Ladies. Ladies. Ladies.
We work for our money. Good gracious I deserve the pint of ice cream I’m devouring right now. Okay, now that that’s out of the way… I meant to check in before this date with you all and ask advice about first intimate encounters but my emotions are out of this fucking world right now and I can’t seem to calm down or organize my brain or care enough or… I don’t even know. I’m a walking conundrum. Anyways, another story for another time. I’m a bit tipsy. Date story time.
Fourth date. It was looming that we would be intimate since our last date. I was finally comfortable. “Comfortable”. Really, I just wanted the money. Sex for money. The strange, uncomfortable, “immoral” taboo that would make my religious parents weep and curse God asking what they did wrong with my upbringing and then they’d dig their own graves and die because it’d be better than living with the fact that their daughter had sex for money. But here I was, approaching this date with that information continuously waving around in my thoughts. Mind you, I’m someone who is VERY VERY picky about who I have sex with. Personal choice. I can count everyone on my two hands and the majority were one or two time drunk mistakes in the early years. Now, “casual sex” isn’t in my vocabulary. I need a big connection. Physical and wholly mental. It all has to be there. Went two years without it. Masturbating is as casual and necessary as brushing my teeth. And here I am, about to drain my already depleted introverted resources to put on my acting face and have sex with someone who I wouldn’t choose to have sex with.
So, our date is a big show that’s in town. The tickets were apparently $300 each. He says he will meet me in the lobby. On my way there I was so freaking sad and oddly numb. Sad about this boy “blondy” that I don’t care to explain right now because that would take a novel. I’m also sad about things I can’t seem to put words to: life, lies, memories, loss of innocence and the sadness that sometimes covers rainy, cloudy and cold days. I always arrive unnaturally early because it’s a huge fear of mine to not be courteous and show up late to a date. It comes to be 5 minutes until showtime and he’s nowhere and it’s bitterly cold; they won’t let me in the door without a ticket. It’s odd but we only email each-other and he doesn’t have my number so I email him that I’m there and don’t see him anywhere and I give him my number to call me. LONGEST 5 MINUTES OF MY LIFE. You guys! I was questioning every decision I had made in my life leading up to this point. It’s complicated but visions of this boy I think I may love, blondy, were going through my head; I wanted him to come save me from what I was about to do. I was convinced that I shouldn’t be having sex for money, that the whole sugar thing was a mistake, that I’m too innocent for all this & my parents taught me better, that I should be making my own money at a 9-5, that I should start a business, that I should leave and never look back. EXISTENTIAL CRISIS, well, more like all my daily typical crisising jam packed into a single moment. It was all consuming when looking around. The show started and I didn’t know what to do. 1pm. I sent another email and sat inside will-call because my nose and fingertips were frozen. I knew he wasn’t the type to just ditch me, especially since we had confirmed our date an hour earlier. So, I waited when I wanted to leave and end the anxiety and turn my phone off. But 8 minutes after 1pm he called. Now, mind you I was a little irritated despite knowing that he paid $600 for these tickets and is a total sweetheart. I bet he could tell, but we were rushing to our seats that they wouldn’t even let us into until a song or two went by. BUT OMG THE SHOW WAS AMAZING. Good gracious. During the first act I just kept thinking how we were going to fuck and it was making me so uncomfortable inwardly. During intermission I used my powers to score a glass of wine to calm my nerves. He’s not a drinker at all, though I wish he was. He doesn’t seem to judge me when I drink glass after glass though. My stomach was empty so I felt it, thank God because my mind would not stop with life crisis thoughts and the looming sex. During this break he said to me, “you’re a bit of a nomad. I can’t let myself get too attached to you.” He said it so sad.
Act 2 was so much better, I was calm and could finally be flirty and grab his hand. He’s so kind, at the end of the show he said “do you want a souvenir?” And he got me some bracelets from the show. He always asks if I want something when I look or mention it, I really should ask to go shopping with him. I don’t want to use him…but he’s so easily usable. I think there’s a difference; some men just have so much money to blow and impress you and spend it to feel manly and to get in your pants but Southern Gent truly does it out of the generosity and kindness of his heart and the genuine care that I strongly sense he feels towards me. Sigh. So I feel like I’m manipulating him with my charm and words sometimes, which perpetuates guilt. But okay….where was I?
