I Must Look Like a Hooker

Whenever I fall on hard times financially, I always think about a particular day at the boathouse.

It must’ve been late morning on a Saturday because there was an all girls’ middle or high school crew team on the water with us. High schoolers don’t wake up at 0400 for practice; only us big kids do that.

I remember seeing a small, waif of a girl. I walked over and started to chat with her since I figured she too was a coxswain. “I’m not a coxswain. I row in the bow on both sides. I asked my daddy to come watch me today. Hi daddy!”

I turned around to see an elderly man with a limp approaching. How the fuck does this old man have a child this young? The little girl skipped off to help her teammates clean and put away her boats. “Are you a coach?”

“No, I cox for UMBC. I thought your daughter was a coxswain so I decided to strike up a conversation. You know, swap some professional tips and such, haha!”

I was having a very normal conversation with the old geezer. He told me his daughter rowed while his older son played lacrosse. He said he was in the real estate business. It was all rather dull, run-of-the-mill bullshit banter. …and then the dialogue took a darker turn.

“I have to go to her rowing practices since my wife can no longer do that. She passed away a few years ago.”

I never know what to say to bad news like that. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), I didn’t have a chance to offer my condolences.

“You’re a sweet girl, and you’re in college. Do you need any financial help? Do you want a sugar daddy? I can offer you a lot of things. Not just money, but introductions to the right people. I like you, and I want to help you. I think $2000 a month would be a reasonable allowance. What do you say?”

This fuck had just gone from “My name is Jim” to “My wife died” to “I’ll pay you for sex” in the span of about twenty fucking minutes. I was knocked back on my heels. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was confused… so I said, “Two thousand dollars…?” He took that as my accepting his offer.

“I’d want to see you once a week at least. Of course I’d provide gifts and pay for our dates – ”

I turned around and walked back to where my teammates were standing around. What in the blue fuck was that?! I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Where are you going? Is right now a bad time? Perhaps we can discuss the terms of our arrangement when you’re finished with practice.”

“EW NO! Get the FUCK away from me!” Old Jim looked shocked. I guess he thought I was totally okay with being propositioned for weekly sex. His face fell into a look of hurt and rejection. I felt bad for a split second, and then I felt white hot anger.

“Don’t ever talk to me again, and stay out of my bay or you’ll end up as fish food.”

For the rest of practice I kept wondering how people must view me. I mean, did I look like a hooker? A well-kept prostitute? Why had the pervert approached me about sex and not any of the other girls on my team? I felt dirty and cheap. I also almost crashed the boat a few times because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was steering.

I’m quite certain I made the right decision to not fuck an old man for money, but man… When financial aid fucks me over…


Jess, you are a stallion in a world of Bronies.

It’s little compliments like these that keep me from selling my vagina to the highest bidder.

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