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

by Lindsey Bedder

  Intervention

  I was all business.

  With a glance at Borden I knew he wouldn’t decipher, I started on RJ. I scooted across the bench seat and curled my arm around his neck.

  “Let’s go back to your place,” I whispered.

  “For what?”

  Fuck if I knew. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just wanted to derail his mad rush through the countryside. What would RJ like? What would he appreciate?

  “I know,” I whispered. “Set me up with your friends.”

  “Louder,” he snapped.

  I glanced at Borden, who was watching, fascinated and repulsed. “I said, set me up with your friends.”

  “What do you want with all my friends?” he probed.

  “I… I want to fuck them. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  He pushed me away like I was an overly affectionate dog.

  “Can you believe her?” RJ said over his shoulder, catching Borden’s eye. “Because I sure can’t.”

  “I can’t either,” Borden said flatly. “I can’t believe her.”

  We veered onto the highway, pressing aside traffic and nearly clipping a motorcycle.

  RJ watched Borden steadily in the mirror. “Borden, I just realized you’re calling Marylou a liar.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Borden rolled his eyes. “She’s Rebecca, not Marylou, and I’m not calling her a liar.”

  Borden was being strong, and I didn’t want him to be. No one could be stronger than RJ, and at that moment, there was clearly no upside to arguing with him.

  RJ didn’t like Borden’s tone. “Let me try to understand, Borden. You can’t believe Marylou, but she’s not a liar?” RJ’s voice was smooth, but building up to something. “How does that even work, Borden?”

  “I don’t know,” Borden grated. He wanted to glance at me. I willed him not to.

  I crept back to RJ. I knew I looked like the chick everybody felt sorry for, the one with the asshole boyfriend and the raging case of Stockholm Syndrome.

  “Stop fucking with Borden,” I hissed in his ear.

  “Why the fuck should I stop?”

  “Because he’s not someone you have to beat. Because you’re mad at me, not him. Because you’re making me look stupid for caring about you. Because you have never been less sexy than you are right now.”

  RJ looked at Borden again. “What do you think?”

  “I think she’s right,” he said.

  I wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he just shut up and let RJ vent? And why couldn’t RJ just stew quietly with all his bad decisions, and slowly waste away, like me? What was wrong with American masculinity these days?

  Borden added, “But she didn’t go far enough.”

  “Enough, guys!” I shouted. “Can we all agree to shut up for a second, so I can protect Borden by acting sexy?”

  “Rebecca, the only way you can protect Borden is if you’re honest with yourself,” RJ said.

  “Yep,” Borden added.

  I looked between them. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re a slut, Rebecca,” RJ said.

  “Um, ouch?” I still wasn’t mad, though my stomach gave a little lurch. Bad Rebecca shrugged in my mind.

  “So true,” Borden agreed. “Rebecca, you’re a galaxy-class slut, and it’s time you recognize it.”

  “Am not,” I mumbled. I still couldn’t figure it out. Why were they smiling?

  “But you are,” RJ insisted. “What other ‘high fashion model’ needs to get an STD test after every photoshoot?”

  “An edgy one,” I said.

  “How many ‘professional models’ get covered with cum when they ‘pose?’”

  I tried to sound knowledgeable. “More than you’d expect.”

  “And how many of them lick the cum out of their hands?” Borden added. “Because that part of your first photoshoot went viral. Did you really think nobody noticed?”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do with all that cum?” I wailed.

  If I’d wanted to defuse the tension, I’d done it. Both RJ and Borden were laughing at me.

  I kicked back to my side of the seat. RJ’s ear could nibble itself, if he was going to act that way. The way these guys were acting, they could’ve been in cahoots. It had started real enough—Borden had gone all-in with his punch in the restaurant, and his concern beside the car was real.

  Had they been male subtexting this whole time, getting on the same page, synching their cycles, while I danced like a worried sex-puppet trying to calm them down?

  “I feel like I’m being Punk’d,” I mumbled.

  They kept laughing.

