How to Talk to Your Rich Older Man About Your Sex Life (Or Lack Thereof): Part 1

Each time I went to see my new sugar daddy Michael it was never for more than an hour or two. Each time he gifted me some com­bi­na­tion of jew­elry, money, and most impor­tantly, atten­tion. The atten­tion I got from Michael was intox­i­cat­ing; just as my friend (and his ex) Kate had said it would be.

All in all, he main­tained gifts of money in the $3,000 range at min­i­mum. I usu­ally saw him two or three times a week, some­times at mid­night, oth­er­wise around 2 or 3 o’clock in the morn­ing. That was our unspo­ken arrange­ment, just as it was for Kate and surely many oth­ers before and after me.

I learned a lot from Michael about the busi­ness world, about men of a cer­tain age, and what not to say when it came to erec­tile dys­func­tion. It was around this time I met Kee­gan while work­ing at the bar.

The num­ber one rule when work­ing at a bar is to never take a guy’s phone num­ber, and to never give out yours. In between school, Michael, and work­ing at the bar, I met a very hand­some man named Kee­gan. We talked sev­eral times about col­lege; Kee­gan was work­ing in the same field of study. The first time we met, he told me that he had some train­ing mate­r­ial he was going to give to me for free, if I wanted to give him a call. Being a good employee with a lot on my plate, I threw his num­ber out.

He kept try­ing to give me his num­ber and I kept throw­ing it out. But the third time he gave it to me hap­pened to be the same night I decided to quit work­ing at the bar. Because I was upset with man­age­ment over my sched­ul­ing, I wasn’t think­ing prop­erly and just shoved Keegan’s num­ber into my bag along with my tips and huffed out the door, slam­ming it behind me. And that was it.

I tossed my bag of work stuff into the trunk of my car and it stayed there for a month or two. I was so busy with exams and Michael that I com­pletely for­got it was there. I had picked up some hours at a local bak­ery, just to have some form of employ­ment other than liv­ing off of Michael.

The job didn’t last long though; I sim­ply had too much on my plate and being stuck at work was not an accept­able excuse for Michael. I remem­ber him specif­i­cally say­ing to me once, “You would choose work­ing in a bak­ery over me? I give you 10 times what you will make in that place in a year. Quit the job and come home to me, now.” So, I quit the bak­ery job.

Being a kept woman for Michael was nice for a while. I con­fided in my mother about Michael’s occa­sional erec­tile dys­func­tion, which got me think­ing; I have needs too, out­side of being taken care of finan­cially. So, I care­fully broached the topic of try­ing the lit­tle blue pill with Michael, just to see if he had tried it and if it could add to our rela­tion­ship in some way. I wasn’t get­ting as much sex as I was used to, and really needed some kind of “relief.”

I was ter­ri­fied to bring it up out of fear of los­ing Michael. But when I finally did, I never would have expected things to go the way they did…