I Would Do Anything for Money

I would do anything for money. Well, I would do most things for a good amount of money. My rules are simple. I don’t mind danger, don’t mind dirt, don’t mind humiliation, don’t mind pain. The only things I strictly don’t do are prostitution, killing and love. As for the rest, it’s always a matter of assessing the pros and cons, a question of whether the money is handsome enough for the risk to be worth it, and a problem of me making decisions based on my mood.

I know, I know. It’s making money after all. This could be considered a “job” and I should be professional. I shouldn’t let my mood get in the way especially when the deal is clearly in my favour. Simple task, easy money. Like seriously you wouldn’t think some people would pay a random chick on the internet, me, a couple of grands to like, eat spaghetti from a jar and have tomato sauce dripping down my cleavage. Gross (of me) and weird (of them) I know.

But to be fair I enjoy the fact that I can factor my mood into this job and keep my dignity (or lose it when I feel like it — big deal) First of all, I want money, I want to get more money, I love money so fucking much but I don’t need it from this job. My life is not dependent on it. I have money coming in from other mainstream sources, aka “day job”, to feed my mouth and fill up my shoe racks. Second of all, there are always more requests than I’d have time for so naturally I’d get to pick some and pass some, to decide which one I can get the most out of and negotiate a better price for it.

And I’m not just talking about money. I’m talking about entertainment value. I don’t do things out of desperation. I definitely don’t do things that are boring and uncool — that would just ruin my image and I would never ever risk ruining my image. I only do stuff that blow life into my holes. That’s my number one principle by the way. And while we’re at it, listen to me, don’t ever live life without principles, or say you do but don’t actually follow them. Like, why are you wasting this space? Do you even have respect for yourself? I have no taste for that.

Anyway, back to the main point. Right. The job. Here comes the million dollar question: How do I make this work? I might disappoint y’ll because there’s really no big secret in this. All I did was to create a Twitter account and put on a straight-to-the-point one-liner caption that I’d just repeat myself here: “I would do anything for money.” Of course for more information people would have to DM me and we would discuss the specifics. I mean, for sure, many people thought I was a cam girl, sex worker, crack dealer, or whatever (which to be clear I am not — no offence) but for the most part it worked out well.

Having pretty photos — doesn’t matter natural or air-brushed — certainly helped too. Alright, not going to lie, it helped big time. People were curious. Some were lonely. Some were desperate. Some were just bored. Whereas some were massive weirdos. Either way, they reached out to me and they paid. Over time I managed to build myself a brand, a business and a base of followers aka customers. When things got a bit more busy, I teamed up with one of my very good mates, Mob (his nickname), who would sort out all the logistics for me. He also kindly supported on some of the more complicated requests. We have been business partners ever since.

The key thing here is that I would do ANYTHING (of course subject to aforementioned rules). I would take the MOST random and dysfunctional request from literally ANYONE as long as they are willing to pay me. You name it. Mundane, average stuff like babysitting, walking dogs, groceries shopping to a little bit more personal like having a meal together, being the plus one at a work party, or maybe crying at a funeral.

Crying at funerals is a good one because I’m so easy to cry and I’ve quickly mastered the I’m-the-estranged-daughter look that would fit in all kinds of scenes and get sympathy no question asked. Like this one time I cried so convincingly hard that SIX people rushed over to soothe me and ask if I needed anything (yes more money please!) Little did they know… 1) I did NOT remember the dead dude’s name and 2) the real reason I cried was actually because I was thinking about the pepperoni pizza I’d left fucking burnt in my oven the previous night. I know. It was lame but hey, I got the job done. It was £300 by the way.

The other times weren’t so easy. Some customers requested one thing online but ended up looking for another thing in real life. The most common case as you could probably guess is when they paid for my platonic companion but expected sex instead. It’s frustrating because no matter how clear I’ve made it, there are still people who would think or even demand that I have sex for money. Like, no offence to those who do but just no, I would only have sex for mutual pleasure that doesn’t raise my anxiety at all. That’s simply a matter of principle and you know how I’m with principles.

