And so it begins…

I had to go to work and I stripped down to change into my work clothes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stopped to look, turning to the side and sucking my stomach in. I have never been petite; I always fought my hourglass figure. I have boobs, full hips and a bubble butt that could start to take over the rest of me if I didn’t keep it in check. Red haired, and bright blue eyes that were usually my most noticeable feature (after the butt). My skin was peaches and cream with light freckles over my nose, I was always trying to tan it. My girlfriend Amber had beautiful honey skin, I was always so jealous. I turned red, and my tan was her normal skin color. Sighing I wondered if I was skinny enough to be a sugar babe. What was I even thinking, I didn’t even know if I would do this?

I spent the next week looking through listings while refusing to respond or commit to anything. I wanted to talk to someone about it-someone impartial. I had spoken about it to some of my gay guy friends, but it was an all to common cultural acceptance for them to have daddys. I lived with a gay man in the heart of San Diego’s gay neighborhood Hillcrest. It was a hip and trendy part of town where you could go out at any given moment and people watch. My favorite was at La Fuenta at 2am after Riches closed and all the trannys and goes go dancers came out. My roommate albeit gay-was the one person who would never approve of this for me. I knew it would lower me in his eyes in the beginning. He had mentioned to me on occasion that I was different- one of the few good honest girls left. I decided to get out and clear my head so I headed to one of my favorite spots in SD, Cowles Mountain.

It was one of the highest points in San Diego with a beautiful view and was a moderate climb. Maybe it was the heat that had baked my brains, or dehydration was making me loony, but half way up I decided to call my mother. I stopped panting, and sat down on a boulder with my iphone pressed into my face.

I heard her “hello”. “Hi Mom” she responded with her typical “hi honey whattsup”.

“So, Mom, what would you think of your daughter being a high-priced sugar babe?” There was a silence on the phone-I’m assuming this was the point where she either decides that I am still her daughter or not.  Now let me back peddle here, my mom is a cool chick but I was not expecting this answer.

“Well you know Tim at work has one and they seem ok, I mean you wouldn’t have to have sex right away, and as long as they are not into anything perverted.” I think at that point I had started to laugh hysterically. My mother and I had not always been close. We had gone through a “stage”. But since I had divorced my husband- a story for a later time, we had become very close. I had come to rely on her as my moral compass. So I went on to tell her about the Sugar Daddy site. She was completely intrigued by the idea, but did go through the-well I guess in this case it would not be typical mother behavior. She wanted background checks ran on each potential, the times and locations of each date and if I could get their license plate numbers even better.

That night I sat in front of my computer screen, the humming of my computer tower and  a glass of wine in front of me. I began looking through messages…

A tantalizing prelude…

My back arched and lifted off the bed as my head tilted back. I could feel the waves of my orgasm wash over me, I was helpless, defenseless. He had my legs pinned back behind my head and was pushing himself in and out of me. It was like something broke in me and I could not control it. I did not want to cum but he forced me to. My body shook as the last of it drained out of me. He was heavy on top of me, smothering; I grew still and gently pushed him off of me. I curled my legs up to my chest and breathed heavy as sweat beaded down my neck. He sat up and looked up at me with those eyes and I wondered what was I doing. It was so wrong, it should not be this good. Fishnet stockings, condom wrappers and a hash pipe littered floor. I toed my way around them and found my dress, silently pulling it back on and adjusting myself. I smelled like him, like our sex, such a distinct smell. I turned around and he was on the edge of the bed sipping a glass of water. I leaned over and kissed the top of his head then made my way to the bathroom. My feet padded silently on the cold marble floor and I sat down to pee. Such a cold and barren bathroom I thought, looking around. Everything in its rightful home, every towel perfectly folded, every item intricately put in its place.  Just like him, nothing ever out of sorts. I left that night with an envelope full of money, and as I pulled myself in my car I stopped to count it like I do every time. It never changes, $500. I slide the envelope in my purse and start my car; the cool air of the AC blows over me. Driving home half lit, half dazed I wonder how I got there. It is a short drive, and I force myself into the shower. I never go to sleep smelling like him, I wash myself clean. Like it can somehow clean away the dirty deeds that I have done. It doesn’t, but I don’t feel regret either. I am a San Diego Sugar Baby, they are my dirty deeds and I own them.

I never thought I would tout the name Sugar Baby. In fact I did not really know anything about being one, until one of my gay guy friends mentioned it to me. I had just gotten out of a bad break up and was going through the typical man hating faze, you know the one-post one pint of Ben and Jerry’s and pre-becoming a lesbian. I was shopping at a high-end boutique and luckily had no shortage on Hillcrest’s finest gay men as support. I was complaining that all I really wanted at this point was for someone to take me out and take care of me, when Charles my best sidekick turned to me and said in his best Naomi Cambell voice, “Ohh girl, what you need is a suga daddy!” Baffled I gave him a blank stare, he threw down the shirt he was admiring pressed up against his chest in the mirror and said “You have never considered a Daddy?” Apparently these “Daddies” are all the rage this season. He raised an eyebrow and continued, “I have one that I see on the regular, and he gives me $900 a session.” My eyes must have given away my disbelief, or perhaps it could have been I jaw was dropped so low you could have fit, …well you get the idea. Charles sauntered up to me with his best catwalk swag and said “look-just check out Sugar You don’t have to get paid for anything, but if you are looking for a man to take care of you-while you make up the rules. That is your place.” That night I stared at the blank screen of my computer as I contemplated if I could pull this off. It couldn’t hurt just to look right? I pressed the power button on my old PC tower, and it slowly hummed to life. I clicked intern explorer, and slowly typed in The browser flashed and up came a scene of a handsome man with silver hair and the blonde babe smiling in front of him, jet in the background with palm trees lining the screen. I didn’t have to commit to anything, right, I could just peruse the listings. See what is out there, it could be quite interesting from a sociological standpoint. I entered in my info, and it asked all the typical stuff- how much you make, what are you looking for, what do you look like. Here goes- 5’9, red hair, blue eyes, busty. What do I like… here was the golden question. I spun around in my chair tapping a pen to my mouth. I didn’t even know what I wanted out of this. I pulled myself forward and stared at the screen, likes: “outdoor fitness activities, movie, wine nights, and high heels.” That should do for now I thought; give them a little taste without being too over the top.

I started to scan through the listings, which you could tailor to your own search parameters. The listings were enormous, and there were so many men looking for different things, wives, hookups, and dirty little secrets. Pretty soon I had killed an hour just pilfering through peoples profiles. It was too much, my mind felt bogged down by all the information. I switched off my screen and wondered at my own demise- what the hell was I doing?