Confessions of a yacht girl: Hour by debauched hour, inside an ultra-secret world of ‘yachting’ where young women are the playthings of rich and powerful older men

‘Have you heard she’s a yacht girl?’ 

For most of us, ‘yachting’ simply refers to cruising or racing on a yacht. But for those who rub shoulders with the super-rich, it has a different meaning entirely.

The premise is simple: influential billionaires living large on superyachts handpick gorgeous young women to join them on board for exclusive – and debauched – sex parties in exchange for cash, gifts and career opportunities.

‘Yachting’ has been talked about in Hollywood circles for decades – but the public didn’t hear about it until about a decade ago when photos of models conspicuously gathered on yachts at the Cannes Film Festival raised eyebrows.  Months later, many of them would go on to make it ‘big’ in Hollywood and fashion, seemingly overnight… but that’s a story for another day.

The scandalous activities taking place at sea might be shocking to some, but this elite and extremely discreet form of sex work has been happening for decades among the mega-wealthy in Europe, the U.S. and, increasingly, Dubai – where prostitution is illegal but rampant. 

The practice is not typically associated with the sparkling shores Down Under – but, as we can reveal, it is now taking place right under our noses on Sydney‘s iconic harbour. 

Beautiful women from middle-class families, many of them aspiring influencers and models, are invited by extremely rich men to ‘party’ on their boats. Within hours, they wave goodbye to their boyfriends, their phones are locked away, and non-disclosure agreements are swiftly signed.

Speaking on the strict condition of anonymity, a real-life Sydney ‘yacht girl’ reveals to me how she got into the exclusive club, why she does it, and what really happens once anchors are down.

Ping!

‘Hey! Come out on the boat tonight for dinner. It’s going to be fun and frisky,’ read the text from a fun-loving friend of a friend. The finishing touch of a devil-horns emoji was all I needed to say, ‘Yes!’

Plus, I was already going out so I thought I may as well pop by.

I was dressed for the occasion too – my favourite little black dress and matching stilettos.

At first, I thought the last-minute invite was odd but I quickly brushed that aside.

‘I’ll be there by 9pm.’

‘No worries, we’ll wait for you.’

If I had known what the night was going to entail, I certainly wouldn’t have gone out wearing my ‘grandma undies’…

You’re probably wondering how I found myself in this position. After all, I’m not that kind of girl. Well, it’s a funny story. My life is quite different compared to your standard full-time office worker.

I’m a very extroverted extrovert who thrives on social interaction and loves to meet new people – plus I’m good at it. I’m a hardcore socialite. I’m rarely at home and when I am, I’m thinking about my next adventure.

I can walk into a party knowing no one and be best friends with everyone by the end of the night with men lining up wanting my number. It’s just a gift.

I feel like I know half of Sydney and have partied with some of the wealthiest people in the city. Ditto London and Dubai. I met this ‘friend’ of mine who texted me like I did most others – through a mutual connection on a night out.

Do I know her well? No. But when she messaged me about the yacht party, I was immediately in. I just knew it would be a good time and the men would be loaded.

It was the perfect timing, too. Earlier that day I had been crying in the work bathroom over a 30-something guy who didn’t know what he wanted – like most of them.

I pulled myself together before clocking off at 5pm, which is when I received that glorious text…

AN INTIMATE EVENING ON THE HARBOUR

At 8:30pm, I caught an Uber to the secret location and a tender came to collect me from the shore at Double Bay. The yacht was anchored somewhere in the harbour.

As I arrived at 8.55pm I was handed a glass of champagne by a staff member and met the two other girls on board in the enormous dining room. The first person who greeted me was my mutual friend, who whispered sternly that no photos were to be taken that night – and especially not shared on social media.

It was the first indication that I might be in for more than a light soirée.

My friend introduced me to three older men, all well past 50, whom we would be entertaining. All of us were either single or in open relationships. ‘Phew,’ I thought, ‘I won’t have to deal with any jealous girlfriends.’

By 9.15pm we were the best of friends. The champagne was flowing and music was pumping. I had been drinking at another event earlier in the evening so was feeling a serious buzz. 

I hadn’t been expecting a formal dinner – maybe a few drinks and some canapés – but when the table placements came out, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Before we sat down to eat, I knew this was no ordinary evening. I noticed the vibe in the room was unlike anything I’ve experienced on a yacht.

The flirtatious comments, the way the men touched your hand and looked at us with ‘f*** me’ eyes. It was clear what was going to happen. It was at that point I wished I’d worn my sexy lace underwear. 

My mother would murder me if she found out I was doing this with, surrounded by men who were old enough to be my father.

Seated opposite me was the man who owned the yacht. Now, you might be picturing a tall, dark and handsome ‘Christian Grey’ type. He wasn’t.

