According to Elton John, “sorry seems to be the hardest word”, but he’s wrong, it’s actually goodbye. I’m quite good at saying sorry, being the fuck up that I am, I’ve had lots of practice; I’ve never been great at goodbyes though. As a child I’d get terribly upset when people left or things ended. I’d shut myself in my room, tears pouring down my face, or sit in the back of the car quietly sobbing whilst we drove home; everyone else able to appreciate what a lovely time they’d had, whilst my poor heart was breaking (yes, I was a sensitive and emotional child).
As a sugar baby (and a slightly more emotionally stable adult) I’m fairly philosophical about my job, and the role I play in the lives of my sugar daddies; I know that my time with each of them is limited (I’m there for a good time, not a long time etc). All my arrangements have an expiry date, and at some point, must end.
Several have already come and gone (literally and figuratively), and it doesn’t bother me; I’ve binned off men I dislike and had to end things with men who’ve become clingy or too emotionally involved. Shit happens… and I have no issue walking away from an arrangement if it’s no longer working; although when I do end things, I’ll do it via text or WhatsApp because I’m a wimp and hate confrontation. I spout some bullshit about how I’m not the best fit for them, or I want to cut back on what I’m doing and focus on other things, i.e. it’s not you it’s me… Honesty isn’t always the best policy, you never know when your paths may cross, especially in Cornwall where everyone’s either related or fucking (or both).
Other arrangements simply fizzle out over time. If I like them (or they pay well) I’ll reach out a few times, but if I don’t get a response or can tell they’re no longer interested then I’ll archive our messages and move on; I don’t want to harass people, plus I’m not exactly short of men wanting to fuck me.
I like it when things end that way, with no goodbye, just a drifting apart and passing of time. Having said that, occasionally you write off a sugar daddy only for them to reappear months (or even years later); you’re convinced they’ve died, and the next thing they’re messaging to arrange a date… it’s a bit of a mindfuck.
Anyway, these goodbyes (or absence of) with sugar daddies don’t upset me, only once have I experienced an upsetting goodbye when one of my sugar daddies ended our arrangement (a most unusual occurrence); he properly dumped me….and in person too! Obviously, he didn’t want to, but was moving on (work wise) so had no choice. He took me out for a meal, for what we both knew would be the last time; he was really emotional and genuinely upset. There was talk of ‘chapters coming to an end’ and what a special experience it had been; how he’d never done anything like this before and wasn’t planning to again (being a married man).
After our meal he drove me home and took me to bed where we had sex; deep, passionate sex. Then he got dressed, led me downstairs, and said his final goodbyes, before driving away, leaving me stood in the doorway in my dressing gown sobbing my heart out; I don’t know why but I was a wreck.
Looking back now, it’s obvious that saying goodbye like this is triggering for me, and I wasn’t crying just because he’d ended things, but because hearing the door closing and listening to the car driving away opened a floodgate of painful memories of rejection and not feeling good enough, which I’d buried in my subconscious. In that moment I was a small child again, responding in the only way I knew how, to cry. Did I love this guy… no, of course not; did I want him to love me, absolutely not! We’d only met a handful of times; and only had sex twice… it really shouldn’t have been such an ordeal, yet somehow it was.
Thankfully my emotions whilst being intense at times, are also quite fickle. I may have cried myself to sleep that night, but the next day I was back to my normal chirpy self; slightly annoyed that I’d lost a good sugar daddy, but grateful for the time we’d spent together.
I think he on the other hand was left traumatised at having to leave me snotty nosed and bawling my eyes out whilst he drove away. I tried to reassure him that I was ok and just being silly; but I’m not sure he believed me.
The funny thing is that a few months later he was back in Cornwall, so we resumed our arrangement; he just couldn’t stay away. We’re still very much involved and have been now for over 3 years, funny how things work out…
I know that I can’t do this job forever, and at some point I’ll move on to other things. When the time comes to leave this all behind, I don’t want any big emotional goodbyes though, I don’t think I could cope; I’ll just disappear quietly into the night, and onto my next adventure.
The short answer is undoubtedly yes, lots of women like me, who work as sugar babies or escorts are either in relationships or dating; they’ve found a way to manage both and appear to ‘have it all’. Obviously, you have to find the right person, not everyone wants to be romantically involved with someone who fucks other people for a living. However, I know of women who are married with children and do this kind of work; so clearly it is possible.
For me though it’s not been that easy, I was single when I started working as a sugar baby (over 4 years ago) and have remained so ever since. I’ve not been looking for a relationship, having decided that whilst I’m working as a sugar baby, I’m better off being on my own; I don’t want the hassle or heartache of a relationship.
Even if I did meet my ideal man, the idea of juggling a relationship with my job seemed somehow impossible. I’m surprisingly conventional when it comes to certain things; and have no desire to be in an open relationship. I don’t like the thought of my other half fucking other people (I’d be jealous), so why should I expect someone to be ok with me doing just that? Wouldn’t that make me a hypocrite?
So, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d be on my own for the foreseeable future, that’s just how it had to be. I’m not complaining though as I’ve enjoyed being single; it’s forced me to be brave and do things I never thought I’d be capable of doing on my own. I’m proud of the fact that I’m a strong independent woman who’s in control of her own destiny and able to support herself financially etc, it’s a good feeling!
After my last relationship I wanted time alone to rebuild my life and discover who I was without my ex. I needed time to heal my broken heart and repair the damage caused by being in an unhealthy relationship; and although at times I thought I’d break, I got through it and am a better person for it.
I relocated from Cornwall (something I’d been wanting to do for years), buying and moving onto a houseboat in Bristol (a city where I knew no-one) in order to start over, just me and my daughter. I’ve spent the last 12 months keeping my head down, concentrating on my work and writing; and although at times I’ve been lonely, I’ve held on to the belief that I’m better off alone.
However, there’s always been a part of me that’s wanted to settle down again; I’ve missed being part of a team and having someone who’s got your back (and vice versa). Although my marriage ultimately failed, I still have fond memories of that time of my life; which in many ways were when I was at my happiest and most secure. Maybe I’m looking back through rose-tinted spectacles, but I enjoyed having someone to make plans with; sharing my life with someone who wasn’t just my partner but my best friend.
I think that’s partly why my next relationship (with my ex) was such a disaster, because I was desperately trying to recreate what I’d lost with someone who was completely unsuitable, and ultimately didn’t want the same thing (shame it took us 8 years to realize that but oh well).
