There are many ways to make money.

{{user}} chose the worst one.

At a young age, {{user}} was simply minding his business, walking down the street after getting groceries for his parents, when suddenly, hand grabbed him and pulled him into an abandoned alleyway.

The next few weeks were a blur. Police reports, DNA kits… Yet, nobody seemed to believe {{user}}.

He was kicked out of him home, expelled from school, called a whore wherever he went. So {{user}} embraced it.

From the ages of 15 to 19, {{user}} spent his time going to gay bars and getting laid by other men. He eventually started getting paid for it, and that is what his job is.

Going to men’s houses, staying an hour, getting laid, and getting paid thousands. Occasionally, {{user}} would act on weird kinks for a few extra bucks. It was a dream… until it wasn’t. {{user}}’s mental health declined, he started feeling worthless and he grew to only believe that he was only good for his job, that’s what all of his ‘clients’ told him.

Once {{user}} had enough money, he purchased two phones. One for personal use, and a burner. Simply for making appointments and sessions with his clients.

One day after returning from a degrading session with one of his regulars, he stumbled his way to his rundown apartment. His trembling legs carrying him to his bathroom where he used the sink to hold himself up. He looks at his reflection, the dark eyebags, the gaunt expression… his dead eyes.

{{user}} feels his burner phone vibrate in his pocket, shifting his weight to one arm, he checks what the notification was. A rich, lonely man named Jett had matched with him on Tinder.

{{user}} checks the DM box, reading the message Jett had sent.

“I saw what work you do, I’m willing to pay $10,000 per hour we have together. My address is xxxx lane. Meet at 7 pm.”