Welcome, lovelies! I'm planning for this to be a short series since I have a lot on my plate, and I want it to be more of a feel-good piece. Please leave any feedback/comments you think of! I hope you enjoy this story!
-Lamb
Chapter 1
Multiple glasses of wine have brought me to this point. The black and gold icon finally pops up on the screen of my phone, and I quickly press it. A cute welcome screen introduces the site, promising "ultimate satisfaction" and flashing a few photos of whatever models they paid to help promote their service. I'm prompted to create an account so I do, using a secondary email that tends to be inundated with promotions and other junk. Once it's verified, I'm allowed to the proceed to the next step. Profile creation.
Name: Myra Adler
Age: 34
Status: Divorced
Income: $700k+
Looking for:
My finger hovers over the keyboard. With another gulp of wine, I type "women" and scroll to the next section. Pictures. Not wanting to take a drunken selfie, I click over to my photo app, grimacing when I realize most of the pictures on my phone also feature my ex-husband. I pick a handful and carefully crop the bastard out of the ones he appears in.
From those, I choose the three that best show off my green eyes and fit body--my favorite features. The first is of me in a navy blue evening dress, my auburn hair cascading down my back in waves. Next up is a picture my best friend took of me at a café. I'm wearing my typical business attire and sitting in front of an untouched cup of coffee with a half-smile on my face.
The last is a bikini photo, of course. It was taken on the yacht. My yacht. I hadn't wanted it originally, but George convinced me that we needed a boat. I compromised by buying a small but nice one. And I got to keep it when he decided he liked his assistant more than me.
Tired of looking at myself, I finalize my profile, and I'm allowed to begin browsing sugar babies. I almost forget that I marked women as my preference until a photo of a blonde college girl appears on my screen. It's new to me. I'd never been with another woman. I've had a handful of boyfriends over the years and got married right after college, but obviously those relationships didn't work out. But it's not like this is a typical relationship. My buzz convinces me that the change of pace would be good for me. Try something new. Explore myself, or something like that.
I tap on the blonde and her photo flips, revealing her information. Heather, a 23-year-old senior in college studying computer engineering. George was a computer engineer. I quickly swipe away. I scroll through a handful of girls, but none of them catch my eye. Until Gracie.
In her main picture, she's smiling behind a bouquet of lavender, her brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Dark curls blow into her face. Her profile says she's a 22-year-old art student. One of her photos is of her at a pottery wheel, hands and apron covered in wet clay. In another photo she's wearing yellow pajamas and snuggling a white Scottish Fold. Her short bio identifies him as Mashed Potato. Tato for short. She's honest in her bio, detailing her fondness for expensive gifts and fancy dinners. But she's also eager to be a companion for someone like... well, me.
I take a breath--hold it--and tap the heart in the top right corner. Request sent. I set my phone on the coffee table. I'm not entirely sure of this process. I assume I wait until she either rejects me or accepts my request so we can start a conversation, but I don't feel like searching for someone else in the meantime. Truthfully, I'm nervous. I don't know if I could handle too much rejection right now. I should take my time. I shouldn't even be on this site. I should--
The screen lights up with a notification. Request accepted. I pick up my phone so fast I almost drop it. My first message is a simple hello with a considerate "how are you" tacked on. I can't seem too desperate. That's weird. And I don't risk a cheesy line. Slow and steady wins the race. She responds immediately, sparing my heart the ache of waiting.
We go back and forth for an hour. She asks me questions about my day, my job, my life--and I can't stop myself from telling her everything she wants to know. The attention is thrilling. In return, she tells me a bit about herself. But it's all a warm-up to the main question. What we're really here for.
Eventually, I muster up enough courage to ask her to dinner for a proper introduction, and she says yes. If I don't dive in now, I'm afraid that I'll chicken out, and I can imagine she's eager to be compensated for her time. So we agree to meet on Saturday night. My hands are shaking by the time I set down my phone. My heart pounds in my chest. What will people say? Do I care what they say? I've never been the type to care, but this isn't typical for me. They can call me bossy or bitchy, but how will this play out? Will Gracie like me?
Yet, despite my nerves, I smile.
The dim lighting of the hotel restaurant is soothing. Soft music comes over the speakers and fills the space with a calm energy. Most of the diners are couples, though there are a few business men in small groups and pairs. The little turquoise bag in my hand feels heavy, but it weighs no more than a small rock. If I'm going to do this sugar mom thing, I might as well lean into it. The hostess leads me to a table against the window. The restaurant--one of three in the hotel--is on the fourth floor and offers a beautiful view of the river. It glitters, reflecting the light of the lanterns strung over it.
I sit, placing the bag on the table in front of me, and gaze out the window. It's not completely dark out yet. A faint glow brushes over the lively city. My mind begins to wander, and I wonder if the restaurant will be easy for Gracie to find.
"Myra?" A soft voice brings me out of my thoughts. It's accompanied by an even softer hand setting itself on my shoulder.
I turn, and she's standing right in front of me. She looks even prettier than her pictures. Her hair is longer than I thought, falling to her waist in fluffy curls.
"Gracie," she introduces herself with a smile.
"Yes, of course. Please, sit." I stand and gesture to the seat across from me.
I watch as she gracefully steps over to the chair. Her baby pink cowl dress barely reaches halfway down her thighs. The velvet drapes over her form, showing off the curves beneath. When she bends to sit, her breasts push forward, threatening to slip out. Some men send glances over their shoulders at her, and I glare at them. She wears two gold bangles on each wrist. They clink against each other gently. I breathe an inward sigh of relief that the gift I brought her will match.
As soon as we're both settled in our chairs, the ever-ready waiter swoops in with the drinks list. I order their most expensive bottle of white wine just to make him go away faster. Finally, we're alone. Or as alone we can be in a room full of people.
"It's nice to finally meet you," I say.
She smiles and my stomach leaps, a sensation I haven't felt in years. She says, "It's nice to meet you too. This place is lovely."
"This is for you." I pass the turquoise bag to her, and her face lights up as she takes it.
She pulls out the box inside and opens it carefully. Inside is a delicate gold chain with a single diamond hanging from it. It's not big enough to be obnoxious, but the light shines off it beautifully. It's meant to be a hint, a taste of what she can expect going forward--if we move forward, of course.
"It's perfect," she breathes, holding the necklace up to admire the stone. "Thank you!"