After that shit show of a relationship and the ensuing heartbreak, it was no wonder I swore off relationships and found a less conventional way to get my needs met; which until now has worked remarkedly well, but am I really happy or have I just been protecting myself from heartache and rejection?
Despite telling myself that I don’t want or need a relationship, I’ve been guilty of downloading dating apps on occasions when I’ve been feeling sad and lonely, just to see who’s out there. I get a few matches, endure tiresome and repetitive conversations with guys I’m not interested in anyway, realize there’s no one out there for me and delete them again, but still… I’m obviously looking for something. Hell, I even went speed dating earlier this year, because I thought it would be fun and interesting (turned out it was neither).
I always give up, because no matter who I’m talking to, the moment I mention my job they see me differently. Someone who’s alright for a quick shag, but not someone you’d want to take home to your parents, and since I’m not looking for casual sex (not when I’m being paid for it anyway) it’s all a bit pointless and a waste of time. Unfortunately, I’m not seen as relationship material; it’s the whole Madonna/whore complex, you’re one or the other… you can’t be both.
However, as is so often the case, the moment you decide you don’t want something and stop looking, it turns up unexpectedly, out of the blue… You spot a cute guy staring at you from across the bar and for some reason you can’t stop staring back. You make an excuse to go over and start a conversation, and for the first time in four and a half years you think that just maybe you’ve found someone worth pursuing.
I still don’t believe that anyone needs a romantic relationship in order to be ‘complete’. I’m certainly not looking for someone to complete me, because I want to be the whole deal, the full package; able to survive and thrive on my own. If I’m in a relationship, I want to be with someone because I want to be with them, and because they add something to my life, not because I need them and can’t manage without them; and I want the person I’m with to feel the same about me.
I’m feeling optimistic about the future of my love life, and the prospect of finding love though. I’m not saying that my job won’t cause issues, or that I won’t have to make compromises. But for the first time in a long time, I’m thinking that maybe it is possible to have it all.
A few weeks after our disastrous weekend in Torquay (see previous blog), I meet Ray at a country pub. I can’t say I’m overly enthusiastic about seeing him again, but I feel sorry for him, so there I am.
It’s a beautiful evening, so we sit outside reminiscing over our weekend away; and because it’s been on my mind (and clearly bothering me) I ask why he drank so much the night before, knowing he had a long drive the next day. He doesn’t have an answer, just explains that when he’s not working, he’ll sometimes go to the pub at lunchtime, spend the afternoon drinking, then come home and continue until he passes out. I ask whether he has an issue with alcohol, something I’ve suspected since we first met. He thinks he might, which is a good sign… not that he has an issue, but that he’s aware of it obviously.
I try to explain the negative impact his drinking had on our time together, the fact that he’d spent the majority of the weekend feeling exhausted and hungover, or on a mission to get drunk.
He doesn’t take this well and is worried I didn’t have a good time, to which I reluctantly admit that it wasn’t great. As I’m being honest, I also mention how embarrassing, inappropriate and offensive I’d found a few of his comments, and how they’d come across as sexist and racist (because they were).
Things are a little tense now; he asks whether I even like him and want to see him again. In an attempt to rescue the situation, I assure him that I don’t dislike his company, but that two nights together was too much; however, this just makes things worse.
He starts chuntering on about another woman he’s messaging, who’s younger than me, really good looking and highly intelligent. He’s going to meet her since I’m not into him; maybe she’ll love him as I obviously don’t (and in my defence never said was going to).
I’m not sure whether any of this is true, or he’s saying it to upset me; either way it doesn’t work. I’m just amused he thinks a young attractive intelligent woman is going to fall for him. He doesn’t understand that most women on sugar daddy/ escorting sites (myself included) are not looking for a romantic relationship, they’re there to do a job and make money; expecting anything else is asking to get hurt. Other than money (which he doesn’t really have) he hasn’t got much to offer; he can’t look after himself let alone anyone else. The sad truth is that he’s lonely, vulnerable and desperate; however, paying women out of his league in the hope that they’ll fall for him is not the answer.
I suggest he leave young women alone and look for someone his own age if he wants a relationship; but he doesn’t fancy older women (quelle surprise), he wants someone bright, young and attractive. The poor guy is deluded; he’s never going to get a ‘trophy girlfriend’… you can’t buy love (not with his funds anyway).
We have an incredibly awkward meal together, where he doesn’t eat much but drinks plenty; he’s trying to act like everything’s ok, but I can tell he’s feeling bitter and resentful. Having had a few drinks myself, I’m unable to drive so have no other choice than to ‘make it work’. We have a few nightcaps at the bar; he’s drunk and chatting to other people, making passive aggressive comments about me.
By the time we get to our room I’ve had enough, so tell him that I’ll sleep in my car. He’s insisting I sleep in the bed, and that he’ll sleep on the floor; I tell him not to be silly, he’s an old man with a bad back, I can’t let him do that.
He’s adamant that I stay and storms into the bathroom. I know he won’t try anything (he’s too drunk for one thing), but I’m not staying; so, grabbing my bag I head back to the pub. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I’m not spending another minute with him.
There are a couple of workmen at the end of the bar, I spotted them earlier and noticed them checking me out; I head over and ask the friendlier looking one to keep an eye on my bag whilst I go to the toilet. I stand at the sink trying not to cry; cursing myself for being unable to hold my tongue.
Whilst I’m there giving myself a pep talk, a young couple burst through the door. I tell them to ignore me, and they disappear into a cubicle together; I don’t know what they’re doing, but I’m still there when they come out. They ask what’s wrong; they’d spotted me in the pub earlier with Ray and had been wondering what was going on.
I explain that I was being paid to spend the night with him but had had a bad time. The guy gives me a funny look, he clearly doesn’t approve; I’m not going to justify myself to him though, I just want to be left alone. I reassure them that I’m ok, just having a ‘bad day at the office’, and they disappear.
I know Ray will come looking for me, so stay in the toilet until the coast is clear. On returning to the bar, I’m told that Ray had been in but buggered off when he couldn’t find me.
The guys at the bar are from Ireland, but in Cornwall working on a new dual carriageway. They can see I’m a bit shaken up and ask whether Ray had been abusive in some way. I explain the situation and how we’d fallen out. The young guy who’d been in the toilet earlier was at the other end of the bar; and overhearing the conversation made a comment, something along the lines of it being my own fault and that I only had myself to blame. This upsets me, and I tell him to mind his own business; everyone in the pub is staring at me as I start to cry, I feel like a complete idiot.
