This blog is a zombie. It never really dies.

Holy cow, when did I get all these followers?

Back in action, kinda sorta.

So. Much. Has. Happened.

Remember that Perfect Boyfriend from my last few posts? He turned out to be a controlling, jealous, insecure asshat.

Reader, I dumped him.

I am now officially single for the first time in my adult life.

The is a new guy who I am casually fucking. l call him Lover Boy. I am determined not to get attached. Even though he's cute, funny, kind, and hung like a horse.

Tomorrow night looks like my first dinner date with a potential sugar daddy since re-entering the single life.

Strap yourselves in..it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Sorry for the delay...

So much going on. Deluged by emails over at SA. Working on several different pots right now. Decided it would be awesome to set a goal for myself like, say, an average of 1K a week? At my current allowance requirement that would mean I would need, bare minimum, 2 SDs. And probably 3, for those times when things just don't work out like they should. That's what I've been looking for though - multiple SDs to help me accomplish my goals as fast as possible. This time around I'm like a laser beam, focusing on exactly what I want and what I can provide.

Cam guy disappeared - big surprise. I'm giving crazy emailing guy another chance - I stood him up and apologized, and he's still down to meet me. And I'm looking for a gift daddy on top of that.

However, until I actually physically meet up with anyone, I won't consider myself to be "back in the saddle", if you know what I mean. I have one pot who is young, hot, and super nice, as well as willing to travel to me (sweet!) so we'll see if that chemistry translates.

What do you do when...

You think you have an amazing connection with a potential SD but then he bombards you with emails?

I'll let you know if I decide to meet him for drinks tonight.

Camming?

I found an SD on the West Coast who is looking to cam with a girl a few times a week for 300 to 400 each time. We're supposed to start tomorrow night.

Camming is fine by me. It does not feel like cheating. It feels like a job.

This guy wants to move fast. I'm skeptical. We'll see how this goes.

I'm semi-back! Quandary of the brain. Help a sister out.

Big emotional rant. Not as finger-point-y as last time, I swear. Mostly about my internal turmoil caused by the conflict of love v. money.

I have not officially returned to the sugar lifestyle yet. I'm teetering on the brink right now. I want some input on this.

My amazing, wonderful bf found out about Mr. Sexy and asked me to explain. Said it was disgusting. Made me swear never to do it again - the ultimatum of "We can get past this and stay together if you're prepared to change. You can have this new life with me where you make your own money, or you can be single and have your old life."

Ah. Change. Is that a thing I am prepared to do?

Of course, in that moment, I chose him, no problem. Well, I may have hesitated a bit, but only because I was concerned that the lack of trust that was instantly created when he found out about my past was going to be so damaging to the relationship that we might as well break it off. He assured me that trust can be earned back. He wants to marry me, and he is serious about it. He doesn't mind my colorful sexual history or my emotional baggage. He's a good guy. A hard worker. Smart. Good in bed. Loves to go downtown. Theoretically, I absolutely want to shape up, get a respectable job, and settle down into a sweet life with him.

I'm having a severe crisis now. I'm missing the security of an SD. Also, over the past few years I've become really interested in exotic dancing. I have no moral objection to either of these professions - and even if you want to believe sugaring is "dating", it honestly feels a like more like work. Were I single, I would probably strip in addition to cultivating relationships with multiple SDs. After a month or so I would have a very decent amount of cash rolling in, as opposed to the measly amount I make in the terrible hours of my current job.

I miss it. I miss holding 500 dollars in my hand. I miss all the extras that comes with financial security. Being able to fix my car, fill my tank all the way up, get my hair blown out, etc.

Not to mention, I'm so much more experienced now with money. I would spend FIRST on the most crucial things - an oil change for my car, college textbooks, health checkups. The most frivolous thing I can think of is a new cell phone to replace my 3 year old model.

I can either be chronically broke and have a great bf, or I can be single and independently wealthy.

I haven't been single since I was 15. I'm 21 now. It's scary.

I have 12 dollars in my bank account and my car is on empty. It's scary.

