After a month of working part-time as a barista, I was once again out of a job.
F—k it, I thought. Jobs come and go. Time to find another one.
My phone buzzed. It was my boss. I wasn’t exactly expecting an apology for getting laid off, but I definitely wasn’t expecting an invitation to dinner.
I didn’t particularly want to go out with my old boss (men ain’t s–t), but I wasn’t going to turn down a free meal.
I met up with this man — let’s call him “Coffee Daddy” — at an upscale restaurant. He talked about how his coffee shop was going to s–t and how he planned on selling the establishment while I smiled and nodded.
After a few hours, he noticed I was itching to leave. He thanked me for meeting up with him and said we should do it again. Girl… as a broke college student, any opportunity to escape UB’s inglorious dining options is secured.
An hour later, he’s texting me again, asking me if I’m single, complimenting me. Then I got hit with this: “Can I ask you something without any offense?”
I was expecting this man to spit out the most vile question. Nervous, I typed, “Of course, what is it?”
The response was instantaneous: “Can I worship your feet?”
Now hear me out: I am an opportunist. I will take any chance to become the dominatrix baddie that I am. My first thought? “OK, if I’m going to let this man suck on my toes, I have to be reimbursed for the emotional damage. A material girl has to eat and pay bills!”
And that’s how I ended up lying on my back in an upscale hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for instructions. Coffee Daddy was lying on the floor, ready to get a faceful of my feet.
30 minutes later, I’m driving down the highway, listening to “Work Bitch” with an extra $200 ready to hit my bank account. Now, as a college student, where else am I going to get hundreds of dollars from a half hour’s work? Although I wasn’t very comfortable with letting an older man get down and pig out on my toes, I put my dignity aside and did what any realist would do: Secure the bag, girl.
But after several dinner dates and hotel reservations, I was getting tired. I’d scroll through Twitter while Coffee Daddy got off on my “stunning” feet, whimpering multiple times in a single session.
But I wasn’t the only one getting bored at our sessions. Coffee Daddy wanted something more, something that would make any girlie gag just thinking about it: “Would you be willing to put your hand in me and fist me?”
As a composed individual, I laughed it off. I was truly horrified, but money is money — and there was plenty on the table.
I went for it. Things went smoothly at first, and then — the accident happened.
Having a whole handful of s–t all over my hand and fingernails is not what I had in mind. I have never been down bad for financial stability before. I composed myself, scrubbing away at my hand in the hopes that I could clean my way out of this s—ty situation.
I blocked Coffee Daddy after that encounter with no hesitation. I called my best friend for comfort. (They’re a real one.)
Moral of the story: Sell feet pics instead of being a sex worker. In all seriousness, don’t do things you’re not comfortable with, no matter the situation, pressure or money. Be kind to yourself. You’re young and will continue to make silly little mistakes. Will I continue to let submissive men continue to invite me to dinner? Absolutely. Ten times better than my girl dinner.
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