The Irish guys calm me down, buy me a stiff drink; and everyone goes back to their own conversations. I reassure my new friends that I’ll be fine, I’ll sleep in my car and head home in the morning. They don’t like the idea of me being alone though, so offer to take me back with them; they’re staying in caravans a mile from the pub, I can crash there.
The barman (who’d taken an interest) reassures me that they’re only up the road, and the guys promise to drop me back in the morning. With nothing to lose and not averse to jumping into cars with strange men, I agree to go back with them.
The makeshift worksite where they’re staying has a row of shabby looking caravans down one side and big trucks down the other. The caravan has no electricity, and is pretty basic, but I don’t mind; it’s warm and dry, and I feel safe.
The men crack open a six pack and find some gin. The slimmer guy, who’s caravan I’m in, goes out for a fag, leaving me alone with the larger of the two guys; the one I asked to look after my bag. I like him, I think he’s nice and I’m grateful he’s rescued me, so don’t mind when he slides his hand between my legs and starts stroking my pussy through my panties. After a while I remove them, allowing him to fully explore me. He’s an older guy, maybe in his 50s, probably with a wife and kids at home, but they’re in Ireland and I’m here. I know I’m never going to see him again and this is a one off, so I lie back and relax, wanting so badly to come for him. My body doesn’t disappoint, and his skilful fingers bring me to a climax, making me squirt all over the bed; once he’s finished, he goes back to his caravan.
When his mate returns, I wonder whether he’ll try anything on, but he doesn’t; we just lie there chatting until we fall asleep. In the morning, true to his word, he drives me back to the pub and my car; thankfully Ray is nowhere to be seen.
For a while I remembered their names, but now I’ve forgotten; they’re just two random strangers who came to my rescue. It’s unlikely they’ll ever read this, but if they do, then I hope they know how grateful I am; however next time they can pay like everyone else…
Ray was 65 but looked older, being both a smoker and a heavy drinker. He spent most of his time at home watching old films, occasionally popping down to the pub. He didn’t appear to have any hobbies or interests, or any friends, and came across as a rather sad and lonely individual. It was impossible to have a decent conversation with him, and I knew it was going to be hard work; but he seemed nice enough, so I agreed to take him on as a client.
After seeing each other a few times, Ray invited me to Torquay for the weekend, to stay in what he described as a “really nice” hotel that I was “just going to love”. I wasn’t convinced but felt sorry for him; so against my better judgement I agree to go. After all, a weekend away is a weekend away…
He’s offered to drive; however, when I arrive at Ray’s he’s in a right state having been on a bender the night before, resulting in him falling down the stairs and bruising his ribs. Despite this, he’s keen to go, so we head off for our ‘romantic’ weekend away.
On arriving at the hotel, I realise we have different ideas as to what ‘really nice’ means. Our room is dark and dingy; the paper is peeling off the walls and the grubby thick net curtains have seen better days. The hotel is a chain of cheap and cheerful holiday resorts, offering a variety of entertainment; bingo, karaoke, cabaret etc… you get the idea. Nothing wrong with this, only it wasn’t what I’d been sold, or what I was expecting.
The first thing we do is head to the bar for a drink, before going to our room for a nap (just a nap). Later when we go down to eat Ray isn’t hungry, however I’m just glad to eat something, even if it is beige and tasteless. After eating it’s straight back to our room, where Ray sleeps whilst I read. Our first night has not been great, but at least I’ve been spared the ordeal of having sex (and remembered to pack a good book).
The next day Ray isn’t feeling much better, but after spending most of the morning in bed he feels able to venture out. It’s an incredibly hot sunny day, so I apply suncream and offer some to Ray, who refuses as apparently “suncream is for girls”; I don’t bother pointing out that skin cancer doesn’t discriminate. I also drink some water and suggest he do the same; but he doesn’t do water (maybe that’s for girls as well). I explain the importance of staying hydrated but I’m wasting my time; the only thing he wants to drink is beer.
Torquay is full of people; sitting outside drinking coffee, relaxing on the beach, playing in the sea, enjoying the beautiful weather and having a lovely time. We walk straight past the beach and the sea front and all the happy people having fun, and straight into Wetherspoons; where the football is on and Ray has to queue for ages to get served. Once Ray has had enough to drink, we get a taxi back to our dingy room for another nap.
Thankfully that evening Ray is feeling a bit better, so we check out the entertainment. We sit at a little table by the bar, where I’m left on my own several times whilst Ray goes out to smoke; the rest of the time we pretty much sit in silence. I prefer it when he’s out smoking, it’s less awkward.
He feels guilty about being so tired and hungover, so attempts to make amends by requesting a shoutout. He asks the DJ to play ‘When will I see you again’, which the DJ announces is for Emily-Rose from Ray; Ray manages to miss it as he’s out having a fag though.
They’re playing music from the 70s and 80s, and the dancefloor is full of people dancing and having fun. There are a few large parties staying at the hotel, one group dressed in bright neon leotards, tights, leg warmers and headbands etc. Ray points to one of the girls, saying that he doesn’t think much of her outfit; I explain that it’s fancy dress, but I’m not sure he understands.
The other large party are visiting from Africa, and part of some organisation (they’re in the lobby the following day wearing matching polo t-shirts). They’re having a great time, old and young together on the dance floor, other members of the group sitting on the periphery watching. Near the end of the evening, they put in a few requests, and the dancefloor is flooded with funky African beats. They form a large circle, singing, dancing and laughing together. A few outsiders go over to join in and are immediately welcomed into the group.
By this point I’d managed to persuade Ray to get up and have a boogie, however as soon as the music changes he sits down and indicates that I do the same. I want to dance, but Ray’s having none of it. He’s chuntering away, saying that he “can’t dance to ‘black man’ music, they should play more Status Quo”. I’m embarrassed and offended by his comments (which thankfully no one else hears) but don’t say anything. In any other situation I would; but given that he’s paying me to be there and have a good time, I let it slide.
The DJ alternates between the two styles of music, so we dance to the ‘white’ music and sit down when the ‘black’ music comes on. It’s embarrassing and I can’t understand why Ray thinks he has any right to complain; it seems petty and selfish… not to mention racist.
When we head to bed, Ray is too drunk and sore to have sex, so it’s another night of reading and listening to him snoring.