I mean I don’t even find casual sex with hot dudes appealing anymore, let alone paid, one-sided sex with gross ones. (Again, no offence to those who have and enjoy casual sex — good on you!) Don’t get me wrong. I’m definitely not saying casual sex can’t offer mutual pleasure. If done right, mutual pleasure should indeed be the sole purpose and outcome of casual sex. But tell me, when is it ever done right? Like, can it ever be done right? And even if it’s done right, how long can it last until it goes cringe-worthily wrong?

Admittedly I used to love sleeping with attractive strangers like a junkie hooked on coke. But I didn’t love it because of the sex. I loved being able to call hot people up at midnight, crashing at their high-end apartments and filling in all the blanks of who they are, and starting this all over again with a new, shiny one whose human flaws I would never have to know of — I felt validated and empowered. I didn’t have to face my own issues. I was in a dream land with all the perfect, good-looking people who gave me the delusion that I was one of them. It got me high every step of the way.

But not only was the comedown brutal and never worth it but this was way besides the point. If I look at the point which is the sex itself, frankly, 99% of the times the sex wasn’t that good. It wasn’t like the movie at all (fuck the movie). It was clumsy and awkward and surprising in a bad, bad way (like, “sorry I’m actually married”, “oh yeah I just got out of jail”, “forgot to tell you this but I’m positive” mid sex… oh for fuck sake) Though I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it sucked balls — I knew nothing about these dudes and they knew nothing about my body. They were always too busy getting their dick up. And I guess, nowadays, knowing myself well and needing no validation from strangers, I’m past the point of settling for bad sex without orgasm. Even money wouldn’t do.

So in a nutshell, no paid sex, no casual sex. No sex, no complication. Especially I don’t want to accidentally fuck someone who actually knows me in my other life and have this whole business blow up in smoke. You don’t have to look at me like that. I know. I mess about on the internet and probably have my face broadcast on some highly questionable websites but I do have a high-paying day job in a respectable office. I work in Marketing for a bank looking after multi-million pound projects that are probably all over the billboards at your home train station. I’m also studying part-time for a Master degree at a London university which has been paid for by the company.

Well, you’re probably now wondering why a girl like me would be crazy enough to be willing to do anything for money and have a whole different persona online which would most definitely shock the majority of people I know in real life. Firstly, maybe I’m really crazy, like not even in a cute way, just straight down crazy. I don’t know. Cliche, crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. Secondly, the office job is fucking bullshit. I’m so, so mentally fucked. And respectable my ass. I do nothing meaningful. I’m sick of having to smile at people all the fucking time like wearing a 10 pounds mask slowly dragging my head down to my tits and having to watch every single thing I do all day everyday. And for what? My brain is drained, my body is exhausted. I don’t even have time to spend my money (which has been grossly taxed) It’s just not normal. Working 10 hours in front of a laptop screen, I repeat, is not normal.

Being on the internet doing stuff for money, on the other hand, is exceptionally fun and liberating. It’s one of the most brilliant escapes that have ever been invented, and thank you ladies and gentlemen, I will be humbled… not and take full credits for this. Honestly, the weird people are the best. They make me feel so myself and human. Once in a while, if I’m lucky enough, I’ll even get a disgusting, morally corrupted request that would make my jaw drop and my rules thrown out the window.

Like this one. From a married woman, Veronica. She wrote, “I want you to get my husband to fuck you and film it. You know him. You can have him all for yourself now. I’ve paid you half in advance and will pay the rest when you finish the job.” Bewildered, I didn’t know what to reply to her. I asked Mob what to do and he was like, “Dude that’s a lot of money.” And I was like, “Dude, this is someone’s husband and I actually know the guy.” Yes, I did. He is a professor at the university I’m currently attending. And Mob went, “Dude but you have her permission and you actually want to fuck him right?” I nodded, “Dude, I do want to fuck him.” I had been wanting to fuck him for longer than I could remember. Mob nodded back understandingly while his fingers were dancing on the keyboard (he’s a programmer), “I know, dude, I know. It’s up to you.”

