I Love My Job But I Make More Money From My Sugar Daddy

You wouldn’t be reading this unless David*, my sugar daddy, was putting £2,000 directly into my bank account every month. I’m 32 and I’ve been in a financial arrangement with David, a divorced, 52-year-old American CEO, for three years. 

I met him on Seeking, the infamous sugar daddy website where young women needing financial assistance look for older, richer men who are willing to help. Officially, there is no exchange for sexual services permitted on Seeking but I won’t mince my words: It’s an escort site. Sex and money are at the forefront of every member’s interactions. 

Before meeting David, I’d had good and bad experiences with men I met on the site. One man took me to a Wetherspoons for a drink and offered me £200 for sex. I declined. Another gave me £16,000 cash at Reading services to rent my own flat for six months because he “wanted to help” and expected nothing in return. I accepted. Both are scenarios I’m still puzzled by. But when David and I started chatting, it felt more akin to normal dating. After a week of back-and-forth messaging, we met for the first time in one of London’s stylish restaurants. My train was delayed, leaving him waiting for 30 minutes past our agreed meeting time. I panicked, hating to be late, but he reassured me that he’d wait and insisted I didn’t rush. I finally turned up and what followed was just a really great date. We spoke at length on various topics and shared details of our personal lives over cocktails, wine and three courses. There was an instant connection and I think he knew it too. Conversation flowed despite our differing political viewpoints. Sex and money were put on the back burner. I could see how and why he was successful. He was charming, gentlemanly and intelligent. His net worth was also well into seven figures. 

Our arrangement started in December 2021 and progressed slowly. We scheduled dates across Mayfair and with each meet we became increasingly close, physically and mentally. Cuddling up in dark, quiet corners of upmarket cocktail bars, we’d talk softly, gently hold hands and passionately kiss between conversations. I’d rub my lower leg on his shins underneath the table and act suggestively but we always made sure to show decency in public though the sexual tension was clear. When I kissed him, I could smell his aftershave — fresh and subtle. I loved that he always made an effort. He dressed smartly, looking every bit the CEO. He’d compliment me freely, flirting with me and telling me how great I looked but teasing me about yet another all-black outfit choice. Far from arrogant and rude, he treated waiting staff exceptionally well, leaving generous tips as he surreptitiously paid the bill (he is American, after all). Each time we called it a night, he’d ask me if I needed any help, subtly slipping £200 or £500 into my hand before finding a black cab to take me home. He was in and out of London, travelling with work and back to his main home in the States, so we didn’t sleep together for over a year after our first meeting. To this day, we’ve only slept together that one time. Our schedules are tricky to align.

After three years of messaging most days and financial help when needed, I asked David for more money. I was made redundant from my permanent writing role, London was getting expensive, my rent had gone up 25% and I was worried. I was embarrassed at first — it felt awkward and uncouth — but I was surprised by how unfazed he was. Here is a man who doesn’t worry about money, is generous with his own and understanding of my situation. He’s older than me and knows the difficulties of being young and broke but has never made me feel lesser because of it. From then on, he started depositing £500 directly into my account every Thursday. At one moment, during the London leg of Taylor Swift’s tour, I told him that I’d missed out on tickets but last-minute seats were available for an extortionate amount of money. Before I knew it, £1,000 was in my account and I was walking into Wembley Stadium. 

I am writing this anonymously so that I can be an open book, which means it’s true when I say that all he asks for in return are nude photos of me (which I am more than happy to provide), honesty and regular communication. I’m still perplexed by this so I asked him: “Why do you help me?” This is what he had to say: “Because I actually care about you! And there is a thrill and a mystery to us. Plus, there’s the fact I find you to be intelligent, sexy, funny and a challenge.” 

This relationship is obviously transactional but not like-for-like. David doesn’t demand pictures and I don’t demand payment. We stay in regular contact and conversation is fluid. I know what he wants and he knows what I want; an understanding and trust has formed over the years, which means we don’t need to speak constantly about the nature of the arrangement. I’m always quick to address friends’ concerns that I might feel pressure to do something I don’t want to do but David has always made it clear that under no circumstances am I to do anything I’m uncomfortable with. 

This relationship isn’t one-sided. I care a lot about him. He’s inspiring, thoughtful, kind and funny, and helps me look at life in a different way. He’s unwaveringly generous with his emotional support and money and in no way controlling. I am free to do as I please and go to him for advice, help or comfort when needed. I like to think I’m respectful of his time and money. I have managed to save a lot thanks to him and I never waste cash on frivolous material possessions (minus one designer handbag I couldn’t resist). I pay my rent and bills on time, I buy food and I’m able to visit my family thanks to him. I could easily splash the cash on more designer bags, shoes, clothes, extravagant evenings out and Ubers but I’m mature enough to realise how fortunate I am to be in this position. Am I also cheekily trying to persuade him to buy me a flat of my own? Yes, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. 

The crux of this arrangement is that I’m at an age where I have limited time to settle down and have children. I can’t afford to keep myself as a freelance journalist and I want to stay living in London. I could also be approaching a time where I’m no longer desirable to David. It might sound problematic but will he want to help me when I’m nearing 40? This crossroads in my life is slowly approaching. I know I need to get real, stop living in fantasy land and off someone else's money but it's complicated. I love this arrangement, I love money, I love my relationship with David and I don’t want it to end — but it’s unrealistic to expect it to go on forever.

Whether I can see myself ending up with David is something I occasionally think about but in all honesty, I think we both know it wouldn’t work. He’s a grandfather and I’d eventually want children. He’s American and his primary residence is across the pond. We have a 20-year age gap. Logistically, it doesn’t add up. 

A handful of friends are aware of my arrangement but I keep my family in the dark. I hide this very big part of my life because of the overwhelming disapproval and judgement I know I’d receive. Of course, I am an adult and I’m aware of the perceived and very real exploitation of young women and how this is an incredibly important and contentious issue. Men are commonly seen to be taking advantage of struggling women in these kinds of relationships but my counter argument is that if it’s between two consenting adults who are happy to have this style of relationship and are communicating their needs effectively, does it hurt anyone? Is it as wrong as it’s sometimes made out to be? It goes without saying that I morally oppose any relationship of this kind where this isn’t the case. 

I am working hard to become financially independent as a journalist. I’m applying for full-time jobs and regularly pitching ideas to editors but if the time comes where I can’t make ends meet within this career choice or David decides to end the arrangement, I am willing to consider alternative employment and living circumstances. And while I’m not actively dating in the traditional sense, I would also consider ending the arrangement if the right man came along. In the three years I’ve known David, a handful of men my own age have asked me out — all on mediocre, unappealing dates. One asked me to come to his house to watch Netflix on the first date because he “couldn’t be bothered to take me for dinner”. One expected me to travel to a pub over an hour’s train ride away (and a five-minute walk from his flat) and one ghosted me after arranging drinks. I’m not against dating men my own age but, in my experience, older men tend to be far more gentlemanly and considerate, often meeting me halfway between our homes or insisting on dinner dates and getting me an Uber home so I’m safe. The chivalry is unmatched and while it might make me sound like a princess, I can’t help but find it incredibly attractive. 

I sought David’s permission to write this feature and while he wasn’t keen on the idea, I felt it was worthwhile to provide another viewpoint on sugar daddy relationships. Not all are problematic nor (forgive me) tit for tat; they can be respectful, honest and mutually beneficial.