Home Pop Culture My dalliance with a Sugar Daddy…

My dalliance with a Sugar Daddy…



Of the most lethal things one can wrap their mind around, it is –sex and money. At once desirable and at the same time deplorable, stimulating and yet also mind numbing, erotic and limp, a visceral turn on, and a big time turn off. Yet here they are two of the most desirable and taboo topics that we can never seem to get enough of, co existing side by side, tormenting us, freeing and yet limiting us. These of course are my initial feelings as I divulged the landscape of a sugar baby, a cared for ‘nymphet,’ or as I told myself I would become, staring into the eyes of my potential and all too willing sugar daddy.

It’s a terrain that so many of us are tempted from time to time to explore, to take advantage of. On one hand determined to maintain our independence and yet on one hand open to selling one side of our independence to gain aspects of other types of independence. Could one still be a woman with her independence or was one now a kept woman valuable as long as she had access to cash and new found independence?

At once mind boggling and at the same time completely alluring I made my first pursuit of this new world by logging onto the following site- http://seekingarrangement.com. A site that would ensure my new found freedom but at the same time imprison me for ‘propositioning’ that part of myself that I had never held up for sale, and yet here I was suddenly complicit in my duel desire to be a woman, but a woman free of material constraints.

Of course I kept telling myself it was all part of a journalistic investigation, after all that’s what I had told myself when I had first turned up at the first meeting. It was just an investigation, nothing more. There would be no moral shame, it wasn’t for or about me, it was only for the sake of the story. I was only the subject, an incidental coincidence that could be swept under the carpet. At least that’s what I was willing to believe….

Before I turned up for my ‘first date’ I perused the profiles on the site and was struck by the large number of married men. Many posted their age as under forty and few posted their income under six digits. In the name of investigative journalism and against the better advice of my editor, I created a profile with the goal of contacting one of these men and posing some questions. I was playing with fire, I was playing gotcha journalism, and it was exciting.

I received hundreds of responses. I was offered ski trips to Vermont, weekends in Las Vegas, and an entire year in Australia. All expenses paid, of course. True, I was deceiving these men (or was I deceiving myself?) but since most of them were married, my guilt was minimal. Participating in this game of sex and money- even if it was just discussing potential arrangements via email- made me feel dirty and I was eager to get off the site. A gay friend of mine was curious about the demand for homosexual sugar daddy arrangements so he too made a profile. He corroborated my thoughts of feeling dirty and he cancelled his profile after less than 24 hours.

Fortunately I found a SD (sugar daddy) soon after and like many match.com users (so I kept telling myself), we made a time and place to meet and discuss. The rules: a public setting in daylight hours and absolutely NO SEX INVOLVED. I still hadn’t told him I was a journalist and I was quickly finding myself in a situation that my editor had warned me about: the sudden urge to let go and go through with this, the sudden urge to have the weight of life alleviated from me, and all I would have to do was play this fantasy role, a sexual role no doubt…

A fantasy that he would be the perfect breadwinner in exchange for the most perfect tawdry concubine and me the perfect fantasy girlfriend who dressed, smelled and behaved just like the way he wanted because money was the final prerogative, never how we felt about each other. Money and fantasy had suddenly done away with humanity and emotion, it too was negotiable like all things in life. Negotiable and I was running fifteen minutes late…

Shorter than I imagined, he was non-distinct looking, wore simple yet expensive clothes and was just as nervous as I was. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties and was in extremely good shape. Here was the deal, he explained: he was married but unhappy, he owned high end restaurants, and had little time for anything but work. He liked to give pleasure to women (both physically and financially) and had participated once before in an arrangement such as this. He cut to the chase pretty quickly: SD proposed 1-5 meetings a month at lunchtime, half an hour each time. The price? One thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it.




  1. Lola,

    Let me be your Sugar Editor. I’m already familiar with your writing. I will proofread, make suggestions, and constructively criticize your pieces before they go to print. You have the last word, of course.

    We never meet. It never becomes personal. There is no money exchanged.

    What do I get in return? A hot, interesting woman’s words in my life. I get to explore your body(of writing). And unlike other proposals of working together you’ve had in the past, I know I stand no chance with you.

    Don’t worry about Scallywag, he’ll get over it.

    If this sounds agreeable, send your next submission to chipndale123@hotmail.com.


  2. This would of have been a more interesting article if Lola or whatever her real name is just went on with her initial plan and became a sugar baby as she calls it, then she’d be talking about tens of thousands of dollars. Please a thousand dollars, that’s an afternoon shopping sprint darling?

    Next time Lola write about something we care about, not your moral ambiguities, there are no morals, just facts.