See, this request would break my many rules on the job: 1) sex, 2) sex with someone I know in my other life, 3) cheating. I could justify the first two by the fact that I was genuinely attracted to the professor and he didn’t pay me to have sex with him so technically it didn’t conflict with my “no paid sex” rule (or at least that’s what I was telling myself) As for the third one, I haven’t mentioned this but cheating is a big exclamation mark in my book. If the job results in any form of cheating, I would re-assess the request. I know I shouldn’t be bothered. It’s all about money. But I have been cheated on before and I still remember how deeply shitty it was. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I wouldn’t want to do it to anyone.

Even though this was a special case in which I got the permission to make the man cheat on his wife, it still didn’t change the fact that he would then become a cheater (provided the job was successful) and it would ruin all my fantasies of him. With all that in mind, I declined her request. I lost a profitable opportunity but at least I could keep my rules and preserve the beautiful image of my dear professor to keep crushing on. However, that woman was fucking mental. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She went on to bombard Mob and me with sweet talks and INSANE offers. And I’m not going to lie — I was impressed by her persistence and I was feeling tempted. The idea had been planted in my head and my attraction towards the professor was growing stronger each day. I wanted to touch him so bad.

After fighting the inner battles of moral conflicts, I took a deep breath and told Mob, “Dude, I’ll do this” and he gave me the usual supportive half smile. I was convinced I didn’t have anything to lose: We’d receive an excessive amount of money and I’d have my burning desires for the hot professor fulfilled. That being said, it was quite a big deal to both of us as this was the first time we had done something highly risky of this scale. But we told ourselves we were professionals and as professionals we delivered results no matter what the job was. We quickly came up with a master plan with the goal to produce… a HD video and photos of the professor and me having sex (still fucking weird to say it out loud but well, doing this job, one has to be shameless…) It took me a solid month to seduce the professor and prepare the setup.

Finally, after all the hard work (and self-restraint and unbelievable commitment), I managed to jump on him on a Tuesday night after office hours. He was surprisingly more excited than I’d thought. Funnily enough, it made the filming tricky as he didn’t last long at all. Anyway we still got what we wanted. Mob filmed the whole scene like a true porno pro with a Canon recorder. Only my back was captured while the professor’s entire orgasmic face was on display.

Trust me. I’d never done anything like this before but according to Mob, I was a natural. Well, Mob and I were both natural. We had to be natural when it came to A LOT of money. We had to do shitty things few would be willing to do if we wanted to stand out from the crowd and be the ones who made A LOT of money. The next day I woke up to a parcel at my front step. It was the processed video and photos from Mob. I immediately sent them to Veronica and received the rest of the payment.

Honestly, it felt kind of shitty and awesome at the same time. Awesome because we absolutely nailed it. Looking at my bank balance then could give me multiple orgasm, no kidding. Shitty because I made a man a cheater. My fantasies were destroyed. My hope was shattered. I had genuinely thought he was different and I know it sounds silly but perhaps we could have fallen in love, run away together and started all over.

I guess that would only happen in movies (again, fuck movies) In real life I was me — the internet girl who would do anything for money, and he was him — a cheater. He was a man, like many men out there, who would allow himself to sleep with other people because he didn’t think he would get caught; he didn’t believe love had to equate to full commitment including devoting his body to one woman only (Though ironically he would go fucking banana if she had done the same.)

I’ve actually met many men with similar thinking before and every time I was left speechless. I didn’t understand how they could live knowing they had purposely hurt the love of their life, how they could disrespect me so much by asking me to be the other woman, how they didn’t know my desire for them was conditional on their ability to be loyal to one woman which they had failed… I mean, fuck off.

This situation with Veronica was more complicated though. In retrospect, I didn’t know what her intention was, why she wanted to make her husband cheat then get his cheating on record. I figured she might use it to blackmail him. Maybe her money was actually his money and she tried to take it all. Maybe she had an affair herself. Or maybe she just hated his guts. To my surprise, Veronica actually called me while I was literally thinking of her. She asked me to come over to discuss the evidence further. I felt slightly nervous. I didn’t know if there was anything to “discuss further” as it was basically me screwing her husband.

