TW: Gendered Language
From an upper-middle class family in Sydney, I fit the bill for the average university sugar baby. Having just moved out of home for the first time and worried about the kind of lifestyle I’d have to lead, having a sugar daddy seemed an enticing solution. I mean how else would I afford my Serrano, Jarlsberg and rocket focaccias?
Initially I thought my chances at grabbing sugar daddy attention on the website SeekingArrangement were limited. They advertise twelve women per man and over 82,000 Australian female university students are registered on the site. This perception was proven false, however, as numerous messages and favourites later, I realised many of the other women are fake “bots” planted by the website to up their numbers.
It was also the modern dating scene that prompted me to look at more mature, financially independent suitors. There are only so many tinder fuckboys a girl can take. Clearly not all men grow out of their dickishness, I realised when one father offered me $10,000 to be a “friend” to his son.
“How old?” I asked.
“Fourteen.” He replied.
I declined for legal reasons, but when the man then asked if I would sleep with him for $10,000, I said yes.
With money like that on the table I had to ask myself how far I was willing to go, because for me, being a sugar baby wasn’t about being a prostitute. I had to think about how much it was worth to them compared to its worth to me. I wanted my sugar relationships to be more meaningful than just sex. I wanted the men to want me – not just a vagina with a paypalme account. I wanted the romantic pretence, the fancy dinners and philosophical conversations over good wine.
And that is exactly why I turned down the young man who offered to pay me $1000 per affair. Why I said no to the very attractive young English man who offered me $6000 per month for 5 meetings per month. And even why I declined an offer to be tutored in PPE – the “Oxford” way – one-on-one. These men all expected sex, and I realised I wasn’t prepared to give it to them, even for the money.
At this point I was beginning to feel like this sugar baby thing wasn’t for me – I just wasn’t prepared to have sex for money. Then I found myself on my first sugar date. This guy seemed harmless enough: an overweight, nerdy public servant. He didn’t put sex on the table initially and didn’t seem like a serial sugar daddy.
Although the less-than-glamorous dinner and drinks at PJ O’Reilly’s, followed by cocktails at the Highball Express, then more cocktails and Cards Against Humanity at Reload wasn’t exactly what I expected, I really enjoyed myself and found we had a good conversational connection. Honestly, if a guy who wasn’t paying me had taken me on that date, I would’ve been pretty damn impressed.
When the alcohol kicked in he told me about a sugar baby in Canada who sent one man pictures of her shoes for $50 each. No feet, just shoes. Which brings me to the monetary side of things, and trust me it’s as good as you think it is.
My sugar daddy is more like my splenda daddy. He’s not one of the mega rich but he has a certain amount of disposable income that is pretty much my income. Our arrangement is $250 per date. It’s paid into my paypal account just before we meet. A date consists of dinner, drinks and my undivided appreciation and attention on whatever he wants to talk about.
Then there are the gifts. $100 to spend on drinks for O-Week, a huge bouquet of flowers on Valentine’s Day, a tiffany bracelet, $500 so I could go shopping. All I had to say was two little words: “Thank you Daddy”.
But naturally, to get a lot I had to give a little. One night he asked for a selfie for $70 and I really couldn’t be bothered so I just ignored him. I checked my messages an hour later and the offer had risen to $250. So there I was, outside Uni Pub taking a selfie with one friend while another pushed my boobs up to give me extra cleavage. I can only imagine what he did with that selfie, but I know exactly what I did with that $250, and let me tell you, it was a great night in Canberra.
I had convinced myself this was all harmless because I didn’t actually need the money. I would be safe and wouldn’t do anything I was uncomfortable with because the money wasn’t that important to me. But one offhand check of my bank account balance changed that… and I took our arrangement up a notch. I had gotten $250 for a selfie with a little cleavage. For nudes I got $500. So I earned a nice little grand for myself in less than 5 minutes from the safety of my bedroom for something lots of girls give for free.
If a picture of my body is worth $500 to one man, then the guy I met at a club one Thursday who snapchats me relentless dickpics expecting me to return with some titty can burn in a special part of hell with Satan’s veiny red penis waggling in front of their face for eternity.
Ultimately, what surprised me the most was the balance of power in the relationship. I went into it fully prepared to be very submissive but my SD preferred me as the dominant one. I knew his budget so whatever I asked for I would get, and God did he love giving.
Eventually I couldn’t put it off any longer and I knew I would have to have sex with him to keep up the lifestyle. What’s that they say about greed being a mortal sin?
So I slept with him. And although I’m glad I’ve done it – ticked it off the bucket list and all – at the time I felt disgusted with myself. It wasn’t enjoyable. I mean, you’d think it would be amazing, all the experience of one man appreciating your 18 year old body. But as soon as the clothes come off it isn’t a relationship for mutual pleasure anymore, it’s “I’m paying you for sex so do what I want bitch”.
Although he still wanted me to be the dominant one, there was this unquestionable underlying control he had over me. Because he had already paid me, I felt obligated to do what he wanted.
My skin crawled when he touched me and I was doing everything I could to get it over. When it finally was – and it didn’t take long – I practically ran out of there. I went home and showered, scrubbing every inch of myself over and over.
I have realised that I’m so young to be doing this, and I probably don’t have enough self-esteem to cope with the cheap feeling that accompanies creepy old men want to pay for control of my body. More than this, it has also affected my personal relationships, in that I now find it hard to say no to guys because I feel like they have this power over me. I conform to their expectations of the kind of girl I’ll be, because I feel this need to please them.
I still have a sugar daddy but it’s moved to a mostly online relationship. We chat every now and then and he sends me money to buy lingerie for photos. I have to say I like this relationship so much more. I can’t see him so I can imagine whatever I want. It’s less about the person you are and more the person you want to be – and want each other to be. It’s easier to fake it online. And it’s so much more fun. It’s hot to take pictures of myself in lingerie he bought for me, knowing how badly he wants them. The baby-daddy dirty talk is such a turn on. So maybe this means being a cam girl is more my thing?
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