Full Scholarship

Professor Mannocci cleared his throat, and began the lecture. His voice cut through the hubbub of the assembled students in the vast hall, and silence quickly fell.

"We've discussed semi-conductors this semester already, but for your upcoming mid-terms I think it's important that we re-visit a few of the finer details..."

I didn't usually find it difficult to pay attention to Mannocci's lessons, but I had received bad news earlier in the day, and my mind was elsewhere. The scholarship that paid a large chunk of my tuition and housing fees for the academic year was being discontinued, leaving me with the prospect of being unable to continue studying my computer science degree at California Institute of Technology. I had immediately appealed to the Dean, but unfortunately it was out of his hands: I was from the UK, and the funding was being rescinded by my own government, leaving me to fight this battle on my own. Compounding the situation was my ineligibility for any additional subsidy, due to not being an American citizen.

In short, I was in a bind. I had fought so hard to leave England, and was fully committed to the "American dream". I was enjoying the fast-paced, high-pressure learning environment found on the West Coast, and more importantly than that, I felt like I was developing as an individual. High school had been difficult, but in the sun-baked climes of California, anything was possible.

I didn't break out of my reverie until the lecture finished, startled awake by the audience suddenly standing to their feet. I quickly shuffled out with the crowd, and out into the sunshine, where my course-mate Andy waved me over from a picnic bench.

"Hey, what's up Eric? You don't look very happy" he started.

"It turns out I might have to leave college next semester." I grimaced and gave a shrug.

"Huh? How come? You've only just settled in."

I explained the situation, emphasizing how little I wanted to return to the bleak university life that awaited me in the north of England, a million miles away from the sun drenched goodness of South California. I wasn't sure Andy would understand. Unlike me, he had been gifted a perfect upbringing by a rich family, and big arms and set of abs to boot. I on the other hand was a slender 5' 7 without the cash to fund a term in a good college. However, he was surprisingly sympathetic.

"That's tough dude, sorry to hear. What do you think you're gonna do about it. Try and work part time?"

"It would be difficult. I've been doing well this year, but only because I've had the time and headspace to properly throw myself into this program. Besides, my visa doesn't allow me to work."

"Would you be able to get a private loan?" he enquired

"I'm unsure. Perhaps, but I have nothing to guarantee it, and neither do my family."

We continued to troubleshoot for a while, until Andy dropped his voice to just above a whisper and leaned over conspiratorially.

"Ok, so I think I've got an idea, but you're going to have to not freak out."

"Haha, what are you going to suggest? That I take up sex work or something?"

Andy stayed hesitated and glanced around.

"...not exactly... ok, ok!" He started explaining just as I was about to interject. "So I was in a spot of financial difficulty myself my freshman year. Something my parents couldn't help out with."

"Yeah? Nothing illegal I hope!" I grinned, but he was serious.

"Unfortunately yeah. I'd been dealing weed and a few pills out of my dorm room and had gotten a bit too much attention on campus. One night whilst I was out someone broke in and stole everything I had. My cash, my stock, all of it. I ended up owing my supplier about seven thousand dollars. I'm still pretty pissed about it even now. But it did make me think about where I was heading you know... So I cleaned up."

"Wait, so how did you pay back the money" I asked.

"That's the thing. So I couldn't dip into my trust fund without alerting my parents, and I had no real savings that they didn't keep a close eye on. I..." he looked down sheepishly "...I joined a sugar baby type website."

My mouth fell open. "Is that your suggestion for me?" I asked.

"It wasn't too shady or weird!" He insisted. " All online. You don't even see the punter a lot of the time. You just get undressed on webcam and someone masturbates to you I guess. Gives you instructions. I was fairly popular amongst older women with some cash to burn."

"So it's basically like a cam-site?"

"Not exactly. You only perform to one person at a time. They hire you out privately for an hour, a day, a week, and you earn their cash doing whatever they ask. I never did a session that was more than a couple of hours, but I would get repeat customers." Andy seemed pretty proud of that fact.

"Andy, the trouble is that you and I look quite different. In real life there are women probably queuing up round the block to get with you anyway" I said.

