What I Wish I'd Known Before Becoming a Sugar Baby

The first time I met a sugar daddy, I was 17 years old. Even now as I recall the experience, it feels like nothing short of a past life. A distant memory that lives in my mind as fragments of images: the checkered yellow and black dress I wore, the extravagance of the five-star hotel in Kensington, the depth of the anxiety that gripped me.

He knew how old I was. I had a policy—tell them how old I was and let them proceed if they dared. I was so naïve; I had no idea that the fact I was under 18 would only work in my favor. Of all the men I spoke to from the “luxury” dating website, only three became disinterested due to my age.

Jay was not one of those men, however. He found it sexy that I was leaving high school to go and visit him. He found it even sexier that when he asked what I would be drinking I told him I would have water, and he told the waiter we would be having prosecco instead.

It surprised me, as someone who was blessed with a baby face and required ID for a 15+ movie just a few months before, that the waiter took our alcoholic order without a blink. Little did I know this was likely routine for him. Little did I know that being a man with money meant that people didn’t ask questions. Sometimes I wish that the worker had intervened, asked to see some ID, or why I was sitting across from a man more than double my age, in my dirty white sneakers and a tight dress. 

I didn’t know it then, but that interaction with that greying businessman would completely change the trajectory of my life. It would distort everything I knew about relationships and love. Poison it, warp it into something sinister and toxic, a transformation I have been working to revert ever since I left that lifestyle.

One thing I wish I’d known before all my encounters: This lifestyle was not one for finding love in.

Several proseccos, a shower, some cute underwear and a wad of cash later, I left that hotel practically skipping. I had never been in a hotel so expensive before, never tasted a bubbly alcoholic drink so crisp, never held that much money in my life. It was a feeling akin to gliding on air. I wish I knew at the time that it would not always feel that way. 

I met many more sugar daddies – some offered great sex, some offered terrible sex, all offered much more money than I knew what to do with. One night I met someone close to my age for the first time, with a beautiful apartment in London. After the bedroom we made it onto his balcony where he took a business call, both of us naked, my eyes round jewels of disbelief at the view that beheld me. After the call he approached me, marvelling at how beautiful my silhouette looked in the summer night, and held me for ages as we stared out at London’s skyline. A city he had clearly conquered, but one I was just at the beginning of finding my feet in. 

Another thing I wish I’d known before all my encounters: This lifestyle was not one for finding love in. You were not supposed to fall for your clients or build meaningful attachment with them. Until I met him. Liam. Born and raised in California and living in the UK for over a decade. Double my age, with a sense of humor like that of my best friend. The sex was amazing, the conversation enthralling, and the way I felt in his arms better than both. We both knew lines had been crossed, but neither of us cared.

Soon the transactional nature of our relationship dissipated. Night after night at his place, dinner with wine, dates, and housesitting for him whenever he was away. I loved how safe he made me feel, the smell of his laundry, the way he kissed me. I loved how he just knew things. I loved him. One day he told me that he loved me. I said it back.

At this point I had decided I wanted to be with him, but to him I was old enough for everything except a relationship. So I carried on seeing other people casually. And my addiction to seeing those who presented me large amounts of money carried on, too, to his disdain. That was until an unfortunate event brought it all to an abrupt end.

His name was Anthon. After many months of trying to meet with constantly clashing schedules, we finally found the time on a Saturday afternoon. With hindsight I see why it was so hard for us to get together. There are some people that you simply aren’t supposed to meet.

I defied fate and met the man who would bring the sugar baby dream crashing down. The meeting started off so promising, but took the darkest turn and ended in assault. After that, I saw no one new again. No one except a therapist, and antidepressants once a day for a year and a half. 

Liam was understanding. He didn’t ask for details. He was gentle and tender and a rock. Until suddenly he wasn’t. He was controlling, vindictive, aggressive, consuming. I realized that despite the love I thought we shared, he was no more than a sugar daddy, who expected an abundance of sugar, whether I was willing to give it or not. I finally understood what I wish I’d known in the beginning – no man willing to pay for the company of a 17-year-old girl could ever be a good man. 

So, I left him too, for my own sanity and safety. But he never quite left me. None of them did. I found myself haunted by the remnants of these men, in all my relationships that followed.

I see girls now, younger than me, experimenting with this lifestyle for “easy money.” I want them to know there is truly no such thing. I did not feel the cost immediately, but it came later.

Now, I am in my healthiest and happiest relationship with a man who adores me, respects my boundaries, and is my age. Despite my very low bank balance and my boyfriend living 4,000 miles away, I prefer this. I prefer the peace, authenticity, and safety. And although this new normal feels strange, it is something I am happy to get used to.