How To Seduce A Billionaire

Step One

Start your teenage years off as a B-class slut.

Wait, wait—I know you're skeptical about this step. You're going to stop reading already because you don't think it could possibly work. “Billionaires don't like sluts,” you think. But are you right...? Let's be completely honest and find out.

First, men like girls with a high libido who give frequent sex and enjoy it too. Sluts usually tick all those boxes. Second, sluts learn how to seduce men—it's part of the job description. Yes, I know, any woman could learn how to seduce men, but most don't care to try; and that “not caring” part is unseductive in itself. When you learn how to seduce, men like you more, and when you care they like you more too. All that should go without saying, and it's a big win for sluts.

Third, sluts try to look hot on a daily basis. Again, most women could do the same, but they only bother a few nights a year, and even then usually miss the mark. Worse still, non-sluts have swallowed so many wrong ideas about how to look hot and be seductive that when they do try they waste their efforts. They continually make ridiculous mistakes—for example, beige lingerie (don't get me started). Proper sluts wouldn't be caught dead in a beige bra, because they've studied all the right tricks, and learned what works from experience.

So, we have to admit sluts have some advantages over non-sluts. But surely there are reasons a billionaire would find them objectionable?

Well, men do prefer a low bodycount—lower is better—and billionaires are, of course, men (and heiresses). For some men a high bodycount is a total dealbreaker in itself; but for others it's just a big negative.

Sluts do fall pretty far short on this test, and the sluttiest sluts score rock bottom on the chastity scale. However, if sluts fail just one (admittedly big) test and non-sluts fail, well, everything else, then we have to admit sluts are still doing pretty well on net.

The main advantage of being a slut is that because you want it, you figure out what men like so you can catch them (including billionaires) and get it. With enough practice, you become an expert, whether or not you have much talent. If non-sluts were trying, it would be a different story. If your competition learned how to be hot, how to seduce, how to cultivate a healthy sex drive, and used all that knowledge, they could win handily without sleeping around—in fact, they could win the biggest by never sleeping around at all! But these days that's a pretty farfetched “if.”

Back here in reality, non-sluts are set on throwing a match they could easily win. They've been thoroughly trained by every authority in their lives, from professors to fashion advertisers to Youtube beauty advisors, to get as many things wrong as possible. Trained to be aggressively indifferent to what seduces men. Almost as if the powers that be, the people shaping the direction of modern society, want sluts to win. When it comes to seducing billionaires, they've basically handed sluts the field.

Step one doesn't prove that sluts can seduce a billionaire, but when we tally up the score it's starting to look a lot more plausible than it seemed on first blush. If you want to know the final answer, you'll have to keep reading.

Step Two

Step two is building an online presence. This step is obvious, but it's still indispensable. You learn to take good selfies, and learn to post cute little quips that get men interested. You hone your DM style too. You master the art of sexualizing yourself one syllable at a time. None of the things you say need to have any substance—some of them can be outrageous and, indeed, extremely stupid if they're interpreted literally—but as long as you hit the right spot, they'll work anyway. Yes, even on billionaires.

Besides, if you don't build an online following, how will you ever get to meet a billionaire in the first place? I mean, this the 21^st century. Duh.

Step Three

Step three in these 100% guaranteed* billionaire-seduction instructions is beautification. The looks you have to start with might not be anything special. Don't worry—that's okay! You haven't found Dispelling Beauty Lies yet—you'd be really dangerous if you did—but you can still figure out the basics just by copying the most successful egirls. It's an obvious solution that never even occurs to non-sluts, for reasons you struggle to understand; but since you've already taken care of step one, their mental block is no obstacle to your progress.

You spruce up your wardrobe with some new thigh-highs, buy a fancy choker, and get your nose done with dough borrowed from daddy. (It's okay, he'll never ask you to pay it back.) Once again, any woman could do all this and more—or at least most of it if they don't have a rich daddy—but once again, they're too busy doing important things like scrolling through photos of food on Instagram to make the necessary preparations for billionaire seduction (or vampire or cowboy or pirate seduction, for that matter).

