I joined the site because I needed money.
Simple as that.
Rent was late, daycare was expensive, and I was tired of choosing between groceries and gas.
Sugar dating seemed… manageable. Honest, even.
At least everyone knew what they were getting.
He messaged me first — 43, successful, recently divorced, the usual story.
His bio said, “Looking for something mutually beneficial, emotionally mature.”
He spoke softly, never pushed. Said he respected boundaries, said he liked my “independence.”
It sounded safe. I needed safe.
The first few months were fine — dinners, gifts, the allowance on time.
He’d tell me about his work, his loneliness, his ex-wife who “took the best years of his life.”
I listened, laughed when I needed to, played the part.
It felt like a job that came with nice shoes and good wine.
Then one night, after a dinner that ran too long, he leaned in close and said,
“You belong to me now.”
He said it with a smile — soft, casual, almost like a joke.
But the air in the room shifted.
I froze.
I laughed it off, said, “I don’t belong to anyone.”
He didn’t laugh.
He just said, “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”
Something inside me went still.
After that, everything changed.
He wanted to know where I was, who I was with, what I was wearing.
He’d text, “Send me a picture so I know you’re okay,”
but it didn’t feel like care — it felt like surveillance.
When I didn’t reply fast enough, he’d say, “You’re forgetting who takes care of you.”
Once, when I mentioned meeting another SD, he went silent for a full day before sending:
“If you do that, we’re done. And you’ll regret it.”
I didn’t realize it then, but that’s when the arrangement stopped being about money.
It became a form of debt — one I didn’t sign up for, but somehow owed anyway.
The last time we met, I told him I was ending it.
He didn’t get angry, just quiet.
He said, “I gave you everything. You’re making a mistake.”
I said, “Maybe. But at least it’ll be my mistake.”
I walked out before he could say anything else.
He didn’t follow. He didn’t call.
Just sent one final message:
“You’ll come back. They always do.”
I never did. But for months, I kept checking my phone, waiting for him to reach out — not because I missed him, but because part of me wanted permission to stop feeling afraid.
End line:
Sugar dating isn’t always about money. Sometimes, it’s about who gets to feel in control — and who forgets that control was never part of the deal.
Top Comments
[quietburnout]
“You belong to me now.” That sentence gives me chills because it’s so common. They say it like it’s affection, but it’s really ownership.
[exsugarbabyhere]
Yes. It always starts with “I want to take care of you” and ends with “you owe me.” Emotional debt disguised as generosity.
[throwawaytruths]
People think sugar dating is easy money. They don’t see the invisible price — your autonomy, your boundaries, your peace.
[lonelySDthrowaway]
As someone who’s been on the other side… yeah, I recognize that possessiveness. It’s not love. It’s fear of being replaceable.
[realisticromantic]
The line about “it stopped being about money and became a form of debt” is painfully accurate.
[skepticalandsoft]
This is why “mutual benefit” needs clearer boundaries. Too many men think paying means owning.
[softrebellion]
You didn’t owe him anything for what he gave you. He paid for your time — not your identity. Remember that.