"You never know" he said. "Different strokes for different folks. I heard some of the guys who were a little less vanilla got the big bucks, and it didn't really matter what they looked like. You look young and alternative. Bound to be someone who's into you."

I laughed. It was a weirdly wholesome compliment given it's context.

"Ok, so lets say I was to do it. How much is big bucks?" I said.

"So the rate starts at whatever you want, but most "babies" seemed to get about 100 bucks an hour" said Andy

I exhaled. That would put a dent in the amount needed to get me through a semester, or at least minimise the amount I'd need to borrow.

"Fuck it, I'll give it some thought" I said. I kicked at the ground. I was keen to move the conversation elsewhere, as money anxiety crept up on me again. "Doing anything nice this weekend?"

*

Later that evening after I'd cooked myself dinner, I settled down onto the sofa with my laptop and hesitantly typed in the web address Andy had given me: "fullbenefits.com" and opened up the page.

The website was not discreet about its purpose, a front page that featured scantily-clad female and male models bent over and giving knowing looks towards the camera, but it was well-designed and fairly classy. There were two login pages. One for "babies" and one for their financial backers.

I registered as a new user, and logged on. I was interested in seeing just how the site operated and how the existing babies presented themselves. Whilst it wasn't possible to see which profiles gained the most visits, the most attractive women were asking in the realm of $10k a month! And from the looks of it, they deserved every cent. I had never seen women this beautiful in real life. Gorgeous, petite blondes and brunettes pouted at the viewer, spilling out of their cocktail dresses and balancing on high-heels, or oiling themselves in the tiniest of bikinis; welcoming prospective daddies to part with hard-earned cash in exchange for educated company and, presumably, the show of a lifetime.

I shifted in my seat, painfully aware of the erection in my pants. Fighting the urge to jack off, I navigated to the male models page, and eyed up the competition. It turned out Andy was right; whilst the majority of models were tall, built and handsome like him, there was a scattering of guys who were lightly built, young looking, pale and blonde, like me. Their biographies read more like LinkdIn than Tindr, with detailed information on their interests and education. It was clear that intelligence and humour was also expected by clients.

Encouraged, I began putting together my profile, taking my time to cast myself in the right light, but making it clear I was looking to provide any online service to a "mommy" for the right price. When it came to photographs, I provided some nice portraits I had taken upon starting college. I wasn't too worried about a friend seeing me on the website - the chances of a kid in their 20s visiting as a prospective mommy or daddy was not very high. By the time I was happy with it, it had gone midnight and I was exhausted. I pressed save, uploaded it and collapsed into bed.

*

Throughout the next morning and afternoon I attended my classes, but was filled with a nervous energy, excited at the prospect of returning to an inbox full of thirsty responses from keen older ladies who I could plug for cash. I was nursing at least a semi for most of the day, and again had trouble paying attention to the gruff voice of Professor Mannocci as he demonstrated language processing. When I finally made it home, I whipped out my MacBook and fired up the website.

Logging in, my face slowly fell.

0 responses.

My brows furrowed. But I had so many page views! The counter said over a thousand possible suitors had viewed my profile. Why was my hit rate so low?

I shut the laptop and made an effort to cheer myself up. It was, after all, only the first day. I consoled myself with a beer and some trash TV, and made a half-hearted attempt at my latest assignment before getting an early night.

Unfortunately, the next few days played out the same way, with no interest from potential benefactors. Again, more hits to my profile, but no enquiries. After 3 days of frustrating silence I set up a makeshift lighting studio in my bedroom and used my DSLR to take some further photographs for the profile, this time focussing on showing a little more of my body. In fact, I stripped down to a jockstrap and a pair of sports socks for the shoot, and experimented with all sorts of positions. I uploaded them all to the profile.

I also sent Andy a text:

"Hey dude, just a quick question. How long did you have to wait for responses on Full Benefits?"

"Not long - maybe a couple of hours" he shot back.

I grumbled to myself. That guy had all the luck. I crossed my fingers that I'd get a break before the weekend...