Thankfully the next morning it’s time to leave; by some miracle I’ve survived two nights with him. Ray has enjoyed his weekend and had a great time; I on the other hand have not and am glad to get home.
How I managed to keep my cool I’ll never know, however the next time I see him he’s not so lucky; but that’s a story for another day…
I met Gary on a beautiful warm October afternoon at a national trust property with picturesque gardens extending down to the river Helford. He was new to the whole sugar daddy thing, so we were meeting to discuss what he was looking for and whether it was something I could provide. I knew very little about Gary, so was curious to find out what had brought him to the site.
It was here, overlooking the river, that Gary explained how earlier that year he’d sadly and unexpectedly lost his wife. She’d become ill very suddenly, got a nasty infection and died. I don’t know how old she was, but Gary was only 58, so she can’t have been that old.
They’d been together since they were young, working hard to provide for their children; now was their time to relax and enjoy each other’s company, to retire and do all the things they’d wanted but never had time to do.
It’s difficult to know what to say when someone divulges something like this, what can you say? No words can take away the pain of such an enormous loss, so I just listened; being with him in that moment, holding space for his grief.
As we continued to explore the grounds, we spoke about lots of things, not just what he wanted and what he was looking for, but about life in general and how unpredictable and unfair it can be. As he’d been so vulnerable with me, I opened up and told him a little about my past, and how I’d ended up as a sugar baby; which isn’t something I normally do on a first meeting.
After our rather emotional walk we drove to a nearby pub for a drink. Gary had enjoyed our afternoon together and was keen to arrange a ‘proper’ meeting where we could get to know each other on a more intimate level. He was feeling guilty about wanting to see me and for having these feelings of lust and desire though, and was worried about what other people would think if they discovered that he was being intimate with another woman; especially his children who’d become very protective over him since losing their Mum.
He was frustrated having lost a huge part of his life, and although his friends and family had rallied around him, none of them had been able to provide the physical intimacy or closeness he was missing. Of course, Gary wanted to have sex again, but it was more than that, as it so often is; it’s lying in bed naked next to someone, feeling the warmth of their body against yours, holding hands, stroking someone’s hair, all the little intimate touches and gestures that you share with a lover. He wasn’t looking for his next great love, just someone to bring back some normality into his life.
Whilst sipping our drinks we discussed his sex-life with his wife, and how it had dried up (literally) when she went through the menopause; even before that though, it had all been very vanilla and boring. She didn’t like giving or receiving oral, and the few times she’d gone down on him it had been painful and unpleasant.
Gary loved his wife though and wouldn’t even have considered looking elsewhere for sex (unlike many married men in that situation). They didn’t talk about it and Gary never complained; the lack of sex was a small price to pay for what was otherwise a happy marriage. However here was a man who’d been given a second chance, and Gary was keen to explore new things in the bedroom and find out what he’d been missing.
He was curious and asked lots of questions, he wanted to understand what I liked and where he should start if he wanted to try something new. We talked about toys, bondage, role play etc; all the exciting things he’d yet to discover and which I was only too happy to explore with him.
I was impressed with Gary’s philosophy regarding what had happened to him. He wasn’t angry or bitter like lots of people would be in his situation; nor was he rolling over and giving up, despite the fact that his whole life had been turned upside down. No doubt he’d been through all the various stages of grief, but he’d come out the other side knowing that life is short and determined to make the most of it.
Do I think we will have challenges going forwards, yes of course. Gary’s not had sex for a few years, and the last time he did was with his wife; so, no doubt the first time will bring up some difficult emotions, but we can talk through them. I’m happy (as with all my men) to take it at his speed; and have reassured him that he’ll never be under pressure to do anything he’s not comfortable with.
It’s a sensitive situation, and I’m all too aware of the need to respect what’s happened; to allow him time and space to talk about his wife if he wants, whilst also providing a safe place to discover who he is without her, and what he wants as a widowed man.
I think Gary’s probably one of the nicest sugar daddies I’ve ever met; just a really kind and genuine man. He’s certainly too good to spend the rest of his life on his own and deserves a second chance at love. It’s not something he’s ready for yet though, it’s too soon to even consider getting involved with someone on a romantic level. Seeing me is an intermediate step, a chance to rediscover his sexual side, and build his confidence.
Hopefully by the time he’s ready to fly the nest (so to speak) he’ll have explored everything he wants and will be the confident sex God I know he can be; ready to make some lucky lady very happy!
For anyone who thinks my job is just having sex with men for money, hopefully you can see that it’s not, it’s so much more then that; and I love the fact that I get to help people in ways that others can’t.
I love my toys, I have a chest full of everything from butt plugs, strap ons and whips, along with a collection of restraints and leather cuffs; I’m a sucker for anything leather (or faux leather I should say).
I started experimenting with masturbation aides when I was about 15, using an electric toothbrush to bring myself off after seeing someone masturbating on tv with one. It worked surprisingly well, and I loved the feeling of having something electronic buzzing between my legs.
It wasn’t long until I upgraded to the classic rabbit, purple with colourful beads rotating around the shaft. The dildo part didn’t do much for me (I had yet to discover my g-spot), but those flicking ears against my clit sent me into ecstasy.
It wasn’t until I got my magic wand that I discovered I could squirt; which was exciting, if not a bit messy. I’m hardcore so have a mains-powered wand; I don’t fuck about when it comes to my orgasms. They’re not made to last though (not the way I use them), I think I’m on my fourth one now; which is annoying as they’re not exactly cheap…
I love being edged with my wand, but you have to be careful not to desensitise yourself. If you tease yourself for too long then it’s difficult to come, which can be really frustrating.
I don’t use my magic wand that much anymore, as I prefer the smaller, more compact clitoral stimulators these days. I’ll often use one of these with a g-spot vibrator, which is more than enough to do the trick.
For some reason I’ve never been able to make myself come with just my fingers, I’ve always required help, which is frustrating if I’m away (on my own) without my toys and feeling horny. Using the shower head is pretty good, but again, not enough to make me come.
I don’t know why I can’t make myself orgasm without them…. maybe it’s because I’ve always used them so never experimented and learnt how to pleasure myself properly, or my pussy is desensitised from years of vibrators. Although I’m quite lazy, so if a machine can give me an amazing orgasm with minimal effort, then that’s what I’m going to do.