I texted Mob asking for advice and he replied instantly, “Dude, that does sound sketchy”. But I couldn’t turn her down. She was a major client. She had paid ten times as much as the rest did. I told Mob, “Dude, I have to go. Maybe I will find out why she started this damn thing. Can you come with me?” Mob agreed. He was curious too. We got an Uber straight to her place. Mob camped in a local coffee shop ready to aid me when shit hit the fan. Meanwhile I tried to keep my composure and came knocking on her door.

After about two minutes, the door was opened. Veronica greeted me with her usual charming smile. She was an elegant brunette who exuded a natural air of sensuality. She smelled like fresh roses. She invited me inside then led the way to her bedroom where she showed me her laptop. I sat down on the end of the bed next to her, trying to be relaxed and casual even though all I felt was tension. She wasn’t a kind who would make small talk. She was very blunt and direct. She turned on the video I’d sent her and let it play. I could actually hear myself go ooh ahh…

“Awkward”, I thought to myself, “but damn, should I call Mob? Why the fuck is she showing me this? What if she has changed her mind and wanted to turn it all on me now?” Though, to be fair, she seemed completely harmless and maybe even vulnerable. She was wearing a silky night dress and fux fur slippers. I had no way to read her then. I decided to interrupt the video and ask point-blank, “So what do you want to talk about? Are you not happy with the job or something?” To which she immediately said, “No, no. This was great. But… of course would be good if I could see more of you.”

Huh? What? I frowned. “Why? You wanted to target your husband, no? What was it that you aimed for?” She didn’t say anything while her eyes were still locked on me. Her lips quickly curved up into a sweet smile that caught me off guard. It was like she was planning something in her head that I couldn’t figure out. Man, how could I forget that this woman was nuts? She didn’t answer my question. She put the laptop on the other side and moved closer to me while her smile (which had become creepy to me at this point) stayed on her face (Alright, she was beautiful but the point remained — creepy)

Her voice was lowered down to almost whispering, “Listen, I loved the video. You looked so sexy. I think I wasn’t completely honest with you. I actually wanted to see… you, not my husband.” My jaw literally dropped. What. The. Actual. Fuck. “Excuse me?”, I instantly jumped off the bed. This was getting out of control. Not in a million years had I expected this turn of event. I had thought the professor was in deep shit. As it turned out, I WAS in deep shit. I WAS the target. I mean, what?!

“Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be worried about,” she reassured, “You’ve done an excellent job. Listen. I would pay you even double what I paid you last time if you’re willing to stay here with me tonight. One night. You’re gorgeous. And look at me honey. I know you want me too. You can touch me all you want. I’m all yours.” Okay, okay, that was like, too much shit for me to process. Let’s slow down. First. Yes, it’s no brainer that she’s a classic beauty and she looked damn irresistible in that thin lacy dress. I’m sure any man would fuck her right then and it would only take them one look.

Me? Honestly I did have a thing for girls though I’d never fucked one before. I mean I didn’t know she also had a thing for girls… this desperate. That being said, I would not fuck one now especially NOT after I’d fuck her husband while being filmed like a freaking porn star. And you know what, it actually fucking pissed me off that she, out of everyone, thought I would literally do prostitution. NOT even her level of hot. NOT even her level of money. Alright? I don’t care how horny and fucked up and rich she was. It’s a principle and I don’t go against my principle. Simple.

Really, there was only one thing left to do then: get the fuck outta here. I told her firmly, “Look. Thank you for the offer but I’m not interested. I need to go.” Not waiting for her response, I immediately rushed to the front door and pressed Mob’s name on the phone screen. However, as I was about to reach the exit, I was blocked by… oh wow guess what… her husband coming inside the house. The dear professor who was looking ever so calm and pleased, smiling at his wife who was approaching us from the other end of the room.

