The Surprise Escorts My Sugar Daddy Brought Along For Our Secret Weekend Getaway: Part 1

The day started out as planned; I packed my stuff and headed to the air­port for another travel date with my secret sugar daddy, the Greek God. After down­ing a glass or two of wine at the air­port bar, I boarded the plane, only to order a few more glasses and strike up a con­ver­sa­tion with the hand­some gen­tle­man sit­ting next to me. By the time we landed, I had clearly had too much.

I couldn’t believe that I had got­ten drunk on a plane with a com­plete stranger. This was so unlike me. The Greek God was per­son­ally pick­ing me up for the air­port, so I had to get my act together. The hand­some stranger must have real­ized that I had indulged in too much wine on the flight and helped me with my carry-on. I stum­bled through the breeze­way toward the ter­mi­nal. When we arrived inside, the stranger handed me my lug­gage and wished me luck. Look­ing back on this moment, I won­dered what he must have thought of me.

I finally man­aged to get to the ladies’ room. I pulled out my phone and reviewed my instruc­tions from the Greek God’s sec­re­tary. I still couldn’t believe he was meet­ing me per­son­ally; he usu­ally just sent a dri­ver. His sec­re­tary had sent me what was pretty much an itin­er­ary; it included times, dates, required cloth­ing, and a bunch of other details. Trav­el­ing with my first sugar daddy, the Stet­son man, who also hap­pened to be my cur­rent boyfriend, was so dif­fer­ent. Prior to each trip, we would dis­cuss and plan out our free time together accord­ing to each city and what it had to offer.

Imme­di­ately, I decided to change my high-heeled boots. I would tower over the Greek God, and most men don’t like to look up to a woman. Being drunk in an air­port restroom isn’t the best way to dig through your bags for another pair of shoes. But some­times you have to do what you have to do. Then, I quickly decided I should have some food and cof­fee before see­ing the Greek God at the bag­gage claim.

By the time I downed the food and cof­fee and rushed back to the bath­room to brush my teeth, my bags were the only ones spin­ning around on the carousel. The Greek God beat me to my Louis Vuit­ton lug­gage. He reached down, picked up the bags, and with a hint of irri­ta­tion said, “I thought maybe you were stand­ing me up.” I couldn’t think of any­thing to say. It would have come out in a slur any­way. Instead, I just smiled. A black stretch lim­ou­sine was wait­ing just out­side the ter­mi­nal. My bags were loaded and I man­aged to get in with­out falling over myself. I took my seat, looked up, and was stunned to see sev­eral men on the oppo­site side of the limo, all star­ing at me.

This was unique. The Stet­son man would never share me at the start of any of our pre­vi­ous trips. I smiled and thought, “What have I got­ten myself into?” I was at a loss for words, so I just stared back wide-eyed and waited for some­one to say something…