  “Think for a minute,” Borden said. “How did Ripper know we were on a date? How did he know which restaurant?”

  I’d been wondering that, and still didn’t have an answer. “He just knew,” I said irritably. “Guys always seem to know where I am. Someone snapchatted me walking in, or they wrote a message in that Facebook group where they perv over me.”

  “It was me,” Borden said. “I texted Ripper.”

  I stared at him, mouth open, then at RJ, who nodded. “I didn’t recognize the number, but I put two-and-two together, a whole lot faster than you did. That’s how I called Borden outside the restaurant. I had his number from his text.”

  I swung back to Borden, mouth still open. That was a big concession, since open astonishment isn’t a good look for any face.

  “You guys belong together,” Borden shrugged. “I didn’t expect such a big scene.”

  “What is this, an intervention?”

  They both nodded. RJ said, “You’re going to fess up to what you are, because all your double-think and self-delusions are getting in my way,” RJ said.

  “I’m not deluding myself about anything,” I said. “Getting in the way of what?”

  RJ pulled his eyes off the road and pinned me for a long three seconds before shifting them back.

  “Until you know what you are, Rebecca, you can’t be with anybody. Until you know yourself, you won’t know the girl someone wants to love.”

  What was he trying to say? I had an inkling, and groped for a response. “I disagree with that.”

  “Disagree all you want,” said Borden from the back seat, “but why on earth would you not want to be honest with yourself?”

  It’s my big, nasty, sordid secret, I thought. That’s why.

  Aloud, I said, “Because you’ll take back all those nice, fancy things you said about me in the restaurant.”

  “I doubt it,” Borden said. “What’s the big secret, anyway?”

  I shook my head and clenched my mouth shut.

  “She’s not telling me, Ripper. I guess you have to.”

  “No!” I exclaimed.

  RJ only laughed. “It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. She has a secret on/off switch that makes her sexier than she already is.”

  “Now you’re lying,” Borden said. “It’s not possible for her to be sexier than she already is. Tell me, or I’ll punch you again.”

  “That’s cute, Borden,” RJ said.

  “It might not hurt you,” Borden said, “but distracted driving is considered unsafe.”

  “Guys,” I wheedled, “let’s not talk about my sexual on/off switch. Let’s see a movie instead. Rashomon is playing at the campus theater.”

  I should’ve kept my mouth shut, because they immediately fixated on me again. Bad Rebecca gloated, her work done.

  I could only wait for RJ to decide what he’d do next. He glanced at me, curled up as far away from him as I could get. Then his eyes traveled down my body. A little late, I took stock. One of my spaghetti straps was at my elbow, and I was showing dizzying cleavage. His eyes moved up my legs to my lap.

  “No underwear?” he said.

  “Underwear is for teen-agers,” I snapped, shifting my legs closer together.

  “Was that a joke, or does she really believe that?” Borden asked RJ.

  “That’s the problem, that
’s the big problem.” RJ mulled a moment longer and then shrugged, deciding something. “Okay, I think a demonstration is in order.”

  “No!” I cried again.

  Yes! Bad Rebecca cackled.

  RJ tilted his ass off the seat, still driving, and dug around in his pocket.

  Bad Rebecca saw the obvious hard-on in RJ’s pants. It was downright epic, as he held up a $20 bill in his hand and showed it to Borden.

  “That’s too much,” I said, then clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “Rebecca,” RJ said. “Do you feel like having having sex with Borden?”

  “Usually? Yeah. Right now? I just want to get away from both of you.”

  “Sorry—” Borden started.

  “Shut up and watch closely,” RJ snapped. “Rebecca, this $20 is yours if you fuck Borden right now.”

  The words hung in the car. My pulse pounded in my ear. RJ waved the bill and I stared at it.

  When he dropped his hand back to the steering wheel my heart gave another lurch, because I thought he was putting the money away and taking the offer off the table.

  What is wrong with me? Good Rebecca wondered.

  Bad Rebecca only laughed.

