Sugar and Spice

Real life confessions of a working girl

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  • Going self-employed

    Once I realised that I could make money from being a sugar baby and do so consistently, I also realised that I’d have to register as self-employed and declare my earnings to HMRC. I’m a good girl after all and believe in contributing to society and paying taxes, plus I had a lot of cash which I needed to pay into the bank. I put it off for as long as possible though, as I do with anything important; it was on my to-do list but never got done.  

    By the time I got my act together I’d missed the deadline for one tax year and was worried about being fined. I’d put it off because I wanted to make sure I was claiming all the expenses I could; but weren’t exactly sure what these were and how to find out. Whilst I appreciate the need to pay taxes, I wasn’t going to pay more then needed; I work too hard to be fucked by the government, I may be a whore, but not for them…  

    Anyway, I had questions about ‘use of home’ etc, so reluctantly decided to seek professional advice. A friend recommended a local accountancy firm that could offer me some, so when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I picked up the phone to ask for help. 

    I wasn’t sure what I was going to say but decided that honesty was the best policy. Putting on my best phone voice, I explained to the receptionist that I was a newly registered sole-trader and needed some advice re my first year’s tax return. She asked the question I knew she would ask, but hadn’t prepared for, which was “what sort of business are you running”.  

    I wasn’t sure what to say, so mumbled something about being a sugar baby, and hoped she wouldn’t ask me to elaborate. Thankfully, she was very professional and didn’t skip a beat; as if what I’d said was perfectly normal, and something she came across all the time. She said she’d pass on my details to the partner who dealt with new businesses, who’d email to arrange a meeting. She mentioned that it wouldn’t be for a few days as he was quite busy; yet first thing the next morning I received an email inviting me in for a face-to-face consultation. Curiosity got the better of him I think; amazing how you can clear your diary when you want to… 

    Having experience in accountancy, I’d already itemised every business-related expense onto a spreadsheet, each entry cross-referenced to my bank statements; every sex toy, bottle of lube, STI test kit and item of sexy underwear. Anything I’d purchased over the previous 15 months that could be considered a business expense was included. I’d also listed all my income; everything made through OnlyFans, nude modelling and my sugar baby work. I sent over a copy for him to check out ahead of our meeting, hoping that he’d be impressed by my beautiful presentation and meticulous record keeping; which of course he was (I’m an accountant’s wet dream).  

    I also did my homework on him, checking out the firm’s website and doing some online investigating/ light stalking. Never one to miss an opportunity, I wanted to check whether he was my target demographic; you never know where you might find your next sugar daddy. Unfortunately, he was young, wearing a wedding ring, and far too attractive to need to pay for sex. I dressed up anyway, aiming for ‘successful businesswoman with her shit together, who’d hitch up her skirt and let you fuck her over the desk if you asked nicely’; a look I totally nailed. 

    He obviously knew very little about the world of sugar babies and escorts, so naturally had lots of questions. He was keen to find out what I meant by ‘services rendered’, and what exactly I did as a sugar baby. I was blunt (as always) and told him that the money I received was payment for my company and my body (sex); which made him look uncomfortable and prompted the question as to whether that was even legal. I assured him that it was, after all, I wouldn’t be seeking professional advice if what I was doing was illegal…  

    To clarify, prostitution is legal in the UK, it’s perfectly legal to pay someone for sexual services; what isn’t legal is running a brothel or soliciting on street corners, which I don’t do (well not intentionally anyway). 

     Once we cleared that up, he was actually very helpful and reassured me that I didn’t need an accountant, I was perfectly capable of doing it myself. Being a small business, I could claim a flat £1,000 in business expenses without needing to itemise or keep records of any of my outgoings. Claiming anything else would be more hassle than it was worth and could leave me open to some awkward questions from HMRC; and the last thing I needed was them sniffing around asking me to prove that my sex toys etc are used exclusively for the business, because obviously they’re not… 

    As promised, the process of filing my return was fairly straight forward, although I guess it has to be. The only difficult part was deciding what to state as my occupation, how to sum up what I did in one word. In the end, I went with ‘escort’, although I could have put something more ‘socially acceptable’. Putting escort seemed funny though, and a middle finger up to society; I’m not ashamed of what I do, so fuck it. 

    Over the last few years, I’ve discovered that I enjoy being self-employed. Yes, there are disadvantages; If I’m ill I can’t work and earn money, and if something happens then it’s up to me to deal with it etc. Some months can be unpredictable, but there’s something about living on the edge that appeals to me, knowing that whether I fail or succeed is down to me; being in control over where, when and how I work, and how much I feel like working that week. I get a thrill from chasing money and pushing myself to earn as much as I can; I find it exciting.  

    I’m careful with my money though, and have some savings; so, if I’m tired and rundown, I can take some time off without worrying too much. Maybe if I didn’t, and I was living hand to mouth each month, I wouldn’t find it so exciting.  

    Anyway, having been self-employed for a while now, I struggle to imagine being employed; having to be at work at a certain time, and being told what to do etc, working my ass off to make someone else lots of money… (fuck that). Obviously, this may change, as I may go back into employment one day; but it would need to be somewhere flexible, doing something I believe in which benefits society. I’d also want to be work for a company that’s passionate about what they do, values their employees and isn’t just about making money; which let’s face it, narrows it down considerably. 

    I guess you might be wondering how much money I make; the answer to which is not as much as you might think, and not as much as many of you reading this. Having said that, I only work a few nights a week and the odd afternoon: eating, drinking, fucking, and generally having a good time, and am free to do whatever for the rest of the week; hence how I have time to write….  

    I earn more being self-employed then I did working for other people though, but then I never stuck at anything, so never made it up the ‘corporate ladder’ anywhere; I always got bored and restless.   

    Hopefully I can continue to work for myself for a while yet, as I much prefer working with people than for them. 

    Emily-Rose xxx 

  • I get a big surprise…

    Every now and then I’m contacted by a guy who’s taken a wrong turn and accidentally signed up to a sugar daddy site; wondering why (despite having no luck in the past) they’re being bombarded with messages from attractive women who are way out of their league.  

    This guy was one of those guys, naive and clueless, coming up to 50 and living at home with dad on the farm; never married, unable to get a date, and probably still a virgin (though maybe I’m being harsh). 

