MILF Desire System: The Degenerate Son's Forbidden Path

Onstage, Winthrope had somehow wandered into a story about his own freshman year. Damon had no idea how they had gotten there. Five minutes ago the man had been talking about alumni networks, and now he was describing some professor from thirty years ago while four hundred freshmen silently learned that adulthood did not automatically cure oversharing.

Damon moved on to the form.

First name only.

No surname.

He did not need a woman’s birth certificate before she even decided whether she wanted to continue. Half the clientele he was imagining probably had enough reasons not to put their full name anywhere near this thing.

Age confirmation came next.

Then he wrote: What are you looking for?

He read it twice and frowned.

Too broad.

He changed it.

What do you need?

That was worse.

’Jesus. Now I’m a therapist.’

He deleted it again and rubbed his jaw.

’How the fuck do you professionally ask a rich milf how sexually frustrated she is without sounding like a horny eighteen-year-old asking a rich milf how sexually frustrated she is?’

That was the entire problem.

He went with choices instead: Company. Discretion. Release. Something Different.

Then a blank box underneath.

That blank box was probably going to be the gold mine.

People could click something respectable all day. Company. Nice. Clean. Civilized.

Then give them an empty field at eleven thirty at night, alone in bed, annoyed at their husband, three glasses of wine deep, and suddenly civilization started losing employees.

Damon smiled.

’Yeah. That box is staying.’

He tested the form against Marguerite first since she was still fresh in his head, he might ask ell put that to advantage.

She would absolutely close the page.

Then reopen it.

Then read the privacy section... close it again... spend the next ten minutes annoyed that she could still remember the name.

He grinned. ’You’d hate this website so much.’

Which probably meant she’d read every page.

Camilla was useless as a test because Camilla had skipped normal seduction logic entirely and chosen psychological warfare before breakfast.

He moved on.

Four taps.

That was the rule.

Maybe five if the woman was already horny enough to forgive him but anything beyond that and she was closing Safari, putting the phone down, and going back to pretending she had no idea why she’d opened the site in the first place.

Landing page. Age. Intent. Availability. Application.

Done and fast.

Embarrassment was a timer too.

A woman might be completely committed to the idea at eleven forty-seven and suddenly remember she was a respectable adult at eleven fifty-two.

Damon needed to beat respectable adulthood by about five minutes. ’Look at that. Conversion strategy. Blackwood Business School is already paying dividends and I have not attended one class.’

He almost laughed but he remembered he still had eight a.m. calculus three times a week and the laugh died like Winthrope’s football joke.

The privacy section became another pain in the ass.

His first version sounded like a lawyer wrote it.

Delete.

His second sounded like witness protection.

Delete.

He tried again and kept only what mattered.

No public profiles, searchable client information, private communication... verification handled discreetly. Booking information revealed only when necessary.

Payment made him stop.

He knew enough to know he did not know enough, which was annoying but probably useful.

’Yeah, let’s research that before I accidentally invent money laundering.’

He opened Notes and made a list:

SHIT TO FIGURE OUT BEFORE LAUNCH: verification, payment processing, scheduling, privacy, security, cancellation policy, legal bullshit he currently did not understand.

Then he added:

HOW NOT TO GET SUED OR ARRESTED

He stared at both headings and nodded.

Professional.

Lilith would be so proud... right until she read literally anything under them.

That thought wiped the smile off his face for half a second. ’Yeah. She never sees this laptop. Ever. I will eat the hard drive first.’

Back to design.

It was dark and clean with nothing flashing BOOK NOW button or giant picture of his abs surrounded by fake testimonials from horny women named Jessica, 42.

He imagined it and physically cringed. ’If this site ever starts looking like a penis enlargement ad, I’m shutting the company down myself.’

That was when something finally clicked; the women he wanted were not browsing because they had never seen an attractive guy before.

A handsome guy was easy, especially with money they possessed but the real product was the lack of bullshit around him.

No chasing, awkward explaining, twenty messages asking so what are you into? or wondering whether the guy was going to brag about it later and also pretending she was looking for romance if she wasn’t.

Just privacy, attention, whatever she actually wanted, and then everybody went back to their lives without turning it into a fucking committee meeting.

Damon stared at the screen for a few seconds. ’That’s my pitch but not sex... being taken care of. Sex is just the delivery method.’

He opened Notes and wrote it down immediately before his brain could accidentally become stupid again. Then he stared at the line.

A grin slowly took over his face.

’Look at me. Eighteen years old and already monetizing neglected wives.’

That sounded horrible. Also profitable.

’Business school is working fast. Finance core. MILF core. Same major if she squint.’

For once, the Finance-major side of his life and the demonic MILF system had actually found something to cooperate on instead of fighting over who got to ruin him first.

Onstage, Winthrope was finally reaching the end:

"And when we speak of the Blackwood family," the Dean said, opening his arms toward several hundred people who had known one another for less than a day, "we speak of something that extends far beyond classrooms, beyond degrees, and beyond your four years here."

Damon looked around.

One guy near the aisle was watching football highlights with his brightness almost at zero. A girl two sections over was shopping for shoes. Someone farther back had fallen asleep with his mouth open. Board-member boy was talking again and, judging from the five words Damon caught, his father had somehow entered the conversation for the third time.

’Yeah. Family.’ Sure.

Damon saved the draft but it was ugly in places, half-finished, missing actual payment infrastructure, probably illegal in at least one way he had not discovered yet.

But it existed.

That mattered.

He had a name, landing page, application flow, privacy skeleton, and a growing list of things that could potentially ruin his life if he handled them badly.

Pretty good afternoon; he closed the laptop halfway and looked toward the giant gold Blackwood crest behind Winthrope.

The Service Path had started as a system option but now it was becoming something real.

A business; yes but a horny, probably legally complicated business, but still a business.

Damon looked down at the MacBook again and smiled to himself.

’Four taps. Rich milfs. Fifteen credits.’ He shook his head. ’I really did pick the right fucking major.’

The applause finally started, half enthusiasm and half relief that Winthrope had stopped talking. Damon slid the laptop into his bag and stood with everybody else as the auditorium came alive around him.

Somewhere behind him, board-member boy was still talking about his father.

Damon almost laughed.

Blackwood really did offer a broad education.

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