When we started, it was supposed to be simple.
No love. No jealousy. No “where are you?” texts.
Just an arrangement — clean, defined, adult.
He said he wanted something honest. I said I wanted something easy.
We both lied a little.
At first, he was everything a sugar daddy is supposed to be — polite, punctual, detached.
He’d send the allowance on time, compliment my perfume, ask about my week.
It was transactional, but not cold.
Like two people pretending the line between warmth and business didn’t exist.
Then one day, he asked, “Why do you always wear black?”
I shrugged. “Because it’s easy.”
He smiled and said, “You’d look better in blue.”
The next week, he brought a blue dress.
After that, it was little things —
“Don’t meet him, he’s not good for you.”
“Text me when you get home.”
“Who’s that guy on your story?”
At first, it was flattering — that hint of possessiveness, that proof he cared.
But it didn’t take long before it stopped feeling romantic and started feeling like surveillance.
I told him, half-joking, “You know you can’t buy exclusivity, right?”
He laughed, but his eyes didn’t.
He said, “I’m not trying to buy it. I just don’t want to share you.”
And that’s when I realized we’d crossed into something neither of us had agreed to.
Still, I didn’t stop seeing him.
Because deep down, I’d started to think about him too —
About the way his hand lingered on my back when he said goodbye,
About the way he looked at me like I was the calm after his chaos.
It’s funny, how you can set boundaries and still end up drowning behind them.
I told myself I was in control, that I could walk away anytime.
But when he said, “I miss you,” I didn’t think of the money.
I just thought of the sound of his voice.
It ended quietly, as these things usually do.
He found someone new, younger maybe.
No big fight, no closure. Just a slow fading of messages until my phone stopped lighting up at night.
I caught myself still wearing that blue dress a few weeks later.
I stood in front of the mirror and laughed —
because somewhere between pretending and protecting myself, I had accidentally fallen.
End line:
You can promise not to talk about feelings, but silence doesn’t stop them from growing.
Top Comments
[softboundaries]
“You can’t buy exclusivity.” That line hit hard — because they always try to, one way or another.
[throwawayheartache]
It’s wild how possessiveness can feel like affection when you’re starving for attention.
[exsugarbabyhere]
I’ve been there. It starts with “text me when you’re home” and ends with “who else are you seeing?” It’s emotional rent control.
[honestbuttired]
You said it perfectly — silence doesn’t stop feelings. It just hides them until it’s too late.
[lonelySDthrowaway]
As a sugar daddy, I admit it’s hard to keep boundaries. You start thinking the arrangement gives you emotional rights. It doesn’t.
[realismisromance]
The blue dress detail made this story. It’s so small but says everything — how control can look like care until it doesn’t.
[tinyrebellion]
“You can set boundaries and still end up drowning behind them.” That line… that’s the whole sugar dynamic in one sentence.
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