    Thankfully I got to him just after he’d signed up, before too much damage had been done (new guys are easy prey for less honest girls on the site). Despite not realising what he’d signed up for, and being slightly shocked by it all, he still wanted to meet; saying that he wasn’t against the idea of paying for female company or sex. His photo wasn’t great; but I’m nothing if not optimistic, so agreed to meet for coffee.  

    When I arrived at the agreed location, I walked straight past him, that’s how dodgy his picture was and how rough he looked. He was wearing old dirty work clothes and had come straight from the farm, you’d have thought he might have made an effort, but apparently not. My heart sank, my optimism had been misplaced, he looked like a fricking hillbilly; it sank further when he started talking in a thick west country accent about the farm, which was all he had to talk about.  

    We had our coffee though, and he enjoyed our time together and thought I was gorgeous… obviously. He’d led a very sheltered life, and didn’t get away from the farm very often. I felt sorry for him, so feeling generous, let him go in for a little kiss and a quick grope; which was probably the most action he’d had in years.  

    I explained the deal, that if he wanted to see me again he’d need to rent a room and pay for my company (his place wasn’t an option, and there was no way he was coming to mine); and although he still seemed hopeful (delusional) that he might get a girlfriend out of it, he understood the situation and agreed to my terms.  

    Before arranging our next meeting, he asked for some saucy photos, which I sent him, thinking it might encourage him to book somewhere and part with some money. I didn’t ask for anything in return, yet despite this, was treated to a couple of photos of the biggest cock I’ve ever seen; it really was a sight for sore eyes, and potentially a rather sore pussy. 

    When we arranged to meet the following week, he couldn’t get away for the night, but was keen to see me, so we arranged to go for a drive and see how far we could get in his car. Not how I usually do things, but for some reason (against my better judgement) I said yes; possibly the thought of his massive cock had something to do with it… 

     We met in a local carpark, where I jumped out of my car, and into his. Now, I’ve been in some dirty cars in my time and mine isn’t exactly clean, but his was absolutely disgusting; every surface covered in mud or shit, and rubbish everywhere, it was gross! He didn’t look much better, in dirty farm clothes, and a holey jumper which he had on inside out; I wasn’t impressed!  

    We drove around looking for somewhere quiet to stop, and eventually found a secluded parking area, which was empty but for one car. Unfortunately, there was a man in that car, however he didn’t complain so I can only assume he enjoyed the show. Should have charged him too really…  

    We got into the back of the car, which wasn’t easy with the amount of crap back there. I pulled off my panties and spread my legs, showing him what he was paying for and inviting him to take a closer look. I don’t think he could believe his luck, his hands were all over me, pulling my top down, groping and sucking my tits like a randy teenager. As for what he was doing down there, fuck knows, but whatever it was, it wasn’t doing anything for me.  

    As I leaned over to place my hand on his crotch, he got a bit funny and told me that he had a confession to make; the pictures he’d sent weren’t of him, he’d taken them off the internet. He then pulled down his dirty jeans, revealing some very old and suspiciously stained pants; which were then pulled down to reveal one of the tiniest, and saddest looking cocks I’d ever seen. It was like a sick magic trick, with every layer that came off, revealing something more revolting.  

    I was annoyed that he’d lied to me and lured me there under false pretences, although I was also a bit disappointed, I’m not going to lie…. I had no choice other than to be professional though and reassure him that it was fine; size didn’t matter, and the pictures he’d sent me were ridiculously big anyway (which they were). Saying all this whilst using my thumb and two fingers (all I could fit on his tiny cock) to encourage it to come out and play, which it didn’t seem to want to, probably too embarrassed!  

    He then apologised for not having had a shower that day, explaining that they had no hot water; before suggesting that I put his tiny smelly cock in my mouth to see if that helped the situation. I didn’t have the heart (or strength of character) to say no, so I did; checking for dick cheese first and being conscious not to breathe through my nose.  

    Not much happened, so as soon as I thought I’d done enough to show willing, I suggested that we get out of there before someone caught us and did us for indecent exposure.  

    On the drive back I asked him why he’d sent pictures that weren’t of him. I hadn’t asked him to send any, so why send anything at all. His answer was, “it got you interested though, didn’t it”, which really pissed me off.  

    He knew that we were going to meet, and that I’d find out the truth; how did he think he’d get away with it. Also, why put yourself in that awkward and embarrassing situation in the first place; men are so stupid sometimes…  

    The most annoying thing was that he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and felt that his actions were justified; which is weird as when we first met, he mentioned how he disliked people who were dishonest or fake… Rather ironic, don’t you think… 

    When I got home, I stripped, put my clothes in the wash and scrubbed myself clean in the shower; after which I updated my spreadsheet, highlighting his name in red, and vowing to never go there again. 

    It’s worth mentioning that this (like so many disasters) was at the beginning of my career, when I didn’t really know what I was doing, and was chasing money at any cost; I’m more cautious now. 

    The lesson here is that if something sounds or looks too good to be true, then it probably is. 

    Emily-Rose xxx 

  • Are men being used or taken advantage of by women like me who charge for sex?  

    I know that women are sometimes accused of using their sexuality to manipulate men to get what they want; I myself have certainly been accused of using my feminine charms to get my way, and don’t mind admitting that I will flirt with men and get my tits out if it makes life easier, because why not… I don’t agree that by being sexual, flirtatious or available, I’m taking advantage of men though; I think that’s just a convenient narrative to resolve men of responsibility.  

    The whole idea that men are driven by their cocks and can’t help succumbing to an attractive woman is bollocks, and ultimately just a way to excuse and justify bad behaviour and lack of self-control. I’ve heard the same logic used by women to excuse unfaithful partners though, it’s always the other woman’s fault for leading her man astray, far easier to make her the villain then address the real issues in the relationship. 

    Have you ever heard a women blame her pussy for her behaviour? No of course not, most women are able to take responsibility for their actions. Unless sex is non-consensual, it takes two to tango; and in my experience, it’s normally the men asking the women to dance…  

    As a woman I may be making the most of what nature has given me (my natural resources so to speak) and I’m not afraid to play the game in order to get what I want, but I don’t feel like I’m using or taking advantage of men in a harmful or manipulative way in order to make money. I’m upfront and honest about what I do, and what the arrangement is. My job is to provide what my sugar daddies need (which varies from guy to guy) for an agreed upon price, I could just as easily be providing house cleaning services, or doing their accounts; it just so happens that I’d rather be having sex then cleaning or studying bank statements… wouldn’t most people? 