A few simple touches and you're starting to look like a real egirl.

Naturally you're a massive hit. Your college years float by on cloud nine. Boys will do your homework, professors will change your Es into As, and because of the little side biz you're running selling racy photos of yourself on the internet, you've got way more spending money than anyone else you know. You don't care—you make the college boys pay for your nights out anyway. Lol!

You wonder if even billionaires feel this good. One day you'll find out.

Step Four

Step four is that you come to the predictable end of sluttery. You find yourself a single mom in your late twenties.

You were always clever, but on a physical level you never quite had what it took to make it as a top egirl. You assumed you could leverage your social media following into an OnlyFans so popular it would set you up for life, but, shockingly, you turned out to be just another middle-of-the-road content creator selling feet pics to fatties. At the beginning you really were making more than the business majors with no effort at all (you were such a natural at step one that it was usually a lot of fun, tbh). Thing is, you were never much good at saving it. And now your future is looking distinctly dimmer than your past.

For a while you had hopes your Silicon Valley boyfriend (the second one—the first only lasted a week) would fix it all for you. But when you finally picked a fight over his lack of commitment he had some kind of autistic fit and started shouting about how he'd never make a long-term investment in someone with your track record of innovation, and that was enough of him. Besides, let's face it—he was only a millionaire anyway.

Step four sounds pretty bleak, but don't worry, it's just a stage. Maybe your online presence didn't really take off the way you wanted it to, but you still have a respectable following. Enough that someone who's looking could notice you. Maybe a billionaire? Or maybe someone else. . .

Step Five

One day you receive a call. The voice on the other end says, “I'm from the government, and I'm here to help.”

Ok, so, he doesn't put it exactly that way. And at first you have no idea he works for the government. He just works for an. . . “organization.” He refers to it by its proper name, which is some mumbo-jumbo about democracy and justice; but since that particular shell corporation won't be calling every woman who's using these billionaire-seduction instructions, I'm going to leave the name out here.

Anyway, the “organization” has looked into your background thoroughly—your work history, your social-media history, your early-life history, and even your relationship history—and they believe you have a lot of potential. The voice on the phone really sounds impressed.

They're minting influencers, you see. And if you sign on, they're going to give you a fresh start. Their existing stable of influencers, their allies on the podcast circuit, their friends at social media companies, and the social-media algorithm itself—they'll weave them all together to set you up for a speed of growth you never knew was possible. Reach that any normal egirl would need years to accumulate even in the most favorable circumstances will be yours in a mere matter of months. Yep, your new identity as a conservative influencer is going to take off like a rocket.

Naturally, you accept. It's a no-brainer. You don't have any other prospects except watching your OnlyFans income tick down year after year, and it's the first job offer in your whole life you've actually wanted to accept that wasn't sex work (at least not technically sex work). Besides, you're a Zoomer: you've dreamed of being an influencer for as long as you can remember. Okay, so you didn't want to be a conservative influencer. But beggars can't be choosers. . . .

Step Six

Step six is to make the most of your brand-new second-chance influencing career. It's easier than it sounds—and a lot easier than your first time around as a standard-edition egirl.

Your managers at the organization feed you talking points. Your job is simple: rephrase those talking points to make them sound more girly using the tricks you learned in your past life as an online stripper. Since the social-media algorithm has been rigged and gamed to support you in every way the organization can manage (and wow, you already kind of suspected it was rigged but you never knew it was this rigged), you're guaranteed to be popular even if your wordsmithing is completely average. It's a fun game. The best kind of game. Well, short of seducing billionaires; but be patient, we'll get back to them in a moment. (And don't forget, even Ghissy herself spent most of her time posting on Reddit. These days it just comes with the territory.)

The organization gives you lots of encouragement and positive feedback. They point out that they've gotten actual former strippers elected to congress, so why not you?

Your following is growing like crazy, and the future looks bright. And guess what—it's about to get brighter.

Step Seven

It's time to reach for the top. The organization (you're starting to wonder who they really are and what they're about) has minted lots of conservative influencers. You don't know who they all are, but you're chummy with some of them, and you're sure there are plenty more on the payroll you haven't been told about.

