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Banker’s Bitch



Going to university at the age of twenty – four wasn’t easy. Although it may not sound very old to some, it is a life altering experience which can be unsettling in many ways. Predominantly, it was financially unsettling.

Having worked full – time, from pretty much the age of fifteen when I left school, reducing my earnings to part – time was tough. Although I received student finance, things were a struggle without being supported by parents.

Despite these difficulties, I was determined to get the degree I had always wished for. I knew I had potential and I had missed out on the prospect of University in the past. I have had a troubled childhood which extended into my teenage years and the beginning of my adult life. Bullying, abuse, bad boyfriends, family issues, illness and eating disorders – these had robbed me of my past, but I refused to let them rob me of a future.

So, I started uni, I was probably half way through year two when I started to feel the burden of financial difficulty. At times I really felt desperate, reluctant and fearful about asking my parents for help, I started to think of alternatives.

I half – heartedly made the decision to expand my search criteria on Tinder, I set the age range to something like up to 70. The idea of a sugar daddy was one I found intriguing and exciting, my curiosity beckoning me to delve into this unknown land. While patiently waiting to match with an older rich guy, I did some research into sugar babying. Reading some of the articles, I was sold a romanticised version of the truth. The girls would write about how their sugar daddies would pay them just to go on dates and they didn’t even have to do anything physical. How they were paid thousands just for meeting someone. Even the girls who said they were having sex with their daddies claimed to receive absurd amounts and whisked off around the world. It all sounded very glamorous and appealing of course.

Now, call me naive, but, I knew that these were possibly exaggerated for the purpose of the articles, or to reduce the shame of the individuals writing about their experiences. But I did not quite anticipate just how far from the truth they were.

So eventually, Tinder notified me of a Super like. I viewed the profile of the fifty – two year old, obese, unattractive male. I thought, “I really don’t think I can do this, but I’m curious as to what he will try.” So we matched, he began messaging straight away, he was eager to get to know me more and kept the conversation flowing. He explained that he was a banker for the most powerful bank in the world (without me stating the corporation, it is fairly obvious) he also owned three businesses.

When we conversed he sounded pretty normal actually, strange how people can do that so well despite being utterly weird. I started moaning about how I couldn’t afford to buy the nicer soya milk from the supermarket, he said he could help me with that. I took it as a joke and moved on to another subject.

He proceeded to offer me £500 to go and stay with him in a hotel in London. He explained there was no expectation and we could just see if we get along. At first, I had thought, there is no way I could do it. But then something came over me that made me want to. I really needed the money and I was so very curious.

So, I eventually agreed.

I didn’t know if I could trust him to give me the money when I got there and I was worried that the money I would buy my train tickets with would be wasted if he didn’t turn up. I expressed my concern and to my surprise, he told me I could have the money first! I didn’t believe it and I thought it must be some kind of scam… He asked if he could have my account details to transfer it to me online. I was absolutely not going to give out that information as it seemed dodgy as fuck. He then offered to send the money to me through Western Union, so I agreed. I collected my money on the morning before I met him, I was still shocked at how he could trust me to meet him and not take the money and run.

He was at work so we were messaging, he sent me the details of the five star hotel we would be staying in, along with the confirmation receipt so that I knew it was all genuine. I arrived and he had already checked us in, I just had to collect my room key at the reception and have the concierge take my bags up. I felt shame as I showed the receptionist my confirmation receipt, I was sure that she had remembered booking him in from the look on her face. Bearing in mind, I look much younger than my years, this probably looked even worse. Although he had already checked in with a credit card as a guarantee and given his passport, she insisted on copying mine too. I heard her say to her colleague “Yes, we will copy hers too, just in case.” They assumed I was a call girl i’m sure, which, I guess I was, in a way.

When in the hotel room I was impressed by how nice it was, I snap chatted and messaged my two close friends who I had told what I was doing – for some safety. I was so nervous and afraid that I felt like I could vomit.

