Dear Sugar Daddies,
I am a simple woman. I have just two simple needs — 1) a thriving bank account, and 2) attention, lavished upon me generously, distracting me from my own crippling insecurities. Too real?
Sugar daddies and mommies (I don’t discriminate!) I thought you could handle those simple requests. After all, getting your hands on this hot piece of ass should be more than enough to satisfy your —
Wait. Am I a good feminist if I objectify myself? Is it empowering if I refer to myself as a hot piece of smokin’ ass, or am I setting back the entire movement? Maybe I can glorify sex work and my own body if I ALSO describe my non-physical accomplishments, therefore rounding out my character as a whole.
I am intelligent. I am brave. I am a goal-oriented woman. And I… hey. I also have a great ass.
There. Maybe now Gloria Steinem, Michelle Obama, and Beyoncé can be proud of me. I will no longer be canceled by the hellstorm that is twitter.
But back to the sex stuff.
Every two weeks or so, I get a message from a random online stranger. And every time, my hopes and dreams seem as though they are about to be fulfilled! This is my glass slipper moment! Lord, I see what you have done for others —
“Hey baby, do you want $2000! All you need to do is send me your feet pics! Or fuck your brother! I will provide for you, sugar baby. I will take care of you, sugar baby. “
And every time, I fall for it!
See, my issue isn’t with the demands that these lavish Sugar Providers dangle in front of me. At this point, this broke college student would probably fuck a home depot plank in exchange for attention or money. Both at the same time? Even better.
But the problem, dear reader, is that the strangers claiming to be my savior, my hope, my salvation, my sexy daddy? They toy with my libido and my bank account, only trying to entrap me in a sad scam.
And sometimes, it’s WORTH IT. Learning from the master. There’s an air of mystery and adventure about these successful con artists I can only envy with awe from afar.
But there is no air of mystery with these bozos! With even a minimal amount of effort, my fake sugar mamas and papas could successfully max my credit cards, get me to invest in the next bitcoin, and convince me to fly to Jamaica just for the hell of it, waiting for a Daddy that will never come.
But there’s no air of mystery. These false impersonators are just a shadow of a true con master. They bluntly state they want an “initial investment of $100” to “stop the hold on my Venmo account so they can send me $20,000.”
I try to convince them to stay. I beg them to fulfill my idyllic dream! Come back! Don’t you want my feet pics!
They leave me on read.
These petty thieves could have had me as their slave. One day, I will convince a scammer my hot bod is worth it to stay.
Until then, I will wait.
I will keep waiting for my one, true Sugar Mama or Daddy to rescue me like the perverted Disney princess I am, whisking me off into a sex dungeon instead of a magical sunset.
One day, the Nigerian prince of my dreams will exchange the gold he invested for the chance to see the sweet curve of my toes.
Until then, I’ll redownload tinder.