So, we are hungry. We parked in different garages and I say that I’m comfortable taking his car to a restaurant. We drive to a place which was closed and we look up 5 other places which all don’t open until 5pm. (Sidenote: a song just came on shuffle which makes me feel so sad. Why are songs so closely attached to times in one’s life and memories and feelings. It’s like each song is a pagemarker… and this one has “blondy” written all over the page.) We finally, after driving around forever, find a place. Now, let me explain Southern Gent… I’m very naturally submissive but a weird mix of confident and outspoken depending on the dynamic of who I’m with. I’m rather indecisive and it can be clear. But Southern Gent is even more so than me, I become the leader of conversations, I become the one who calls all shots of what we do and where, I say where we eat and what I’m okay with. I’ve never been on this end of things. I wouldn’t like it in a typical relationship (but LOL I don’t date and have been single for 7 years) but in a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship it is fucking perfect. I call the shots and he is like my little puppy dog.
Oh. So the wine is wearing off and I’m panicking just praying I can drink enough at this restaurant to be relaxed enough when it comes to the hotel. The place had live music and adorable old people and young kids dancing. Whenever I smiled watching them dance, Southern Gent just stared at me. I ate pork barbecue, green beans, mac and cheese, chocolate cake with ice cream and three glasses of wine (though I wanted more). I pulled him up to slow dance with me. He’s awkward, it’s cute. The words that stood out to me most at dinner was that he feels “a change, newly alive, like I have something to look forward to. It only happens every ten years or so.”
We leave. I feel like screaming but I’m so calm and collected on the outside, no one would know. Finding a hotel was HELL. This goes towards his very submissive nature of not knowing what to do. But he’s cute and makes little jokes along the way. We get lost finding this hotel. We get lost finding the next. We roam around and I’m not gonna lie, my only thought was being upset that the longer we drove around the more the alcohol was wearing off. We find one place. It’s full. We finally find another and up we go, together in the elevator to the 7th floor of a Marriott. When we get in, I go to the bathroom with the soul intention of taking the shot of rum that I packed in my purse. Welp. Here I was. It’s happening. And it did. It’s always been clear to me that he’s traditional and has lacked affection for so long in his life so I wasn’t sure how this would play out. The air was thick with tension for sure. He sits next to me on the couch and the lights are off and curtain closed, thank goodness. I wanted darkness. I needed darkness. Once it started and the extra shot kicked in, it wasn’t bad at all. We moved to the bed and he took his own clothes off. I took mine off. More methodical than anything, which is fine, I don’t want to fake passion. He’s not overweight or bad looking, average size dick, he put on a condom and in about ten minutes, it was over. Nothing crazy. Now the interesting part, pillow talk.
My suspicions are confirmed. I think he loves me but will not use the word, instead he says “care”. He has placed me in the same category as his daughter, grandkids with this type of care he has for me. Pillow talk: let me try to remember through the fog and strangeness of it all. We cuddle for a good 30 minutes and I barely talk or ask questions. It’s switched. It’s him asking. He asks what we are. I wish I could remember the phrasing but let’s just say that I know he was hinting at if we could possibly ever be more than this sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship thing. Even at dinner he said he wants me everyday and everywhere always with him. And it all clicked, I remember the way he’s hinted that it would take the right woman to leave his wife and then how he separately says that I’m always the right woman. I just intuitively feel he’s infatuated perhaps to the point of thinking he loves me or actually loving me? He said, I think I know what I am to you but what do you think? Inward panic attack. I said something like, it’s the relationship we agreed to and it’s a lot of fun. I could feel the disappointment. He also said, “every guy who meets you must want to make you their wife… you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind and you’re funny and talented. It’s everything. Every man must want you.” He also said, “how did I ever get so lucky?” Ladies. This was all too much for me. I felt guilt and sadness and just an overwhelming bought of emotions. Thank goodness we were in the dark and I was being little spoon at this time because my thoughts shifted over to blondy mostly and I actually shed a tear. One tear full of emotions at the craziness of this all, it felt like I was in a fucking movie. Life is crazier than any movie script. I’m convinced. He also asked if I’d ever sleep over with him. I laughed and said I never have sleepovers with anyone, I like my own bed. That was easier to say then “yeah for 2,000 dollars more maybe?” Another question that came out of nowhere was, what would make me the happiest out of everything? He clearly wants to make me happy. We look at the time and it’s time to leave. We dress and he “makes it rain” in my purse with $1,000.
Fuck I need another drink. Or a hug. Actually both.
