The Outrageous Bedroom Experience My Sugar Daddy Gave Me on New Year’s Eve

My older man, Patrick, knew the whole idea of his son donat­ing sperm for us to have kids was out of the ques­tion, so he didn’t push it. We returned to our “nor­mal” selves, just enjoy­ing each other and Chicago. His sex­ual desire for me was stronger than ever and I pretty much responded, includ­ing the early morn­ing trysts. And I mean every morning.

New Year’s Eve was com­ing up and he made a reser­va­tion for us at a new posh hotel in Chicago. It was a pack­age deal that included din­ner, danc­ing to live music, a suite, and break­fast served in the room on New Year’s Day.

I bought a fes­tive outfit—a win­ter white dress, black stilet­tos, and spe­cial lingerie.

Our evening began at the din­ner table and Patrick was in such a roman­tic mood that he started singing some old roman­tic tune that com­pletely embar­rassed me. The song was so old that I didn’t even remem­ber my par­ents know­ing it, and they were big music fans. Patrick had a won­der­ful bari­tone voice, but even when he was try­ing to be sub­dued, his voice car­ried. Peo­ple at sur­round­ing tables looked at us. I couldn’t tell if they were irri­tated or amused, but I asked him to please stop singing. It was cre­at­ing too much attention.

His singing isn’t really what both­ered me. My real issue was how him singing that par­tic­u­lar song pointed out the age dif­fer­ence between us, and it made me won­der if either one of us were really doing the right thing by being together. I wasn’t about to tell him that on New Year’s Eve, so I resolved to enjoy the evening and night together.

After a fab­u­lous din­ner of fresh lob­ster and veal chops, with a French wine from 1961 that nearly equaled my bi-weekly salary, we went to the dance floor. It was the first time we had danced together. Magic is all I can say about danc­ing with that man. He was so tal­ented and led me in a way that made me feel like I was a princess. He had such a way of mak­ing me feel spe­cial and danc­ing brought it out in a spe­cial way.

We went to our suite around two o’clock in the morn­ing and cham­pagne was wait­ing, along with red roses. I changed into an Yves Saint Lau­rent neg­ligee and we relaxed on a plush sofa fac­ing a huge win­dow over­look­ing Navy Pier and Lake Michi­gan. I no longer felt like the age dif­fer­ence mat­tered any­more. I was with a man who sensed my every need and plea­sure, and head­ing into the New Year with him felt very right as we talked about our next trip together, which was not Hawaii again, but Europe—Paris, to be exact. I had never been to Europe and I couldn’t imag­ine a bet­ter escort than Patrick, who spoke French and, in many ways, had the heart and man­ners of a Euro­pean man.

Sev­eral min­utes later, he excused him­self, went to the foyer, and returned with yet another gray suede box tied with a rib­bon. Again, it was from Bai­ley Banks & Biddle.

I knew what it was this time—and it wasn’t another plain gold band, like last time. I opened up the box to find a three-carat dia­mond engage­ment ring.