The Ugly Truth About What Happens When Your Sugar Daddy Gets “Old”: Part 2

I stepped for­ward, forc­ing Der­rick to move a few steps back. I needed to make sure I was out of Josh’s view—at this point, I could not risk los­ing either of them. I ran my fin­gers through my old man’s hair, whis­pered sweet noth­ings in his ear, and gave him a kiss on the lips. His lips felt dry and life­less, not the lips that I once loved. The more I stared at him, the more wrin­kles and gray hair I noticed.  He was once attrac­tive to me, but lately, he just looked old.

Let me fin­ish study­ing tonight and tomor­row we can go to our sushi place,” I told him. “Sound like a plan?” He nod­ded and then turned and left. My heart sank and my eyes clouded with tears. I felt like I could no longer rec­og­nize myself.  I was caught between a lost love who gave me finan­cial sta­bil­ity, and a new man who could poten­tially offer me the kind of love I could never have with Derrick.

When I walked back into the house, I real­ized why Josh had been so demure—he had assumed that Der­rick was my father. When he heard the car speed off, Josh grabbed my waist and his hands slid down my sides and over my behind. His hands were soft and they reminded me of my first time with Der­rick. At one point in time, I really loved the old man, and I yearned for his touch. But now, every­thing had changed. Josh spent the night and we had pas­sion­ate sex. There was a con­nec­tion with him that I never had with Derrick.

After Josh left the next morn­ing, I went out­side to pick up the mail. I sat at the table and started to sort through it. I put all the bills in one stack for Der­rick, and my per­sonal mail in another. At the bot­tom of the pile I noticed a manila enve­lope. My heart began to race. It was sim­i­lar to the one Mrs. Fried­man, Derrick’s wife, had brought to my office the day she con­fronted me with pic­tures of me and Derrick.

When I opened the enve­lope, my heart felt like it stopped. There, in my hands, was a pic­ture of Josh and me in the liv­ing room kiss­ing. My hand was on his upper thigh and his hand was pulling my hair back. My eyes were closed and I was bit­ing his lip—you could see the pas­sion of what was going on in the picture.

I ripped open the manila enve­lope, but there were no other pic­tures, just the one. When I went to set it down, I missed the table and it fell to the floor, land­ing face down. On the back of the pic­ture was a hand­writ­ten note that read, “You are f***ing the wrong man. Star­bucks at 3 p.m. tomorrow.”

  • Kevin Her­man

    These are non­sense sto­ries. No older alpha male would allow some strum­pet to string them along. Der­rick would just dump her and pick up a new chickie in the real world.

    • phillip­ski­fi­ca­tion .

      Then site dis­claimer state that the sto­ries aren’t nec­es­sar­ily true…