Yet somehow your shtick is better than everyone else's. The organization hooks you up with the podcast circuit, and when you go on camera you're super charming. People think you sound a little fake, but because you're pretty, they like you anyway. While you already knew beauty was a cheat code for life (otherwise you'd have spared your nose weeks in a bandage), when you repeat cliché arguments about topics you don't actually believe in and sometimes don't even understand and listeners just clap along anyway, it really hits home. You're like a comedian who doesn't need to make an effort at humor because the whole world's set up to be your laugh track. It's awesome.

You might not be funny or knowledgeable, but beauty isn't your only asset. You are a good flirt. You spent years practicing, after all (see step one). And your flirty way of repeating stiff talking points is a massive hit. It's better to be girly than good, and only a real dummy would play fair at a game where the winners are cheating. Two years after you were discovered, you're not just a successful influencer—you're already ranked with the organization's top influencers, and your follower count is closing in on one million. Okay, half of them are bots, but it's still a big number.

You sometimes giggle at the dinky little wannabe influencers scraping after cracks at the bottom of the social-media trash heap with no help from the organization, and at the men who write heartfelt, thoughtful replies to your flirty quips about the second amendment with the subconscious idea that they'll have a better chance of sleeping with you (why else would they bother?), in much the same way you laughed at the college boys who bought you dinner even when your income from online stripping dwarfed the nickels and dimes they were shaving off their student debt by washing dishes in the campus cafeteria. They're probably still paying those loans off now! What do they all know about the world? Not much, it seems. . . .

Step Eight

Step eight is to dream bigger. You're enjoying your success, but, there's less money in it than you thought. Well, okay, there's plenty of money in it. Your income just from podcast appearances is well into six figures, and the organization lets you keep all of it. Still, you want even more. To be specific, you want a billionaire. I mean, that's what we're on this planet for, right? Winning is winning.

Plus, you're not sure you can do this kind of career forever. One day you'll be ugly, and people might notice you don't actually have anything interesting to say. Well, they probably won't notice—but is it worth the risk?

It occurs to you that most egirls are wasting their time with petty whoring. Lots of trophy wives are basically whores too—married to bald, boring men they treat like walking ATMs—but the kind of sex work they do is easy, and everyone acts like they're respectable.

So you set your sights higher. You look, actually, all the way to the very top of the social media ecosystem. There's a billionaire up there...

His body leaves a lot to desired, but his wallet can't be beat. The main thing, you consider, is that you'll be set for life. Besides, however it turns out, seducing Mr. Big will be a thrill. You won't just be set for life, you'll have the best possible trophy, the one that proves you out-girled all the other egirls. Maybe you'll take his left ear as a souvenir too—lol!

At first these thoughts only pool vaguely in your mind like raindrops dripping into a public trash can. It's just an idea, and not one you're super serious about. How would you even meet this billionaire to seduce him anyway?

Step Nine

Then one day, almost miraculously, the stars align. Your manager at the organization calls you. He congratulates you on your success as a conservative influencer. He's been tracking your incredible progress, and now he's got something bigger in mind for you.

You're excited—everything the organization does is a success—so you ask him what it is. He doesn't want to talk over the phone though. He invites you to a quiet cafe just outside Washington.

On the way you have some second thoughts. You wonder whether you really want to be a congresswoman. Wouldn't you have to like uh, sit through meetings and stuff? Some jobs are so boring, you reflect, that it's best to just let men do them. But you're not like, totally sure, so, you figure you'll listen to what he has to say anyway.

When you get there it's almost empty. Your manager is seated in a back corner, the music is turned up a little too loud, and a barista is clinking away faintly somewhere behind the bar.

He tells you the organization isn't just any organization. It has a special mission. Then he launches into a spiel that does sound important and seems to involve the government and even other governments too; but when you try to add together all those important-sounding parts you still can't quite figure out what it is he actually wants you to do—only that it doesn't seem to involve sitting in meetings at the capitol building. You're a little uncomfortable, and also a little too smart to be used to nodding along without a clue; and your manager doesn't seem to be smiling back awkwardly like other men. Actually, he's inspecting you the way you were inspecting luxury SUVs after your latest monetization payment. You struggle to stop your face from looking the way you feel.