    I provide a service for men seeking the kind of service I provide. If I was out randomly luring in wealthy men, trying to convince them to sleep with me, that would be different. Even then, they could just say no; a strange concept I know, but I believe it’s possible.  

    I could of course, if I wanted to, take advantage of the generous nature of some of my sugar daddies; but I don’t. I’ve never asked my sugar daddies for anything extra, above or beyond what has been agreed. I don’t expect something for nothing and like to think that I’m fair and business-like in the way I conduct myself.  

    Having been doing this for a while, and having spoken to hundreds of sugar daddies, there are unfortunately a lot of vulnerable men using sugaring sites. Men who aren’t that successful, and don’t have much money, but have been driven to join through loneliness, isolation, or sheer necessity; and men who are unable to pick up women and access sex the ‘normal way’ because they lack the confidence, opportunity or skills to approach women in person. I’ve been involved with several guys who are clearly on the spectrum, and whilst I know they’re safe with me, I can see how susceptible they’d be to being manipulated or taken advantage of if approached by the wrong person. 

    A lack of transparency on sugaring sites can further exasperate the situation. Often, these sites presenting as a more traditional online dating site, in order to appear more ‘respectable’ or socially acceptable, meaning that innocent men who’ve lost their way, and are looking for a genuine relationship, will get more then they bargain for, or caught up in something they don’t know how to handle.  

    I’ve certainly spoken to and met up with men who’ve been looking for an actual relationship, and not really wanted an arrangement with a financial element, which is frustrating because it’s a waste of my time, and of theirs.  

    There are lots of lonely men on these sites who would benefit from professional help and support, but don’t know how or where to find it, so find us instead. Loneliness and social isolation are a real issue though and a factor which makes people incredibly vulnerable. Just as a starving person will take scraps of food to survive, a person starved of love and affection will also take whatever they can, because it’s better than nothing; and women looking for an easy target will play on this. It’s not even just women, there are plenty of fake profiles on sugaring sites, men pretending to be young attractive women in order to take advantage of vulnerable men and scam them out of money.     

    I’ve lost count of the number of horror stories I’ve heard from my sugar daddies; nearly all the men I’ve been involved with have had at least one bad experience with a sugar baby. Many have been conned out of, or blackmailed for money, but felt unable to do anything about it.  

    If society was more open to the fact that this sort of thing went on, and we could discuss these things without getting so squeamish about it, then things would be a lot safer. If sex work became a recognised profession, then it could be legislated, and safeguarding put in place for both the men and women involved, who I hate to tell you this, are going to be doing it anyway, whether it’s safe or not. The whole issue as to whether establishments like brothels should be legalised is an interesting debate, and not something I know enough about to know the answer to. It’s maybe something to consider though, as there’s certainly an argument in favour for this being the case.   

    Anyway, I digress; to summarise my thoughts on this, I don’t think women like me charging men for sex are in any way taking advantage of them. We are just providing a service, for which there is, and always will be a demand. I appreciate that as animals, we are all to some extent motivated by sex, that’s how we as a species have survived after all. I guess you could argue that sugar babies are taking advantage of and capitalising on human nature and carnal desire, but only for those who want to engage with us, we are not forcing anyone to have sex with us. There are vulnerable men seeking out sugar babies, and women within the profession who take advantage of men and get away with it, but you can’t judge every woman in this profession based on the behaviour of a few.  

    Hopefully you’ve found this blog interesting, and it’s made you question some of your own ideas and beliefs on this subject. Either way, it’s good to remember that nothing in life is ever black and white, there are only shades of grey.  

    Emily-Rose xxx 

  • Three in the bed

    I’d been asked a few times whether I’d be up for a threesome, and the answer had always been yes. Unfortunately, the men asking had always wanted me to provide the third party, which was an issue as none of my friends were up for it, and I didn’t know any other sugar babies. Imagine my delight then when one of my sugar daddies asked me if I was up for a threesome with his other sugar baby; without even needing to think about it, I said yes.   

    He forwarded me some photos of her the next day, after she’d also agreed to the idea. Thankfully she was cute, and very much my type; slim, toned, small boobs (in case you’re wondering). I probably should have asked what she looked like before agreeing to jump into bed with her, but no matter. 

    I’d had a few threesomes in my private life, normally spontaneous alcohol induced affairs, and always with a guy and a girl. I’m the kind of girl that couples take home at the end of the night if they want some fun, I obviously give off that vibe… Three in a bed can be great fun providing you’re all into each other and no-one feels left out. Guys love seeing their woman being pleasured by another woman, and I’m always happy to oblige and put on a show. This time I was being paid for it though… result!  

    He’d never had a threesome before but had always wanted to have one; so, he was excited whilst at the same time a little nervous. He told me that the other girl, who was quite a bit younger than me, was also a bit nervous and therefore I might have to take the lead, which was fine by me. 

    When the day arrived, I drove to his house, arriving in good time and about five minutes before the other girl. It was the first time I’d been to his place, but thankfully it was clean and comfortable (it’s always hit or miss with bachelor pads). He looked a little unsure when he answered the door but soon relaxed when he realised that not only had we both turned up, but that we were both happy to go ahead with it. 

    After standing around in the living room, awkwardly making small talk, it was decided that we should go upstairs to get better acquainted. I got the ball rolling by kicking off my boots and removing my dress, encouraging the other girl to remove a few layers so that I could get a proper look at what I was working with. I had dressed up for the occasion, in a short dress with black underwear, suspenders and stockings. She was dressed more casually, in jeans and a top, but was wearing a very sexy black lace bodysuit underneath. She was slim and blonde, and had a much better body than me, but then she was in her 20s, so hardly a fair comparison.  

    After checking that she was actually bi, and happy with me touching her etc, we started kissing and gently caressing each other’s bodies. It always amazes me how different it is kissing a woman compared to a man. It’s much gentler and softer, and their mouths seem so much smaller (or maybe mines just big).  

    Anyway, after removing our underwear, we lay down together on the bed and enjoyed touching each other whilst our sugar daddy watches and takes photos; until it becomes too much, and he puts the camera to one side.  

    It can be tricky with three of you, as you never quite know who to go for, and often one person ends up taking on a more voyeuristic role. For the first ten minutes, this was definitely him, as we were quite enjoying exploring each other; and I was making the most of having a woman in bed with me, a rare treat. I could tell that she was enjoying it too, as her pretty shaven pussy felt wet and warm under my fingers! 

