This blog is a continuation of Bella C.’s article entitled How I Became a Sugar Baby.
My First Contact with a Sugar Daddy
David was an apparently unattached man working in finance. Caucasian, 5’9” with a full head of light grey hair styled in a 1950s style side-part. His profile listed him as 37, but I would have placed him in his early 40s.
David was one of the first sugar daddies to contact me through the sugar daddy website that I had listed myself on. His messages were polite and well written; he complimented me on my profile photo and expressed interest in my university studies. Unlike many of the other sugar daddies on the website, he did not propose a large sum of money in exchange for a one night stand at a nearby hotel.
How to Be a Sugar Baby
David and I exchanged messages for about a week before agreeing to meet up for a drink at a bar in the Melbourne CBD on a Friday night. No arrangement had been agreed upon just yet; I was under the impression that it was something that you discussed after the first date.
In the days leading up to my first date with David the sugar daddy, I scoured Google for tips on ‘how to be a sugar baby’. Most of the articles I found were generic rubbish – the kind of nonsense that I would have read as a teenager preparing for my first date with a boy. I decided to ditch the internet research and do it my way. I booked an appointment at a hair salon and picked out an outfit for the night – a high waisted pencil skirt with a loose fitting top and heels. It fit the description of the sugar baby that David was looking for – sexy, but classy.
The First (and Last) Date with David
I arrived at the bar a little later than expected thanks to the taxi driver taking the scenic route into the CBD. The venue, which was more cocktail lounge than bar, was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Most of the patrons were older men huddled together in small groups. I spotted one older man in the corner with a buxom blonde around my age. Then, out of nowhere, a man called out my name and rushed towards me. It was David. Before I could say anything, he had kissed me on the cheek and guided me by the small of my back to a love seat near the fireplace at the back of the bar. I realised that the bar connected to the lobby of a 5-star hotel, but I paid no mind to it.
David was eager to tell me about his recent holidays in the Caymans and the Maldives, as well as the $280,000 Maserati that he had just purchased. I didn’t doubt a word he was saying – his sugar daddy profile contained plenty of photos of him indulging in rich white man activities; lounging on the deck of an Azimut yacht, playing polo somewhere in Belgium, and racing Ferraris somewhere in Italy. He went on and on about his lavish lifestyle for the good part of 20 minutes before asking what I like to do ‘for fun’ and whether ‘sleepovers’ and ‘watching DVDs(!)’ are among my favourite past-times. I was confused. Was be joking? Was he trying to be condescending? As he continued to interrogate me with questions about my favourite music, movies, books and colours, my role as a sugar baby suddenly became clear. I wasn’t there to be myself or answer his questions truthfully. I was there to act out a role in David’s fantasy – that of a doe-eyed nymphet completely entranced by his lavish lifestyle and high flying career as a multi-million dollar hedge fund manager.
I played along through another two rounds of drinks. The younger and more naive behaved, the more David responded. I felt like I had finally figured out how to be a sugar baby and was ready for anything – that was until David put his hand up my skirt and asked me if I was ready to ‘come up to the room’ with him. I tried to find the words to respond to his blunt request, but my head was spinning. He tried to touch me on the chin, but I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled back. When I finally reopened them, I caught David scowling at me from his end of the couch.
“You aren’t wasting my time, are you?” he asked in a condescending tone. I was immediately overcome by a wave of nausea. I excused myself and made a beeline for the hotel lobby toilets. I felt like my body was trying to purge itself of the whole experience. I wiped the mascara off my cheeks with a face towel. I looked at myself in the mirror and, for the first time in years, hated what I saw. My phone started to vibrate in my purse. David was calling. I let it ring. I peeked around the corner of the entrance to the restrooms to see if David was waiting in the lobby. I walked swiftly to the main exit of the hotel and jumped in a taxi. I messaged David to tell him that I wasn’t feeling well and had to go home. Fearing a flood of abusive phone calls and messages, I blocked his number.
What Happened Next
My first experience with sugar daddy dating left a sour taste in my mouth. Being a sugar baby was meant to be empowering. I’d read blogs from other sugar babies who described the experience like a fairytale – being treated like a princess, flown overseas in private jets and taken on Madison Avenue shopping sprees. My experience with David, a narcissistic and pushy old creep, made me think that the whole concept of sugar daddy dating was a farce.
I logged onto the sugar daddy website the week after my date with David. Sure enough, there were three unopened messages from him. I was just about to delete my account when I noticed a message from someone else – Joshua, a 27-year old lawyer from Sydney. I could not have predicted what happened next.
Stay tuned to DiscoverHow.net for the unbelievable conclusion to Bella’s sugar baby blog.