I used to think that no-one could make me come without my toys but have discovered that isn’t true as I’ve several sugar daddies who manage just fine without them; and whilst my orgasms aren’t a priority when I’m working, it’s always a bonus when I have one.
I do use toys with some of my sugar daddies; they’ll often suggest I bring my favourites so they can watch me bring myself off, or they’ll ask me to bring something to use on them. A few of my sugar daddies enjoy being fucked up the ass with a strap-on or being pleasured with a prostate vibrator; and cock rings are always useful for older sugar daddies who struggle to maintain an erection.
Occasionally a sugar daddy will surprise me by randomly pulling out a vibrator or another toy when we’re together, and whilst I don’t mind, I can’t help but wonder how many other women it’s been used on, and why they didn’t ask me to bring my own…
I on the other hand never surprise my sugar daddies with toys in the bedroom; I only bring them out if it’s something we’ve discussed and something I know they’re in to. Not all men want a strange object shoved up their ass, or to see me pleasuring myself with a toy when they’re there with the real thing, a few of them would be quite offended if I pulled out a vibrator in their presence.
I understand why some men feel threatened by toys though, I mean it must be a bit daunting to open your girlfriend’s bedside drawer and find a massive 10-inch cock when you’re 6 inches at best. Having solo fun with a toy is not the same as having fun with another person though, they’re totally different things; you can’t connect on an emotional or spiritual level with a piece of plastic (or I can’t anyway).
For men who are worried that toys are replacing them in the bedroom, and joke that they’ll soon be nothing more than ‘sperm donors’, that’s ridiculous. These are the same men who feel threatened by female emancipation in general though and yearn for a bygone era when women were dependent on men for everything; men with fragile egos who don’t understand or appreciate female sexuality.
Sex dolls are getting pretty advanced now, but I don’t feel threatened as I know that no amount of technology is going to be able to replace what I can offer as a real-life human being. Yes, lots of men would rather fuck a robot or a machine, but that’s their prerogative; and there’s normally a deep-seated psychological reason why. If a sex doll helps them get their needs met, then I don’t see anything wrong with that; plus, it’s not like there’s a shortage of men requiring the real thing…
Whilst I started using sex toys at a fairly young age, I stuck to the basics; it wasn’t until I started doing OnlyFans that my toy collection expanded and became more exciting as I could justify spending money on toys to create content. I bought certain toys to create specific videos which were requested by fans. I had so many requests to see me fucking a big black cock for example that I invested in a massive black dildo to film with (I didn’t have access to the real thing at the time so had to make do). I still have the dildo but rarely use it as I don’t want to stretch my pussy (have to look after the merchandise), plus I can access the real thing now which is so much better anyway…
I was always trying to come up with creative ways to film with my toys when I was doing OnlyFans, I made some pretty random videos; one of my favourites involving a suction cup dildo and an exercise ball. This was all during lockdown when I was bored and had far too much time on my hands though.
I’d love to be a toy tester for a company like Lovehoney though, I think I’d be really good at it; I’ve got loads of their stuff anyway. If anyone from Lovehoney is reading this then hit me up, let’s do a collab…
Like most things in life, sex toys are neither good nor bad, they’re just an aide which if used correctly can enhance our experiences in the bedroom. I don’t think anyone feels (or needs to feel) embarrassed about using them, in our culture anyway it’s fairly normal. I mean you can even buy them in supermarkets now; I’m not entirely sure who’s buying a dildo with their weekly shop, but I guess they must sell…
If you haven’t experimented with toys, then why not give it a go. Start with something basic and see how you get on; don’t be intimidated by the vast selection available, start simple. If you’re in a relationship and want to spice things up in the bedroom, then why not get your partner involved as well.
So yesterday I had an article published about me in The Sun. I didn’t know exactly what they were going to write, or what angle they’d take. Obviously, their agenda is to sell stories and make money, therefore, as with any interview, some comments were taken out of context and sensationalised, which is to be expected.
What I wasn’t expecting was their relationship expert, Giovanna, butting in with their thoughts and opinions on being a sugar baby, which I didn’t agree with.
I was hoping the article would focus on how empowering my job can be but instead decided to stick to the more traditional narrative of sugar babies as victims (as provided by Giovanna), doing a job which is going to have a negative effect on their self-esteem and mental health; which to be honest I just find boring.
Obviously, I don’t know anything about Giovanna, but from their comments, I don’t think they’ve ever been a sugar baby as they have a limited understanding as to what it involves.
Let’s address her first comment: “It can appear glamorous and empowering. But when money and power sit at the heart of an arrangement, respect and equality are often compromised.”
Yes, of course, money is a key component, that’s called capitalism, that’s how our society works. I provide a service that people are willing to pay for, a service for which there is a demand; this is how I choose to earn money and pay my bills. Unfortunately, money is at the heart of EVERYTHING, that’s just life, that doesn’t necessarily mean there can’t also be respect and equality though.
Obviously, I wouldn’t be sleeping with these men if they weren’t paying me (well not all of them anyway) just like I wouldn’t be working behind the checkout in Tesco or teaching in a school if I wasn’t been paid to do so, not many people are prepared to work for free.
As for ‘power’, I’m not sure what she’s getting at there. Does she think that because these men pay me then they have power over me? If so, then wouldn’t that be the same for anyone who’s being paid for anything, i.e. everyone who has a job and works for a living…
I would personally argue that I feel more empowered now as a self-employed sugar baby then in my past ‘conventional’ jobs where I had to be in a certain place at a certain time, dress and act a certain way, do what my boss said regardless of whether I agreed with them, because they were in charge and I didn’t want to lose my job….
As a sugar baby I don’t have a boss though, so can see whoever I want, whenever I want. I fit my work around my life, and don’t see anyone who’s being a dick. Yes, I might let them take control in the bedroom, but that’s because it turns me on and I enjoy it…
None of my sugar daddies feel like they have power or control over me outside of the bedroom though. They all know I see multiple men so not relying on any of them financially; and could choose to end our arrangement at any point. That’s one of the (many) reasons why I don’t tie myself down to one man, like you might do if you were say… in a conventional relationship perhaps.
As for being glamorous, my job is often not glamorous. Yes, I went to Barcelona and stayed in a five-star hotel which was lovely; we didn’t “shop till we dropped” though, as I don’t like shopping. He did buy me some clothes and jewellery, but it was an hour or two max; and they weren’t expensive things.