  3. Evers,

    You speak my language even if you aren’t in my world all the time. I do parallel writing and food. … a big piece on my site about that called “Speaking Food”… the marriage of how I cook, how I bake and how I write. City might be wearing on this gentle soul. Maybe I should find a cottage of my own, start the day with jam, write a bit, sip some tea, roast a chicken and finish my pieces with the same purity that I make my cakes with.

    Food is best simple and clean. I will heed your advice and write simple and clean. Keep your eyes peeled. Also, editor darling and I will have to chat about this. I think your point is more than valid.

  4. To Lola:

    I had one other thought about your writing. You subscribe to the philosophy that food is consumed too quickly, that people aren’t really tasting their food. If they were to slow down, consume the flavor and texture at a much more experiential pace, they would benefit greatly. I think this is a wonderful philosophy! And I would like to see you carry it over to your writing. A single word is a thought and the addition of another word complicates that first word manifold. Take your time writing. Savor the words-thoughts. Build the ideas slowly. Stay away from fats and fillers. Add style to taste. You are very prolific. But at the risk of a nasty look from your editor, I would prefer you cut the portions in half and have more savory pieces.

  5. I believe it is from the paleolithic period, but my fact checker is on vaction, and now I’m just making shit up.

  6. What are you talking about? I’m polishing a turd right now….you know, one of those fossilized dinosaur turds. It’s like a million gillion years old Medgar.

  7. Well, I think it’s pretty obvious who T.P.P.C.B. is…

    Cyrano, you can’t polish a turd. Go write something “offensive”, it’s so offending. I’ll be offended, I promise.

  8. Seriously, I don’t know what the fuck anyone is talking about. The word “journalist” was mentioned. Journalists get paid. A journalist would have choked on that guys cock in order to uncover a ring of people just like him and the dog fighting ring these Sugar Daddy’s ran to fund their hour long sessions with the bloggers. Props for trying to pull a story out of nothing.

    “The most money you have ever seen.” Jesus H. Christ! if that’s the most money you have ever seen, then I’m surprised you didn’t fuck him. Sounds like you just got off the boat from Mogadeshu. How about you come over to my apartment on the 1st of September when I pay my rent. I’ll pay it in cash, just for you, just to get you wet. My rent isn’t even very expensive. I live in a shithole. But for the same price, apparently, I should forego rent and just pay chicks to tell me they are journalists. What was his reaction? Who was he? You uncovered nothing. Like I said- props on making a blog out of a failed attempt at journalism. Since there are no boundaries in this blog world, maybe you should have used your imagination and come up with something better than telling him you’re a journalist. Maybe if this is what you did for a living, you would have at least figured how to string the guy along a bit? Figure out if his dad touched him and that is why he is a deviant. His wife got her vagina sewn shut….something.

    What I think would have been really interesting would be if you had met some guy who didn’t want to have sex with you. I would like to hear about a man who pays a woman for companionship. That would be interesting. Who are they? Why don’t they just get a psychiatrist? Of course it’s about the sex! It’s always about the sex! Let’s hear about the guy whose genitals were hit with schrapnel in the Korean War, and he now wants you to dress him up like Dorothy from THe Wizard of Oz. The only thing that wasn’t predictable about this blog was that I didn’t foresee the blogger confessing that she is a blogger.

    If this was a real publication, and if you were working as a “journalist,” this would not have amounted to a story at all- you would not have been published, and you would have had to call the guy back to tell him that you are no longer working as a blogger, but that you now have to work the streets as a call girl to pay your rent. Ohhh, the irony of that story! Yes, that’s a story! A blogger who pretends to want a sugar daddy, but blows her cover, gets fired from her blog (this is a fantasy universe where bloggers get paid), and then she ends up as an actual hooker. There you go!

    Blahbity Fucking Blah!!!!!!

  9. Ok, i have an idea. We’ll have Claire go out with Evers, but only on the condition trucker hat attends as chaperon, so all illusions of power will be in his court and when it comes to finally paying – Evers u will pay trucker hat so as not to offend said moral ground and trucker hat will have to time and watch the ‘good night kiss.’

  10. What the fxxx is going on here? Sounds like love for grab or something? Can you guys go back to writing about hipsters, freaks and celebrities who behead their girlfriends, that i can at least make sense of. WHo are you people!?

  11. Evers,

    I think it is time you come clean. Reading your responses in Blackberry Boys… your issue with being slighted is seen. I cannot be everything to everyone… and do not plan to. I also will not give myself to what I do not want… I am not “scared”…also, pen names…. I am not the only one with one so you gave up power as well it seems.

    Apologies if you were offended by any of what has been written. Though not everything is current, some were written years back…edited this year and posted here. Reflections thorough a life… not always the present. Though make what you want, I have nothing to argue with those who assume I reveal everything without embellishment in these articles.