He realizes he needs to give you something more to get you on board. First, though, he slows down. He complains about the summer weather in DC. You try to take advantage of the opening to turn up the charm. It's the only thing you know how to do, after all. When you sassily say he should try a cami instead of a suit you finally get him to grin a little, but his mouth straightens out again in an instant and you're left wondering whether the grin was even real.

Coffee arrives. He chats with you for a while longer, now prodding you to answer this and that question about politics and society, sometimes changing the topic brusquely in a confusing way. He even throws in a question about your great grandparents. Usually you can totally control any conversation with men, but this time you're flustered. You're not sure if this is supposed to be some kind of test, or what.

It keeps going for maybe a half hour. Eventually, though, he seems satisfied. If it was a test, you guess you must have passed.

He stops asking questions and leans back in his chair. You look around the cafe. By now it's totally empty; the barista seems to have turned up the speaker even more to compensate.

Then he really explains.

Step Ten

A few days after you agree, they're already preparing you to close in.

Your manager at the organization (you're still calling it that in your head) introduces you to one of his “associates.” This guy is an influencer now too, though he used to work for the government. Of course, he couldn't possibly work for the government anymore—in his new persona he's an outsider fighting the brave fight against the system. Or something like that. Online randos eat it up.

Anyway, he's as experienced at what he does as you are at sluttery. Or more. His whole family was in his line of work, he tells you, so he was practically raised on it. He does seem like a natural. You'd noticed his social media account trending before, but you had no idea he was connected to the organization too. (Technically all his funding comes from a completely different organization with no connection to yours, but, as you now know, they only bother with all these names to confuse people.)

He says you're going to be working together for a while and he wants to make you feel like part of the team. So he tells you some little stories about his past experience infiltrating real dissident groups online. He'd trick them into wasting their time planning silly things that could never work in real life, and earn their trust only to betray them after they'd confided in him. He's a funny guy, you have to admit, and the way he tells it you can't help giggling. You're so glad he's on your side, because he makes seducing a billionaire sound like it will be an absolute walk in the park. (That's the very important mission he'll be helping you with, obviously.)

Your new colleague is ahead of the game. He's already reached out to the billionaire in question using his cover as a political dissident. He's got an impressive amount of information at his fingertips (being an outsider supposedly gave him access to insider information—make it make sense, lol!); and in a pure act of charity, he's going to “help” this billionaire use it to do the good deed of reforming the government. A billionaire in need is a friend indeed. . . .

It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, but it works like a charm. The billionaire has political ambitions; to his mind your colleague is handing him the perfect “in” on a silver platter. And since your colleague's generously lending the needy billionaire a helping hand, the billionaire gives him one in return, introducing him all over the place as an ally in the "fight against the system."

When the power of a billionaire joins forces with the gullibility of the public, it's enough to move mountains—maybe in the wrong direction, but move them nonetheless—and your colleague's social-media following takes off even faster than yours did. You're kind of jealous, tbh.

Within months there's a tidal wave of concerned citizens behind him—and all he has to do is to make sure they're concerned about the wrong thing.

Step Eleven

Step eleven is to size up your target. The organization has put together a thick dossier on the billionaire. You have no idea how they got so much private information. It's almost like the law doesn't even apply to them. Oh, right.

Anyway, they know everything about him, the names and locations of all two dozen of his children, including the ones the tabloids couldn't find, and all the women he keeps secret from the public, and all his favorite porn, and his favorite positions too. It's amazing—a level of detail no honeytrap in history's ever had at her fingertips. Even Ghizzy would be jealous.

The modern always-online world, you realize, is one where no professionally prepared seductress can lose, and if they don't send a man the perfect honeytrap, it's only because he's not successful enough to deserve it. In slutty terms, you've been handed the nuclear codes to his body. And you're going to use them.