What they don’t mention is that most of the time I’m staying in premier inns or travel lodges, or with my sugar daddies in their homes. Later this week for example I’m seeing a sugar daddy in Devon who lives in a dilapidated old farmhouse with his dogs. I don’t think the place has been properly cleaned (let alone decorated) for many decades, and it stinks of dog piss. He’ll take me to the local pub for some food, then back home to watch a bit of TV (Clarkson’s Farm, obviously), before going up to bed; it’s anything but glamourous. He’s a very lonely man and always pleased to see me though, I’m basically his social worker.
As long as my sugar daddies are decent people who can pay to see me then I don’t care how much money they have. Whether it’s a cheap hotel, an old campervan or tiny flat, it doesn’t matter.
Giovanna also comments that: “Situations can turn controlling, manipulative or even unsafe. And there are longer-term consequences, too.”
“Whilst the financial gain is tangible, the emotional and psychological toll is harder to measure.”
“Over time, constantly being both spoiled and disrespected can distort self-worth. Money can provide comfort, but it cannot replace genuine affection, trust, or the stability of a healthy relationship.”
OK, a lot to unpack here. Yes, of course, these situations can become controlling, manipulative or unsafe, but the same can be said for any relationship, and also applies to the men who pay for sex; they can be controlled, manipulated and put in unsafe situations too. In many ways they’re often more vulnerable than the women they’re seeing. I can think of a few married sugar daddies whose lives I could easily destroy by outing them if I so wanted (but of course wouldn’t).
Since everyone knows what I do, and I’m not answerable to anyone; no-one has that power over me though. I’ve had more issues with ex-boyfriends then I’ve ever had with sugar daddies… just saying.
I guess the long-term toll is yet to be seen, I do agree that my job can be physically and emotionally demanding at times, as are many jobs.
Being a student support worker was mentally, physically and often very emotionally demanding (and terribly paid). As for being an end-of-life carer or mental health nurse, that must be incredibly mentally and emotionally demanding…
My job is nowhere near as hard as that, and I don’t work half as hard as these people; plus, I’m being compensated very well, so doing alright. Yes, as I often say, my job isn’t for everyone; but if you can compartmentalise and keep yourself safe (mentally, physically and emotionally) then it’s ok. Not saying that it’s the sort of job you could do forever, but again, that’s the same with other jobs.
As for being spoilt, well, that’s a rare occurrence. Yes, I have some sugar daddies who treat me to nice things, but most do not. The majority of the time, I go to the premier inn or wherever, do my job, get my money, and go home. I provide a service and get paid for the service I provide, just like everyone else; and as far as I’m aware, no-one being paid to do their job feels like they’re being spoilt.
Not all my sugar daddies have that much money, most are just normal hardworking guys who occasionally treat themselves to a night of company; if I get wined and dined, that’s a bonus. My regular sugar daddy took me to McDonalds the other day; I don’t get MaccyDs often so that was a real treat.
And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my self-worth, in fact I think it’s quite healthy. I know how much my services are worth but equally understand that that doesn’t reflect on me as a person. If she’s saying that being spoilt would lead to an overinflated sense of self-worth whilst being disrespected would lead to an underinflated sense of self-worth, then wouldn’t the two balance each other out… she really needs to decide which one it is.
As for being disrespected, I don’t understand this comment. Is Giovanna saying that providing sex for money is disrespectful towards women? Or that I’m disrespecting myself because I have multiple sexual partners? Or because I’m having sex with men I’m not in a relationship with? They don’t know the men who pay for my services, so it would be unfair (and incredibly lazy and judgemental) to tar them all with the same brush and say that they’re all disrespectful.
As far as I’m concerned, I provide a service for money just like millions of other people out there. My arrangements are between two consenting adults who have both chosen to be there and have entered the arrangement of their own freewill, knowing exactly what is expected of them. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship right now and many of the sugar daddies I see are in the same situation. We’re quite content having a casual no-strings arrangement which they’re happy to pay for.
You wouldn’t tell a man who was having lots of casual sex that he was being disrespected, so don’t make out that I’m being disrespected for doing something I want and choose to do. I enjoy having sex and being intimate with different people, I know it’s not how women are ‘supposed to behave’, but it is what it is.
There are lots of men on sugaring sites who are rude and disrespectful, but equally there are many who are incredibly kind and respectful. This idea that all sugar daddies are disgusting men who don’t respect women because they pay for sex is totally untrue. These are just normal men, that you (without even knowing) are probably interacting with every day.
If you want to be disrespected and made to feel like a piece of meat then try going on Tinder or to a night club, the young men there are far more disrespectful than any of the men I’ve ever worked with.
And you know what, if a man contacts me on a sugaring site in a disrespectful way, then I just ignore him, if I’m out with a guy who’s being a cunt then I walk away. Noone is forcing me to work with any of these men, and I’m very selective about who I work with (I CAN afford to be fussy).
Whatever you do in life, people will treat you the way you expect to be treated; and I expect to be treated with respect, therefore have no time for people who are rude or disrespectful.
As for her final comment that money cannot replace a genuine relationship etc, well pardon me for being single… Unfortunately, you can’t just pick up a boyfriend with your weekly shop, and maybe I don’t want one right now anyway. There have been guys over the last few years who have asked me out, but I’m not prepared to just settle for the sake of it. This idea that we need to be in a romantic relationship in order to have stability and feel loved is total bollocks. I have a wonderful relationship with my daughter, and friends and family who love and support me.
This so called ‘expert’ also fails to understand that having done this job for over 4 years, I’ve become very close to many of my sugar daddies, they aren’t just strangers I work with, they’re trusted friends with whom I share genuine affection. It’s not a conventional relationship that fits into a neat little box, but that doesn’t mean there’s not trust and affection there. I would even go so far as to say that the relationships I have with my sugar daddies have been some of the healthiest I’ve had; with clear boundaries, good communication, honesty and vulnerability on both sides. I’m no expert, but that sounds pretty healthy to me…
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to proof-read the article before it was published. They asked me so many questions and were very selective about what they included in the article. They wanted to make my life sound glamorous and lavish, which it occasionally is, but mostly isn’t.
I’m just a normal down-to-earth girl, I don’t get my hair and nails done or wear designer clothes; when I’m not working, I’m just chilling on my boat in my scruffy clothes and last night’s makeup, tapping away at my laptop.
Whilst the men I see are mostly just normal polite, kind and often very lonely men, I’m more of a companion or a therapist to most of them; it’s not all about sex.
