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Sharon Owens: Does anybody else feel a little bit sorry for Wayne Rooney’s hookers?

Wayne Rooney’s ‘tarts’ - ‘Juicy’ Jenny Thompson and Helen Wood - have been denounced in the media to such an extent I’m frightened for them.

Perhaps a righteous mob will gather and the girls will be eliminated in a double ‘honour killing’ for bringing shame on their families.

Perhaps they’ll be buried up to their necks in an Essex field and ceremonially stoned to death?

As the bloody pulp is cleared away we can all express our sympathy for gullible Wayne; seduced and defiled by two high priestesses of debauchery.

What chance did Wayne have against those ruthless strumpets anyway, with their provocative poses and their skimpy underwear? Why, any man in his position would have done exactly the same.

Well, don’t worry about Jenny and Helen; their lives are ruined. They are damaged goods now. They are secondhand cars.

No decent man will marry them. Their only future lies in the further debauchery of topless photoshoots for men’s magazines.

But Wayne’s reputation as a multi-millionaire family man must be restored, surely?

I wonder if there’s a ritual that may cleanse Wayne’s tainted body from the terrible filth he has succumbed to.

Could the Catholic practice of ‘churching’ new mothers be revived and updated for the bad boys, do you think, so that any chap daft enough to lie with unclean whores could be made pure again? On a panel show on Saturday night, I heard a hip, young comedian joke that for £1,200 he’d expect a prostitute to bury herself after he’d killed her. Nice.

On Sunday morning, I heard that Jenny Thompson’s father had suffered a heart attack. I wonder was the heart attack caused by embarrassment — or by the worry that Jenny’s next client might strangle her with his shoelaces.

I also read that Coleen Rooney had jetted off to Lourdes to pray for her marriage. You’d think Coleen would have more sense, wouldn’t you?

If I were Coleen, I’d be going to my GP for a full health-check and thenceforth to a solicitor to begin divorce proceedings.

All the while I’d be thanking my lucky stars that I had a few quid of my own with which to start again. Millions of women around the world have no money and nowhere else to go if their husband suddenly decides to treat them like dirt.

Frankly, the hypocrisy of it all sickens me. My party days are well behind me now, thankfully.

I say ‘party days’, but really it was just a few evenings spent shoe-gazing in the corner of my local disco, wearing a full-length overcoat and having lit cigarettes thrown into my back-combed hair by the charming men around me.

I wore flat boots and a shirt buttoned to the neck and I was still subjected to constant verbal harassment and the occasional kerb-crawler.

So I dread to think what it’s like for young women nowadays as they walk along in skinny jeans and pretty shoes, with straightened hair and good make-up.

Men have always lusted after women. No matter what country they live in, no matter what the traditions and customs of the day. It doesn’t matter if the women cover themselves up; men know what nudity looks like — and they want it.

Yes, men want to have sex with women; preferably with young and attractive women. But some men also appear to hate and loathe the very women they are lusting after.

No doubt Wayne went rushing home to tell Coleen those dirty hookers meant nothing to him. I’m sure they didn’t. So that’s all right, then. How would Wayne like it if Coleen told him she’d spent the night with a gorgeous male model, but that it meant nothing to her? She only wanted to see what it felt like to kiss a handsome man . . .

“You know what it’s like, Wayne?” Coleen might say. “Sometimes, we girls just want some classy and stylish love-making with a fine-looking man of tender manners. Sometimes we girls just crave flowery words and red roses and a kind smile and an original compliment.

“Sometimes we just hanker after chiselled cheekbones and long eyelashes and soft skin and elegant knees and I still love you, Wayne. Honest.”

Oh, spare me the hysteria. From what I see, women of all backgrounds across this doomed planet are pursued relentlessly for sex. Maybe Jenny and Helen were just tired of giving it away for free.

Belfast Telegraph

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