So you study the dossier intently. You realize you're a pretty good student when you have a reason to be—in college you just never did. Plus, your manager's talk convinced you that you can seduce a billionaire and do something good for politics at the same time. Not conservative or liberal politics, those are just a joke—you know that better than anyone else. No, the politics that really count. Yep, you remind yourself, you're not just selfishly sleeping your way to fame and fortune (not that that would be a bad thing, of course). You're doing a good deed too.

This particular billionaire, you see, has been getting uppity. He wants more influence over the country than the people who actually run the show want to give him. And he's super talented at business. Fortunately he's also kind of a nutjob. He's got maximal ego, but only minimal morality. Even the people who think he's on their side wouldn't like him if they knew everything you do. So, you're going to help put him in his place.

And get a ridiculous amount of money for it, of course.

Step Twelve

Step twelve is to move in for the kill.

Your influencer colleague is playing his role to perfection. He's got a huge following, most people think he's a dissident hero, and your target is totally besties with him. That's when he plays his trump card.

He's setting up a publicity event with the billionaire, and you're invited. In fact, your colleague is bringing you along as his trusted friend and you're gonna be seated hip to hip with the billionaire for a long ride in an expensive car.

Needless to say, you're chuffed. You put on your best choker and fly out to meet the future father of your child. And soon enough, there he is—right beside you in the back of the limo. So close you could have touched him just by turning your head (if you hadn't gotten rhino).

Your early years of sluttery finally pay off in the biggest possible way. You know all the right things to say. The right ways to flirt, the right ways to make him feel like a man—to make him feel desired. The things that non-sluts don't know because they never bothered to learn.

Billionaires are supposed to be shrewd. But they're shrewd about business, not about women, not about how the government really works. For the last forty years he's spent eighty hours a week making money, so his ability to sniff out honeytraps is still on the level of an eighteen-year-old boy. You wonder if he can do that advanced math.

Eventually, of course, he has his people run a background check. He doesn't learn much about the organization beyond their name. They've covered their tracks to perfection and they look like a completely legit conservative NGO (is there such a thing?). He does find out about your history of egirling. No big deal. You've covered the first eleven steps of these billionaire-seduction instructions so well that he just doesn't care. He's totally fallen for you. And now he wants something only you can give him. He wants you to use those nuclear codes.

You cut through his heart like a hot knife through butter. In a matter of weeks, you're in his bed, doing what you do best.

Step Thirteen

Your billionaire's asleep, somewhere in the enormous bed of a luxury-hotel penthouse. Maybe you were just any old slut a few years ago, but now, you think as you look in the mirror after retouching your mascara, you feel like Mata Hari.

Step thirteen in seducing a billionaire is to document everything. Cameras in any room you can safely arrange (four different angles, courtesy of the organization's pro team, of course), every photo you can take without making him suspicious, screenshots of your phone, texts, emails, receipts, everything. And all along, let him keep thinking he has the upper hand. That way he won't be suspicious until it's too late. Easy pickings, cause he's convinced himself he's a genius and gotten everyone around him to believe it too. And maybe he is, at business. But this is pleasure.

As far as pleasure goes, he ranks well below the backup quarterback you dated in your junior year, and that guy finished in two minutes on the dot every time. Fact is, if he wasn't a billionaire you'd be having the serious ick. He let himself go while scrabbling to the top and now he looks like a tuskless elephant seal who wandered away from the beach. His jokes aren't even funny. As one of your besties loved saying, this guy is on the wrong drugs.

Whatever. Counterfactuals are called that because they're contrary to fact (a viral post on your social—you came up with it yourself!). He is a billionaire. As an excuse for being otherwise kind of lame, it will probably wear off, but if there's one thing sluts know about men, it's that they all get boring sooner or later. You just have a feeling that this time, later isn't going to take very long to arrive. And considering the agreement you made with the organization, that's probably for the best.

You call room service just to order something weird and expensive (you're tired and can't think of anything interesting so you settle on banana-nut ice cream), then look out the big wall of windows over the city while you wait. You wonder which of his other wives are deep-cover sleeper agents. You have your eye on one of them for sure. Nobody could act like the perfect mother for so long and tolerate this guy's shenanigans if she didn't have a really good reason for it. Wouldn't it be awesome to coordinate the closing fireworks with her and make them even more spectacular? Ok, that would totally blow her cover, but it would be so worth it.