There was an envelope on the bedside table containing £200 cash, he had messaged me saying I could have this in addition to the £500, so I could buy myself lunch etc. I didn’t go out and get any lunch because of how sick I felt. I showered, got ready, made myself look hot. I wore a black cocktail dress with heels as he requested.

There I waited, nervously. The amount of times I considered leaving, turning back, going home were innumerable, but my curiosity would not allow it.

While I waited, all dressed up, I tried to read a book and listened to some music… Without my realising, I was listening to CocoRosie – “Lost Girls.”

Then, the knock on the door. He entered, worse than I had anticipated, he really was very fat, very ugly and shorter than I (I’m 5’3). He wasn’t even wearing a nice suit. He kissed me on both cheeks and greeted me, told me I looked good and asked how I was. At least he seemed nice.

We went out and got a taxi to Soho, he took me to a veggie restaurant, then to a bar for cocktails. Although it seemed sweet that he specifically picked the veggie restaurant knowing that i’m veggie, the drinks afterwards showed his real character. He seemed to be trying to get me to drink as much as he could get down me, he even ordered me another cocktail when I had already declined. He began touching my waist and getting closer. I have to admit, I felt embarrassed to be seen with him, I looked around twenty and he looked older than fifty – two. People stared and looked concerned, I could feel their eyes on me.

Eventually, we left the bar and got a taxi back, even the taxi driver showed concern, I felt so much shame, but I also felt incredibly drunk. When we arrived back in the hotel room, he threw a small bag of white powder onto the bed and said “Here, that’s for you”. It was coke. I’ve never had any particular aversion to drugs, but taking cocaine from someone I didn’t know, in a hotel with no one else but him, made me very nervous. I asked if he was having any and he said no, but that he wanted to see me take it. I don’t know why I did, so stupid, but I was very drunk. I racked up four lines and snorted them with a £50 note he pulled from his wallet. Soon enough, I felt the rush, I felt like everything was ok and that I could have sex with him if he wanted it. So I did, I knew in my mind that it repulsed me and that I was doing a bad thing that went against everything my body was telling me. But the coke numbed me and I just did it.

He groaned, grunted and growled as he went down on me and then thrusted his unimpressive penis in me. I pretended to enjoy it, while watching his fat wobble up and down… up and down. I remember thinking it reminded me of the way a water bed flops around when you lie on it.

Then he took me from behind, moaning and grunting loader and thrusting faster, I could tell he was going to cum, and then he said the dreaded; “I don’t want to come yet, I want more”. So, he slowed down his thrusting, I wanted it to end, so I moved myself back hard and fast, he moaned and came straight away, while shouting at me; “You bitch!”.

There we lay… Him exhausted, panting and sweating, me numb and emotionless. I began to think about what I had just done, I couldn’t take it, my emotions were beginning to come back as the high wore off. I knew what I had to do to get through it. I racked up some more lines. My emotions void once more.

The next day, he woke me grinding against me with his morning boner, I could feel his swollen, gluttonous belly on my back. I was so exhausted as I had barely slept and my heart was pounding after the cocaine the night before. I knew there was no refusing him, so I let him do it, it was so much worse when I wasn’t high.

When he had finished, he left for work. I was so relieved to be alone. Room service brought me my breakfast and although I felt sick, I knew I needed to recharge. I then scrubbed myself clean and checked out. It was nearly lunch time and he wanted to meet me before I went, so we went to a noodle bar and ate. I said goodbye and was overcome with such relief. As I walked around Mayfair, I noticed other rich businessmen looking at me, interested… They were so much more handsome and well – dressed than him. I felt regret and disgust at myself.

So, I returned to uni, cocaine and weed in my bag as a souvenir that he insisted I kept. I updated my friends and then collapsed on my bed, sleeping for hours.

Depression followed the next day. I felt like the worst person in the world, I felt like I was dirty and disgusting, I swore I would never do it again. I knew it would lead to a downward spiral of reliance, dependance and drugs.

Yet, I did do it again.

 

 

 



The BEST holidays

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