By Sunday night I had begun to lose hope. I was dejectedly channel hopping at home and googling courier services for my luggage back to the UK when my phone bleeped with an alert. I rushed to open up my emails.

The message read:

"Good evening,

Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. You look like great fun. I'm loving that tight little bubble butt ass. Would you be interested in being my little sugar baby?

A little about me: I'm a professional in my early 50s, with a bit too much time and money, and am looking to share a bit of both with somebody. I enjoy baseball and football, and good food. I'm fairly respected in my field, and well known, so discretion is very important for me. I wouldn't be able to immediately show my face on the other side of the camera until we had got to know each other much better, and perhaps even meet in person after that point.

I have a few specific requests sexually, which I hope you would be open to indulging me in. Let me know if you are open to new things, and if $750 a week would be sufficient for your services.

Hope to hear back from you,

Arthur."

I experienced the strange sensation of getting nervous butterflies and sinking disappointment in the same moment. The reply was from a man - not something I was expecting. I wasn't gay, but would I be willing to strip on camera for a dude? And an old dude at that?

I started typing out a reply to refuse him when I stopped myself. I wouldn't even have to see this guy, and he was offering me a $750 a week! That was a lot of money for a couple of hours work before class each day.

I wrote back, trying to be casual but serious:

"Hi Arthur,

Just out of interest, what drew you to me? I'm listed as straight on my profile. Also, I'd like to hear more about your sexual preferences and kinks - I'd be open to performing for a guy, and would like to keep my "daddy" happy, but I have limits.

Looking forward to our first meeting, and I hope we have fun together.

Eric"

I cringed when I re-read the message after sending it. Why did I call him Daddy? I definitely tried too hard to please sometimes. Was I really going to cam-whore for a dude? I tried to shut these negative thoughts out and focus on the money.

My phone vibrated. Arthur was a quick responder:

"Eric,

I'm glad to hear back from you. To answer your question: you're just my type - young, slim and blonde. Plus, you're straight. There's a dozen twink babies for every daddy on this website, but its a new level of pleasure to turn a straight boy. I will respect your boundaries, but I would also like to stretch them.

My kink is crossdressing. I would love you dress up in girly clothes for my benefit. Make-up, heels, underwear. The works. Would you be up for that?

Best,

Arthur."

My eyebrows raised in surprise at his requests, and his boldness. I exhaled. He was asking a lot. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea... Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so alarmed at the request. I thought back to when I was younger and sneaking into my older sisters room to try on her panties and heels out of curiosity. Was this so different? It must be a pretty common fetish.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. I don't have access to any girls clothes here. Plus it's not really my thing." I messaged.

"I would be more than happy to send you outfits to wear, and everything else you'd need. And I promise to make it lucrative - maybe a sort of bonus scheme to keep you feeling like you're not being exploited?" Arthur responded.

"You wouldn't just want me to be as I am?" I asked, hoping his interest would fade.

"The dressing up is a big part of it for me - the idea of you doing as you're told, despite your instincts as a straight boy, is really appealing to a daddy like me."

"It seems a little humiliating. How can you guarantee me that this isn't going to end up on the internet?" I asked.

"I don't want anyone getting for free what I will be paying for. You have my word that nothing you do will be for anyone else other than me."

"Ok, could you give me the evening to think about it?"

"Of course. Let me know in the morning, and if you're keen, I'll send you everything you'll need for the first steps. Fullbenefits can act as middleman between 'baby' and 'daddy' to ensure we can send each other gifts without having to reveal our addresses. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. As an act of goodwill I'll transfer you a little present."

Within seconds, my Fullbenefits account balance rose by $500. Holy shit! This dude was really serious, and really into me.

My mind was buzzing, and it took me ages to get to sleep. When I finally passed out, I found myself dreaming of the time I had been left home alone whilst my family took my sister prom-dress shopping. I had wasted no time raiding her wardrobe, and ended up in her cheerleaders outfit and a pair of pink trainers with rolled down socks. I had jacked myself off in front of a mirror into those white cotton panties, and creamed myself imagining the slim legs in the short skirt were those of the most popular girl in school.

