You grab a quick, hot shower and a cup of coffee before returning to your bedroom. Your mobile phone trills and illuminates the dark room as it receives a text. Wearily you load the message.
Hey hun. You free tonight? Im horny and got cash to burn. Interested?, the text reads, followed by an address in some sleazy part of town.
You stare at the text for a while, scratching your tired eyes and the layer of stubble covering your chin. You've barely even had time to shave these last few days - study and "work" have been all consuming. You want nothing more than to sleep.
But you need the money. Second year has been expensive, even more so than the first. Burning through your student loan and heavily into your overdraft, you'd reached out for alternate sources of income, and found people more than willing to part with their cash in exchange for your... services.
Not that they wanted your services in this body. With a sigh, you text back a confirmation, stating that you'll meet them at the designated spot in half an hour, and walk over to the wardrobe. Out of the bottom, from underneath a pile of clothing, you pull a locked box. Inputting the combination, you open the lid and pull out the cheapest piece of TF tech you had been able to afford. It had cost the remainder of your student loan, and you were only just starting to make back your investment.
There were plenty of names for what you do, what you are - prostititute, whore, masseuse - but you like to entertain the idea that you're some sort of comic book superhooker. By day, the mild-mannered Mike Anderson, chemistry graduate. By night...
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