  “What do you say, whore?” RJ urged, his voice the strangest mix of frustration, pride, and downright longing.

  I realized I was staring at the money, and shifted my eyes to Borden. He was staring at me, and his look of sick fascination was back. I sure know how to impress the boys. The $20 ruffled in the air, and the tiny movement drew my eyes back. I was like a dog staring at a treat. A sexy whore-dog, but a dog nonetheless.

  I didn’t make a decision. There was no decision to make.

  I snatched the money out of RJ’s hand, and crawled into the back seat.

  Borden on the Highway

  Borden looked deeply confused, but he helped me climb over the seat. In short order I was on top of him, my arms around his neck. I straddled his legs, and when he tried to move me to the empty seat beside him, I held on with my knees. After all, there was no point in moving.

  “I’m not a whore,” I said softly in his ear.

  “I know. You’re not a whore unless you fuck me for money,” Borden said. A rill of unwholesome pleasure ran up my back.

  “In that case, I’m not only a whore,” I amended. I kissed his ear, then nibbled the lobe. Borden shivered underneath me, like a motorcycle starting up.

  That felt good. Boy did it feel good. I relaxed on him—which was a euphemism for me puddling on his thighs, sinking my crotch onto his lap. To anybody we passed on the highway, it would look like we were fucking.

  Fast work, Bad Rebecca teased.

  I’m only getting $20, Good Rebecca answered, so I have to be efficient.

  I leaned back so Borden could take all me in. My hands were on his shoulders, fingernails stroking his neck. I shamelessly used my elbows to press my breasts together. They nearly swelled out of the bodice of my breast. Just as his eyes landed on my chest, my spaghetti straps slid helpfully down my elbows. Borden stared into my cleavage like it had subtitles.

  “This is what your money buys,” I said. My voice was a sexy whine that even turned me on. “Since I’m getting paid, I can’t say no. I have to say yes.”

  “You can stop this at any time,” Borden said.

  “Shut up, Borden,” I snapped. “What kind of work ethic do you think I have?”

  This should’ve been awkward. I should’ve been one long cringe, having someone I respected like Borden discovering what I wanted to be. Despite all of that, I felt remarkably at peace.

  I was part part horrified and part electrified by how natural, how easy it felt. Borden felt the same way, because his dick was as hard and badly-placed as the cross-bar on a men’s bicycle. The totally unhip corduroy of his pants grated against me.

  The Lincoln surged as RJ careened across two lanes to find an opening. It was like Borden and I were riding a wild animal bearing us who-knew-where.

  “Don’t be disgusted with me,” I added.

  He looked honestly surprised at that. “Disgusted? Fuck no, I’m just shocked I didn’t see it earlier. I see it now, though: You’re going to make an amazing whore.”

  My breath caught.

  I rocked my pelvis against him, gently stroking my bare sex against that monstrous bulge in his pants.

  “We’re almost at Indianapolis,” RJ said from the front seat. “Finish before we get there.”

  I raised an eyebrow and Borden nodded. “You’re on the clock, whore.”

  I ripped open his fly and helped him push his pants down his thighs. My breasts popped out of my dress and regardless how weird our situation was, Borden immediately latched on with his hands.

  Because I wasn’t wearing panties, I was able to sink onto Borden’s shaft without any further delay. The look on his face was startled amazement, as if he couldn’t believe anything his body was reporting—not his eyes, not his cock, not the palms of his hands. I sort of felt the same. We’d gone from zero to penetration in ten seconds.

  “I’m fucking you for $20,” I said. I don’t know why I said that, but it made me even wetter.

  “She would do it for $10,” RJ called back, “but I was feeling generous.”

  I slid up Borden’s impressive pole, and back down. The world twirled with sensation. Part of it was RJ shifting lanes again, driving dangerously in traffic.

  “Kiss me,” Borden said. “Kiss me now.”

  I wrapped my arms around his head, bringing my lips to his. I hadn’t noticed the scruff on his cheeks. It brushed mine and I shivered down to my hips—which took over by shivering on his cock. His mouth was hot against mine, like he had a furnace inside.

