He said he just wanted a distraction.
I said I just needed to pay off my credit card.
It sounded honest enough to feel safe.
That’s how most lies start — as safety.
He was 40, clean-cut, too composed to belong on a sugar site. The kind of man who says he’s “done with drama,” but his eyes tell you he still misses the chaos.
I liked that he listened.
He liked that I didn’t.
We met at a hotel bar, and I remember thinking: this is what detachment should feel like — polite smiles, a glass of wine, and an envelope that makes everything clear. No strings, no confusion.
Except, confusion doesn’t ask for permission. It just arrives.
A few weeks in, he started texting more.
Not “When can I see you?” but “Did you eat?” or “How’s your day?”
Small, harmless things that don’t look like feelings until you realize you’re waiting for them.
I kept telling myself: He’s just being nice.
But kindness becomes dangerous when it starts to feel like care.
One night, I came straight from work. No makeup, hair a mess, wearing an oversized hoodie. I apologized. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before and said quietly,
“You look real tonight. I wish we’d met in another world — one where this wasn’t what it is.”
I laughed it off, but something shifted.
After that, every message felt heavier. Every goodbye felt like pretending we hadn’t already crossed the line.
He started calling me more — sometimes in the middle of meetings, whispering, “Just wanted to hear your voice.”
Then came jealousy.
“Who were you with last night?”
“I thought we said exclusivity.”
He forgot that exclusivity was never part of the deal.
When I reminded him, he said, “You make me forget the rules.”
And I think that’s when I started to lose myself too — not because I loved him, but because I wanted to believe someone could love me even in this kind of story.
Eventually, it got too much. I told him we should stop. He just nodded, said, “Yeah, maybe that’s best.”
Then he kissed my forehead and left.
No messages after. No closure. Just the echo of something that felt real, even if it wasn’t allowed to be.
It’s strange how easy it is to sell your time and still end up giving away your heart for free.
He said he wanted a distraction.
I said I wanted security.
Maybe we both just wanted to be seen — and neither of us could afford what that really costs.
End line:
Sometimes the line between comfort and connection isn’t crossed — it just quietly disappears.
Top Comments
[quietburnout]
This hit too hard. I had an SD like that — said he just wanted “simplicity.” Ended up being the most complicated thing I’ve ever done.
[throwaway_truths]
The “you look real tonight” line is something only a man deep in denial says. They always fall, just not enough to stay.
[softboundaries]
“Kindness becomes dangerous when it feels like care.” I felt that. That’s exactly how sugar relationships get blurry.
[exsugarbabyhere]
I cried at the part about selling your time but giving your heart away for free. That’s the tax no one talks about.
[honestbuttired]
Not to be harsh, but you both ignored the rules you made. That’s not love, that’s loneliness dressed up in chemistry.
[silver_mornings]
This is the most honest thing I’ve read on here in a while. It’s not romantic. It’s just real — and that’s why it hurts.
[hewasneverreallymine]
Sometimes they don’t fall for you. They just fall into you — and use you to climb back to their real life.