All three of them were about 55 with ‘dad bods’ and noticeably thinning hairlines. 

But who was I to complain? They’re mega-rich and I was living the dream without paying a cent.

‘Are you having a fun night?’ the host asked. Of course I was, I couldn’t believe I had scored an invite, to be honest. I blushed. When I cracked a joke the whole table laughed at, I knew I was in with the group – they loved me!

He may not have been a silver fox like George Clooney, but the way he looked at me gave me butterflies. I’m naturally a flirt so I was hitting on everyone – including the other women.

THE NIGHT TAKES A TURN…

At 11pm we finished our dessert and the energy in the room intensified.

Everyone had been drinking for hours at this point and I knew we were going to get naked soon. Did I remember to shave my legs?

I had only met these people hours ago and I didn’t know how this was going to go down or what was expected of me. 

So I turned to the woman next to me and whispered: ‘I’m excited but this is my first time doing this… I’m a bit scared.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you,’ she replied, grazing my thigh.

As our eyes met, my heart started pounding and I felt butterflies. Her gaze softened, I leaned in slightly and we started kissing.

Her lips were so soft; I slowly melted into my seat. Time stood still and briefly I forgot about the other guests at the table who were admiring our every move.

My hand touched her cheek and all I could think about was how amazing she smelt – like berries and vanilla.

She was a bit older than me, maybe 40. She was poised and graceful. Her luscious locks felt soft as I moved my hand up into her hair.

It wasn’t long until the guests partnered up – some with two. I realised then we had an audience. 

When it comes to sex, I don’t really care about looks. Honestly. It’s the attention I receive and energy I feel that’s important to me. I’ve slept with a 60-year-old man before while in Europe and it was good.

As the night continued, we switched partners and I moved into the master bedroom with one of the men. Thirty minutes later I had sex with another. By the end of the night, I had slept with every single guest besides one. 

At these parties, most of the men get involved, but not all. A few prefer to watch, and some even head outside to drink while the fun happens below deck.

During a break from the action, I went outside to keep one of the gentlemen company. I told him about my life and he told me about his.

The party wound down in the early hours. There was an option to stay onboard but I decided to take a tender back to shore because I had work at 9am.

I said my goodbyes – but I knew this wasn’t going to be the last time.

When I woke up the next morning I had to pinch myself. Had it really happened? How was that not a dream?

Somehow I settled back into my daily corporate life. I no longer cared about that man whose indecision I had cried over in the work bathroom.

And then… a few weeks later I was invited back. Another party, the same yacht.

Before long our ‘dinners’ became regular occurrences. I would stay on the yacht until sunrise before taking a tender back in the early hours and yawning into work.

As I became a veteran of the yachting game, I increasingly noticed it was always the same men on board, but the women invited were usually different each time.

I suppose variety is the spice of life? 

I would soon be introduced to other groups of billionaires. So far, I’ve enjoyed week-long hotel stays, been flown interstate for a beach holiday, and have been gifted thousands upon thousands of dollars in spending money.

BACK TO REALITY

Two years on, I’ve been to so many secret yacht parties that the thrill of it all has all but disappeared. It feels old. The novelty has worn off.

The sex is fun but the men – whose extreme wealth I used to be in thrall of – now seem less interesting to me. I’ve come to realise their conversation tends to be quite surface level. That’s the thing about men with money: they keep their cards close to their chest and don’t reveal too much about themselves. I guess they are that way to avoid being taken advantage of – but it can make for boring discussions. 

I would love something real, a deep connection with someone. And as I enter my thirties, I confess I do feel a stronger urge to find ‘Mr Right’.

A part of me would love to settle down, buy a house and have children, but that would mean forfeiting my lavish yacht life. As much as I’d like a family, I can’t quite picture myself changing nappies or making dinner for my husband. It’s not me.

I know what you’re thinking – I should just marry a billionaire. Trust me, I’m not opposed to that. But I fear a relationship with a rich older man would be shallow and my self-worth might crumble, especially if he dumps me for a younger woman. 

While I spend my weekends yachting, in my ‘normal’ life I am habitually drawn to low-value men with no financial goals who blow their pay every week.

Their lack of ambition makes it hard for a girl like me to stay loyal. In an ideal world, I’d be with a nice, ordinary guy but still party with rich men on yachts on the weekends. I know that’s probably not realistic, but a woman can dream.

A guy I’ve been seeing recently made a good point: ‘You live this amazing life and I could never offer you anything similar. Why would you want to be with me?’

I didn’t quite know what to say, so I said nothing. Perhaps the truth would have been too confronting for him: I know I’m not going to be this young and hot forever, so I may as well sleep with as many rich men as possible while they still want me.

• The images in this article are stock photos only and do not depict any persons or boats involved in the conduct referred to in the article