Exposure is exposure though, so I’m not complaining. I just wish they’d mentioned the name of the blog (like I asked them too), and maybe not misspelt my name halfway through the article, but there we go.
Anyway, fuck The Sun, this is where the real story is… you guys know that.
As always, I appreciate you being here.
Emily-Rose xxx
Just to clear up a few other points:
I have never been a teacher, I was only ever a student support worker
65 men is the total number of men I’ve slept with for money over the last 4 years, it’s not how many I have on the books at the moment (and it’s 67 now anyway)
Whilst I do earn around £3k a month, this is pre-tax, so the actual amount I get to keep is much less
So, Tony was perfect on paper… late 50s, single, looked after himself, lived in a big house, had a nice car, and loved to cook; what more could you ask for. He was generous, and looking for a regular fortnightly arrangement, promising to pay well, and treat me like a lady. As I said, sounded perfect; but like anything that sounds too good to be true, it probably is… and this was.
Looking back, the warning signs were there from the start, when during our first meeting (a quick coffee) he was over the top and heavy handed with the compliments. It was creepy, but I put it down to nerves; it can be rather daunting meeting a sugar baby for the first time.
It wasn’t this though, as when I visited his house a few days later, he ushered me in, sat me on a chair and stared at me like I was a sculpture or piece of art; I wasn’t allowed to say anything, just sit there whilst he ‘admired’ me. I didn’t like it, in fact it made me feel quite uncomfortable; but I like to please, so sat there quietly cringing whilst he gushed over me!
Throughout the evening, he continued to tell me how beautiful I was, and how he was going to adore me, treat me like a princess, and give me the finest of everything; it was all too much. He was trying too hard, and it didn’t feel genuine; plus, it was triggering my imposter syndrome big time.
I hate being treated like an object anyway; I’m not that pretty and I’m definitely not the sort of girl who needs (or wants) to be put on a pedestal or treated like a princess. However it made him happy, so I sucked it up and let him get on with it; after all, I was being paid to be there so couldn’t really complain…
As I got to know Tony better, I began to realise how incredibly vain he was, and how for him appearances were everything; it wasn’t just his appearance that mattered now though, it was mine too. He wore expensive clothes, worked hard on his body (which I didn’t find attractive), and was particular about what he ate and drank; only the best was good enough for him. Now that I was his sugar baby, he wanted me to live by the same standards, to wear nice clothes (which he’d buy); and to eat well, drink less alcohol and work out every day to be in peak physical condition. I think he saw me as a ‘project’, he saw potential and thought he could transform me into his ‘perfect woman’.
Tony was obsessed with going to the gym and working out, which is fine if that’s your thing (good for you), but I’m not really a gym kind of girl; gin yes, gym… not so much. Tony wanted me to be like him and couldn’t understand my resistance, despite me explaining that I didn’t have the time, money or inclination to go to the gym. He was determined to help me get into shape though, so designed a workout plan that I could do at home. I said I’d give it a go, hoping that would shut him up and get him off my back, but it didn’t.
Despite his constant nagging, I wasn’t motivated or disciplined enough to work out every day and was honest with him about it. He was disappointed, and unable to accept that I was comfortable and happy the way I was. Yes, I’m lazy and a bit overweight, and I enjoy eating and drinking too much, but we can’t all be athletes, some of us need to eat Dominoes and binge-watch shit on Netflix…
I was starting to feel suffocated by his dominance, constant need for physical closeness, and obsession with perfection. He was also beginning to make it clear that he didn’t like what I was doing and wanted me to stop working as a sugar baby. I think maybe he thought he was saving me, but in reality, he just wanted control; he was jealous and didn’t want to share me with anyone else.
In the end it got to the point where I didn’t look forward to spending time with him, so decided I had no choice but to end our arrangement; we’d lasted less than 3 months together.
Despite ending it in the nicest way possible (it’s not you it’s me etc), he didn’t take it well, and I had several unpleasant messages from him, many commenting on how I was destroying my life and any prospects of a normal relationship in the future. He also thought it would be fun to threaten to tell my place of work about my sugar baby activities, a thinly vailed attempt at blackmail, which I really didn’t appreciate.
It amuses me how guys who pay for the services I offer as a sugar baby then feel compelled to comment on how ‘disgusting’ or ‘disrespectful’ my work is, and why I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I’ve come to realise that this says more about them then me though, and the shame they feel about paying someone to spend time and have sex with them. They feel dirty, embarrassed or ashamed by their behaviour, and alleviate those feelings by projecting them onto me and making me the issue.
Of course, I don’t think my job is in any way disgusting or shameful, I enjoy and am very proud of what I do. I genuinely believe that I provide a valuable and much needed service, which lots of men (including him) find useful.
He tried reaching out a few months after it ended, wanting to reconnect and try again. He’d been seeing other sugar babies, but they didn’t have what I had…
I’m not sure why he’s continued to engage in a lifestyle that he finds so disgusting and ruinous for the young women involved, but that’s something he has to justify to himself. I just hope he’s not taking out his frustrations on the women he’s seeing.
I was very polite and told him that I’d moved on and wasn’t interested, I wasn’t prepared to open myself up to that kind of judgement and control again. I’m not going to allow anyone to make me feel shit about myself for who I am and what I do. I’ve worked too hard on my confidence and self-esteem to let someone who hasn’t got their shit together yet bring me down; I don’t need anyone projecting their insecurities or self-loathing onto me in order to make themselves feel better.
This was pretty early on in my career when I was inexperienced and naive, and less selective about who I worked with. If I met a sugar daddy like this now, I’d send him packing; I don’t have time for men who try to make me feel ashamed of what I’m doing.
As to whether my job will destroy my chances of finding a relationship in the future, that is yet to be seen. However, I’ve met a few guys recently who don’t seem to have an issue with what I do….so who knows.
After enjoying Paris and the Moulin Rouge so much the first time, Jamie (my regular sugar daddy), decided to take me back the following year for my birthday. We hadn’t intended on going back to the strip club though, in fact I was quite against the idea after the aggro it’d caused last time (see linked blog); however, Jamie insisted that we go in, promising not to get upset or jealous this time.
It was a weeknight, so completely dead inside; and much to my disappointment I couldn’t see the girl who’d gone down on me the last time we’d been there.
There were a few scantily dressed girls milling around, but they weren’t dancing, in fact there wasn’t much going on at all. We didn’t mind though as we were still buzzing from the Moulin Rouge, high on champagne and happy to just enjoy each other’s company.