Don't get ahead of yourself though. You need to follow these instructions one step at a time, and you're not done documenting yet.

When it comes to seducing a billionaire, the baby is technically optional. However, when you want to score millions and bring him down publicly using irrefutable material evidence, as you almost certainly do, baby is Exhibit A+. Semen stains on a dress are just amateur stuff.

Fortunately you're in especially top form as a slutty seductress when you're ovulating—and convincing your billionaire to go at it with no protection turns out to be way easier than convincing men on the internet to pay for your feet pics when they have zero chance of scoring (an art you'd already mastered by age nineteen). You don't even have to lie about being on birth control cause he's got some weird breeding fetish! Too easy.

After you see two lines, you have nine months to snap some photos with the billionaire and the baby and make your exit.

You already learned the first time around that pregnancy is kind of a drag. But life's tough, especially when you're a woman. As you nourish that baby in your womb, just think of it as the final form of documentation.

Step Fourteen

Step fourteen is controlled demolition. Controlled, because even after you break up, the billionaire can never know exactly what you planned and who you planned it with. You need to swap in some other excuses as a distraction—make him think you're just a garden-variety golddigger, or better yet, that you're “still” in love with him. The main thing, in any case, is that you can't let him find out about the organization.

While all this misdirection will be a massive hassle, if you screw up and the organization turns against you, you doubt you'll see your new baby's first birthday. They're always chummy with you, yeah, but you're not stupid. It's obvious these are serious people. You're glad they're on your side, and you want to keep it that way.

The plan is that you'll pretend to feel jilted. There's no way he'll keep it in his pants even till your baby is born, let alone after. That'll give you the perfect excuse. Slut or not, nobody could blame you.

It turns out to be the easiest breakup in your life. This guy is the most absent of absentee fathers. He's always “so busy at work this week.” He uses his zillion-dollar empire as an excuse for anything he needs an excuse for, and even your totally deadbeat ex was better in the dad department.

While you're waiting for a perfect moment you collate the documentation. You find the best photos, the most damning texts, the sexiest videos. Well, the videos where you look the sexiest. He comes off pretty bad in all of them. Which, you suppose, is kind of the point. Clever framing and your contact at a high-profile gossip column should be enough to blow the billionaire's reputation all the way to outer space—and the papers will want to know whose shirts you wear.

Chances are hardly any of your huge pile of evidence will see the light of day. The videos are just emergency backup, for his eyes only. Unless he insists on being really disobedient. But according to the organization, that basically never happens.

Step Fifteen

Step fifteen: the limited-hangout cash-out.

The story of the famous billionaire abandoning you with his baby is perfect fodder for social media, of course, and you gave your contact at the gossip mag some juicy photos of you looking sexy to spice it up even more.

Soon after the news breaks, your online besties betray you for clicks. They spill all the old DMs you wrote about how you wanted to seduce a billionaire. You expected it to happen—in fact, you planned on it happening to buff up your gold-digger back-story—and if they were the kind of people who'd do anything less they wouldn't be real influencers in the first place. Still, part of you feels a little disappointed.

As for the results though, you couldn't be happier. For a day, no, three days, you're more famous than any other woman in the world. Pictures of you are plastered everywhere. There are like, a billion viral posts about you and the billionaire trending at once! It's the most attention you've ever had; and you bask in it like an alligator basking in the sun after a kill.

The organization's stable of conservative influencers jumps to your defense with prewritten posts, some copypasted with only a few words changed, that trend first and set the tone of the conversation. They remind their flock that you're a conservative just like them—your hat proves it beyond any reasonable doubt (not that you wear it when you can avoid it; it's super ugly). Anyone who says you're immoral just because you gold-dug your way to the top is, by definition, a screeching liberal out to score political points. And that's not all. The billionaire's support for the conservative movement proves he too was perfectly right to take you as a favorite concubine and then unfavorite you as soon as the payload was delivered. Choose a side, people!