There are other solutions. I can SB/dance on the side and hope my bf doesn't find out. I can try to get a higher paying non-sexual job (which is what I'm trying to do right now). I can confront my boyfriend and tell him that sex industry work is just a part of dating me and that if he doesn't like it he can lump it. I can tell him I need a break, the relationship is getting too serious and I need space, and make as much as I can in those couple of months, and then get back together with him and hope he doesn't ask what I did. I can take out a student loan (which I may actually need if my financial aid doesn't come through in time), pay for the classes I want to take this semester and live meagerly off the rest of it, just enough to keep me from overdrafting my account. I can ask my family for a loan. I can buy a lottery ticket.

What to do, babies? Celebrate financial independence while mourning the only healthy relationship I've ever had? Be gleefully single and able to screw any guy I want, but worry constantly about when I'm going to find that magical sugar daddy? Bust my ass at another stab-your-eyes-out-boring white-collar 9 to 5 so that I don't have to sell my body for money? Humbly work a low wage job to help put myself through college, like every honest person on the planet does? Learn the value of a dollar by working for 8 of them an hour, or invest in a Roth IRA that will make me rich by the time I'm 60?

This relationship is good for me. My last one was physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive. My parents have met this guy. At the same time, I'm really young to decide "this is it" and give up stuff I love (I admit, I love the chase, and I love exhibitionism, and I love dressing up, and I love it when men give me money) for a guy, no matter how many other ways he is awesome.

I can't SB my whole life, and a dancer's career is very limited. You have to get in, make your money, and get out. My bf has reminded me that in the future I won't be able to get by on my looks like I have been, so I need to start practicing for that now by finishing school and getting a real job.

I don't want a real job, I want heavy black eyeliner, lingerie, and Paris.

I also want love.

I don't want to live that double life any more. I don't want the deceit. I don't want the lies.

I do want the money.

I do want the boy.

I am a monster made of greed and love.

Fuck my life.
Fuck my personal demons.
Fuck capitalism that makes me want money more than love.
Fuck patriarchal society for making me scared to be single.
Fuck my last relationship for making me so unsure of what I actually want.
Fuck the internet for making everything immoral and unjustifiable at my fingertips.
Fuck Mother Nature for giving my this body and this face.
Fuck Father Time for setting a time limit on them.
Fuck men in general.
Fuck the inventor of money.
Fuck the inventor of monogamous romantic love.
Fuck opportunity costs.


Shit shit shit. Hell fuck ass. Who am I? What the fuck am I? Is my priority school, or earning? Is it freedom, or love? Am a globe-trotting courtesan? Am I a very high paid call girl with one client? Am I the good little girlfriend? Am I the kind of person that can make a large personal sacrifice for the person they love? Am I a liar, a cheater? Am I a butcher, baker, or candlestick maker?

Time for a cup of tea.

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

I forgot to put this into my last blog post (published 15 minutes ago) so I'm just writing a new one instead of editing the other. So if you're very confused go read my last 2 posts before this one.

Disclaimer: No need to flame me for this one, though it may well ruffle some feathers. I just need to vent. This is disjointed and rambling stream of consciousness. Please know that mostly when I criticize people, I'm really criticizing myself.

Boy, I burned out on this lifestyle really fucking quick.

The one good thing to come out of the craziness with this scumbag (who lives on Mountain Road in Lovettsville VA, and who WILL try to get you to go back to his house with him the day you meet him!) is that I am 1000% more resolved in my job hunt. I am sick of waiting around for SDs to come through, sick of panic attacks and nervous crying fits when my bank account drops below 3 figures, sick of relying on other people for help. I want to spoil myself with MY OWN FUCKING MONEY. I want to put MY OWN MONEY in my gas tank. I want to take my boyfriend out on MY DIME, not someone else's. I am so sick of feeling uncertain about cashflow all the time. Sometimes you just have to hit bottom to really resolve yourself to change something shitty in your life - when I got that email, that was it. The bottom of the abyss. The end of a fantasy life that amounted to nothing but castles in the sky. The beginning of the 12 step program.

Did I say the one good thing? Cause there was another. Fuck fucking this guy. The only guy I want to fuck is my boyfriend. The last boy, I messed up a lot. I fucked other guys lots of times. I was restless, he was abusive, it was too painful to try to get away so I hid inside of affairs. By the time I was 19 I was so, so jaded. The spark was gone, we didn't love each other any more but we NEEDED each other, if you know what I mean. It was totally dependent and unhealthy.

