Angelina Hayes Whore ❤️❤️

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Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

He told her never to contact him again and said her pictures are off his walls

It was perhaps inevitable that Charlotte Hayes would become a prostitute. Raised in a brothel, her mother was a whorehouse madam. In the s, in her early teens, her virginity would have .

As I’m driving home, I can’t help but think about the day. Hayes (jm) is a trip. One minute you’re dealing with a stolen car, the next it’s banana peels and garage fires. It’s like a never-ending circus.

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