(Caution – do not eat whilst reading)
There was a lot wrong about Jim Wrong. That’s where he got his name. Of course prostitution is populated by odious characters, but Jim stood head and shoulders above them all. I first met him in a Limerick apartment sometime around 1996. Some of us met him in more recent years. He’s been imposing himself on the women of prostitution for a long time, mores’ the pity… for us.
There was something fucked up about Jim.
It wasn’t just that Jim didn’t wash, although that was true. And it wasn’t just that he didn’t change his clothes – ever – although that was true also. It was more that he didn’t see anything wrong with these things, and instead seemed to delight in his freedom from socially imposed norms, like washing.
Jim was like a dirty oul cowboy that had just come in off the range. He was like a cowpat with shoes and a halo of bluebottle flies, and a big cheesy grin – and a penis.
We might have called him cheddar man, and surely would have, if the first thing we’d seen of his had been his penis instead of his face.
If Jim didn’t get his way he didn’t voice is disappointment verbally, but anally. He was like a human slurry van, slushing his discontent on the floor, on the sink, up the walls. His scalded ring was relentless, as were his scabby scaly filth-embedded hands.
His trousers stank of piss and had the sheen of trousers not washed since they were first bought in the second hand section of The Farmers Journal. Jim was some piece of work alright; Jim was a law unto Jim. I’d heard about him long before I’d met him; Jim was a legend in his lifetime. A dirty bollocks if the whorehouses of Limerick had ever seen one, and Jim could have given lessons in being a dirty bollocks. He was expert in his field – in the middle of his field, in fact, for Jim was a farming man – and no one was ever left in doubt as Jim diligently presented the evidence under his fingernails.
He had every habit a woman wouldn’t want to see in a man whose cock she had to suck, including the slobbering, slavering way he’d shove his tongue halfway out his own head before he’d use the big pink monstrosity to lick his own lips, before he’d slap them together in the manner of the appetised. “Hills have eyes shit” as one woman said to me.
Another woman, a friend of mine intimately acquainted with Jim, said he “was like an overweight Worzel Gummidge that stank of shit”.
Jim exuded a presence that radiated out from him and all around – literally. I had heard a lot of stories about Jim before I first met him; women talk, you know, and there was a lot to be said about Jim Wrong. Sometimes we’d be driving down the road, a few of us on our way to the whorehouse, and if we passed a slurry pit or were caused for any other reason to endure an offensive smell, someone would always remark “here comes Jim Wrong!” and we’d all roar laughing. So I thought I knew what to expect from Jim, before I first met him. How wrong was I? It wasn’t until I’d met our friend Jim that I realized some people are just beyond description.
Jim had a penchant for the new girls. I had been lucky enough, up till the first day I met him, never to have been in the apartment when he’d presented his stinking self. One day, my luck ran out. Ding dong went the doorbell. It was Jim Wrong, grunting and snorting, looking for the new girl.
I pressed the handle of the bedroom door, bracing myself for the sight of Jim Wrong, but the smell hit before the sight did. But one quickly followed the other – it was a classic double-whammy. It was the stench of death but yet it was living – above the shoulders sat, instead of a head, a big busted mattress. Instead of hair there sprouted coils of rusted springs and in the middle of this monstrosity sat a crooked mouth, smiling, more gums than broken teeth, twinkling with the drool oozing from the side of his warped and demented mouth, like the Colgate ad gone mad.
Jim was very pleased to see me – this was unmistakable as his horse-like truncheon busted through his piss-stained jeans. He hurried out of his decrepit clothing.
I tried to discuss the horror of the experience that followed with a woman I know, an ex prostitute herself, who was so disgusted by descriptions of Jim she said “Speak to your fucking counsellor love, I don’t want to hear it”.
We’ve heard ideas about ‘enjoyment’ being found in prostitution. Let us tell you this: any woman who can say she took pleasure out of seeing our Jim has had severe blunt force trauma to the head, most likely delivered by her respectable pimp, causing frontal lobe damage resulting in erratic eye-movement to such a point that she cannot focus on the vision in front of her, and has had so many broken noses that her nasal passage can no longer absorb such an offensive smell, and for that, all we can feel is envy for that woman.
Otherwise she is on a serious amount of medication… or ought to be…
(This was a composite experience written by women, including myself, with experience of servicing the notorious Limerick farmer Jim Wrong.)
FreeIrishWoman
Why do I feel like this post is an answer to my comment that you (tellingly) didn’t publish? I would NEVER EVER accept a client like this, and I know no other that would (although of course, that doesn’t mean it doesn^’t happen). You’re no different than the one-street prostitutes you met: because you didn’t see something with your own eyes, you don’t believe it’s possible. No, actually it’s worse: they were ignorant, but you KNOW that there are lots of diverse experiences out there and still deny it. So, I hope you at least read this even if you don’t publish it. bye
You feel this post is a response to a reply of yours that I didn’t publish because you’re on an ego-trip. I don’t write for you or for anyone else in the pro prostitution-abuse lobby.
