Helen Wood Makes The Case for Legalised Prostitution: Wayne Rooney Is Just The Tool (Photos)

HELEN Wood is the prostitute who claims to have shagged Manchester United player Wayne Rooney and an actor who took out an injunction agent her naming him in public.

The Lancashire lass is in conversation with the London Evening Standard. We can only wonder if she is planning move down South and the big time? This woman wants a career in the media. If we could afford her, we’d hire her pronto. The story begins:

Like many before me I am in bed with Helen Wood in a hotel room. Most famous for selling sex to Wayne Rooney (while his wife Coleen was five months pregnant) and enjoying another paid-for liaison with a film and television actor who’s name is unprintable because of an injunction, the ex-hooker is eating a prawn salad and drinking tea. Such a compelling story. Such an ordinary girl.

What did the journalist expect? Ordinary girls have sex for cash, too. It’s not just extraordinary girls. And what;s this about girls? Wood is 23. Is Rooney a boy at 25? Says Wood:

“I wasn’t working that night. We just talked our way into the party. We went to the toilet with Wayne to have a fag because, of course, he can’t go outside for a cigarette like everyone else. So we were having a chat with him and his brother and Wayne said did we want to come back to his. She [Coleen] was away. All the Man United wives and girlfriends would go away on a Thursday because that’s when the boys play. I used to see the same Man United footballer nearly every Thursday. That’s the night they all stay at The Lowry Hotel and that’s the night you see the escorts going in.”

Hello..? Another Man United footballer was shagging her? Is sex the bond that sticks the team together? George Graham’s Arsenal gelled with booze. Don Revies’ Leeds United had fighting. Is the secret to Sir Alex Ferguson’s success at the Red Devils the stray orgasm?

jennifer-thompson_0

Image 1 of 26

jennifer thompson

Wood says this United player used to enjoy foursomes with her, another girl and his “assistant“. She has also shagged a “famous rugby player, an Irish politician and about 495 obscure punters“. The story continues:

The following Thursday, Helen and Jennifer were having lunch at San Carlo’s, a favourite Manchester restaurant of the footballing community, when Rooney texted Jennifer to suggest the two meet him at The Lowry. ‘We had our stuff with us anyway. Just a bag with underwear, stockings, condoms, straighteners and whatever else; a shag bag. So off we went.’

Straighteners? Wayne..? Wood adds:

“He is so unbelievably norma. Dead timid. Out of all the footballers that I’ve met I’ll never know why he cheats. There’s a lot worse than him. He reminds me of the boy at school who tried to be the lad’s lad, but he’s not.”

We learn, then, how jousbnalism works:

Jennifer Thompson sold her side of the story in September 2010. Before the story broke Helen had gone to Rooney’s agent and begged for help, for her name to be kept out of the papers. “They promised me everything. They said, ‘If you sign this we’ll make sure it is.” So I took it to my solicitor and he said that if I signed it I could never sell jackshit on Wayne but my name could still come out. Jennifer [Jennifer Thompson] got 80 grand, and an extra 15 grand for my name alone. And my name was mentioned in the papers every day that week: ‘Where is Girl Number 2?'”

Wood sold her story for £40,000:

“Now everybody knew I’d been a prostitute so I thought I may as well cash in… I regret hurting people who didn’t deserve to be hurt but I can’t really say that now because I’ve talked about it so much. Actually, do you know what? I don’t regret hurting her because, the way I see it is, if you want to be a dick get back with the person who cheated on you – and he’s cheated on you countless times because he’s f***ed loads of my friends. So I just think, ‘Don’t start giving me a hard time.’ I did everything they told me to. I even asked for an injunction. I couldn’t afford one.”

We then get an account of Helen’s childhood and adolescence that is not pleasant reading:

Helen was brought up the youngest child and only daughter of Stephen and Mary Wood – a university lecturer and a classroom teaching assistant – in a genteel suburb of Manchester (‘Middle class!’ bellowed the headlines). “I was a terrible child,” she says. “I was very angry with the world.” Helen’s fury, which made her tricky to communicate with, was fuelled by the state of her parents’ marriage, and led her from typical adolescent rebellion towards a much riskier place.

“I had parents who bickered every single night and effed and blinded at each other and I’d rather have been in a council house, living in poverty with two happy parents than having two parents who despised each other. When I was 15 I slit myself all the time with razor blades.” At 15 she moved out to live with a school friend whose mother called social services and she was put into foster care with a vicar and his wife who she loved. But, a few weeks later, she lost her virginity to a 17-year-old boy and became pregnant. Her parents were by this point were about to embark on divorce proceedings and had signed her into permanent care (she must have been a deeply threatening teenager to merit such a stark rejection, “I was never violent unless provoked,” she says). Social services would not allow her to remain in foster care while pregnant and moved her into a council flat which her baby bump’s father would visit. The first time he beat me to a pulp I was six months pregnant. It was because he couldn’t find his keys.”

Wood makes compelling witness to her past life. And the is hint that she may have future as she talks about working in a brothel:

“They let any man come through the door. On one job I got there and this guy sent me into the bedroom and told me to wait on the bed. I wondered what the hell was going on and listened at the door. He was calling all his friends and saying, ‘I’ve got her here now, come over.’ I legged it. Then there was this head case I met who started slapping me and wanted to do S&M and started trying to force food into my mouth and bit my face. People heard me screaming – the worst bit was that the police were outside when I came out. I told them I was fine.”

Time, readers, to legalise prostitution, to enable women toy better help themselves and get help.

She would love an advice column, seeing her two-year career as an escort as a qualification of sorts. “Men would ring me and say, ‘My wife is having an affair.’ Or ‘She doesn’t find me attractive anymore. How do I woo her? How do I tell her she’s beautiful?’ And I love those kinds of conversations. I want to use my experience and use my brain.”

Someone should sign her up.