It’s cold when I enter my father’s house. The cheap bastard never did like to pay to keep the heat on. But I thought old age would soften him somehow, let him give in a little bit to the luxuries— or even just basic comforts— he hadn’t let himself indulge in his entire life. I guess I was wrong.
As I walk up his creaky old stairs, my phone buzzes with a text message. It’s from Dan, one of my best friends.
You coming to the Billionaire Exchange Club? It asks. Hear there’s gonna be some hot ass there.
I lean against the railing and roll my eyes before responding, which is more than Dan deserves because I’ve already told him “no” a billion times.
Not my thing, I text him back.
I’ve never paid for sex or a woman’s company. Ever since this new club opened up on Ace Boulevard, my buddies have been trying to get me to go. It’s not like it’s just a strip club— although I here you can buy lap dances if you want. It’s a club to indulge in every man’s deepest darkest fantasies. Whatever you want, you can find a girl willing to sell it to you.
For Dan and my other buddies, this is a dream come true. They’d read about these clubs that are popping up nationwide and they even wrote to the owner so that we could get one in Miami. I understand the allure of it: paying a girl to have her do what you want, owning her because you have the money to buy her. But I think it reeks of desperation and I don’t see the need to throw away so much money on something I can get for free.
I’ve never had a problem getting women. As I stare at my phone screen, I notice a case in point: all the other texts next to Dan’s are from women. They’re telling me what a fun time they had the other night at dinner or how they want me to fuck them again with my huge cock. They talk dirty to me, they talk sweet to me, they do anything I want and I don’t even have to pay them.
Sure, I know they’re into me because of the money, at least in part. I can take them to the Keys for a fancy party or we can ride around on my yacht or in my private plane. I can buy them fancy dinners and take them on expensive shopping trips.
But it also helps that I have dashing good looks— or so everybody tells me: a full head of hair which is rare at my age and a toned, sculpted body I make sure to keep in shape at the gym. The size of my cock and all the things I can do with it are selling point as well.
I suppose I take pride in my other assets besides just my bank account. I don’t really mind when a woman wants to be with me for money because I get how human nature works and I also find that it cuts down on some of the BS when we both know exactly what we’re wanting.
I think that girls let me do things to them that they wouldn’t let any “normal” guy do and I have an insatiable appetite for what others might call kinky or even disturbing desires. I like to tie them up and leave them begging me for more. I’m not sure they’d be so into it if it wasn’t for all my money. And that’s fine with me.
They also know it’s just temporary, and I’m not looking for commitment. I just do fun, and adventure, and things that only rich guys can do with girl. I don’t fucking do relationships.
I’m not going to waste my money by going to a club where the explicit purpose is to buy girls who are probably there for some desperate reason. I would feel I was taking advantage of their vulnerability.
I would feel that there was an unequal nature of our relationship even more so than when a girl dates me just because she knows I’m filthy rich. So I’ll let Dan and my other buddies have fun at the new club and hear all about their exploits later.
I have plenty to do to keep me busy in the meantime. I’ve been trying to understand my father’s business because I plan to take it over. But numbers and spreadsheets have never been my strong suits. I already listed my strong suits above and they only include things below my waist, not up in my head. That’s always been fine by me but now I have to get serious and start understanding how businesses work.
Right as I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket, I get another text from Dan.
I have a feeling you’ll change your mind, it says.
Then he sends me some screenshots. Apparently the owner of the club posted pictures of the girls on a private webpage to show off some of the goods in advance.
Sure, the girls are hot but a bit too skinny for my liking. I like some meat on their bones that I can hold onto while I fuck them from behind. And their platinum blonde hair looks very fake. I like a natural girl who’s not afraid to be herself.
So, I don’t even bother responding to Dan again. I finish making my way up to my dad’s bedroom where he’s in bed with a cold press on his head. I guess his caretaker had come by earlier but there’s no sight of her now.
“How you doing, Dad?” I ask him, as I enter the room and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Good,” he says, sitting up and coughing a bit.
But he doesn’t look good.
He has liver failure and the doctors don’t expect him to live longer than six months. Hence why I have to hurry and get up to speed on the family business. Even though my old pa and I have never gotten along, it pains me to see him this way.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head at me and looking disgusted. “You can get yourself a wife.”
