Once I’ve hit the submit button, I lie down, close my eyes and pray. I pray to find a way through this, I pray that somehow I don’t have to lose my soul to pay this debt. But if I have to lower myself to save my dad’s life, I will.
As crazy as it is, despite everything he’s put me through, I know he loves me and I know that I can never turn my back on him.
Dermot
Despite what I’d heard from happy customers of the site, GirlFundMe, I wasn’t entirely pleased with the selection I found online.
I spent about two hours combing through candidates, including some of the more outrageous girls with price tags that didn’t seem warranted based on appearance (and the videos of the girls blabbing didn’t help matters any).
All of the girls disappoint in one way or another.
I walk to my bar and pour myself a drink. Since I’ve gotten home, I’ve got a half dozen text messages from willing partners. Women who I could have for free—hell, they’d probably pay for their own Uber rides if I didn’t want to send my driver.
Do I really need to pay a girl?
Okay, so there’s a loose cannon out there screwing around with me. It’s bad, but maybe I’m overreacting. I take a long pull of whiskey and grimace as the burn hits my throat.
You don’t need to do this.
Just meet a new girl. You don’t need a goddamn ironclad contract to sleep with a woman. Never have and never will. This is one rotten apple, one crazy that found her way into the mix, but don’t overreact.
Don’t be silly and become one of those rich guys who only deals with people you can pay off. Down that road lies madness.
I stare at the amber liquid in my drink.
I sigh. This is so crazy I almost laugh out loud. Paying for sex?
Really? Is that really what I was considering?
Fuck, no. I won’t ever pay for sex, not even if this crazy lunatic threatens to upload every dirty act I’ve ever committed since I first got laid.
And then I hear a loud ding from my computer. I set an alert to let me know if any new campaigns came in on GirlFundMe.
I should go and cancel my membership, I decide, crossing back to my desk and sitting down. The alert says ONE NEW CAMPAIGN. CLICK TO VIEW.
I hesitate.
Just cancel the stupid membership already. This new girl won’t be any different than the others. You’ve already looked through dozens and dozens of women, to no avail.
But curiosity finally gets the better of me and I click to view the new submission.
The moment her profile pops up, I get a jolt of electricity, a surge of excitement that’s like a thunderbolt.
I need to fuck her.
At the same time, I see the listed price for her campaign: one hundred thousand dollars. She’s got nerve, that’s for sure. A hundred thousand is a drop in the bucket for me. I can spend that the way some men would buy a stick of gum.
But that doesn’t mean I will spend it—the product still needs to be worth the price.
I never get ripped off. Never.
Then my eyes return to her pics.
Christ, she’s sexy. Curvy, with full pouty lips, a mysterious little smirk on her face in nearly every picture, like she’s got a secret she’s just waiting to tell me and only me.
My cock is hard already. Stiff, engorged, straining in my boxer briefs as if I haven’t been laid in years.
Calm down, I remind myself. You don’t think straight when you’re being led by your dick.
I begin reading her campaign details. It’s well written, so well written that I wonder if she paid someone to do it for her. It’s funny, quirky, but relatable. The kind of thing that usually takes years of training to write. I know personally how hard it is to find talented copywriters, and yet this girl apparently does it with ease.
Her reasons for using the service are vague, however, and that raises a red flag. She’s not the typical girl I’ve been finding on here, that’s for sure. She lacks the glamour, she doesn’t look fake, she’s not one of those IG girls with huge lips and plastic tits (or sometimes even a plastic ass nowadays).
So, what gives?
Why is she really on this site, auctioning off her body and soul for an amount of money that in the scheme of things, is nothing compared to what she could get just by marrying rich?
There must be something very wrong with this girl, I decide.
And then I click on her short video.
She’s just holding her own camera, selfie style, looking into it, flushed cheeks, clearly embarrassed. “Hey,” she says, smiling and then her eyelashes bat like she’s flirting, but it’s totally natural, not forced at all. “So, this is awkward. Ummm…I am not sure what to say, exactly. I suppose this is just to prove I’m real? I am. I’m a real girl. A real person…and…” she looks up, bites her lower lip, adjusts her position.
I can see her cleavage for a brief moment as she bends forward, those luscious orbs heavy, round and full. Her skin is pale, but soft and delicate looking. “And I suppose I just hope I can meet someone nice, someone who wants to spend time together and have a real experience. I can’t be too picky, I suppose. This isn’t Tinder or eHarmony.” She flashes another embarrassed grin and then her cheeks flush more. “Not that I’ve ever even used those sites. Because, the truth is, I haven’t. I’m an ordinary girl looking for something and someone extraordinary. God, that’s so cheesy. Well, hope to hear from you. Bye.”
The screen freezes on that shot of her, waving, looking huddled in on herself, insecure and innocent and sexy as fuck. All at once.
My cell phone dings and I glance at it. One of my real girls has sent me a picture. I pull it up and see that she’s wearing nothing but a thong, her perfect ass extended back, thrust towards me. Giving a look over her shoulder, a come-hither look with fuck me eyes.
I could have her at my place in under an hour, screw her until she cries mercy, and send her home before dawn. No fuss, no muss.
But then I remember the encrypted mail with all of the pictures and video. This girl could be the villain in question, messing with my head. Doubtful, but still possible. If I’m going to spend time with anyone, she has to be someone completely new.
And crazily enough, I don’t even feel a shred of desire for the half-naked girl (who just happens to be a very successful television actress) who sent me the sexy pic.
I want the other girl—the one charging a ridiculous amount of money on that ridiculous website. The one who made my dick feel like hot steel, ready to impale her, spread those luscious thick thighs and fuck her until she forgets her own name.
I need to lick her pussy, put my cock between her plump lips and come all over her sweet little tongue.
Damn it. I click the Fund button before I can think better of it.
Haisley
I somehow manage to drift off to sleep, despite the butterflies I was feeling after posting my campaign on GirlFundMe.
But then I wake up, disoriented, thirsty, and I grab for my bottle of water and gulp some of it down. I check the time on my cell phone.
It’s after three in the morning.
Also…I have an alert from GirlFundMe.
It says, You Have Correspondence Waiting!
I click on it, blinking and trying desperately to wake myself up so I can focus. I know that I can’t already have interest for my campaign. After all, there are so many beautiful girls on the site, and I made my campaign so expensive that the chances of anyone being interested are less than zero.