    Eventually he joined in, taking it in turns to pleasure us both. I’ve no idea whether she came or not, but she certainly sounded convincing, and it was fun to watch. I unfortunately didn’t come, but that’s just me, I’m awkward like that; I think the pressure got to me a bit. 

    After briefly entering each of us, he watched us kissing and playing with each other whilst finishing himself off. He was really noisy when he came, obviously super turned on by having two sexy naked ladies in his bed. As for us, we were too involved with each other to really pay any attention to what he was doing, I don’t think either of us were watching him when he came. 

    Once he’d shot his load, making a mess all over his bed, it was very much back to business; cleaning up the spunk, redressing and discussing our plans for the rest of the day. The other girl was sensible (and more professional), going to the bathroom to ‘freshen up’. I didn’t think about it, or just couldn’t be bothered; only realising later whilst driving home that I could still smell her pussy on my fingers, which I didn’t mind at all… 

    He paid us both, giving us both an extra £50 for the photos he’d taken. We hadn’t even been there for an hour, it was quick work, and easy money.   

    Me and the other girl (whose name I’ve forgotten) left together, chatting whilst we walked up the road to where we’d both parked. Turned out that she was his regular girl who he’d been seeing every two weeks, though thankfully she didn’t seem to mind that he’d seen me in between, which is good as she could have been funny about it, I imagine some other girls would have been.  

    We did the whole ‘lovely to meet you’, ‘good luck with everything in the future’, ‘take care’ etc when we parted, which seemed a little odd considering five minutes before we were writhing around together naked on some random guy’s bed. 

    I did think about asking for her number, just in case I ever needed a girl for a threesome, or vice versa, but she lived the other end of the county. She was also much prettier than me and I’d be worried that if I introduced her to my sugar daddies, they’d ditch me for her, which wouldn’t be good for business; I’m obviously not as good at sharing (and a tad insecure). 

    The sugar daddy involved said that he wanted to do it again, but unfortunately it never happened, and I’m not in touch with him anymore; I still have the photos though. 

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • Discovering sex and what it means to be sexually desired; what happens when you’re too young to cope…

    I remember the first time a guy showed an interest in me. I must have been around 13 or 14; and being on the heavier side was fairly ‘well developed’. As a teenage girl, having boobs was everything, so I was making the most of my new-found ‘assets’ by wearing a push-up bra and low-cut top; how I was allowed to leave the house like that I’ll never know. Anyway, my sexualised ‘jailbait’ body had gained the attention of a young man who was very obviously checking me out; which was weird because no-one ever looked at me, until that moment I’d been somewhat invisible, yet here he was staring in my direction and clearly liking what he was seeing. I remember feeling wanted and desired; something I’d not experienced before.  

    I come from what you might call a ‘traditional’ or ‘old fashioned’ family. My Dad, being a farmer, showed an interest in my brothers who could potentially take over the farm one day; but as a girl, I was less interesting. My job was to do what I was told, play the ‘little woman’ like my mother, and not cause a scene; women looked after the home and their men, they certainly weren’t meant to have opinions, aspirations or independent thoughts, heaven forbid! 

    Emotional displays weren’t tolerated, and we all walked on eggshells for fear of upsetting my father; issues were swept under the rug and to the outside world we looked like the perfect family, but behind closed doors we were a mess. If you’ve experienced a similar upbringing then you’ll know it’s impossible to thrive in an environment like this; it’s oppressive and unhealthy, and I really struggled!  

    I don’t remember a lot about my childhood, it’s a bit of a blur, like something that happened to someone else. I know I was bullied and deeply unhappy as a child, and painfully quiet and shy, but apart from that, I’m not sure who I was before I hit puberty. I guess I was uninteresting and insignificant, or that’s certainly how I felt. However, with my sexy curvaceous body things were different, I was getting attention and was suddenly interesting (to men at least anyway); I started to think that maybe I did have something to offer after all.  

    For a girl who had been made to feel like she wasn’t good enough by the main masculine figure in her life, you can’t imagine how good it felt to be noticed and desired by men. Of course, what I really wanted was the love and affection of my father, but let’s not get all Freudian here; if I couldn’t be validated and win the approval of my dad, then at least I could be pleasing to other men. 

    I’d been brought up to believe that men were superior to women; their needs more important. Men were in charge and held all the cards, and that was just the way it was. In my teens I started to realise that this wasn’t quite the case, that not all women feared or felt intimidated by men; there were strong independent women out there who commanded respect and considered themselves equal. I felt excited and inspired by these women and very much wanted to be like them, I just didn’t know how…. So, when I discovered that I could be wanted physically by men, that I could use my body to get their attention and a place at the table (metaphorically speaking), I thought that was the answer. I’d found their weakness, and a way in….  

    Of course it was a complete disaster, I was too young and fucked up to understand how to embrace my sexuality in a healthy empowering way, which meant that in my early teens I would give myself to any man who so much as glanced in my direction; so fragile my ego and low my self-esteem at the time. I so desperately wanted to please men and feel loved, that even though I knew deep down that none of these men cared and were only after one thing; I let them use me anyway. I would inevitably feel rubbish the next day and regret what I’d done, yet would do it all again at the next opportunity. As a young teenager I simultaneously hated men (especially my father) yet craved male attention; it was a very confusing time. The high I got from messing around with men gave me a temporary break from the depression that hung over me, a fleeting false high, followed by a debilitating crushing low. I let men use me whilst hating myself for allowing them to do so. It was a vicious cycle though; the more I let men use me, the worse I felt about myself and thus the more I needed male attention to make myself feel better; because without it I felt like a failure. It’s safe to say that I was a complete mess, and not surprisingly gained a bit of a reputation for being a bit of a slut.  

    I had a lot of counselling in my teens for depression and low self-esteem but never discussed my sex life with any of my therapists. Mainly because I knew I wasn’t supposed to have one and didn’t want to get anyone into trouble; but also because I felt ashamed of my behaviour, and didn’t want anyone to know about it, especially my parents. I think they knew anyway, but as with anything of importance in our family it was never discussed. Maybe if I’d been able to talk to someone, things would have been different, and I’d have broken the cycle sooner, who knows. 

