I WAS A PROSTITUTE & MY FATHER WHO HAD DIVORCED MY MOM HIRED ME FOR THE NIGHT
EPISODE 1
Written by ©GAMBO ELVIS
Never make the mistake of hiding a girl’s real father from her. That one decision can lead to a lifetime of regret.
I was hustling on the streets, surviving as a professional “hook-up” girl. Most of my clients came through referrals. I rarely stood on corners — everything happened through calls. One evening, I received a message from a man who said the lady he wanted for the night wasn’t available, so she had referred him to me.
He told me to meet him at his home and even sent a cab to pick me up. That was the first sign that he wasn’t a regular man. I could hear the conversation he had with the driver — and the amount he offered just for the ride was more than I usually made in a week. No wonder the cab driver told me to take my time and even opened the door for me like I was royalty.
I felt nervous. I always did. My mother didn’t know what I did in the city. She was a struggling single woman — the kind who could go hungry just to feed her child. She divorced my father many years ago because of his reckless life. He would drink for days, disappear for weeks, and come back home without shame. Eventually, he walked out when I was barely a year old.
From that day till now, my father never called. Not even once. He never sent a coin. He never asked if I was still breathing.
But yes — my mother had shown me a picture of him. She didn’t hide his face from me. That photo was the only memory I had of a man I never met. Deep inside me, I always hoped I would see him one day — not to cry or beg, but to look him in the eyes and ask him why he left. Why he never came back. Why he made life so hard for the woman who once loved him.
School became a luxury I couldn't afford. My mother fell terribly ill, and we had nothing. No support, no hope. I dropped out of school, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. And then, when the bills piled up and life got even worse, I did the unthinkable — I started using my body to raise money. Not out of pride, but out of pain. Out of desperation. To save my mother.
I told myself it was just for a while. Just until she got better. But things never got better.
The cab pulled into a huge mansion. I had never been inside a house like that before. It was more than just a home — it was a palace. They said the man who lived there was someone who “played life” — wealthy, flashy, and full of stories.
As I walked through the gate, the gatekeeper looked at me and muttered under his breath:
“Another woman again…”
I tried not to care.
A housemaid ushered me into the living room. My eyes couldn't stop scanning the place — marble floors, glowing chandeliers, art that looked like it belonged in a museum. It felt like I had entered another world.
The maid went upstairs to tell him I had arrived. From what I saw, he lived alone — like a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.
Then I heard his voice from the bathroom.
“Give me a few minutes, my dear.”
So I sat. I waited.
And then, the door opened.
The man stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, drying his hands casually — but when I looked at his face, my heart stopped.
He looked exactly like the man in the photograph my mother had shown me years ago. The man who vanished when I was a baby. The man I called “Dad” only in my mind.
He hadn’t seen me before. He didn’t know who I was.
But I knew.
And in that moment, I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or run.
Was this fate? Was this punishment? Was this the moment I had waited for all my life?
I was about to sleep with my own father…
But no —
You want more?
Next episode loading…
To Be Continued…
I WAS A PROSTITUTE & MY FATHER WHO HAD DIVORCED MY MOM HIRED ME FOR THE NIGHT
EPISODE 1
Written by ©GAMBO ELVIS
Never make the mistake of hiding a girl’s real father from her. That one decision can lead to a lifetime of regret.
I was hustling on the streets, surviving as a professional “hook-up” girl. Most of my clients came through referrals. I rarely stood on corners — everything happened through calls. One evening, I received a message from a man who said the lady he wanted for the night wasn’t available, so she had referred him to me.
He told me to meet him at his home and even sent a cab to pick me up. That was the first sign that he wasn’t a regular man. I could hear the conversation he had with the driver — and the amount he offered just for the ride was more than I usually made in a week. No wonder the cab driver told me to take my time and even opened the door for me like I was royalty.
I felt nervous. I always did. My mother didn’t know what I did in the city. She was a struggling single woman — the kind who could go hungry just to feed her child. She divorced my father many years ago because of his reckless life. He would drink for days, disappear for weeks, and come back home without shame. Eventually, he walked out when I was barely a year old.
From that day till now, my father never called. Not even once. He never sent a coin. He never asked if I was still breathing.
But yes — my mother had shown me a picture of him. She didn’t hide his face from me. That photo was the only memory I had of a man I never met. Deep inside me, I always hoped I would see him one day — not to cry or beg, but to look him in the eyes and ask him why he left. Why he never came back. Why he made life so hard for the woman who once loved him.
School became a luxury I couldn't afford. My mother fell terribly ill, and we had nothing. No support, no hope. I dropped out of school, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. And then, when the bills piled up and life got even worse, I did the unthinkable — I started using my body to raise money. Not out of pride, but out of pain. Out of desperation. To save my mother.
I told myself it was just for a while. Just until she got better. But things never got better.
The cab pulled into a huge mansion. I had never been inside a house like that before. It was more than just a home — it was a palace. They said the man who lived there was someone who “played life” — wealthy, flashy, and full of stories.
As I walked through the gate, the gatekeeper looked at me and muttered under his breath:
“Another woman again…”
I tried not to care.
A housemaid ushered me into the living room. My eyes couldn't stop scanning the place — marble floors, glowing chandeliers, art that looked like it belonged in a museum. It felt like I had entered another world.
The maid went upstairs to tell him I had arrived. From what I saw, he lived alone — like a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.
Then I heard his voice from the bathroom.
“Give me a few minutes, my dear.”
So I sat. I waited.
And then, the door opened.
The man stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, drying his hands casually — but when I looked at his face, my heart stopped.
He looked exactly like the man in the photograph my mother had shown me years ago. The man who vanished when I was a baby. The man I called “Dad” only in my mind.
He hadn’t seen me before. He didn’t know who I was.
But I knew.
And in that moment, I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or run.
Was this fate? Was this punishment? Was this the moment I had waited for all my life?
I was about to sleep with my own father…
But no —
You want more?
Next episode loading…
To Be Continued…
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