I know at least a good handful of people, both men and women, who would love to be taken care of by a sugar daddy. Prior to falling in love with my fiancé, I would have considered myself open to the idea. It gets tiring busting your ass all day, being undervalued by some corporate entity that sees you as an expendable resource. The American Dream is dead for most of us, but there’s still hope in becoming a spoiled housewife. And although I never advertised myself as looking for a rich man’s attention, I would be confronted with it nonetheless.
I was messaged on Grindr by a small blond man whose age was indistinguishable due to his youthful attire and “alternative” hair style. But I knew he was older than he would ever care to admit. When I showed my best friend his profile picture, he commented that he looked like an anime character. He wasn’t wrong. Avery looked like he just popped out of an episode of “Naruto”.
Our small talk didn’t last too painfully long before we decided to set up a date for brunch. If you don’t already know, gays love brunch. I mean, everyone probably loves brunch, but we really own it. He picked a place I had never been to, and we agreed to meet outside the restaurant the very next day. He was sure to tell me the exact car he would be pulling up in, which ended up being the most expensive Mercedes I’ve ever seen. He zipped past me through the parking lot. I wondered if he was one of those people who lives in some shithole apartment, but makes a concerted effort to afford a sports car.
Avery walked toward me with a practiced swag, his long pointed hair blowing gently in the wind. The sunglasses he was wearing were probably worth more than my entire closet at home. It seemed to take forever for him to finally reach me, but his stride was awfully small.
He greeted me with a smile revealing veneers and the nasally voice of a lifelong smoker – like Macy Gray with a head cold. I wasn’t super thrilled by it, but there we were.
The place was busy, so we were only able to get seating up at the bar. It was a nice distraction though, seeing chefs scramble to put together breakfast pizzas and the like.
We each ordered our own carafe of mimosas, because that’s really what brunch is for – an excuse to drink alcohol before noon. The menu was too expensive, in my opinion, so I ordered the cheapest thing I could find. Avery did just the opposite.
Our conversation turned to work and what we both did for a living. I gave the briefest of histories on my past and current experience in hotel management including my stint in Vegas. His eyes lit up when I mentioned that – The City of Sin.
Avery told me all about his many travels around the country, including Vegas. He only spent a few nights of the week in Austin; the rest were spent in Starwood hotels. He specifically frequented the hotel I used to work for, and it was quite possible we’d been there together at the same time on many occasions. Small world.
He worked for a company that had something to do with saving other companies money on health insurance. I didn’t really care to wrap my head around it beyond that. The car wasn’t just for show, this man made a ton of money.
I hated talking about hotels, but the conversation was careening down that path despite my attempts to derail it. We finally wrapped things up, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was cute in a way, although not my usual type, and walked a fine line between charm and ego. I was pleased he picked up the tab, whether it was out of chivalry or showmanship.
Avery walked me to my car, and we stalled for a bit. There’s just no way to get around the anxiety that builds up to a first kiss. I am typically the one to just pull the trigger to get it over with – such was the case here. His lips and tongue were strangely soft, but he was a good kisser. I felt like a giant next to him.
We parted ways without making any definite future plans, being that his travel schedule was so busy. But it was only later that week I received a text from him asking if I would like to come over and watch a movie. Now this was before the phrase “Netflix and chill” came about, but I figured he was initiating a booty call. In the gay world, that qualifies as a second date anyway.
To my surprise, he mentioned that we would not be having sex in his following message after I agreed to come over. I liked that he was so straight forward and hopefully looking for something more than a hookup. I needed to spend more time with him to really know if he was the right guy for me, though.
Avery didn’t live too far from me, but his neighborhood wasn’t in the ghetto like mine. In fact the houses I was passing by were modern residential marvels. I traversed a maze of roads, losing track of my turns, before finding this man’s house. And what a house it was.
He was waiting for me in the entryway to the garage, perhaps just to casually remind me again of his superior vehicle as we passed by. I followed him inside and had to hold back my awe and wonder as my eyes fell upon the most luxurious home I could imagine.
“Do you like it?” he asked, already knowing damn well that only a jaded fool would be unimpressed.
“Yes, it’s amazing,” I said, thinking of my own miserable little place – embarrassing. His kitchen was larger than my entire apartment.
“Does the theme look familiar?” It did, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “It’s just like the Westin! You should see the bedroom upstairs.”
“I’m sure I will,” I said nonchalantly. This man stayed in Westin hotels so often, he turned his own house into a haunting doppelganger.
Avery directed me to the living room boasting an impossibly large couch and a television that could serve as a wall. I could see dollar signs everywhere I looked. We sat down and agreed to watch an episode of “Nashville”, one of my favorite shows, and his. (don’t judge). Before he settled in, Avery walked back into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I saw him reach into a satchel on the island and somewhat discreetly pull something out. He tilted his head back and threw what I assumed were pills into his mouth before swallowing them down.
