Sugar and Spice

Tag: non-fiction

  • Saying goodbye

    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. 

    Emily-Rose xxx 

  • Ray (part 2): Runaway Sugar Babe

    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… 

    Emily-Rose xxx 

    Read about our trip to Torquay here

    Ray (part 1)

  • Pubic Hair

    I didn’t realize how controversial (borderline offensive) pubic hair could be until I became a sex worker; it seems to be something that everyone has an opinion on though. 

    I personally don’t mind having pubes, left to my own devices I’ll leave them grow, and just trim them back when they get annoying or unruly; I certainly don’t feel the need to be clean shaven or even that tidy down there most of the time. However, as a sugar baby I have to consider my sugar daddies and what they want. Obviously, if the guy I’m seeing tonight wants a hair free pussy but the guy I’m seeing tomorrow prefers the natural look, then one of them is going to be disappointed; however, I try to accommodate their preferences when and where I can. 

    Before meeting me, sugar daddies will often ask what the situation is ‘down there’, as it’s clearly important to them. Most of the guys I see prefer a shaven pussy or a tidy landing strip, not many men want the natural look….  

    I personally blame the porn industry for this; men (especially younger men) being so used to seeing hairless or neatly trimmed pussies that they’ve become accustomed to this look and find the ‘au naturel’ look unattractive. Or maybe it’s just women like me who work in the sex industry that are expected to look a certain way…either way, it’s a pain in the ass.    

    One guy I met up with insisted that I be completely hairless down there (and everywhere else on my body) as he considered pubic hair to be unhygienic. He mentioned several times how disgusting pubic hair was, and how important it was for me to be completely hair free.  

    Now, I don’t mind guys having a preference, we all have preferences, but this guy was being obsessive about it, and I had to reassure him several times that I’d be ‘clean’ for him. 

    I don’t think he was that intelligent, so I wasn’t going to argue about it or point out that pubic hair is perfectly natural and not disgusting or unhygienic; I just got my razor out and dutifully did what I was told (as a sugar baby you have to pick your battles).  

    It pissed me off that I was being made to feel almost ashamed about something perfectly natural though, like I was in some way disgusting; unclean and unshaven. I was so annoyed by his ignorance that I did some research into pubes and why we have them, in case he kept going on about it and I needed to defend myself. 

    Anyway, it turns out that pubic hair serves many important functions, which is obvious when you think about it, as otherwise we wouldn’t have it. 

    Firstly, pubic hair acts as a barrier, trapping sweat, oils and bacteria that can cause irritation or infection, and can prevent the transmission of bacteria and other pathogens during sex. As well as protecting us (to some extent) against sexually transmitted infections, having pubic hair can also reduce the risk of UTIs, vaginitis and yeast infections (something for us ladies to consider). The sebaceous glands connected to the hair follicles also produce an oily substance that moisturizes our skin and protects it from bacterial and fungal infections. 

    As well as all this, pubic hair traps pheromones (which help us attract a mate); and reduces friction between our genitals during sex, and our clothing when we’re dressed. 

    So, as long as you wash regularly (and thoroughly), then having pubic hair is not disgusting or unhygienic; quite the opposite. 

    On the other hand, removing our pubes can result in skin irritation, redness and itching, as well as ingrown hairs; and increases the risk of infections and STIs, especially if you’ve managed to cut yourself in the process.  

    Then of course there’s the time, cost and energy that goes into doing all of this and maintaining the ‘hair free’ look, honestly, I don’t know why we bother… 

    Actually, I know exactly why we bother, it’s because the beauty industry makes us feel unattractive (or not good enough) in our natural state in order to sell us expensive and unnecessary products to make us feel better. Another example of our capitalist (patriarchal) society creating and then profiting from our insecurities (and vanity). 

    Anyway, I personally didn’t have much experience with going completely hairless until I became involved with a dominant sugar daddy who insisted I be perfectly smooth whenever we met; and would inspect my pussy to check I’d done the job properly. I’d be punished if I wasn’t up to his (very high) standards, so I had to seriously up my game, investing in an expensive razor, moisturizing cream and after care oil in order to avoid the dreaded razor burn and annoying ingrown hairs.  

    Fortunately, my arrangement with that particular sugar daddy didn’t last long, so I was able to relax my standards again, and not continuously obsess over my pubic hair. 

    As with a lot of these things, as soon as the pendulum swings too far in one direction it’s faced with resistance and swings back the other way. We’re seeing this in the younger generation and their resolve not to give in to societal and cultural pressure to shave everything, but to embrace (and even celebrate) their natural body hair.  

    I’d love to be able to join the movement and not worry about my own body hair, however whilst I’m a sugar baby and working with men who expect me to look a certain way, I feel under some pressure to conform. Although, having to shave every now and then to keep men happy is a small price to pay for doing a job I love, so I don’t mind. 

    Men obviously shave their pubes for ‘hygiene’ reasons too, although we all know it’s actually to make their cocks look bigger; like that’s fooling anyone… 

    Obviously, I’m not going to dictate what my men do down there, but I actually prefer the natural look, or at least a trimmed down version. For me, pubic hair is preferable to red pimple covered skin, which is often what I’m presented with when I go down on a man. 

    Hopefully this blog has been insightful, and you’ve learnt something… I guess the important message I want to get across is that you should do whatever you feel comfortable doing and not let society (or men) dictate how you wear your pubic hair. And if someone does try to shame you into shaving or waxing your pubes because they think it’s unhygienic, tell them they’re wrong (or better still, direct them to this blog); if they still insist on it then tell them to do one. Noone has the right to make you feel bad about your body or force you to change anything about the way you look. 

     Your hairy(ish) godmother, 

    Emily-Rose xxx