My Daddy, My Pimp: Introductions (Part 1)
I wasn't sure what to expect when Daddy first snooped on my computer and found my ad on a website advertising for sugar daddies. Can you ground an 18-year-old for life? Could he really begrudge me trying to come up with some money so I wouldn't have to work my first semester at college? And what the fuck was he doing on my computer anyway?!? I only had a couple of weeks remaining until I left for Cal-- I
ALMOST
made it.
But when I came home from the gym mid-afternoon, there he was: sitting at my computer, browser open to my profile, showing a picture of me bent over, generous ass exposed, my face to the side of my leg, smiling cheerfully. The description, "starving coed" advertising for a "discrete financial arrangement" with a "generous older man," glared brightly underneath the photo. It was indisputably me—I would have lied my slutty little ass off if I could have. But he wasn't looking at the screen, just at me standing in the doorway, his face impassive, unreadable. I opened my mouth, prepared to defend my privacy with all the righteous indignation I could muster, when he cut me off and his first words rendered me totally speechless:
"I'm not ashamed of having raised a whore; I'm ashamed of raising a slut with such poor business sense."
I froze, paralyzed by the surreal sound of that sentence, not sure which part of it I found most offensive. "Daddy..." I started, unsure where I was going. My daddy has always been a 'no bullshit' sort of guy. But this was blunt by even his standards.
"Sit down, Kitten. You look like you're about ready to collapse in shock anyway."
I dropped with a huff on the corner of my childhood bed, my legs giving way, all the fight drained out of me.
"Look, honey, I know what you're trying to do here, so you can skip all the rationalizations. You need money that we don't have. I get it. You don't want to be stuck with student loans for the rest of your life and you don't want to have to work 40 hours a week for your first semester at college. You don't want to be slinging burgers at some crappy fast food place to make ends meet, and be crippled by student loans for a decade after graduation. And since the fact that you got into Berkeley in the first place is amazing to both of us, you don't want to be so worn thin that you flunk out freshman year. This is the best opportunity you've got to get out of this shitty neighborhood and not end up doing blue collar work like me and your brother. I get it, baby girl. I really do. But you're going about this all wrong."
"Daddy..." I began again.
Christ, was that all I had in me to say?
"Hear me out. First off, your way is entirely unsafe." He swiveled the chair around and pointed at the screen. "You're advertising here that you're 'willing to travel.' So you're going to let these strange men fly you off to their home cities? What if you feel threatened? What if they beat you up? The guys on these websites aren't going to be the highest quality, kid—they might want all sorts of things other than an easy fuck. Anything could go wrong and you'd have no one to call."
"I was going to tell Carla... you know, call and check in," I interjected feebly.
"And your best friend from high school is going to fly out immediately and fend off the creepers? You'd be chopped into little pieces in a trunk before she got on the plane."
"And it wouldn't be like that, Daddy! Some of these guys say they'll help you out with rent or pay your tuition. One of them wanted to take me on a Caribbean cruise! My friend, Lacy, just had to dress up and be a dinner date for fancy political dinners. It would be just like that old movie! The one with the red head?"
Daddy shook his head, exasperated, and groaned. "Pretty Woman. You're thinking it would be like Pretty Woman. Sweet Jesus, you're a babe in the woods. You have no idea."
"It's a high class website, Daddy! I wouldn't even have to do it very often because I could charge a lot of money for just the once!"
"Helen, five hundred dollars a weekend sounds like a lot to you, I know. And for one customer, it is, but you'd be better off selling yourself to more customers, at a lower price. You have wide appeal. With your body... honestly, you could have tons of men willing to pay for it locally, if the price was more reasonable. And then you wouldn't have to travel somewhere and meet up with potential axe murderers."
I had no idea what to say. His voice was calm, rational, almost convincing. Of all the reactions I had been expecting, this was not one of them. He looked at me levelly, uncomfortably holding my gaze and daring me to break it.
"Sweetie, there are better ways to do this."
As Daddy and I stood on the doorstep, ringing the bell, I looked down at myself. My bare legs and towering heels were almost invisible under the swell of my giant tits, which were braless inside the white, wife-beater tank that was fighting a losing battle to contain them. The outline of my nipples was obvious under the light-colored fabric. The short jean skirt that completed the outfit made me more street walker and less high-priced courtesan, but Daddy had been so sure this was the way to go.
The building we were outside of was really not what I had been expecting either. It was a non-descript, square, brick monstrosity, decorated with a single flashing neon sign that just said "Jimmy's." There was no parking lot, just meter parking on an unlit side street in one of the shadier areas outside of L.A. The road was lined with beat up muscle cars and old sedans.
Well, this is a far cry from my daydreams of the Marriott
, I thought nervously, as I shifted my weight from leg to leg, painfully aware of the visibility of my rigid nipples in the cool night air.
When the door swung open, we were greeted by a greying, mustached man, heavy through the shoulders and thick through the middle, who looked about ten years older than my dad. After giving every inch of me an appreciative appraisal, he squinted suspiciously at Daddy, before recognition widened his eyes.
"Alex?!?" he asked, swinging the door wide, and ushering us in. "Jesus, I haven't seen you in twenty years! Didn't even recognize you!" He clapped Daddy affectionately on the shoulder. "And up to your old tricks, I see. Who is this lovely piece of ass?"
"Good to see you too, Jimmy. And this lovely piece of ass is my 18-year-old daughter, Helen. I'm her..." Daddy paused, searching for the right word, and then said with heavy emphasis. "I'm her
escort
for the evening."
Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. "An...er...
escort
for your own kid, huh? Well, that's new. But you always were a filthy bastard. Last time I saw you, you were just a customer here. But you were a regular and I never forget a face."