I hadn’t seen the Stetson man in ages and I missed him so much. But when I hugged him, he patted my back as if I were a stranger. I tried not to let it get to me. I figured he was tired. I offered him some sweets, we made small talk, and, looking back now, it was clear that I was trying way too hard to make everything perfect. As I think back to that afternoon, the Stetson man must have really enjoyed watching me squirm. I was feeling guilty for everything that had gone on behind his back with the Greek God, so guilty, in fact, that if the Stetson man did end up taking his barber mistress with him to Europe, he didn’t need to feel bad about it—I had enough guilt built up for both of us.
The Stetson man didn’t ask me his usual questions. What had I done with my time? Who had I seen? The usual jealousy questions were not a part of our conversation. Again, this played to his guilt, but I was overwhelmed with my own conscience.
The most interesting part of the afternoon was that when he went to leave, he just got up and left; there was no sex, not even a desire to have sex on his part. Nothing, not even a long kiss. It was as if we were just friends, or even worse, it was like we were married and he was now cheating on his “wife.” After all, they say it’s always more fun to have sex with your lover than with your wife. Isn’t that the point of a sugar daddy? The Stetson man and I had never gone that long before without having sex. That’s how I knew this relationship was in trouble, deep trouble.