His Tinder profile indicated he was 45, yet in person, he appeared no older than his early thirties.
The profile stated he was seeking a sugar baby, offering $700 weekly with no mention of any sexual expectations.
It sounded like an incredible opportunity, but as a financially struggling university student, I was willing to take the risk. I swiped right, and moments later, Tinder informed me that we were a match. His message arrived promptly.
“Hey, there sweetheart :)”
The use of that word, “sweetheart,” made me cringe. I despised it, but seven hundred dollars was a substantial sum, so I forced myself to respond.
“Hey ;)”
His name was Jack, and he claimed to be a business owner, though he never specified the nature of his business. We conversed for a while before he requested my Venmo information to send the first payment.
A few minutes later, I received a notification. I stared at the $700 for what felt like an eternity, half expecting to awaken from a dream. But it was all too real.
“You still there?”
I clicked on the message.
“Yeah. Sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you looking for in return?”
I kept my eyes glued to the chat, waiting for his reply.
“I’m just looking for you to do a few favors for me :)”
That statement hinted at something potentially sexual.
“Like what?”
“First, I need you to pick up a delivery for me.”
On the surface, this request seemed innocuous, but I remained suspicious. Seven hundred dollars for a simple delivery? Even I wasn’t that naive.
“From the post office or something?”
“No. I’ll send you the address, but I’d rather not do this through Tinder. You got Kik? Or you can give me your number.”
The mention of Kik felt outdated, but I chose to provide my number. He promptly texted me the address, followed by his home address, where I was to drop off the package.
“I’m not home right now, but there’s a key on the bottom of the blue flower pot near the door. Go inside and put the package on the coffee table in the living room. Make sure that you lock the door when you go inside the house, and then lock it again when you leave.”
I grabbed my keys, wallet, and headed to my car, entering the address into Google Maps.
“Got it! Omw.”
My phone buzzed as I backed out of my driveway.
“I’m serious. Lock the door BOTH times. Please.”
I found his insistence a bit excessive but promised to comply.
Upon arriving at the house, it appeared abandoned, surrounded by more well-maintained homes. A massive man awaited me in the doorway.
“You here for Jack’s stuff?” he asked.
Frozen with uncertainty, I replied, “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“Stay right there,” he ordered.
I did. I wouldn’t have moved even if he had requested it. There were no other people in sight, and I was a twenty-one-year-old woman alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood, clutching my car keys.
Minutes later, he reappeared, carrying a cardboard box, slightly damp and stained.
“Can you open your car?” he requested.
I obliged, opening the trunk, not wanting the package to soil my car seats.
“All right, there you go,” he said.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
I walked back to my car, and just as I opened the driver’s side door, he called out, “Oh, and one more thing. Watch out.”
I didn’t respond, opting to blast music as I drove to Jack’s lavish house. Parking in the stone driveway, I stayed in the car, admiring the opulent residence.
The house was enormous, boasting stone pillars and lush, green lawns. After turning off the engine, I exited the vehicle, retrieved the package, and made my way to the front door, finding the key where instructed.
Inside, I marveled at the upscale decor with wooden furniture that dwarfed my modest belongings. I placed the package on the coffee table, locked the door behind me as per Jack’s instructions, and ventured out again.
I recalled his odd request to turn the TV on and leave it playing static all night. Perhaps it was unimportant?
As I contemplated this, a text from Jack arrived, relieving me of further obligations until his return.
“I’m not in town right now, so you’re free from running any more errands for me until then! Just sent the payment, go do something fun ;)”
I returned home and unpacked, but the list of rules he had provided nagged at me. I sat on my bed, scrutinizing it once more.
“Turn the TV on and let it play on static through the night. DO NOT FORGET TO DO THIS.”
I stared at those words, questioning their significance, when my phone buzzed with a new text from Jack, a $1000 payment.
I contemplated whether I could ignore the TV rule. But then a text from an unfamiliar number arrived.
“Did you forget to do something? ;)”
The message was accompanied by a photo of Jack standing in front of the TV.
I didn’t respond. Another image followed, this time of my own house.
“Watch out.”