Fuck all that drama. I'm not messing this one up. I'm not fucking another guy, even if I don't love him, even if he has money. I want to straighten the fuck up and fly right. I want to live my life with pride and with no cloud of fear lingering over me - fear of being found out, fear of NOT being found out. This is too good. I want to marry this boy. And when you get that feeling, that marrying feeling, you give up on bullshit like this because you've suddenly got a timeline for getting your shit together. I want a decent job now that will get me through college so I can get a good job in the future so I can take care of me, him, and our beautiful babies. That's how fucking serious I am.

But, dear god, this is America! And what is America without the lure of easy money around every corner?

In a way, I was very relieved when the scumbag pot said he could not do dinner + encounter. Because it meant I would not have to fake (well, semi-fake, but you know what I mean) being something I wasn't. If he had just wanted straight vanilla sex, I doubt I would have gotten anywhere near as pissed, because then I would not have spent 12 straight hours mentally preparing myself to take on a certain "role" (dominatrix). That's what was so great about Mr. Sexy - I was really, truly myself with him. If we had fucked, I wouldn't have to fake a second of it.

However, I sent him a polite email yesterday evening thanking him again for lunch and asking him if an allowance might fit into our daddy/daughter dynamic, now that we've met in RL and know we're compatible in all the right ways - I even mentioned that I was fine with the physical aspect as long as we took it at a reasonable pace. And though I am almost certain he's received that email, he hasn't responded. Does the idea of regularly helping a broke hot college girl out in exchange for her companionship really seem so abhorrent to these men that they must disappear, flake off, and otherwise ignore us? I'm getting on my fucking soapbox now. I know there are GOOD SDs out there - I've had one. Men who don't treat you like tarts but like princesses. But the liars, the manipulators, the cheats and fetish-mongers and scammers and weirdos. They make the slog through so horrifically awful. They are, in effect, con artists.

And maybe, to some extent, so are we.

I am way too fucking cynical to think straight right now. Unless a Christmas miracle comes early don't expect to see me near this blog for a long time. It's time to put my ass in gear and get a fucking job. I am applying for/following up on SEVEN job prospects tomorrow. SEVEN. That in addition to the dozens I've applied for over these last few weeks and the 3 or 4 I'll be checking in on over the weekend.

I am sick of looking for a man to take care of me. I have a great hard-working boyfriend who doesn't deserve a lazy cheating whore of a girlfriend. He deserves a bright career gal who makes her dreams (her NON-FINANCIAL) dreams HAPPEN every day and who isn't always taking the easy way out. I want to work, go to school, get my blackbelt, volunteer as a Big Sister. What kind of Big tells her Little about a lifestyle like this, or actively encourages it? Could I look into an 8 year old's perfect little face and say "Yes, that's right, you don't need to pilot the Atlantic solo or cure cancer to have a cool life, you can just get rich men to take care of you"?

No. I will teach myself to fish and feed myself for a lifetime.

Now I have nothing against escorting or sugar dating or whatever anyone wants to do. If I were any more open-minded my brain might fall out. Escorting is a job, and as the old saying goes, a blow job is better than no job. But the bizarre hybrid escorting/sugarbabying/companioning/roleplaying/double-life-ing clusterfuck I had gotten myself into was an unholy marriage of all the worst parts of being, essentially, a sex worker.

I felt guilty for messing around on my blameless boyfriend. I felt sleazy for kissing a man for money. I felt perturbed when I realized that the balance of my lunch with Mr. Sexy was the balance of my bank account. I felt ashamed for leading him on when he texted me asking if we could explore that physical theme further. I felt fear about being alone in the same room as my potential scumbag SD who I had never met. I felt nervous about contracting an STD condoms couldn't protect me against. I feel blank apathy about my "number" going up to 8, or 9, because this type of sex had become just plain work to me. I felt desperation when I didn't know where my next tank of gas was coming from. I felt a black depression seep over me when I realized I had been unemployed for 2 months with nothing to show for it because I've been living off men's money. I would say "men's kindness" but none of that money came from a place of true kindness - it all came with the stipulation that I would give a sexual, rarely seen part of myself back. Stripping would have been less revealing. And more fiscally rewarding, probably.