  “The full girlfriend experience,” RJ said. “A kissing whore. They’re popular on Craigslist. Worth every nickel.”

  “I’m so terrible,” I muttered. Sometimes, a girl doesn’t mind being terrible.

  Borden and I spent the next twenty minutes to Indianapolis surging against each other. I moved up and down, and Borden steered me with his hands on my hips. It was straight highway sex, me in the open with my dress bunched around my waist, biting my lips, glancing at the other cars around us.

  That Lincoln suddenly seemed to be all window. We were fucking in a bubble, surrounded by leering truck drivers, dubious women, and excitable young men. Cars full of pointed fingers, laughter, and hastily-aimed cameras. I was a public highway whore, and I had a dick between my legs that was lighting me up like a Roman Candle.

  Borden came as we passed the “Welcome to Indianapolis” sign. It turned out he was strong, another surprise for me. He bucked in the seat, holding me against him as his cock touched me more deeply than I’d ever had a man. I was a sponge, juicy and stretched out, no match for his galvanic strength. I came with a scream and collapsed backward, my breasts heaving at the ceiling as I caught my breath. I didn’t care who saw me.

  “Maybe I am a whore,” I said.

  “See what she does?” RJ said. “She’s already trying to walk it back, to cover up what she is.”

  “I’m not doing that,” I said. “And can’t I have a few minutes to collect myself before we start arguing again?”

  “Sorry, you’re right,” RJ said. “Save your energy. You’re going to need it.”

  “What do you mean?” I would’ve checked his face, but Borden was still stroking my breasts and that felt too nice to move. He was cuddling me like a little whore-bird in his arms, devouring me with his eyes.

  “Here’s the problem, Marylou,” RJ said. “We just hit Indianapolis, we don’t have any money, and we’re out of gas.”

  I sat up, and found we were in stop-and-go traffic outside the enormous city. “We don’t have any money at all?”

  I turned to Borden. Surely he had a card in his wallet. We’d been on a date, after all.

  Borden, bless him, simply shook his head.

  “What,” RJ prodded, “are we going to do, Rebecca?”

  I knew exactly
what we were going to do.

  Strike that. I knew what I would do.

  RJ must have read my understanding in my eyes, because he nodded with a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be awesome.”

  Borden was still inside me. His cock wasn’t quite going limp. Even as some blood left it, other blood was rushing in—I imagined a traffic jam in his pants, something like the Indianapolis traffic that had now slowed us to a crawl. Oops! I pulled my dress up and covered myself again.

  “I don’t understand,” Borden said, though clearly he did. “What are you going to do, Marylou?”

  We were all play-acting, to get me to fess up to the truth about myself.

  I kissed Borden’s lips. “We need money for gas.”

  “So?”

  “So obviously I have to whore myself for some gas money.”

  Borden, that wholesome farm boy, simply grinned. “You mean, in addition to all your other good qualities, you’ll fuck anybody who gives you money?”

  I nodded, feeling deliciously dirty.

  “Rebecca,” he continued, “you’re our only hope. Just remember, you’re new to this, so you shouldn’t charge too much.”

  “When I’m whoring, Borden, my name is Marylou.”

  We slid into the last open parking spot at the bus depot. The Lincoln sputtered and died.

  “No gas,” RJ said with deep satisfaction. He turned to the back seat. It was magic hour and his gorgeous, regular features were luminous. His eyes were intense gray dares that could provoke me to do anything. Behind his head, the bus depot glowed in the lowering sunlight, full of seedy promise.

  “Marylou, there’s a lot on the line. Go in and see if anybody is interested. Borden and I will discuss how we’re going to pimp you.”

  With a welling of idiot emotion, I suddenly felt like I could do anything for these wonderful guys. But I was also a regular college girl, and I was nervous about this bat-shit insane escapade I was starting.

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

  I flashed what I hoped was a dazzling smile and strode away, toward the bus station.