My date was paying me for sex – and I had no idea

Jose had actually been leaving money for me every time we’d slept together (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)

‘Is £80 not enough?’

I was standing in my underwear in my date, Jose*’s, bedroom – glaring at him as he stood in his office clothes, about to leave after another night of passionate sex. 

Instead of giving me a lovely wave or kiss, he was holding a large wad of cash in his hand, looking bewildered.

I stared at the money he was waving in the air, and it finally, slowly, hit me.

‘Wait, that’s for me?’

I was so outraged, my voice got irritatingly high-pitched; and as the ring of it echoed around the room, it dawned on him too.

‘Ah.’ His hands flopped to his sides and I watched as the money slid back into his pocket, while he nodded and looked away.

Jose had actually been leaving money for me every time we’d slept together, because he thought he had to pay me for sex. 

But I had never told him that.

And now, we were both bright red and embarrassed – but for very different reasons.

I stared at the money, and it finally, slowly, hit me (Picture: Getty Images)

When I met Jose a couple of months ago at my local pub, I fell for his winning smile, not his expensive watch. But he kept mentioning his money to me, and when he claimed that it wasn’t a ‘fake Rolex, but the real stuff’, I rolled my eyes. 

It was off-putting at first. But every time he smiled, the shine he thought his watch had was actually in his overly-bleached teeth – and I think it somehow hypnotised me, because I hung around.

We had a few drinks together that night; he told me he worked as a banker and I told him I was in between jobs.

‘What do you do then?’, he pressed, and since I’d had around three glasses of white wine at that point, I let it slip.

‘I have an OnlyFans’, I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but his eyes instantly lit up.

‘Oh, so you’re nasty then?’, he said, making the move and grabbing me in the middle of the pub. Like I said, I’d had a few drinks, so his awful moves somehow worked and I kissed him. He bit my lip, and I pulled back smiling.

‘Oh, that’ll cost you’, I said jokingly.

Now, as I stood in his bedroom in the cold light of the morning, looking at the bulge of cash in his pocket, I wondered if that record scratch moment was when this obviously dense man decided I wanted to be paid to sleep with him.

We were at our fifth hook-up by now, and, thinking back, I realised that there had been a wad of cash on the bedside table next to me every night.

At first, I thought it was simply where he threw the cash he owned; that, since he liked to show off, he was trying to impress me.

‘Why did you think you had to pay me?’ I finally asked him (Picture: Getty Images)

By the third night, I wondered if he was testing me – if he thought I would take some. 

Even though I was drinking rich wine in his rich apartment, with his rich watch, it didn’t even cross my mind that he actually thought he was paying me for sex.

When I realised the clump of cash was growing, I wondered if there was something more insidious happening that I was ignorant of. Maybe it had something to do with the Illuminati, I thought to myself, jokingly.

Eventually, though, it became glaringly apparent that morning that the money was for me.

‘Why did you think you had to pay me?’ I finally asked him.

He shuffled his feet a bit, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed – I was surprised that he cared little about having to pay me, and more about how he came across at that very moment.

It didn’t even cross my mind that he actually thought he was paying me for sex (Picture: Shutterstock / Artem Furman)

‘I’m not 100% sure, to be honest’, he finally sighed, exasperated from what his tone suggested was the third degree. I couldn’t imagine him dealing very well in an interrogation.

‘So you just put money there? What did you think when I wasn’t taking it?’

‘I thought it wasn’t the right amount, so I added another £10 every time, to try and get it right. I don’t know! God!’

His petulant teenage personality really shone through at that moment.

I scoffed at him, laughing. I couldn’t believe it – but also, I realised I shouldn’t really be turning £80 down, and it’s not like I expected a relationship with this guy.

At that point, I knew there was no saving this situation, so I had to get out.

‘Fine, £80 will work’, I shrugged at him. I moved towards him, grabbed at the cash in his pocket and pulled it out.

He tried to protest and instantly stopped himself – he also understood that it was over.

As I walked away, picking up my clothes and walking out of his apartment door for the last time, I stopped to take stock.

I’d had sex, hung out in a rich person’s apartment and drunk expensive wine – and I’d made a profit out of it.

Maybe I should have been the banker instead of him.

*Name has been changed

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