It all suddenly clicked. I wanted to roll my eyes so fucking bad. How could I have been so naive to think he was a victim? He had known of her plan except it wasn’t her plan; it was their plan. She didn’t want to have him filmed. They wanted to have ME filmed. They wanted to see me getting fucked. And all the while I thought he was my fantasy, I was their shared fantasy — the little toy to spice up their boring, upper-class sex life. The professor looked pointedly at me with the same crazy eyes his wife had. He said, “Where are you going? Stay. We will have a lot of fun together.”

For the first time on this job, I was terrified. I regretted ever having gotten myself into this position. I should’ve seen this shit coming from miles away but I didn’t. I was too arrogant. I thought I was the cheeky, smart-ass one who could get away with anything but I was just stupid. I had no idea who I was dealing with. If I really think about it, I was actually tricked into having sex for money! What’s worse, I could’ve gotten raped and killed, or perhaps forced into some gross sexual role play with these two, filmed like another HD porno then blackmailed for the rest of my life.

No, no. I wasn’t even being dramatic. Look at what these two had done. Look at how much money they had. I didn’t doubt for a second that they were very powerful people who could find ways around ruining my life. Luckily, I mean thanks god for this amazing human being called Mob, he had accepted my call earlier and heard the conversation going on between me and the couple. He ran to my rescue. Soon enough, a man’s voice (Mob’s voice) shouted “Delivery!” outside and the door was kicked wide open before the professor managed to lock it. As the couple was both distracted, I flew out of their house and joined Mob in an Uber back home. Phew!

I must say it was one hell of a ride. I re-told the tale to Mob to which he, like me, couldn’t close his mouth. We both burst into laughing for how ridiculous it had been. I must say “what the actual fuck” was the only appropriate response to this mess. I was still shocked and upset by the fact that the professor had gotten the upper hand from the beginning and it meant I did actually get paid for having sex with him (it was probably his money all along.) Gross! Super gross! Without further ado I refunded all the money into Veronica’s account and wanted nothing more to do with it. I didn’t care how much money  it was. At this point it didn’t matter. I didn’t need it. I couldn’t allow myself to keep it. I could get filmed fucking any time of the day but I would not have sex specifically for money. It’s a principle.

After the shit show, Mob and I decided to take a break from our jobs: side job, day job, any kind of jobs. As a matter of fact, right now we’re both on holiday. I don’t know about Mob but I need this time to clean and find myself again. The situation with the professor and his wife has made me re-think my choices (I’m not saying being an internet girl who would do anything for money has EVER been good choices but well…) I realise as we go with the flow and fall into routines, it’s easy to forget to stop and refresh ourselves and think about how we can live life better. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s truly important to us. It’s easy to forget how to even rest. For a long while I didn’t know how to rest. I was constantly in a burnout state. That was why I had to rely on the side job as my escape and consequently made wonky decisions…

I know what I’m about to say is controversial considering what has just happened (Yes! I made a mistake!) but I have to admit it was fun to do things for money. It actually made life so much simpler when money became the sole purpose of all actions. Plus people wouldn’t question it. If I had done anything for, say, love (cheesy I know) or even free, I would get weird looks. People would suspect my motives. People wouldn’t see the value of my time and presence anymore. I loved making money — it’s a fact. But what I truly enjoyed from this experience was using money as an excuse to do anything I wanted, to go out of my comfort zone, to be someone else I wouldn’t have chance to be otherwise, and to be friends with Mob.

It was like alcohol courage. It made doing (crazy, stupid) things feel easier. However, the problem with putting a monetary value on everything is that I could be wrong (about the value of things). As you can see, I was dead wrong when I accepted Veronica’s offer. It was a lot of money but it wasn’t worth my safety. It wasn’t worth breaking my principles and feeling so gross I could vomit a month of dinners. Right now I don’t know if I will continue with this — with the side job and this way of life. I’ve taken down my Twitter profile and turned off my work phones. For once I want to try doing everything NOT for any profound, logical reason but simply because I want to do it. I want to be me without needing excuses. I might quit my bullshit day job. I might ask Mob to hang out. I might flip burgers by the beach. Who knows.

Short StoriesEllen Nguyen