    I had more sex in my teens then I’d care to admit, and most of it was rather shit to be honest; it wasn’t until my first proper boyfriend when I was 16, that I discovered that sex could actually be a pleasant and enjoyable experience. My boyfriends were always much older than me, which contributed greatly to my positive sexual experiences in my mid-teens, as at least one of us knew what we were doing. By the time I met the father of my child, I had a much better idea of who I was sexually, and what I enjoyed. Together we tried different things, made sex fun, and my confidence in the bedroom grew. More importantly though, he taught me how to value myself, and that I wasn’t just an object to be used by men. He taught me what it meant to love and be loved, for which I am eternally grateful. 

    Thankfully we aren’t teenagers forever (thank God), and now as an independent woman in my 30s I hardly recognize the girl I was back then. That fucked up teenager seems like a lifetime ago, a completely different person. I remember hating and punishing myself for my behaviour, but it wasn’t my fault, I was only a child. If I could go back now, I’d give my younger self a big hug and tell her that she doesn’t need approval from men, that she is worthy of love and deserves better. 

    I’m happy to say that I have a better relationship with my family now, and don’t hate men anymore (took a lot of therapy, but I think we got there eventually). Having said all that, a lot of the thoughts and feelings that I internalized as a child and a teenager are still there (they never completely leave you), I just wrap it up as feminism now and internally scream ‘down with the patriarchy’ whilst riding cock (joking). Men can still enjoy my body, but it’s on my terms now and they pay for the privilege, along with everything else of course. 

    Sometimes when things are bad and I’m feeling depressed or lonely, I’ll revert back to old destructive patterns of behaviour and get drunk and fuck some random guy; but most of the time this behaviour is under control. I’m not the person I used to be; I value myself, and don’t need constant validation from men, or anyone else for that matter. I mean, I still get my tits out and use my sexuality to get what I want sometimes (old habits die hard), but I know I’m so much more than that. I’m an intelligent, ambitious and resourceful young woman who’s funny and good company; having great tits and a juicy arse is just a bonus. 

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • Getting recruited by a pimp daddy

    I assumed that Dave was just a typical sugar daddy, there certainly wasn’t anything on his profile to suggest otherwise. He was married, but in an ‘open relationship’. He actively enjoyed watching his wife being fucked by other men; she didn’t watch him with other women though, apparently it wasn’t her thing. They had children and ran a business together, so were obviously making it work; not my idea of marriage, but each to their own…  

    After a quick coffee and chat in a nearby cafe, I follow him back to his place to get better acquainted. The house looked normal from the outside, but inside was reminiscent of an 90s strip club; all animal print and gaudy colours (predominately bright pink and purple), finished with cheap glittery accessories. The pièce de résistance was in the bedroom, where a full-length mirror covered the entire wall opposite the bed. 

    Turned out that Dave was not your typical sugar daddy but ran a swingers’ club and hosted sex parties at his house. He’d provide the girls, and men would pay to attend; the girls being laid on (in every sense) splitting the money between them at the end of the night.   

    Dave knew that his men would love to meet me, so we discussed whether I’d be up for attending a party and working with one of his other girls. Now, I’m not opposed to having fun with another woman, be they participating or watching; and the thought of putting on a show was quite appealing. Why limit yourself to attention from one man when you can have several, right? 

    Dave also said that he could provide me with private clients; he’d negotiate the money, but I’d still be paid directly. Being new to the business, I was struggling with the whole ‘putting a price on myself and finding it all a bit awkward (I hate asking for money); so without needing too much persuasion, I agreed to be one of his girls.   

    Obviously, he needed to test the product and see what he’d be charging other men for, so I got naked, and showed him what I was capable of. He was impressed, and kept telling me how sexy I was, and how much other men were going to enjoy fucking me etc. It was all quite cheesy and reminded me of one of those terrible ‘casting’ pornos.  

    Whilst we’re having sex, Dave takes photos and video footage of us in the mirror, which he assures me are for ‘personal use’ only and wouldn’t go anywhere else (which I didn’t believe for one moment). No doubt he used them to promote my services, or posted them on his swingers site; but whatever… He shared them with me, I watched them a few times and masturbated over them; is that weird? They weren’t bad videos, I looked quite good; I mean, I would…  

    Anyway, Dave was true to his word and a few days later arranged for me to visit a man called Kevin; negotiating my fee and giving Kevin my number to confirm arrangements. He assured me that Kevin was a decent and genuine guy; but made it clear that if he wanted to see me again it would have to be arranged through him. In return for providing clients, I was to have sex with Dave again at a discounted price; which seemed like a fair deal.    

    Thankfully Kevin turned out to be ok, despite being younger than any of the other sugar daddies I’d met or spoken too. I’d seen his profile on the sugar daddy site, and he’d already messaged me, therefore we may have met up anyway, without Dave’s involvement; the only difference being that I’d have negotiated my own fee and probably undersold myself.   

    Over the next few weeks, Dave contacted me several times trying to set me up with various men. He had men asking for girls and offering good money; more money than I’d have charged, which made me feel uncomfortable. Whilst the money was attractive, I didn’t like the idea of not being able to talk to or get to know the men first, and with that amount of money on the table, it would be hard to say no to whatever was being asked of me.  

    One guy wanted a girl to take to Tenerife for a week, all expenses paid; and if it hadn’t been for my day job, I’d have been tempted. Dave knew this and actually suggested that I quit my job, pointing out that I could make more money as a sugar baby; which was sadly true, but not an option at the time. 

    Dave was desperate to show off his ‘new signing’ though, and keen to organise a party with me on the bill; yet despite initially agreeing, and being quite excited by the idea, I was now having second thoughts. I was concerned about the sexual health implications of having sex with several men in one night, and didn’t know how these men would treat me, or how safe I’d feel. Even with another girl present, we’d be outnumbered, and potentially under pressure to do things we didn’t want to. I liked the thought of it, but the reality was a bit scary, so I politely declined. 

    Not long after this I decided to cut ties with Dave; I was feeling a little harassed and just didn’t have the time to see the men he wanted me to. When I told him that I wanted out he begged me to stay, offering more money and to give up his other girls (as if he would). I had to explain several times that it wasn’t about the money or the other girls, it was about being in control; I wanted to be able to decide who I saw and when, as well as how much to charge. Yes, maybe I wouldn’t make so much money, but I could make enough, I didn’t need to be making loads, for me it was more about the experiences than money anyway. 

    Looking back, I was probably naive to trust Dave as much as I did (even though that wasn’t very much). How much of what he told me was true, I’ll never know. I don’t think he was a bad person though, he just saw a business opportunity and went for it; he was playing the game just like I was. However, I’m not sure how much he cared about the girls he worked with. I have a horrible feeling that money was the only thing that mattered, and that if something had gone wrong, he’d be nowhere to be seen.  

