybody, and Tom and Jim would go in later.

It was a bright afternoon and Golden Bridge Street was showing signs of life. In glass-fronted rooms, women of varying ages were curled up on couches, yawning and watching television. Some swept floors and cleaned windows lined with dolls and stuffed animals; others walked over to a grocery store down the street to buy cigarettes and bottles of green tea. Every few minutes, a taxi pulled through the tall archway at the mouth of the street, next door to the police station, to drop off a girl who Sex trafficking girls getting fucked worked through the night.

I was nervous walking down the street, very aware of my own presence. We had not seen any Westerners in town, and there I was, tall and obvious, walking down a street lined with brothels in the middle of the day.

I felt as though everybody was watching me, but when I looked around at the women in the windows, and the groups of men in leather jackets smoking and talking, I noticed that nobody was paying attention at all. Esso, young-looking in her late thirties with long, straight black hair, stopped in front of a room where several girls lounged on stained couches. I hesitated. The room was Sex trafficking girls getting fucked with ashes and cigarette butts. Sitting under a poster of a half-naked American blond, three young women smoked Esse Light cigarettes on two small couches.

The girls inside barely looked up when Sex trafficking girls getting fucked walked in. It seemed as if they had just gotten out of bed, hair disheveled and wearing baggy sweaters and sweatpants.

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