Men who object are bombarded with replies saying they're “just jealous,” courtesy of the organization's network of bots. Far-right influencers chip in by pointing out that nobody's more right-wing than Genghis Khan, and he took hundreds of wives while he was killing 10% of the world's population. If we'd had ten of him at once, just imagine where we'd be today! In fact, everyone could be Genghis Khan if they just worked harder and voted to cut entitlements.

All in all it's the coolest PR trick evar, and so absurd you almost can't believe it's actually working. Now you've got a front-row seat to watch conservative partisanship throw “conservative values” out the window in real time. And oh – my – God it's so funny to see! You are laughing so damn hard. Someone swapped their bishops for knights and now they're taking spiritual guidance from horses. You text your colleague, who masterminded the whole thing, a long string of “I'm crying with laughter” emojis.

Every egirl in the world—lots of them were so proud of being prettier than you, lol!—is jealous that you're the one who hit the jackpot. But more deliciously funny still is that, thanks to the organization's genius PR, aspiring housewives who are too frigid to even put on a pair of thigh-highs have decided to side with you.

They rip off the mask of middle-class respectability and post about how they too would whore themselves out (they don't say it exactly like that, but the fig leaf is as sheer as fishnets) if only the price were high enough and the lease long enough. Lease length is now apparently the thing that distinguishes a good conservative woman from a fallen one, though the mandatory minimum is shrinking fast. Well, you come from a broken home, and so will your son—you mean both your sons, you almost forgot about the other one—so you figure it's just as well if they level the playing field for their kids. These posts weren't part of the original plan—mainly because they seem too good to be true. But as soon as they appear, the organization gives them the huge boost they deserve.

Small accounts run by randos who didn't really know how they were supposed to react see which way the wind is blowing and join in. They repeat the most popular takes in their own words, each coming up with different reasons to agree that, even if it sort of looks bad, you and the billionaire are still mostly good guys on the right side. And thanks to this chorus of nobodies, the conservative stampede to support polygamy and prostitution seems as organic to onlookers as bovine-tuberculosis-infected raw milk.

As far as you can tell these girls would give up their virtue for just a few million. But you were still in high school when you gave up yours, and now, years later, you've scored many millions more selling it yet again—for something like the 200^th time (depending on how you count). Today a woman's virtue, you reflect, is the cake you really can still have after somebody else eats it too.

Altogether it's the single biggest blow to conservative family values in your lifetime, and (with the organization's help) you were the one who landed it. It's so exciting that you can barely stop reading your own publicity long enough to pick out your new beach house.

However, tricking conservatives into torching conservative values is just icing on your infinitely edible cake—an unexpectedly successful bonus achievement to your real mission, which was, of course, putting a leash on the billionaire. In the olden days they would have just invited him to the island, but now they try to be more discreet about it. The few suggestive details of the affair you dribbled out to tarnish his image (deservedly) in the eyes of the median voter are only a tiny fraction of the documentation you handed over to the organization. For the moment they just want to erode his power. Already happening anyway, cause your colleague tricked him into harping on issues that are political losers with the public and useless besides, and now he's making a fool of himself on the regular. But if he steps out of line, they'll go as far as they need to.

You wonder what your billionaire is thinking—you haven't seen him since Exhibit A turned three weeks old. You don't know if you really loved him or not (ok, you do know) but you did really love the idea of a billionaire loving you (well, maybe not him in particular, but at least a billionaire).

Step Sixteen

Step sweet sixteen in these 100% guaranteed* billionaire-seduction instructions is to enjoy your victory. Of course, that might not be enough for you.

It certainly sounds impossible to seduce a second billionaire after you're already famous for shaking down the billionaire before him, but life has taught you a few important lessons. Hot girls get as many chances as they want, whoredom is only the first step on the road to wealth and respectability—and where one dumb rich guy has gone, others will follow.

It's the 21^st century. America's best days might be way behind us, but your time as a star, you decide, is just beginning.

For a real seduction how-to guide, read this.

*Provided you follow all instructions exactly.

How to Seduce a Billionaire was published on March 1, 2025.