I used to tell myself: don’t catch feelings.
Like it was a rule.
Like if I repeated it enough, I could actually make my heart listen.
Sugar dating, to me, was supposed to be math.
Time plus attention equals money.
Simple, predictable, controlled.
I wasn’t looking for love — I was looking for stability.
Love was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Then I met him.
He wasn’t the richest or the flashiest, but he was patient.
The kind of man who texted “home safe?” after every meeting.
The kind who remembered I liked my coffee with too much cream.
He’d say, “You’re not like the others,” and I’d roll my eyes, pretending that line didn’t secretly make me feel special.
Our arrangement was easy.
He’d send the transfer like clockwork — never late, never awkward.
We didn’t talk about money; it was just part of the rhythm.
A quiet agreement between two people pretending not to care too much.
Then one week, he forgot.
No message. No transfer.
Just silence.
I told myself it didn’t matter.
That I’d remind him politely, that this was business.
But instead of texting, I just sat there — staring at my phone, angry in a way I couldn’t explain.
Because I wasn’t mad about the money.
I was mad that he’d forgotten me.
The next day, he called.
Said work had been crazy, apologized immediately.
He even doubled the amount, said, “I don’t ever want you to feel unappreciated.”
And I said, “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t.
Because I realized it wasn’t about appreciation — it was about attention.
About how easily I’d started measuring my worth by his consistency.
About how I’d turned the sound of a payment notification into a love language.
He said he cared about me. And maybe he did — in that distant, compartmentalized way men do when they’re too scared to name their own loneliness.
But that night, as I stared at the number in my account, it didn’t make me feel secure.
It just made me feel small.
We still see each other, sometimes.
It’s comfortable, predictable again.
But every now and then, when my phone pings, I catch myself holding my breath — not for the money, but for proof that I still matter.
I used to think sugar dating was about control.
Now I think it’s about illusions — the ones you sell, and the ones you start to buy yourself.
End line:
He forgot to send the transfer once. I forgot to stay detached forever.
Top Comments
[softrealitycheck]
“The sound of a payment notification as a love language.” Wow. That line hurts because it’s true.
[exsugarbabyhere]
This perfectly captures the emotional contradiction — we start for money, but it becomes about validation before we even notice.
[quietburnout]
You weren’t mad at the money, you were mad at being invisible for a moment. That’s such a painfully honest truth.
[lonelySDthrowaway]
As a sugar daddy, I’ve seen this from the other side. It’s never just money. Every payment says, “I see you.” When we forget — it’s not just a transaction that breaks.
[realisticromantic]
It’s wild how both sides pretend not to care, when the whole thing only works because we secretly do.
[bittersweetmorning]
“You turned the sound of a payment notification into a love language.” That’s one of the saddest, most human sentences I’ve ever read.
[skepticalandsoft]
You didn’t fail the rules — the rules were never made for real people.