Truth is, I check my responses every couple of weeks cause I don’t live online. If I have not posted a previous response then this is the first reply of yours that I’ve seen, and if the other contained half the BS of this one it’s just as well it got lost in the spam-filter.
FreeIrishWoman,
You are slowly winning me to your side of thinking, but you are dead wrong if you think you are not writing for the “pro-prostitution abuse lobby” as you put it. They are EXACTLY who you are writing to. If you don’t change even one of them, the way they think, your cause is lost.
It would be more accurate to say you are not writing to PLEASE them rather than you are not writing FOR them. Simply say that you are extolling a factual account of your experience.
I’m neutral and I sincerely weigh your comments heavily. As I read this blog, you’ve earned my respect, which isn’t easy to do. Not that THAT should matter to you (honestly, it shouldn’t). Keep at it.
How nice for you that you didn’t have to accept a client like this! Do you think men get turned away from whorehouses? “Oh, sorry guy. I know you’ve come here with all this cash but all these girls think you’re a smelly piece of shit so please be on your way!”
Thanks for writing this FreeIrishWoman.
Actually, according to research I’ve done about prostitution a LOT of whorehouses, street hookers and even pimps DO turn business away for many different reasons. Racism being one big example. Read about prostitution in China…Americans are turned away all the time for “being too big”. Just an example.
Oh I know, there’s so much racism and discrimination against white men. What an enormous cross you must bear. And having such a huge penis must be really hard on you too. Think of all the establishments it bars you from.
Uh huh. Right…
Are we a little angry today?
I was responding with factual information stating that the comment about “men being turned away from whorehouses” is, according to research I’ve done on it, incorrect. They do indeed get turned away and I cited an example.
You then respond with:
“Oh I know, there’s so much racism and discrimination against white men”
And what exactly do you know of it? I was turned away from a homeless shelter at seventeen, two days before Christmas in the goddamn snow, wet from having washed dishes and freezing cold from having walked 3 miles to get there. Why was I turned away? I quote “You’re young and white, get lost. This is for people who need it.” Racism and sexism effects everyone. In fact, your venom seems to be steered towards me because I’m a man. And this isn’t sexism? Discrimination? You assume I’ve had the “easy life” because I’m white and male?
You know nothing of me, my past or the cross I bear.
And then you say: ‘
“And having such a huge penis must be really hard on you too. Think of all the establishments it bars you from.”
I imagine my penis bars me from about as many places as your vagina does you.
What are you even talking about? Are you trying to be funny? It does sound that way.
You know nothing of me, my life or my circumstances. You can step off your high horse now.
That would be a nightmare for me.
OH MA GAWD. What a horrendous and hilarious account of a day in the life. You are such a brilliant writer & educator! xx
Lol, thank you Feminist Rag. Every now and then we’ve got to inject a little humour just to keep ourselves sane!
That has got to be the most apt description of our james,the sad part being its all true!i litterly didnt know whether to laugh..or throw up!if only he had been my first client, would have spared me a life time of torture…
You know what Susie – the biggest threat to the sex industry in Ireland isn’t us survivors – it’s Jim fucking Wrong. If every woman had to do him as her first punter prostitution in Ireland would disappear overnight.
sina, i love your idiotic attempt at glamorizing the sex industry. Prostitution is prostitution be it indoors or out…freeirishwoman is presenting the facts of her experience. I really love to know where this so called nirvana is that you appear to be working in was when i was a prostitute…
I’ve thought about this article for some time. I’ve thought about it in context of some other articles I’ve read.
I want to point something out. And this applies to any woman not trafficked.
I can understand that circumstances may force you to “choose” prostitution. I understand that there are many ways to rectify this, but let’s just talk a moment about a woman that “chooses” out of necessity and no other viable options (i.e. forced choice).
Is it true that you have to be with every man that comes your way? You can’t turn even one down? You can’t just say “I’m sorry, but you need to clean up a bit and check your attitude at the door. You may be paying for it, BUT…” I mean, if its about meeting bills or eating…if you make less one day then another…do you really HAVE to take a guy like that? I mean, you can’t just wait for the next one to come along?
My apologies, I really mean no disrespect and I truly don’t understand. Why would you accept that kind of client when (and I speak from ignorance) there are other more appealing clients?
To all who come here, whether to read or blog or comment…. I am sorry. I am sorry that this is the life you lead or read about. I am sorry you most likely can’t leave. I am sorry I can do nothing. I am sorry I can promise nothing but to try.
I am writing a paper for my history final and am hoping to someday to have it published. I would like some first hand accounts and comments, anything you would like me to know. By principle I am not publishing any real names so feel free to change them to whatever you would like, but please help me in my research so I can give you all a voice…. and a voice to all the girls in red light districts who like you have no voices as they are “Stolen, Traded, and Sold”.