    I still see Dave’s profile on the site, so he’s obviously still doing his thing, recruiting and fucking sugar babies; I haven’t seen him again though. Kevin on the other hand became a regular client, and we’ve managed perfectly well without a middleman.  

    PS: In case you’re wondering, yes, a small part of me regrets not doing one of Dave’s parties, as I quite like the idea of being fucked by several guys whilst another girl is doing the same. I would have quite liked the money too, but oh well, I’m sure they’ll be other opportunities. 

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • How I came to be a Sugar Baby

    I was rather late to the game (see what I did there) being 32 when I became a sugar baby. This is a bit old for many of the men on the site, and I knew that I’d be competing with younger, attractive women in their late teens and early 20s; nevertheless, there is a market for sugar babies in their 30s and older. A lot of sugar daddies preferring someone more mature with a bit of life experience; I guess it also looks less pervy too.  

    My first venture into the sex industry was on a sex chatline, which is when my sexy alter-ego Emily-Rose was created. I was 28 at the time, studying for a degree, trying to balance studying with work and parenthood, and struggling financially. I wanted an easy and flexible way to make money from home, and obviously the first thing you think about in that situation is phone sex, right…. No? Just me then…fine ok. 

    Working on a sex chatline is a job that’s both easy and hard, and interesting and boring at the same time; a real oxymoron of a job. It was an eye-opening experience though and I learnt a lot about the unusual sexual desires and fantasies that men keep hidden for fear of being judged (or arrested); as well as how to embrace my own sexuality and use my imagination to turn men on and get them excited.   

    At the end of the day, it’s just a game; keep the other person on the line as long as possible, to earn as much money as you can… simple. A balancing act, keeping them turned on and interested, without getting them so excited that they come, because the moment they do you’re no longer required, and they hang up; most of the time without even saying thank you, or goodbye… so rude!  

    Working on the chatline I learnt not only how to talk dirty and role-play, but also how to waffle on about random crap, as many of the guys calling just wanted someone to talk to. I’d say around 50% of the men I spoke to were using sex chatlines because they were lonely; they didn’t want phone sex, they just wanted company. For some men their conversations with me were more like therapy, I was just a random person on the end of the phone they could talk to; a safe place to say how they were feeling.  

    Whilst working on the chatline I did just about everything, including lots of things I shouldn’t have; I indulged every fantasy imaginable, and some you really wouldn’t want to imagine… Although as bizarre and niche as some of the requests are, it gets a bit repetitive after a while, and after about five months I decided I couldn’t hack it any longer. I think there’s only so long you can do this job for, and I‘d reached my limits. Hats off to the girls who do it full-time though, they’re not paid enough for what they do! It wears away at your soul, and if you’re not careful will destroy any positive feelings you have towards men; it’s very much a one-way process, you give and they take, and I’m just too selfish for that! 

    The sex chatline was a gateway drug though, I now identified as someone who’d worked in the ‘sex industry’ and had no issue doing so. I felt sexually deviant, and like nothing could shock me. I’d gone over to the dark side; my eyes had been opened, and I couldn’t unsee what I’d seen (or unheard what I’d heard I guess). 

    My next venture into the industry came a few years later when I joined OnlyFans. I’d heard about the site and was attracted by the idea of making some extra money (bit of a theme here). I’d taken a pay-cut to follow my passion and work in a secondary school supporting students with anxiety and other issues, and was worried about making ends meet.  

    I was curious about the site, so set up a page reviving my alter-ego Emily-Rose. I didn’t think anything would come of it, yet gradually over time I managed to build up subscribers and make a bit of money. Nowhere near as much as I wanted, but then I was struggling to get decent photos and couldn’t promote my page anywhere because of my job. To make it work you need to be committed, posting every day, continuously making content; it’s not as easy as you think! 

    Whilst I enjoyed the creativity, I eventually got bored (…again) and started posting less. I don’t have the body of a model, and there’s only so many ways I can photograph myself. I mean, I got some nice pictures of my pussy, but once you’ve seen it, there isn’t much more to see…. 

    Despite the negative discussions around social media and body image, I feel like OnlyFans helped boost my self-esteem; as despite all the stunning women on the site, I still received my fair share of compliments and admirers. I knew I couldn’t compete directly with the surgically enhanced models whose bodies hadn’t been through the ordeal of childbirth, so I embraced this and marketed myself as a ‘yummy mummy’ with a real body; natural and flawed, but still sexy. A lot of the men on the site appreciated the unfiltered realness that I was giving them, and I loved the comments and attention, and the buzz I got every time someone paid for a message or post; or sent me a tip.    

    I was still working as a student support worker when curiosity (and alcohol) got the better of me, and I signed up to my first sugar daddy site. I had my day job (which I loved) and would see men on the weekends and during the holidays; occasionally posting the odd photo or video onto my OnlyFans page. It worked well and everything was fine. until the school found out about my OnlyFans account, when I was forced to out myself by an ex-boyfriend. I was immediately suspended and eventually forced to resign for apparently breaking my contract, which wasn’t true (but that’s another story). Thankfully the school gave me a good reference, so I was able to get a job in another school; but it wasn’t the same. I was miserable and couldn’t get over what I’d lost, and the feeling that I’d let my students down.  

    The police had to get involved due to the threatening nature of my ex’s messages, and I wasn’t in a great place, so starting again was really the last thing I needed. A few months into my new job, my ex-boyfriend, who’d taken so much away from me, sadly took his own life; it was absolutely devastating! I was signed off work as was in no fit state to help anyone, and whilst I tried going back, every time I did, I just started crying; it was all too much. By this time, I’d built up enough business that I didn’t need a day job, so thought ‘fuck it’. I’d lost the only other job I’d really enjoyed, but to be honest, I’d had enough of working for other people for peanuts anyway, so decided to leave my job and go it alone. I initially thought it would just be for a few months, until I got myself back on my feet; yet now years later here I am, working full-time as a sugar baby and very happy to be doing so. 

    Hopefully this gives you a bit of an idea as to ‘my journey’ (blah), and how I ended up doing what I’m doing; in many ways it was just the next step on the path I’d been exploring. Yes, some shit things happened along the way, and maybe if it hadn’t been for my ex I’d still be working in schools and doing this on the side, but that obviously wasn’t meant to be. I still think about the kids I used to work with, but I don’t think I’d want to go back now, not whilst I’m having so much fun. 

