He told me on our first call that he “wasn’t like the other guys.”
You know the type — the ones who throw money around like a substitute for attention.
He said he wanted “something real, but with boundaries.”
I laughed. I told him I was a single mom, not a fantasy. He said, “Good. I’m tired of fantasies.”
We met on SugarDaddyMeet.
His profile picture was clean, almost boring — button-up shirt, half smile, gold ring still visible. I almost swiped past it. But his first message wasn’t about my looks or my rate. He asked what my son liked to eat for breakfast. That stupid question caught me off guard. Most men in that space don’t see you as a person — just a category. But he talked like someone who actually listened.
The first month was easy. We met twice a week, coffee first, hotel later. He was careful, gentle, always asking if I felt safe. He’d transfer my allowance before we met, and never mentioned it again. I thought, wow, this is how it’s supposed to be — transactional but respectful.
But emotions are sneaky. They don’t respect terms and conditions.
He started texting me more — not just when we planned to meet.
Good morning, how’s your son?
Did you eat?
You looked sad yesterday.
Then came the small shifts. The “don’t see anyone else” conversation. The jealous comments. The “I think about you even when I’m with her.”
I reminded him: “You said you’re married.”
He said, “Emotionally, I haven’t been for years.”
I told him, “You said you’d never fall for a sugar baby.”
He said, “I lied.”
And I wish I could say I didn’t fall too — but I did, quietly. It wasn’t about the money anymore. It was the way he noticed when I was tired. The way he’d watch me talk about my kid like it was holy. For a moment, I felt seen — not as someone’s arrangement, but someone’s choice.
The turning point came when I mentioned I might take another SD.
He froze, then said, “I thought we were past that.”
I told him, “You’re still married.”
He said, “You’re still on the site.”
It became a loop — two people trying to pretend feelings could fit inside a contract.
One night he sent me a long message:
“You make me feel alive, but I can’t destroy my life for this.”
I stared at that sentence until my phone dimmed. There’s something cruel about being someone’s escape — because when they leave, you’re still trapped in the world they got to forget.
It ended the way most stories like this do — no closure, just silence that grows heavy enough to break you. He deleted his profile. I went back to pretending this is just “a job.”
But sometimes, when I’m up late doing dishes after putting my kid to bed, I catch myself thinking about him — and I hate that I still feel anything at all.
I used to think sugar dating was about money. Then I learned it’s about boundaries.
And the hardest part isn’t crossing them — it’s realizing how easily they dissolve once someone makes you feel seen.
End line:
Maybe the most expensive part of any arrangement isn’t the allowance — it’s the emotion you can’t invoice.
Top Comments
[throwaway_heartache]
Damn. This hit harder than I expected. I’ve been in a similar situation — it starts transactional, but once emotions enter, it’s like quicksand. You think you’re in control until you’re not.
[honestlies88]
I think both of you lied to yourselves. You wanted stability, he wanted escape. And in the middle, you both called it “connection.” It’s sad, but also… very human.
[SD_in_denial]
As a married SD reading this — yeah, it happens. We tell ourselves we’re different because we pay “ethically.” But emotions don’t follow the money trail.
[softmorninglight]
You wrote this so beautifully. I’m not even in the sugar world but it captures that ache of wanting to be loved without permission.
[coldcoffee_24]
Not to be harsh, but if you’re looking for love, you’re on the wrong app. Sugar dating works until it doesn’t — the line between emotional and transactional is paper-thin.
[tinyrebellion]
The part about being someone’s escape… that broke me. I think a lot of people, sugar or not, have been that for someone.
[slowburntruth]
Maybe what hurts most isn’t losing him — it’s realizing he meant it when he said he wouldn’t fall. And then he did, and now you’re both just left with the wreckage.
