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But the question of I wanted to spend my life, personally and professionally, posed a daunting dilemma. For four years, I'd shared a platonic bed with my gay best friend.Lately, he was busy exploring the Boston nightlife scene and all Grindr had to offer. Half joking and half desperate, I Googled the phrase "Sugar Daddy" and stumbled upon Seeking Arrangement, unlocking a world of generous benefactors, willing to finance my aimless existence.After my depression and eating disorders, they were relieved I was functioning—grateful that I was even alive."We just want you to be happy," said my mother. "That's why I never left you alone with him when you were little," she said."He did things, when I was growing up—."As a small child, I'd learned that the closer I was with him, the more gifts he'd bring me: Cadbury eggs, Madame Alexander dolls, raspberry candies in little round tins.I loved the naughty thrill and instant high of dating-for-profit.Sifting through my messages, I scheduled a new potential suitor for each night that week: a lawyer on Tuesday, professor for Wednesday, neurosurgeon on Thursday.For the gentleman of means, a mutually beneficial arrangement provided no-strings-attached companionship, much like From the start, I was an unlikely candidate for the site: a quirky girl-next-door type with the face of a nun.

It was an incentive—a tangible, guaranteed reward in exchange for my consent. Tendril-haired with a praying mantis physique, I was not the standard beauty; but these men saw my youth as a novelty—a fantasy.

Thanks to my lucrative exploits, I was able to move to New York after graduation and pursue many ventures: I tried internships, enrolled in a film course, and performed off-Broadway. Three months later, back in New York, I was seeing no one. "I believed I'd acted deliberately, pragmatically, as a conscious adult.

In my spare time, I cultivated tomato plants, beat every level of Candy Crush, and taught Zumba to the elderly—sleeping with rich men who treated me like their paid princess was my secret second life. I was hopeful about returning to school, but without the Daddies I lacked direction. Becoming a Sugar Baby was not the path I'd envisioned for myself, but I viewed it as part of my journey to a life of stability—and human connection.

It was a life hack—a loophole in our society, one area in which young women could capitalize. I turned to therapy for insight."What would bring a nice, college-educated young woman to have sex for money? I feared something was wrong with me—I didn't have this desire for emotional connection.

At reunion events, friends from my all-girls' school listened intently as I regaled them with tales from the Sugar Bowl, as I called it, a welcome respite from their jobs working 9-5 in human resources. Aware I'd quit my day job, he was confused about the source of my mysterious cash flow. Having sex for money had become a way for me to participate in this realm of intimacy, because otherwise I wouldn't have wanted to have it at all.

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