After my experiences first with Tony the Tattoo Artist and now Dennis, it was obvious that I was too headstrong to be a sugar baby. My experience may have been very limited, but it was obvious to me that the men drawn to a sugar daddy lifestyle are not simply seeking a sweet young thing to tote around like some kind of fancy accessory… they want validation just as much, if not more. I’ve never been very good at sustained bouts of flattery, and this was too much to maintain for long. Every time Dennis brought up how “well preserved” he felt he was, I had to practically restrain myself from telling him that he was no such thing. Instead, I cooed that he really was quite well preserved and if I didn’t know better I would think he was merely in his forties. Every time he brought up the similarities he felt he shared with Bukowski, particularly his fondness for much younger women, I bit back the temptation to point out that Bukowski didn’t have to pay his younger women.
Despite all this, I allowed Dennis to squire me about the city for three months. What with the few regular clients I kept seeing and the income from my outings with Dennis, I no longer had to worry about finding new business, yet I could maintain my standard of living. By the end of the three months, however, I was not only fed up with Dennis himself, but entering a relationship.
My boyfriend hadn’t asked me to quit prostitution–he had even told me that he understood the difference between work and infidelity–but I was fairly certain that it would become a problem down the line, and there were so many other things I could do.
I have never been very good at endings, and the financial nature of the arrangement made things much more delicate. I decided that the best course of action would be to simply stop contacting Dennis, respond to his attempts at contact with only the most cursory replies, and let things die of their own accord. After two weeks, he finally asked me to meet him for lunch at the same restaurant where we had initially made our arrangement. We both knew it was the end. I told him I had found a real boyfriend and that our relationship needed to end and he told me he had suspected as much. He asked me if I had any friends I could recommend for the position of his new sugar baby, and when I told him I didn’t he seemed downcast. He wished me well, and as I stood up to go he imparted one piece of advice, “don’t get married and don’t get pregnant.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his grave delivery, but so far I’ve followed his advice.
Cathryn Berarovich is a bit of a renaissance sex worker; she’s currently employed as a stripper (and writer) but has held numerous interesting jobs in the industry. Each week, she shares her stories in Harlotry.