I thought that having no money was what was making me act like a stressed crazy person these last few weeks - I was so wrong. It was the giving up of control. While relying on SDs, I had little or no control over my life. If I had a job, even if I was just as broke, I know I would be 10X happier, because that would be MY broke, not anybody else's broke. I would own it. I would be responsible for it. I could turn it around any time I wanted by working smarter and harder, by picking up extra shifts and going that extra mile, by showing up early and staying late, or hell just by showing up at all.

Christ, this is turning into a manifesto.

There are lots of SBs out there - the majority, I would say - who do not rely on SDs for their entire livelihood. AND I COMMEND YOU. It's a trap you don't ever want to get yourself into. That's when they become more like tricks and less like a specialty dating niche. After a while the money looks so easy and fast (good lord! I sound like one of those religious pamphlets about turning from your life of sin) but it's not, really, it just feels that way when you're suddenly holding 500 dollars in your hand. At that moment your selective memory kicks in and you only remember the easy parts to getting that 500 dollars - you block out the endless dickshot emails, the creepy guys you actually considered seeing because of their insane bank accounts, the reluctant kisses and awkward hands, the stomach-churning conversations about the nitty-gritty of the arrangement, the endless lying to family and friends and boyfriends, the whiplash-inducing Freudian realization that you are basically fucking your father, for money. All that falls away in the afterglow of "set for life" brought on by those little green men in your hand.

And so even though that may be the hardest won 500 dollars you've ever earned in your life, you will probably piss a significant chunk of it away on completely frivolous material things like that money means nothing to you. Because it's for spoiling yourself. I've been there, I've done it, and I have the closet full of Victoria's Secret to prove it.

Once again, definitely not saying this applies to all SBs. This is just how I felt sometimes and I've co-opted some other girls' comments along the way to support my conclusion. There are plenty of smart, savvy, plan-ahead girls out there who ARE socking away a healthy percentage of their allowances into low-risk Roth IRAs that will make them millionaires by the time they're in their late 40's. But there are just as many who do this hard work (and don't pretend the hunt isn't work) and then blow the reward on eye candy for themselves. Why?

So in conclusion, I'm hanging up the fuck-me boots until further notice. I am disillusioned with the "game"-like aspect of this and I have got too many good things in my life that I've let slide. My energies can definitely be better spent putting my head back on straight, getting my papers (Kat William's term for making a good paycheck at a legit job), graduating from junior college this coming year, turning 21, and heaping love and adoration on my awesome fucking boyfriend and family.

Goodbye for now sugars. May the wind be ever at your back, may the sun shine warmly on your face, may the rain fall softly on your fields. Good night, and good luck.

The money was too good. I got stupid.

Why oh why (oh why) did I let my instincts fail me?

Sugars, today I chastise myself for making the cardinal amateur sugar mistake - I believed a pot's promises.

The potential SD from my last post - yes, the one who I was so excited about, the one who seemed serious and like an answer to my prayers - emailed me today about 3:30 PM with a one-liner. I'm sorry, I can't make it to dinner tonight. That's it. Jerkface. I couldn't even tell if he was serious or just trying to provoke a domme-like wrath from me on the cheap. I thought back to our previous interaction and I'm pretty sure he did the same thing to me 6 months ago. Either way, even though I know I shouldn't give him the satisfaction, I sent him back a bitchy email about how rude it is to cancel a date with such short notice with no explanation or immediate offer to reschedule. I asked if he had one good reason for me not to write him off as a fraud and a troll.

No response. What a douche. I am seriously plotting revenge on this guy for getting my hopes up by being so serious. Perhaps I will put up his pics here for the world to see, along with our conversation from the other night (oh, that's right, I saved it) and send him the link. These blogs prove that there is a sugarbaby community out there, and if you mess with one of us, you mess with ALL of us. No other sugarbaby should be subject to the extremely rude behavior of this guy, so I am letting you all know, if you see a skinny white bald guy on sugardaddyforme who lives in Northern Virginia, that's him. His email says "John Doe" but he asks you to call him Chris. His handle is something like JD3901 - I'll double-check and post it in the next post if I decide to do a full on expose. However if he gets off on this kind of thing, that might just be more glee for him. Fuck these catch 22s. I hate fakes, frauds, and people who take advantage of other people. I hope this guy doesn't get laid for TWENTY years, much less 2.

Haha I just figured out how to type this little apple on my mac. shift + option + k = 

I am easily amused.