I immediately jumped to conclusions. He clearly had a lot of expendable income, it would make sense that he could afford a drug addiction. Or was I just being paranoid? It could have been anything, I assured myself. This was just PTSD from a previous addict I once loved.
He came back to the couch and positioned himself as the small spoon. Being so petite, Avery fit into my body like a puzzle piece. It was relaxing at first, until I noticed something odd as I ran my fingers through his hair. He was sweating profusely.
“Are you okay?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, yeah, I just run hot,” he replied, lying through his teeth. He turned his head to kiss me, and we made out for what seemed like forever. I didn’t like the idea of him being under the influence of a drug, but I caved to temptation. I wanted attention. “You’re not having sex with me tonight,” he said, this time slurring his words together.
“I know, you mentioned that earlier…” I said, wondering what he was really after. He pressed his lips hard against mine looking straight into my eyes.
“Uh oh,” he said almost whimsically.
“What?” I asked hesitantly.
“I think I’m falling. I shouldn’t, but, I’m falling.” He rested his head against my chest. “Your heart is beating so fast…”
“I think you should go to bed, Avery.” It was his own heartbeat that was elevated.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I had no intention of spending the night, but I wanted to make sure I got him to his bed safely. I was hardly able to understand him, and even walking became an issue.
I followed him up the stairs, ready for him to fall backwards at any moment sending us both cascading downward. By some miracle, we advanced into his sprawling bedroom. He stripped down to his underwear and asked me to lay down with him. I weighed my options and decided to stay, despite my gut feeling not to. I have extraordinary intuition and a bad habit of going against it. I removed my clothes and climbed into bed. Using a remote, he turned on extremely loud trance music. I was deafened and lost in a moment of surrealism. What was this?
He rolled toward me to put his hands on my body and struggled to climb on top of me. Clearly he was horny, and his initial notion of us not having sex seemed to have flown out the window.
“You’re not gonna fuck me,” he said. I stared at him silently, though he was obviously waiting for some kind of response. He continued to grind and gyrate against my skin. At some point, he managed to get his underwear off. And then mine. He reached back to grope my balls.
A terrible thought popped into my head: “Thou doth protest too much.”
Was he expecting me to just take and ravage him to fulfill a rape fantasy he’s been after? Or is he just fucked up and trying to push me to some kind of limit? It sure seemed like he wanted to be tossed around, but I knew I couldn’t take that chance. Especially with him being under the influence of some drug that seemed to be affecting him more and more – perhaps his judgment the most.
Before I was able to say anything he rolled off of me and passed out almost immediately. The speakers were still blaring, and yet I could hear bear-like snores erupting out of him. For being so tiny, it was astounding. Is this what Avery wanted? To knock himself out so I could take advantage of him? My mind was racing, unsure of how to get myself out of this situation, this mess.
THUMP – he fell out of the bed onto the floor.
I jumped up expecting to see an awakened, disoriented imp staring up at me. But no, he was knocked out cold. I needed to get out of there. Looking through the darkness, I scanned the room for my clothes. “Where are they?” I said aloud. And then I realized exactly where they were – underneath Avery’s body. Shit.
I knelt down and gently pushed on what felt like a sweaty corpse to gain access to my clothing, not wanting to wake him up. Was it even possible to rouse him in this state? It was. As he began to stir, I grabbed the articles and hastily dressed myself. Avery climbed back up onto the bed like a sloth, looking at me, or perhaps through me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding quietly perplexed.
“I’m sorry, I need to leave. Are you okay? Do you want a glass of water?”
“What? You’re leaving?” he shouted over the blaring beat of some EDM track.
“Yeah, I can’t sleep, I need to go.” My tone was dull and flat.
“No, no, don’t leave me. I’m going to be alone forever!” he pleaded. This was getting worse by the second. I didn’t know what to say, because I suspected he might be right.
“Don’t leave…don’t go…” he slowly trailed off into tearful silence for a moment. “I’m falling for you…I can take care of you…”Avery made more money than I could ever dream of, and this was a pathetic last attempt to keep me from leaving. The broken crutch of a desperate wannabe sugar daddy with a drug addiction.
An older version of myself might have stayed. But I was done being a fool. I was done making sacrifices for people who didn’t deserve it. And I was done with people who had no real sense of what they wanted or needed. It pained me to see him so upset, though I wondered if he would even have memories of this exchange the next day. He wasn’t falling for me, not truly. And I certainly wasn’t falling for him.
“I deserve better than this,” I said more to myself than to him as I exited the room and made my way to the stairs. “And so do you.”