“My name is Chelsea and I’m into sugar dating.”
I’m not hesitant about telling people that I date rich, older men. Actually I’m not too hesitant as if I’m doing something to feel ashamed of, but I’m hesitant enough to avoid those who strongly believe, and mean to persuade me as well, that I should in fact feel ashamed of myself.
I’m older than I look, but younger than I think. I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth, but who did anyway? I just found out rather early that life is a series of opportunities; good things didn’t come to good people. But good people could spot good things among a bunch of bad, mediocre, horrible things, and allow themselves to reach for them. So I did.
Life can be extremely easy for those few who are extremely beautiful or intelligent. I’m neither. I’m a common person. I’m pretty, but not striking; I’m clever, but not genius. I had to work hard to get into college, make my own money, build the body I like. And that’s just the way it is, everybody has to. They don’t really like to say it aloud, since it was never cool to refer to your struggles unless you are way past them and you know they’ll never come back. This is key. Don’t let the world know how much effort you’re putting into, that was the silent mantra. I was determined to make the most out of what I had, and so were many, many people, far more than you’d imagine.
Let me tell you a story about my prom. I had my hair and nails done, I had an amazing dress (red satin, deep plunge back) and my skin was crystal clear. Of course it started pouring outside just 45 minutes before I leave the house. My date hasn’t come yet but we had rented a limo alongside 6 more friends. I was looking for a slightly glamorous umbrella to match my outfit when my phone rang. Of course it was my date telling me they decided to let prom go and go to the movies, formal attire and everything. (He worn a black tailcoat. Tailored, not rented.) He spoke in a light manner, as if this was the most fun thing we could do, just a bunch of teenagers in suits and gowns eating candy while watching a prequel of a remake of a d-list horror flick. He thought of it as genuine fun, and he wanted me to be a part of it.
I was this close to say yes. But then I looked at my umbrella. It was big, and old, and black, so not chic. It was very old, I was the third owner; and very sturdy. I could skip prom; or I could take this black, chunky thing to keep me and my curls safe and go to prom, alone. I could go to prom, with a little risk, looking not perfect but still quite posh, or I could go to the movies with people who didn’t care enough to go to prom, because it was raining. I gave it a few minutes’ thought: what would be a better story? The “I skipped prom beacause it was raining and went to the movies in my amazing dress” or “I went to prom alone while it poured in my amazing dress”.
I went to prom. Alone. My hair was dope. I didn’t need a date; so didn’t many others, boys and girls. Guess what, half school went to the movies that evening. I had never enjoyed myself that much.
Bottomline is, I made a choice, and it worked, but I was fully aware of every reason why it couldn’t. It was the moment I realised I am the only one responsible for me and my happiness and my life choices. I wanted to go to prom, so I did. I wanted to go to college, so I did. I found a way to pay for my college bills, so I did. I want to go on dates with older, affluent men, so I do. One can find a million things to say against me; nothing I hadn’t heard before. My prom date wouldn’t speak to me for two weeks beacause I bailed out on him – oh, the irony.
When I told an intern mate I had a date with my sugar daddy afterwards, he looked astonished. Next thing I know, he asked me “how much” while trying to grope me. I told him to back off in my serious, Southern, mama-takes-no-shit accent and then I went to my date shaking. My sugar daddy then, Jake, asked me what’s wrong. I told him that a colleague treated me like a “cheap hooker” and then he asked me that one single thing.
“Do you feel like a cheap hooker?”
I had to think about it. So he smiled and said “Avoid those who make you feel this way. Even me if that’s the case.”
The choice was mine. It was mine all the way. It still is. When it stops being mine, I will stop being a sugar baby.
Untill then, I’m living my life taking full responsibility. And I’m loving it.