For the last couple of weeks, this older gentleman around 45 has been emailing me. The email titles began with “Dominant SD seeks Raunchy Southern Gal.” I should’ve fucking known. This is one of those moments where you just do something for the experience that comes out of it. I MAY appear to be this total badass, but I take the precautions of an intelligent sugar baby. (Always letting my best friend know where I am/sending him my location, calling when I leave, etc.) Any way, this man asks me to dinner at a restaurant called Lola, and eventually I say yes.
I show up to dinner, as this man is somewhere in the restaurant waiting for me, and I have no idea where he is. It takes me a couple minutes to find him, because he looks NOTHING like his pictures. Well, sort of like himself looked 10 years ago, clearly when those pictures he sent me were taken. We make small talk, then he starts talking about how he’s going cross-eyed like that’s supposed to fucking turn me on? This man then talks about his career in software engineering, and how he travels to New York and Paris often for work and he’d take me some time, blah blah blah. I am expert of all lies. He never once makes good eye contact with me, makes this painful-looking smirk, and twitches his eye (maybe it’s from the cross-eyes?) from time to time. He asks me about school and tells me he also teaches an engineering class at the university. Then this guy has the nerve to tell me to call him “Professor”, and states in a joking matter that I can be his naughty school girl. At dinner. While I’m eating brussel sprouts.
I choke on vegetable and run to the bathroom and hide out there. When I wash my hands, I accidentally get water on my dress. I return to “Professor” and tell him that it’s not what it looks like…. I didn’t pee on myself. After he says, “I didn’t think you did.” I say, “you’re not into that?” He doesn’t see the humor. To add to the situation, I tell him it took so long because I tried to sneak out of the window.
Topic changes, not that we have much to talk about. We exchange stories, and he makes a racial remark about the Indian men on SA. I’m offended. One of my arrangements is Indian and he’s a wonderful guy. Color and personality of a person don’t correlate. Fun fact, apparently all Seattleites aren’t liberal. I am told once again that I am the coolest person on SA. Well, let’s see…. I do have 5 stars in wit, dragon slaying skills, harmonica skills, and I play dungeons and dragons every Tuesday night. I tell Professor about the abundance of married men on SA and he tells me he is technically married and his wife and him are “separated.” Separated, but she still lives on his, out in the middle of nowhere, estate. But won’t fuck him…
Maybe it’s because you tell young college girls to be your naughty school girl and spend thousands on coke-addicts needing to feed their habit. I am clearly being not my nicest at dinner, and Professor already makes me an offer for an arrangement. 3,000 monthly plus travel and gifts. When safety is in danger, money is not worth it. Saggy balls aren’t worth money. Sex with droopy skin slapping against your naked body isn’t as great as it’s hyped up to be. (not that I would know.) Know your worth. If I’m romanticizing sugaring, and I don’t mean to be, don’t settle for old, skeevy men. If you’re pretty and interesting, you can get a young, established man who will treat you just lovely.
I tried to record this date because it was so ridiculous. Best chockolata (dessert @ Lola) of my life, but worst human being I have encountered since I moved here. To make sure the coast was clear, I headed to the Dahlia lounge across the street for a 10 yr Glenlivet, and waited for my best friend to pick me up.
On a positive note, I am stoked to see Goldman tomorrow. Booty skills too bomb.
I don’t know why I said that. We’re going dancin’. Goodnight, dears.