Tuesday, April 15, 2003
( 8:34 AM ) Rebecca
Ahh, yes. I had forgotten what it was like to have a sugar daddy.
Once upon a time, I had me one of those. His name was Loser and he made lots of money at a gigantic software company in Seattle. He was very generous with his money too.
Let me take you out to a hundred-dollar dinner, darling. Oh, do you want that dress? Let me buy it for you! Let’s go stay somewhere nice, shall we? Three hundred dollars a night? Doesn’t matter. My treat. Sure, of course you can leave your old dented Honda behind and borrow the Audi!”
I didn’t love Loser for his money, but it sure was a nice perk. I had never been with anyone who had that kind of dough to throw around, and it just made life so much more comfortable. Heated car seats, plush hotel rooms, nice dinners, new clothes.
This weekend, I had one of those again. Ex-Microsoft. Millionaire. Altruistic millionaire who runs his own non-profit, but can still afford two condos in Whistler, a house in Seattle, and two nice cars (one, naturally, an SUV).
I met Mr. Millionaire Boy (MMB) for one date (personals) and then he invited me to his condo in Whistler.
I debate. I don’t know this boy. He is a role model for us all, no doubt, but I don’t know if I’m attracted to him. Would I be using him if I said yes? What if we didn’t get along? Would he expect me to put out?
I debate some more. Hmm. Condo in Whistler versus stay at home and work on book that will never be sold. Skiing at one of the top resorts in the world versus jogging in the rain.
Mope about Pierced Political Boy or whoosh down the slopes surrounded by glaciers. Hang out with Cute Train Boy, who will probably never pan out, or skip work and hop on a bus for lands unknown.
I went. I skied. I fell. I put out (a little). Oh, I felt a bit sleazy about that part. I could have stopped the chicanery, but I didn’t. It felt nice to have someone touch me, after all.
“Here, let me give you a massage,” he said.
I could have stopped it right then, but I didn’t. I wasn’t 100% attracted, but I was nonetheless seduced. By the warm touch and the nice condo --100 yards from the lifts, with the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on – the luxury of it all.
Plus, MMB was sweet and solicitous and generous. When I lay sprawled on my stomach, face in the snow, arms straight in front of me, after an ill-fated attempt down an ungroomed black diamond run, MMB – who never let himself get too far ahead -- marched back up the steep slope to help me up, without even laughing at me.
My skiing friends, of course, want me to marry him. They’ve never met him, but that doesn’t matter. “Think of us,” they say! “And the condos in Whistler!”
It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To have a sugar daddy again? If only I was really attracted to this guy. Instead of to Cute Train Boy, who drives a 1970 VW bug, lives in a crappy house with a roommate, and who sometimes doesn’t have enough money to go out.
Well, at least I had one for the weekend. The kisses with which I paid, well, they were a small price. A price, yes. And maybe I shouldn’t have paid. But was it worth it? Hell, yes.
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