When I woke in the morning, I found I had made a right mess of my bedsheets, and felt a residual shame at the subject of my wet dream. It felt like a sign, like the choice I faced had already been made for me. I powered up the laptop whilst still in my sticky pyjamas, and typed out a reply to Arthur:

"Ok, I'm in. Kinda nervous, but also excited."

There. Done.

I was in seminars later that day when I received his reply, and immediately excused myself to read it.

"Amazing, I'm looking forward to our time together. As per our agreement you will receive payment of $750 at the end of each week.

I will require 2 hours of your time each day between 7 - 9pm western time. Our first meeting will be 2 days from now on the 11th. The first set items for your new wardrobe will have arrived by then."

Christ, I murmured, this is real now.

"2 hours a day", I told myself. That's great money for so little work.

*

The next morning I woke late, reluctant to start the day. When I made it downstairs to my apartment-block lobby, Adrian, the building's tall Hispanic concierge waved me over.

"Big delivery for you Mr Hurwitz" he said, gesturing to a pile of stacked packages behind him.

"Thanks Adrian. Errmm, do you think you could help me get this to the elevator?"

Between us, we loaded the elevator with boxes and I headed back up to my room alone, grocery shop delayed. I stacked them neatly next to my sofa. From the looks of it they were from lots of different shops & suppliers. I picked out one that had a recognizable brand name: Agent Provocateur. No question this was all from Arthur. I tore open the packaging, and a red lacy bra and panty set fell out onto my bed, along with what looked like a set of thigh high stockings with red lace detail around the top & matching garter belt. I blushed in shame and surprise, but I could feel myself getting hard at the sight of such a sexy set of underwear. It was something I'd kill to see on a girl. I set the pieces aside and started on the other packages, keeping things organized and neatly stacking all the waste out of the way.

When I was done, my bed looked like that of a particularly horny teenage girl, with skimpy lingerie and revealing outfits spilling off the edge. Little pyjama shorts, kimonos, shoes, skirts... even make-up. I took a photo and set it to Arthur.

"Packages received" I captioned it.

"Have fun experimenting. Lets bring our first meeting forward to this evening. See you at 7pm. Wear the maid outfit." He shot back.

So Arthur likes the French maid look, huh? What a cliché. I absent-mindedly played with one of the high-heels on the bed. "Fuck it" I thought. Let see what this guy sees in me. Might as well commit to this right now. I grabbed a bottle of hair removal cream and some girly razors and hit the shower. 15 minutes later I was completely smooth & hairless and wrapped in a towel.

Picking out the red lingerie set that I had first opened, I slid the nude stockings up my legs. On went the garter belt and the lace panties and, after a brief struggle, I secured the bra around my slim shoulders & chest. There was an additional item which I realised was a sort of lace choker. I stepped into some matching red heels and took small steps until I was in front of the mirror.

My jaw dropped.

I had expected to see an awkward man in drag, but was alarmed to find I looked worryingly feminine! I ran my hands up my legs and over my ass. These clothes seemed to suit me better than anything I had worn as a guy. My narrow waist was emphasized by the garter belt & my hips seemed to have more flare than was reasonable. I bit my lip and touched my chest. I could feel my nipples stiffen inside the lace bra. The feeling of one stockinged leg brushing over the other was intoxicating. I was fully erect at the sight of myself, my cock peeping out from the top of the panties.

I took a mascara wand and some dark eye shadow from my new collection, and applied it. This was something completely new to me, and it took a bit of time for me to achieve the smoky-eye look I was going for. Examining myself again in this fresh context, I noticed just how non-masculine my facial features were. My nose was small, and my chin delicate. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said I was a natural girl. I tousled my hair with some wax to give it some texture and the suggestion of a pixie cut rather than my regular boy look.

I started admiring the image in the mirror, moving around to get a better look at my ass, even getting down onto all fours and arching my back like a good little slut might do. I was face down on the carpet, spreading my cheeks when suddenly I heard a knock at the front door.

I froze.

"Shit" I whispered. Had I been making too much noise? Had the downstairs neighbour come to complain?

There was a second, louder knock this time. The muffled voice of Adrian, the building's porter, came through the door.