    I realise that this blog took a dark turn, so apologies for that, especially if you’ve found it upsetting, or been personally affected by its contents. I thought very carefully about whether to share what happened with my ex, and whether it was respectful to do so; however, it was such a big part of my story and had such a big impact on my journey to becoming a sugar baby, that I felt I should.  

    I can’t begin to express the devastation that losing someone to suicide has, and I don’t think it’s something you ever truly get over. It’s really driven home the importance of being happy, and how fragile life can be; life’s too short to be doing something you don’t enjoy.  

    For a long time, I was very angry at my ex, and blamed him for lots of things, but I’ve been able to forgive him now; he was ill, and didn’t know what he was doing. Desperate people do desperate things, and he was clearly a very desperate man. It was my choice to do OnlyFans, and my choice to tell the school about it when he laid down the ultimatum, so I must take responsibility for my actions.    

    If you are suffering from depression, please don’t suffer in silence, please reach out and get the support you need. There is so much help out there, don’t be afraid to ask for it. 

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • The Sadist and the Masochist 

    My meetings with Ed are met with a slight nervousness, as I know I’m going to be punished, no matter how good I am. He was clear from our first meeting that he needed me to be completely submissive and wasted no time in showing me who was boss.  

    The first time I experienced the sting of his belt against my naked flesh, it took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. It hurt, it really hurt, but he didn’t care. I cried out as he lashed me several times, pausing between each one, watching my body tense and twitch in anticipation. I have a safe word, but it’s to be used sparingly, and I’ve only ever used it once.  

    In-between the thrashings, he is tender and loving, gently caressing my body and giving me pleasure; telling me how beautiful I am, and how much he adores me. He makes me cum several times, my pussy shamefully wet after such cruel treatment; revealing that on some level it turns me on, a fact that troubles me slightly. When he makes love to me, he is passionate, taking his time to fully enjoy my body before allowing himself to cum inside me.  

    We meet at a travel lodge, a useful location due to the early check-in time. He is very clear that he needs 6 hours with me, and I’m punished if I’m late. I’m regularly slapped in the face for answering back or speaking when I shouldn’t. It’s never too hard, but it always takes me by surprise. 

    Before we meet, he sends instructions, dictating what I should wear, how to do my makeup, what to do with my hair, and what colour to paint my nails. To get this wrong would result in further punishment. I’m not supposed to wear knickers when we meet, I forgot about this once, and he got really upset; needless to say, I didn’t forget again.    

    After our first session in the bedroom, we head out for something to eat. He walks with purpose and leads me by the hand, so everyone knows that I belong to him; I dutifully follow and keep my head down as instructed. At the restaurant he orders for me, I don’t even bother looking at the menu; he will choose what I eat, and I will be grateful for what I receive. In a weird way I enjoy not having to make decisions, it’s oddly relaxing.  

    I guess Ed must be in his mid to late 60s, though I don’t know exactly how old he is; he won’t say. He’s had a tough life, which shows on his face, especially when he frowns; yet his eyes are a beautiful bright blue and full of life. Despite having had cancer in the past, his body is sturdy and strong. He dresses like a gentleman and wears a trilby hat when we’re out in public; which with his grey beard gives him a rather distinguished look.  

    In between the alternating punishing and lovemaking, we talk about life and who we are as people. Ed is struggling under a mountain of responsibility; his job is stressful and involves travelling to less developed countries. He sees so much poverty, war and suffering, and whilst he’s doing what he can to help the situation, it’s a never-ending ordeal which he finds exasperating.  

    At home he cares for his sick wife, who becomes less able with each passing month. He describes the pain of watching the woman he loves deteriorating in front of his eyes and talks about the terrible suffering in places like Syria and Ukraine, which trouble him greatly. He gallantly shoulders it all, but I can see how it wears him down and eats away at his soul.  

    In moments of vulnerability, he will weep in my arms at the thought of all the injustice in the world; normally just after he’s come, the action of coming not only being a physical relief, but an emotional one too. At times like these I just hold him, gently stroke his hair, and reassure him that I’m there and he’s safe; the man who was beating me moments before, is now a weeping child in my arms.  

    As sad as these moments are, they are at the same time very special, and incredibly moving; my heart feels for him, and I want nothing more than to ease his suffering and take away the pain. Sometimes we cry together, not needing to talk, just being together in our sadness. 

    I often wonder why Ed is the way he is and why he treats me the way he does; and have come to the conclusion that he needs a place to be dominant and feel in control, as in his normal everyday life he feels somewhat powerless. He cannot control his wife’s health, or what is happening in the world around him. He has so many people relying on him and making demands; looking to him for answers that he just doesn’t have. The lack of control in these situations makes him angry and frustrated; but as he wraps his hands around my neck, controlling my breath, my very life force, he knows that in that moment he has total control.  

    In punishing me he can temporarily rebalanced the suffering in the world, metaphorically speaking that is. He arrives feeling exasperated and tired, but leaves feeling strong and replenished; grateful to me for temporarily easing his pain and suffering. 

    You probably think I’m crazy to put myself through this, money or no money. Indeed, in my ‘normal’ life I wouldn’t condone this behaviour or endure such treatment from a partner; I don’t have time for men who are abusive towards women. Ed is not a bad person though, he’s actually very kind and thoughtful, and I don’t for one minute believe that Ed has ever (or would ever) treat his wife or anyone else the way he treats me, unless that was the arrangement.  

    I know how deeply he loves his wife, and how gentle and patient he is with her. He only does this to me because I allow him to, and that’s a really important distinction to make. I have given him permission to do these things to me, I can stop whenever I want; and walk away without any repercussions.  

    Whilst on the surface it may seem like he has all the power, I feel very much like I’m the one in control of the situation. Whilst he goes away from our meetings feeling strong and empowered, in a weird (and maybe messed up way) I feel the same. I may be marked and sore, but I have not let him break me. I have remained strong, taken his anger and frustration, witnessed his tears, and made him feel safe and secure. I walk out with my head held high, and my spirits lifted by the fact that I’ve made someone feel better; and in my own little way made a difference. 

    *P.S: I don’t want anyone for one moment to think that the above is comparable to physical abuse within a relationship (something I’ve not experienced). I don’t condone physical abuse and would never be in a relationship with someone who treated me like this. This is not healthy behaviour or compatible with a truly loving relationship.  

