Suddenly, with notifications dinging crazily in the background and a person I didn’t recognize staring back at me, it became painfully clear what I had to do next.
I wassodone with this life.
I told Rowdy last night that I was retiring from the sugar baby gig. Easy words to say, and even easier words to go back on. There was an entire way of life I’d built up for myself, but it depended entirely on the generosity of men. I’d been smart with my cash, I had plenty set aside for a rainy day, and I had it on the brain today to meet with the jeweler and a car dealership to see what kind of cash I could get for the choker and the Porsche.
Rich didn’t even know about my real account. I could delete this account and he’d never be able to contact me again.
I went back to the messages and took screen caps of everything. Rich had sent a few more choice words.
BigAndRich72: SO, WHAT? WORK CALLED ME AWAY AND NOW YOU WON’T TALK TO ME?
BigAndRich72: WE’RE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE?
I set my thumbs to typing.
Me: I appreciate the gifts and my time with you. But you were my last sugar daddy. I’m closing down this account and hanging up my hooker heels for good.
Me: Tell your buddy I’m sorry he couldn’t fuck me while I waited for you.
I then went to the settings menu, found my account information, and scrolled all the way to the bottom. I stared for a long moment at the delete link in red lettering. More notifications came through, but before I could overthink it, I tapped the screen. The app helpfully asked if I was sure, and I tapped the screen again.
I then set my phone down and went to the bathroom and took care of business as a quiet sort of numbness blanketed me. When I was getting bullied at home and school for my undeniable queerness, I could have never even dreamed of living a life like this.
Maybe that’s why I’d kept clinging on to it even though I was already in my thirties. I was well past wanting to be at the beck and call of rich men who had never given a shit about me, save for what my mouth and ass could do for them. Save for how good I looked on their arms.
It was time to boot that kind of man out of my life. I looked out at the unknown path ahead of me, and my stomach lurched. Right as I wondered if I would be sick, another notification went off on my phone.
“Seriously?” I muttered. “Did he already find my real account?”
I picked up the phone and smiled at the text that’d come in.
Rowdy: Just because you’re heartbroken and your life has gone to shit doesn’t mean you can blow us off this Saturday.
I tapped my lips, trying to remember what Saturday was.
Shit. Wasn’t Ijustsaying I had a birthday party to go to?
Me: I would never blow off Stevie’s big day. I’ll be there with bells on.
Me: I do have one request.
Rowdy: Hit me.
Me: Can we not talk about what an abject failure my life is right now?
Rowdy: Sure. But, as I tell the kids in my after-school class: Just because shit is hard doesn’t mean you failed.
Me: OMG. Rowdy the Philosopher is even more annoying than Rowdy the Loved Up Fool.
Rowdy: Whatever. Just remember to bring the ice.
Me: Fuck ice. I’ll bring the tequila.
Rowdy: This is a fourteen-year-old’s birthday party, babes.
Me: Fine. I’ll be an adult.
Rowdy:
