Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance

by Lindsey Bedder

  Procuring interested men wouldn’t be a problem. Even when I’m my natural, innocent self, opportunities always seem to arise. At the restaurant, in the line at the grocery store, at the student gym on campus. RJ’s professor—I sometimes caught him looking at me in a less than professorly manner. The groups of guys I lead to their tables at the restaurant where I hostess. The restaurant’s kitchen staff—probably good for a constant supply of cum. I mean cash. The owners of the restaurant. The drunk old men at the bar upstairs. My classmates. Every single guy in the dorm, since they never leave me alone anyway.

  Only now, I could follow up all those hints and half-voiced offers, because it wouldn’t be slutty anymore. I mean, it would be slutty, but it would be the socially acceptable kind of slutty, because it’s what whores do. Nobody would judge me because it would be my job, and nobody would complain because I’d be good at it.

  Maybe I could work a night shift, delivering pizzas. Only I’d offer a special item not on the menu. Once I had a reputation, and everybody knew about me, nothing would be impossible…

  Okay, so I have a dirty mind. Welcome to the world, as seen by Bad Rebecca. I can spin ever deeper into my naught imagination, spiraling into it like a slutty corkscrew, until I open the bottle on a world of filth.

  There I was, naked on my knees in front of a guy I’d barely traded fifty words with before today. His cock still throbbed in my hand and his cum was sliding down my throat. And all I wanted was more.

  Ameet indicated the bill in my hand. “That’s more than I owe you. Can we… can we put the rest on account?”

  I nodded. “Just say when.”

  “Is it transferrable?” RJ asked alertly. He leaned on the couch, watching me over Ameet’s shoulder with an intense gaze. “Maybe Ameet has a friend, or a boss?”

  Tingles. I truly had no secrets from RJ, and he knew exactly what would turn my dial.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to sound sweet and innocent, and failing utterly. My word came out like a panther’s growl.

  “Like maybe my advisor,” Ameet pondered. “So he’ll recommend me for that internship I applied for.”

  “Think your advisor would like her?” RJ prodded.

  “You know he would, Ripper. I told you all about him.” Ameet turned to me. “My advisor is obsessed with you, Rebecca. He downloads everything he can find online. He’s so jealous that I know you. He wants me to introduce him to you. He said he’d be your advisor, if you wanted.”

  “She could come with you to your next meeting,” RJ said. “She’ll wear my favorite outfit, that high-fashion dress of hers. You’ll have your meeting, and he’ll be tongue-tied, staring her up and down. And then at the end, you could say, ‘Oh, one more thing.’”

  “Yes,” I growled again. RJ was painting a humiliating, filthy scene. I knew I could make it work.

  “I like it,” Ameet said, and he did, because I’d forgotten to release his shaft, and it was hardening again in my hand. “I’d nod at Rebecca, and she’d get up and slink over without a word. She’d drop to her knees in front of him. Then, just before he came in her mouth, I’d ask for the recommendation.”

  Frissons of pleasure, batting at me like a cat with a toy. RJ watched it play out on my face, drawing pleasure from my pleasure. How he could read me! We were such a match.

  No, we were such a waste.

  We were a fucking waste of what would probably be an epic relationship, something so hot it would burn down the world. Why had I ever turned him away, or let him persist believing he was friend-zoned? And why hadn’t I broken every nail tearing the wall apart by hand? I might be organized, career-oriented, and sexy, but I never said I was smart.

  “I like it,” I said, for both of them. “I like that plan.”

  It answered Ameet, but it spoke to RJ. If only RJ would hear me.

  We're Sooo Close!

  Ripper Jack and I got close, but we didn’t close the deal. The next time I returned to his house, I discovered we were still only friends. All that intensity and intimacy from the morning with Archibald and then Ameet—it was all gone. Like he’d pressed a reset button without me knowing.

  It was depressing to realize that I’d gotten closer to being a whore than being RJ’s girlfriend. I’d been working on RJ all semester, whereas precisely nobody had known about my whore fixation until I drunkenly yelled it outside a bar. I was also a little pissed that RJ hadn’t followed up on that. Did RJ think it was just a one-time fantasy for me? Did he not believe this could be our real dynamic? And for that matter, if he was merely a friend-zoned ‘buddy,’ why did he help me act out a fantasy in the first place?

  I went to class with RJ when he presented the Archibald photo shoot. It had one of my most favorite pictures of all time, and I begged him to include it in the series. It jumped out at me in so many ways, and I wanted to know what the other students thought of it.

  He was hesitant, but then surprised me by using it. There I was, my most intimate and revealing photo yet, projected on the twelve-foot screen. My breath caught when it went up. I squirmed in my seat, suddenly hot. As it turned out, I had a lot of time to squirm, because that photo stayed up the longest. It took a while for the class to unpack why it was so special.

  First, you have to get past my splayed legs and my nipples against Archibald’s chest. You have to get past how my panties had shifted completely to the side, and my pussy lips were split open, glinting wet, and wrapped around Archibald’s shaft. Then, you have to wrap your mind around the artistic contrast of my lean body, with my rippling abs, and Archibald’s pillowy flesh.

  If you can get past all those surface features, you’ll see what I love about the image. My mouth is open to his tongue, but my eyebrows are gathered and my eyes are vexed and piercing. RJ’s professor pointed this out during the class discussion. He said my mouth was a “welcoming receptacle,” but my eyes were “solid disgust.” The picture was a study in contrasts, he said. It was a mixture of humiliation, degradation, appetite, anger, porn, and high art.

  He said: “Probably not one in a hundred models could convey all of that at once, but our Rebecca lays it all out there. It’s transgressive, primal. I can’t wait to see who Ripper makes her do next. I mean what she does next.”

  I remember that quote word for word. I’ll probably never forget it, or how the professor stood next to me in the dark, squeezing my shoulder encouragingly.

  After RJ’s presentation, I noticed the professor looking my way. It was a speculative look, like he was evaluating my figure through my short silk dress.

  I was suddenly glad I wore it to class. It was RJ’s favorite, and whenever I gave him a vote, he always demanded the ‘high fashion dress.’ I forced him to explain what he liked about it, even though he wasn’t a discerning fashion major like me. He said it had a good drape, that the wind tossed it around, that it showed a lot of leg and a bit of ass cheek when I walked, and that it pulled open in all the right places.

  He also always talked me out of underwear, which was just darling. Big tough guy, going on about women’s unmentionables like an expert! What he didn’t know was that I don’t have matching panties anyway, and there’s simply not enough fabric over the bust for a bra.

  Add some platform sandals or high heels, and I always got a lot of looks wherever we went. He was always so happy when I wore it that he’d drag me around campus. It was so cute. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was mere lingerie!

  To me, the crucially important take-away was that RJ even had a favorite. We were spending that much time together, a few hours every day, almost like a couple, where we were either doing photo shoots or planning them.

  The next time I caught RJ’s professor staring, I tried smiling back. He was a well-known photographer in his own right, and maybe he wanted me to model for him!

  Indeed, he approached me after class, when RJ was distracted at the projector.

  “How can Jack afford you?” he asked. He took my hands and held them out, looki
ng me up and down.

  I smiled and blushed. “I’m really cheap, actually.”

  He motioned for me to spin, which I did. “Again.”

  Flattered, I spun again, to show him I could follow direction. The hem of my ‘high fashion skirt’ flared.

  I don’t mind preening for attention sometimes, and this was the whole reason for my daily fashion shows in the first place. A model never knows when she’ll cross paths with an agent, a designer, or some other industry person who can launch her career into the stratosphere. In a sense, my apparel is an open invitation to study me. In the mornings when I dress, I ask myself, “If someone really wants to see me, will he be able to?”

  The professor twirled his finger and I spun a few more times.

  “Tell me, Rebecca, are you wearing panties?”

  I shook my head, though he’d clearly already guessed the truth. “I don’t have anything with a matching color.”

  His brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t simple white work?”

  Everyone thinks they’re a fashion expert! I carefully didn’t laugh at him. “Well, sir, I have a session later, and elastic leaves marks on the skin. Besides, the silk is so light it’s easy to see panty-lines through it.”

  He laughed, even though I was serious.

  “How much do you cost per hour?”

  “Oh, um… ” He’d caught me out. After all this time, I hadn’t thought about my rates. I only had my pre-university baby-sitting as a guide. “I charge $10 an hour.”

  The professor frowned, and I knew I’d quoted too high. “You charge $10 an hour to get naked and make out with random guys? All those pictures in Jack’s portfolio, all the stuff you get up to… that’s $10 an hour?”

  “Yes, and I also do catalog modeling. Sports-wear, beauty products, that sort of stuff. Anything at all, for anybody with a camera, I guess.”

  “That’s a good motto,” the professor mused. “As long as there’s a camera involved?”

  “Yep!” I was still worried about the rate I’d quoted. “By the way, I have reduced rates for longer sessions, and group discounts.”

  “Well, you’re phenomenal, Rebecca. You do phenomenal work.” He waved a hand at the screen, but his eyes were latched on me. “Much more interesting than another picture of a building.”

  I bounced happily. “Thank you! I’m new at this, so I love feedback. I just have to trust my photographers, and do everything they tell me. I’m really excited about all the possibilities for my career.”

  “You’ll get a lot of use,” he said. Then he noticed another student waiting for his attention. “Can I get your number, Rebecca? I might want to call you some night. For modeling, or just to meet up for a drink, maybe, and talk about you… your plans.”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely!” I exclaimed, and then clapped my hand over my mouth. “I apologize for swearing just now. Call any time. I’m a very easy model. I’m totally ready to push my boundaries, and eager to please!”

  He started to turn away, but turned back as I bent over a desk and scrawled my number on a sheet of paper. He said, “Why don’t you add your email, too? And if you have a website, or an Instagram account?”

  “Done, and done!” It took a while to write out, but he watched like a hawk.

  When I finally tore the sheet out of the notebook and handed it to him, he merely said, “Damn.”

  I was still buoyant and excited when I caught up to RJ.

  “I think he wants to use me!” I whispered fiercely.

  “I think so too.” He smiled and wrapped an arm around my shoulder to lead me out. That was a little brotherly for my taste, but I only minded a little this time. I was still excited about what I might do with the professor.

  “You sure gave him a long look down your dress. When you bend over, it shows everything.”

  I punched his side, but playfully. He’s built of muscle, and it hurts my hand. “You have a dirty mind. He’s a professional, like you. I’m sure he was just watching me write.”

  “When he calls you, probably late at night, give him some special treatment.”

  “Of course I will.”

  RJ grinned that indecent, teasing grin again. “No, really, Rebecca. Try to think about my grade in his class. Give it your all.”

  He pinched my ass, right there in public! I danced and squealed in happy outrage, causing heads to turn. “You’re so bad, Jack!”

  “Let’s get some pictures of you in the fountain,” he said. “I want to see that dress when it’s wet.”

  “You mean in the Quad? It’s lunch time, it’ll be full of people.”

  “You’re not suddenly shy, are you? I like when people watch you work. You’re like, on another level.”

  Flattery will get you everywhere, buddy, I thought. “I only meant that there might not be room at the fountain, because so many people sit around it.”

  He smiled the smile I like best on him. The smile of a driven man with a rough background, who can’t believe the world is treating him so well. When RJ is in this mood, it’s infectious. I felt unstoppable.

  “They’ll move for you, babe,” he said, and he shifted his arm off my shoulder to my waist. “They’ll move, or they won’t get to participate.”

  “If the guys start grabbing me again, will you beat them up?”

  “Only if they block your light,” he laughed. “You can handle yourself, I’ve seen it.”

  “I handle myself by letting myself get handled.” I wasn’t complaining or asking for advice. I just liked saying it aloud.

  “If you’re ever in trouble, call me Ripper instead of Jack. That will be our signal.”

  “Awesome,” I said. Now we had a secret codeword, even though I knew I’d never use it. When strange guys turn touchy, it usually yields our best pictures.

  We turned toward the fountain on the Quad, walking lockstep, his hand still on my waist. My engine revved as I thought about being in the viewfinder again. The water would do things to my lingerie, oh shucks, and to me in it. I’d be in the bright sunlight surrounded by the lunchtime crowd. RJ felt the change in my walk, the added swing in my hips, and squeezed my waist affectionately. Progress, progress.

  I knew some perfect poses to try. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Heck, I was already doing it, because looking at RJ and me, you’d think we were a couple. We were indistinguishable from two gorgeous young people in the middle of a thrilling adventure. I was basically his girlfriend. We had everything but the physical intimacy. Any minute now, we’d tip over into what the universe was screaming at us to be.

  That was our life for most of the semester. Three of the fullest months of my life. It went at such a frenetic pace that, in the rare quiet moments after I woke up, I wondered how much longer I could keep going. My portfolio bulged with edgy, sexy work that could withstand the closest scrutiny. I had crowded out every other sexy chick on RJ’s wall.

  As fast as we were going, it still felt like everything was unfolding slowly. I could deal with that as long as we had forward momentum.

  We had that momentum… until one day, we didn’t.

  RJ's Strange Game

  Ripper Jack texted me one Sunday afternoon:

  Get over here at 5pm. I have a special treat for you. Dress sexy. Try to make an effort for once. Teasing. Dress Rebecca-sexy. You know what I want.

  I arrived at RJ’s house at five on the dot, knowing this would fluster him because I was never on schedule. I hammered the door like the police and he threw it open. He had nothing but a towel around his waist.

  I didn’t mind!

  He grabbed me off the doorstep like one of those angler fish on the Nature Channel. One second I was in front of his door, the next second I was wrapped in the arms of my muscular latino photographer. He smushed my face into his pectoral muscles.

  I didn’t mind at all. Nope.

  But I also didn’t want to seem too easy, so I said, “Ew, dude! You’re all wet!”

  “Sorry!” My head was against his chest like
I wanted to check his heartbeat, so I only heard him through his torso. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “You need a towel, and I need my dignity.”

  I closed my eyes and he released me.

  “Here,” he said. “Dry off. Don’t peek!”

  Suddenly his towel was in my hands.

  Somewhere on the other side of my eyelids, RJ was naked and guiding me through his house with his hands on my shoulders. He was in front of me, so using my innate knowledge of girl-physics, I knew he was facing me, bare naked from top to bottom.

  “For once, I’m dressed and you’re naked!” I tried to joke, but my voice cracked. I ached to open my eyes, but I couldn’t since he was facing me. If he caught me peeking, I’d never hear the end of it.

  It was a special kind of hell. Me alone with a naked RJ was precisely the situation I craved. Since I don’t have to play coy in my own mind, I’ll come right out and say it. I think RJ might be the catch of a lifetime. Both of me think that—Bad Rebecca and Good Rebecca.

  Good me likes that he is confident, driven, talented, and going places. Bad me likes his scary background, his rough friends with their hints about his time on the streets, and his overwhelming self-confidence that slips into outright insolence. Bad Rebecca wants to punish him for all of that, by the way. She also wants to support his pure, unrepentant joy in everything dirty.

  Both Good Rebecca and Bad Rebecca also love his accent, his indifference to what people think, and his… composure. He just never seemed out of his element. When you dig through all that extra manliness and sweep it aside… when you see him groggy and unguarded in the morning, he still has an iron core that says nothing will ever stop him, no matter what obstacles block his path. I wanted some of his aplomb. All over my face.

  But he, apparently, didn’t want any of mine on his. Yep. We were ‘buddies,’ confirmed and cemented, and I probably couldn’t change that now without scaring him away. In my personal relationship math, it’s better to pine for him like a scented floor cleaner, than have him ghost out of my life because I was that clingy, annoying chick who took his friendship too seriously. RJ was simply too good at cutting himself free from entanglements and obstacles, and I didn’t want to be one of those.