    In real life abusive situations there isn’t a safe word, or necessarily the option to walk away without consequences, I am providing a service and being paid for it though. If you recognise any of the above behaviour in your own relationship then I advise you to seek help, you do not need to suffer in silence. I choose for 6 hours a month to be treated like this…. you don’t need to. 

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • Sugar Baby sleepover essentials

    1) Condoms: never assume that your guy will come prepared, because half the time they don’t. I always carry condoms with me, even if I’m just popping out to the shop, you never know when you might need one. (Yes Richard, apart from the time we met up and you had to come in my mouth… I know). 

    2) Money: no, you shouldn’t be expected to pay for anything, and your sugar daddy may actually tell you to leave your purse at home, but I always have some money on me, just in case… 

    3) Your phone and a phone charger (or power bank). Also pays to have a good excuse ready too, so that you can take your phone out, say you’ve been messaged and do a runner if you need to. 

    4) Earplugs: most old men snore and there’s nothing worse than being kept awake all night by someone snoring… need I say any more. I usually have a blindfold on me too (multipurpose). 

    5) Change of clothes, at the very least some clean knickers. You don’t really want to be driving (or walking) home in last night’s dress. Don’t do what I do though and accidentally leave your dirty knickers behind because you don’t always get them back. 

    6) Lube and at least one sex toy. If you’ve been out and both had a few drinks, it can be a bit of a challenge to get things going…. if for some reason your guy isn’t ‘up for it’, then at least you can enjoy yourself and put on a good show; it’s also useful if he decides he wants anal.  

    7) Toothbrush and gum; if I’m travelling light, I don’t bother with toothpaste, I just pinch some of theirs. You don’t want to wake up with morning breath… 

    8) At least some basic makeup, at a minimum I will have foundation, mascara and blush. You don’t need to look perfect the next day, but you want to look fairly decent; you don’t want him to feel like he’s been catfished. 

    9) Any medication you’re taking and some painkillers; you need to be on top form. Unfortunately, the old headache excuse doesn’t wash when you’re being paid for it. 

    10) The understanding that there might not be a lot of ‘sleeping’ going on; be prepared to be jumped on in the middle of the night and constantly prodded in the back with his hard-on. Accept the fact that he will want to make the most of his time with you, and that you can catch up on sleep when you get home; that’s what naps are for.  

    Emily-Rose xxx

  • A memorable sleepover (for all the wrong reasons)

    Warning: this story is a bit gross. Don’t read if you have emetophobia.

    The most unusual place I’ve ever stayed, was with a sugar daddy who was living in an old American style campervan. I knew before arranging to stay with him, that he was a smoker and had a puppy, and that he wasn’t exactly loaded; so, my expectations were fairly low. I was expecting a dirty, nicotine-stained bachelor pad, stinking of tobacco and dog, therefore was pleasantly surprised when I got there, and found that it was nowhere near as bad as I’d anticipated. I mean, his beaten-up old van wasn’t going to be featured in any magazines, but it was homely and fairly comfortable, if not a bit chaotic and messy. As it turns out, this was just as well… 

    Peter and I had met for a few drinks the week before, just to see how we got on etc; but this was our first ‘proper’ meeting. As soon as I got there, I was ushered in and handed a cider, which I gratefully accepted. He’d been feeling nervous so had started without me; apparently in need of some Dutch courage… bless him.

    I do a quick scan of the campervan, to make sure I’m happy to stay over before accepting a second drink. I wasn’t worried about staying with Peter, he was a bit rough around the edges, but I knew we’d be ok; and yes, maybe the accommodation wasn’t up to my usual standards, but so what, I’d slept in worse places. 

    After a few drinks in the campervan, we take a taxi into town and grab bite to eat in one of the local pubs. By the time we get back to the campervan we’ve both had quite a few pints, but it’s fairly early, so we put on a film and continue drinking. I’d been drinking cider all night, but Peter cracks open a bottle of red wine and pours me a glass.  

    Things are progressing well, the booze is flowing, and Peter’s initial shyness has worn off. My tights and knickers have been discarded, and Peter’s hand is between my legs, his fingers gently exploring my pussy; neither of us is paying any attention to the film in the background.  

    After getting me nicely excited, we head to the bedroom, where we both get naked before climbing into bed. He’s had a fair bit to drink and as a result needs a little ‘encouragement’ down there, so I head south and start sucking his semi erect cock. He’s responding well, and I can feel his penis growing harder as I pleasure him with my mouth. I’m just getting into it, taking him deep down my throat when the feeling hits; the overwhelming urge to vomit.  

    I jump out of bed, and desperately start opening doors looking for the tiny bathroom which I know is there somewhere, I’m disorientated and confused though. I open what I think is the bathroom door, only to see a cupboard full of shirts on hangers, I open the next door, more bloody clothes… My hand is over my mouth, but I can’t hold back the tidal wave of vomit erupting from within me. I close the door just in time, as vomit sprays all over the cupboard doors and onto the floor; my hand helpless against a tide of bright red liquid being ejected from my body. I turn around to find the bathroom door, which was right behind me the whole time. I open the door and aim for the toilet, just in time for another wave of vomit, some of which finds the toilet, whilst the rest splatters all over the toilet seat and the floor; it looks like a scene from a horror film. I hear Peter outside the bathroom sounding concerned, asking me if I’m OK, and if I need any help. He does the obligatory carrot joke, and I hear him in the passageway trying to clean up the mess, whilst inside the bathroom I attempt to scrape up the vomit from around the toilet with my hands and some toilet roll. 

    I have to shower because I stink and have sick in my hair; afterwards I lie on the sofa in Peter’s dressing gown whilst he gently brushes my wet hair, and reassures me that everything is OK. I feel better for being sick, but mortified at my behaviour, and my inability to hold my drink (which isn’t normally an issue). 

    He did a good job cleaning up, and thankfully the carpet which took most of the damage, was old and stained anyway, so it wasn’t too obvious (would have to be carpet wouldn’t it…).  

    The next morning before I leave, Peter rescues his puppy from the next-door neighbour who’d looked after him for the night. After saying hello to me and giving me good old sniff, the little Jack Russell goes straight over to the freshly cleaned carpet where I’d been sick, and does a big shit; which made me feel better, at least I didn’t shit on the carpet. 

    Despite redecorating his place with bright red vomit, Peter does see me again (several times), but I stick to cider or gin and avoid red wine. 

    Emily-Rose xxx