I was the grand old age of 22,
Just coming to the end of my MA and slogging through 15-hour days, seven-day weeks on my dissertation.

However, such qualifications do not come cheap and I’d stumped-up my life savings and holiday earnings to cover it. ‘Cos edukashun is valubul, innit? In the final month I’d hit the bottom of my overdraft, had numerous rent and bills due, no savings, no chance of claiming benefit (full-time students can’t), no job and the ‘rental bank was currently sorting out my recently-divorced, single-mum sister.

Buggerations.

I needed a hundred squid and fast.
Salvation came in the form of an internet “dating” site for well-educated young ladies such as my esteemed self. The site would offer the charming company and intelligent conversation of a young man or woman at dinner in return for a fee (decided by said man or woman). Naturally this would attract lots of wealthy older men looking for some hot university totty that they could quite innocently take to dinner. Dinner only, got it? I signed up straight away and banged on a price of £80 for a meal with my incredible banter and barely visible cleavage, stuck a few flattering photos up and waited.

Hurrah, joy as I received the message that ‘bob’ has asked me out on a date! I received his details and Googled him instantly. 36, *Whereversian and with assets £250 million, ranked Xth richest man in Whereverland. £250 million??!! Holy mother of feck, yes! He messaged me; inviting me to his apartment, a prestigious address on Park Lane, no less (not actually on a Monopoly board – the real Park Lane). I knew his wealth was legit but was wary; this was supposed to be a dinner date with lots of people around in case my lady bits were unduly fondled. Oh, but I needed the cash and he was loaded. I put on my tottery heels, tight black dress and went anyway thinking, “I’m from the North and no one’s gonna mess with this biatch.”

How naive I was.

The apartment porters were immediately suspicious when I turned up. I could hear their thoughts screaming, ”PROSSIEEEEEEE! Dirty, clap-infested prossie to visit our pervert tenant.” I said I was a friend of Mr Rich and they were content to allow me into the plush lift. I ascended to his flat, knocked on the door and was greeted by an overweight, spotty and greasy (if well-dressed) man. Real age: 36; chronological age: 67. But then he did go on a dating site to pay for my company so fair dos.

The apartment was hideous. Everything rich people buy when they have lots of money and no Keenbean to tell them how to spend it. He plopped £100 into my bag straight off. You can predict what happened next. Kisses exchanged for information, bragging about wealth, eating sweets and getting naked. Did I mention he was like a big kid? Bags of Haribo everywhere. Maybe that was for me, being young and impressionable and all.

Anyway, long story short I didn’t do the full works but acted as ‘inspiration’ for his wank.

I refused to do any bishop-bashing so basically I lay there naked while he did the business himself. Turns out Whereversians have differently-shaped cocks from the Caucasian male to which I had become accustomed. Didn’t expect that.

Ms Keenbean BA, MA, Scholar, Prostitute.

Fucksocks.

I left at 5am, as soon as the tube started up again and travelled home with the numerous other leftover drunks.

I recently Googled this guy and he’s now some fantastic philanthropist so he won’t be joining me in hell...unless I tell the minions on my shoulder...bwahahahahahahaaaa.

The website’s still there and, no, I’m not on it any more.

Length? One night of degradation, 6” and possibly eternity in hell. Poobum.

*Why am I protecting his identity?
(KeenBean objects to this comma, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 19:58, 8 replies)

You're protecting his identity
because he's rich and powerful and could do Very Bad Things if you upset him enough.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:15, closed)

More common than you'd think
When I did something of a similar nature (for which I also will burn) I was actually pretty surprised by the number of colleagues just doing what they had to do to get through Uni... makes a great story to tell the grandkids, or the parents when you're wanting to rub thier nose in what a shit job they did instilling morals :)
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 0:29, closed)

It doesn't just happen in uni...
A friend of mine who works for a company that may or may not have recently ejected Russell Brand and co has watched a receptionist fuck her way from desk dolly to hardened office clerk in 6 months.

Whether he was involved, I'm not sure. Haha.
(willmorgan, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 2:50, closed)

hahahaaa..
hardened...
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 4:34, closed)

some jobs just aren't worth the money
Thank you for your story, I feel much better about working at Sainsburys now.
(laurasuper, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 3:12, closed)