“Not this again, Dad,” I grumble, sitting down in the chair beside his bed where his caretaker usually sits. “Can’t you just let me find a wife in my own good time?”
“No,” he says, “Because you never will. You’re my son and I know you.”
I chuckle because old dad is right about that one. But I can’t let him know.
“Geez, Dad, how do you know?” I ask him. “Maybe I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready.”
“I know because, like I said, you’re my son. Therefore you’re part me. And this particular part of you is very much the same as I was. Imagine how much of a fortune I could have amassed if I had gotten serious earlier on in life and really cared about the business.”
Not this again, I think.
“Dad, you already amassed a huge fortune,” I tell him.
And you certainly didn’t spend a lot of time on other things. Everything was spent on your business so if you lost any time in your youth by not caring enough about getting serious about that, you certainly made up for it by the time I came around.
I think this last part but I don’t say it. I rarely ever saw my dad growing up. I know he thinks that meeting my mom, who ironically divorced him for being a workaholic, saved him because it forced him to settle down and focus on the business. Or maybe he was always like that, in which case I’m not sure how my mom would have married him because otherwise she has good sense.
He used to be a hard partier but after he married my mom and started his real estate business, he stopped that. But he still continued to drink just as hard as he worked. Alcohol was his escape and when he wasn’t hard at work he was drowning himself in a bottle.
I think the combination of work hard, play hard made him the grumpy old man that he is today. Not to mention, it caused his liver disease.
I try to see my dad through my mom’s eyes so that his image is redeemed to me a little bit. Mom tells me that when they were in the dating phase, my dad was a lot of fun: lighthearted and even silly.
They would go on dates and do fun things together and it was a deeply romantic time. So, they got married pretty quickly and soon after that they had me, but my dad changed, in what my mom says were both good ways and bad.
He became more focused and disciplined and he amassed his empire. But he did it at the expense of his family. I barely know my dad and what I do know about him—well, I can’t say it’s very pleasant. He’s demanding and inflexible and straight up crotchety.
“I want you to know I’m very serious about you getting married,” my dad tells me now. “What about that girl you went on those dates with?”
I rack my brain trying to think of who he might mean. There are so many girls.
“Jessica?” I guess, pulling out of thin air the name of a girl I had managed to go on more than one date with within the last six months.
“Yeah, her,” my dad says excitedly, although he probably would’ve said that no matter which name I had thrown out.
They’re all the same to him. He just wants me to get married to someone and he doesn’t care who it is. He’s convinced that marriage will make me more studious and responsible. In his mind, if I stop playing the field I can start being better about managing his business.
I’ve been trying to show him that this has nothing to do with whether I’m married or not. I can learn the business with or without a wife. But he just dismisses my efforts and thinks that only an engagement will save me.
“I’m glad to hear about this Jessica lady,” my dad says. “Because if there’s one thing I’d get out of this bed for before I die, it would be to see my son get married.”
Suddenly I see him in a whole new way. His skin is wrinkled and cracked but it doesn’t seem as hard as it did just a few minutes ago. He’s even smiling a little bit—which is rare for him.
The light is shining through the little window in his room– he’s always maintained a spartan-like environment no matter how much money he’s had– and I can see the twinkle in his eyes as he gets excited at the thought of this wedding that can’t possibly happen within the next six months since I have no bride.
There’s no way I would marry Jessica. She’s so flighty and can be a straight up bitch to other people. I don’t ever want to get married, but if I did, it would be to a woman who is kind and funny. But if it makes my dad feel happy that I might get engaged to Jessica– or anyone– I’ll humor him because he’s a dying man.
“Well Dad, I’ll see what I can do.”
I chuckle.
Maybe just having hope that I’ll get engaged will give him the strength to live longer. It’s sad that it took him being on his death bed for us to get closer but there’s still a chance for us.
As a bonus, after he realizes I’m not getting married, he might see that I’m still a good CEO of his company and that it will be in good hands with me even if I remain a single man. At least, that’s the only way out of this that I can see. But I’m good at finding creative ways out of things so something still might pop up.