Isabelle Portlaoise Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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As the sun started to set, I made my way to the River Barrow. It’s so peaceful there. I love just sitting by the water, watching the world go by. I took a deep breath, and for a moment, everything felt right. But then, I saw a swan. This thing was huge! It looked like it was ready to take me on. I swear, I thought it was gonna attack! I backed away slowly, trying not to make eye contact.

Prison officers in Portlaoise feature in Laois gardener's new RTÉ TV series