As none of the girls were dancing, I took it upon myself to climb onto the stage where we were sitting and do my own performance for Jamie. I was wearing a short black strappy dress, with no bra, so easily able to pull my dress down and expose my breasts whilst I danced.
I obviously can’t do the tricks the professionals can but still had fun writhing up and down the pole, feeling sexy and putting on a show. I’m quite an exhibitionist after a few drinks and couldn’t resist the opportunity to dance topless in a seedy club in Paris; it’s not something you get the chance to do every day.
There were a few guys hovering around the bar that obviously worked there (and who were more than happy to let me do my thing) and the girls relaxing at the back of the club watching me dance and cheering me on, probably enjoying a break; other than that, we had the place to ourselves.
After dancing for a while, I asked Jamie whether he wanted to take one of the girls into a private booth, to make up for the previous year when he’d missed out, having not been brave enough to join me and my sexy French friend for some private time.
He suggested that we go in together, but I didn’t want to go with him, I wanted him to have the full experience without me getting in the way (or making things weird); I had no desire to join in or watch. So slightly reluctantly he approached the girls and disappeared into a booth with one, leaving me sat by the stage alone, sipping champagne.
I wasn’t sat there long though before one of the men from the bar who’d been watching me dancing came over to talk to me. I guess he must have been the owner or the manager, for he was dressed in an expensive looking suit and had an air of authority about him. His English wasn’t great, but he knew enough to say that he wanted a blow job, and to follow him upstairs; which of course, me being me, and being quite drunk, I did.
If I’d been thinking straight, I would’ve negotiated a fee and earnt some money, but as it happened, after being bundled into a tiny toilet cubicle, I got on my knees and sucked his French cock for free.
He must have realised that I was a sex worker, or at the very least an ‘easy’ woman; I mean I had been dancing around half naked in front of him and the others, so could hardly blame him for trying his luck…
By the time Jamie emerged from the booth I had been returned to my seat by the stage, and was trying to process what had just happened, it had all felt a bit surreal. I wasn’t sure whether to tell Jamie about it or not but decided I should.
He was rather upset (again), as all he got was a dance and some boobs in his face, he wasn’t even allowed to touch. A stark contrast to my experience the year before, where my girl was all over me and I all over her; obviously it depends on the girl, and who she’s dancing for.
He was annoyed that whilst he was in the private booth (not particularly enjoying the experience) I’d been off sucking some other guy’s cock; which in hindsight I probably shouldn’t have done.
Looking back now, it concerns me how comfortable the man who worked there was with approaching me and demanding a blow job, like it was something he was entitled too and did all the time. I worry for the girls who work there, and whether they’re expected to drop to their knees and suck their bosses’ cocks whenever they’re told, and whether they’d lose their jobs if they didn’t.
I was drunk on champagne, horny as fuck and in Paris, so I didn’t mind, I was never going to see this man again, so could easily have told him to fuck off if I’d wanted too, the girls working there may not have that option though.
For women like me (and them) who work in the sex industry, there’s a fine line between a mutually beneficial arrangement and an exploitative one, and sometimes it’s difficult to know which side of the line you’re on; it’s not always obvious.
Despite our less-than-ideal experience at the strip club, Jamie wants to go back to the Moulin Rouge next year for his 70th birthday, however this time I really will insist that we give the strip club a miss. I think a private show from me in our hotel room may be safer.
Emily-Rose xxx
To check out what happened on our first visit to Paris check out this blog
Most relevant for married men, or those in high powered positions whose reputation would be negatively affected by their involvement with a sugar baby or sex worker.
Be wary of sugar babies who ask too many direct questions about your personal life, they may be looking for a way to blackmail you. They don’t need to know who you work for or where you live, and they certainly don’t need to know any details about your wife or children. Don’t be afraid to change the subject if it’s something you feel uncomfortable talking about or tell them straight that it’s none of their business (in a polite way, of course).
If using a fake name on a sugar daddy site, be careful when chatting on other apps such as WhatsApp or Telegram, as your profile may give away your real name; many sugar daddies have been caught out by this.
If you’re meeting a sugar baby straight from work (or in your lunch hour), don’t wear or bring anything with a work logo on it. The last thing you want is a sugar baby turning up at your place of work asking awkward questions or demanding to see you.
If you’re using a hotel, arrive first and check in before she gets there. Even if you’ve booked the room under a fake name (which men occasionally do), some hotels require ID when you check in. You don’t want to be whipping out your driver’s license in front of a sugar baby you’ve just met.
Do not meet in a place where you’re likely to bump into someone you know; the further away from home the better. As tempting or convenient as it may be to meet in the pub down the road, it’s not worth the risk, especially if you’re married. Lots of married sugar daddies are sensible and only use sugar babies when they’re away from home or traveling for work; they don’t shit on their own doorstep.
If you don’t want a sugar baby to know your real name, pay in cash, otherwise your name will appear on their bank statement. Just check she’s ok with cash first, and make sure you have it on you when she arrives.
Be aware that people can reverse search your images, so don’t use pictures on the sugar daddy site that you use elsewhere. Lots of sugar daddies like to use professional head shots that they’ve had taken for work or their linked-in profile, which can easily be traced. Don’t be afraid to blur your photo or restrict access, some profiles don’t have pictures at all but state that they’re available on request. I’ll normally respond to a sugar daddy who hasn’t provided a profile pic providing they have a well written bio, so it’s not essential; if you haven’t bothered with either though then forget about it.
Don’t write anything incriminating in your messages, some things are better discussed in person, especially if it’s sensitive or personal in nature; and definitely don’t send nudes or dick pics where you can be identified, you never know where those are going to end up.
Remember that if something is too good to be true, it usually is. Don’t let your ego blind you to what’s really going on. It’s a sugar baby’s job to make you feel special and good about yourself, it’s a job though, something she’s being paid to do…
Most of these are obvious and just common sense, but worth mentioning as I know how excited men get, and don’t always think rationally (or at all for that matter) when sex is involved.
Whilst I like to believe that most sugar babies (and people in general) are honest decent people, there are those who aren’t. So don’t be afraid to ask questions, shop around and not settle for the first sugar baby who catches your eye.
Despite the horror stories, there are lots of genuine sugar babies out there who are discreet and trustworthy, you just need to find them.
Emily-Rose xxx
To see why you may need this advice, check out this blog
Sugar and Spice 