    Again, thank you for the reading. I do appreciate it. I do enjoy your reflections on this site and the contents. What you said about my food writing really touched me, and inspires me to keep it up. So keep it up and butter a biscuit or dip some cookies in milk in my honor.

  12. “I appreciate that, and have talked to Scallywag about conversing with you about what you think I should be writing about?”

    You have moments in your food writing where description is put above everything. There is real joy there. You excel at it. It is poetry of the highest order. I don’t think you are even aware of it, which makes it all the more possible. It reminds me of passages from a Truman Capote short story my high school English teacher would read, savor for us (an intricate description of a childhood Christmas dinner and all its paraphernalia). It is you sitting on a porch swing in the heat of the South with no particular place to go, no overarching objective, no prerogative, reflecting on what you love. It is fine. It is true.

    “…you are more than welcome to come spend a day in my world. I think you would be quite surprised.”

    I’m sure I would be surprised, too. Although, I am definitely not welcome into your world. You’re not the only one with a pen name. One of your Blackberry Boys may have been a gifted writer. Who knew?

  13. And now, really reading this piece. “I’m a journalist”??? Lord, this girl is fresh. It’s a nice cop out in the name of what one might really want to try out… also, why was the breathless not from the romp he was expecting?

    would be like me going to get a job as a stripper in the name of journalism. giving a lap dance and acting shocked that I might not get a big tip or that I was asked to do lewd things…who knew?!

    I would rather have heard interviews from these individuals in these sugar-y lives. What they think, what they do…present that… and allow the messages to show and unfold for themselves.

  14. Well well my darling Evers.

    We meet again… and I see you met another writer. This is not me. Another writer I do not even know. Though I did start to write a sugar daddy piece with no first person antidotes. Not needed. If and when that happens it is not something I would be proud of or enjoy. (You would enjoy analyzing what has gone on.) These situations have made me nothing more than hyper aware of “not taking” from partners. Sadly that effects even the ones who genuinely want to treat me well…I might have touched on this in other pieces. Which brings to a big thank you for reading so closely. I appreciate that, and have talked to Scallywag about conversing with you about what you think I should be writing about? I’m open to suggestions.

    Your character descriptions are hit and miss, actually…. you are more than welcome to come spend a day in my world. I think you would be quite surprised. Though in the name of discussion…. I will put in my two sense about sugar daddies.

    Perhaps I did come from money, and perhaps I saw this happen over and over. Perhaps even my father fell to the lure of young and willing to take you to the bank. The manipulation and using of someone for nothing more than material gain…is disgusting. Any woman who cannot take care of herself by choice ….and has a goal of this sickens me. Daddy-issues these are not my Evers, but observations that have pushed me to where I have been, where I am, and where I will go.

    As you know… physically blessed is not always that wonderful. It could be used for terrible things. I once told that the road to hell was paved with beautiful people… I think it is paved with rotten souls who see an opportunity to use and abuse that aspect of who they are. Also, anyone who really brags about being able to be a sugar-baby for one of these daddies… is looking for attention or some validation to their own faltering self esteem. The same if true of these men… they need to feel big. feel wanted. and being able to flex their financial biceps. Which in some sphere? might mean something… though that is all relative as well.

    your chick-a-dee has spoken. Come play.

  15. You’re right, I don’t believe you.

    It’s Lola alright.

    Lola, where are you? coo-coo, speak up my little chick-a-dee… you can’t hide… I see you…

  16. Evers dear,

    Believe it or not, this is not our presumed Lola, this is one of our other writers. Of couse I am curious, do writers use the guise of writing to attain infallibility or is it just a cruel mask that like a stage actor swiftly comes off once a ‘performance;’ has been merited….?

  17. Scallywag,

    You will find yourself the most ineffectual pimp to Lola. Lola comes from money. It means little. This last gift has been wrapped in the vestments of ‘journalism’. And I commend her for throwing herself into her work (she met the guy face to face). But, Scallywag, pimp or no pimp Lola’s going to continue gazing into this pool until she’s replaced by a flower or by the shards bravely smashing the mirror demands.

    Just how corruptible is our Southern belle? And just how many pen names will she create along the way?

    Stay tuned…

  18. Lola in yet another concealment, playing her games and sorta’ kinda’ a-little maybe naw finding ways to justify them.

    My clementine, do yourself a favor and order “Belle de Jour”(1967) by Luis Bunuel off of Netflix. It’s a masterpiece. You will gain tremendous insight into what it is you’re after. And you’ll acquaint yourself with one of the most sublime actors of his time, Pierre Clementi.

    Or just listen to me quote myself, “Perhaps, if she ever gave herself to one of these undesirables, the necessity for an illusion of power would instantly dissolve.”

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