#bats my long long beautiful amazing eyelashes at you stares at you with my epic brown eyes

[cowboycatss]

i need to draw those emo critters .... like and subscribe if i should draw those emo critters .again

[parisianartistic]

title: delicate

about: A skill learned by @breebytes during their first conversation, Sébastien post anonymously through VPN to a school form in the spirit of this week’s carnival. 

when: 09 April 2020

tagging: n/a

warnings: age gap relationship, sugar baby, sex worker

A man wears his income on his wrist. I noticed him when he walked into my work. He wore what seemed simple; A button down shirt, clean pressed trousers, and the Rolex Yacht Master II. It made him look so young and fresh. Looking at him, he was obviously successful. A lot of people like that walked in to grab a bite to eat. 

It was just past midnight. Nobody was around, hell I was wondering what he was doing there so late. So I stayed and spoke to him. Almost instantly, we had a go at it. Together we discovered topics from the old Epic poem of Beowulf to the beautiful modern architecture. He didn’t just speak to deep thought and hobbies, he was speaking my language. Not physically a different language, but something that matched me for once. For the first time in a long time, I felt comfortable. I thanked him when he left and when I discovered the heavy bill he left behind. 

I didn’t think I’d get another opportunity to see him again or have the same conversation. I was proven wrong on my next shift. And he continued to come back every night for the next week. Finally, he asked me to come out with him. It wasn’t the tips that enticed me, but more curiosity if anything. Why would somebody older than my mother want to take me out?

Comparing myself to others, I’d like to think of myself as intuitive. However, the watch thing? I was just discovering that little fact. As I followed the trail of breadcrumbs to his car, you can imagine my surprise to the slick black exterior of the brand new Cadillac Escalade (and he wasn’t even showing off). I felt like a fool. I sat at the edge of the seat. I remember his dark hand placing itself on my knee and pulling back so that I was flush against the comfortable plush leather. 

An hour later, we rolled into the finest district in this classless boring town. It was a different world. Just by walking in the door, I was blown away by the culture and exuberance. The tables were all dressed with silk cloth while the chairs all looked handcrafted from a world renowned captendar. I felt like my five year old jeans and my old hand me down leather jacket was going to get me kicked out. The further and further we traveled into this place, I noticed booths along the wall, sectioned off by luscious red currants with low candle lighting. My heart almost burst out of my body when we finally came to one of them. I cringe at myself, imaging what kind of dumb I looked like just staring as he took his seat. From the outside looking in, you could feel the awkward when the host held out her hand to direct me into the other side of the booth.

At sixteen, I physically outgrew my little twin bed (to my horror, I kept growing all the way to 18). But sitting in that booth, I felt like some little child. Then I made the confession. I couldn’t afford that place. I didn’t even look at the menu. I just wanted to leave. I thought he wanted to go to some disgusting dive bar downtown and I was there for the ride.

To further my embarrassment, he says: I wouldn’t expect somebody who works in that place to be able too. 

I remember the feeling of my jaw clenching as he chuckled. I looked down at the menu. My eyes were drawn to the prices. Earlier that week was the first time I had even held more than 500 dollars in my hand. I would’ve spent half of that on one glass of wine here. He makes a suggestion to something on the menu. I flip to it. Everything I read was something out of some prince fantasy I dreamed up whenever I was a teenager, wishing for my own room and a wardrobe that didn’t look like it belonged to my grandfather. 

Aside from my nervous ticks, the dinner was amazing. It was unlike anything I’ve ever had in my life. We had the most delectable wine, the kind that I wish I had the riches to own a cellar full of. The food was nothing like I’ve ever tasted. My mother is a fantastic cook, but damn, I could eat that all the time. When he offered to take me out again and I didn’t refuse. Afterward, he turned out his jacket and pulled out two pieces of paper. Tickets to Manhattan, New York. Somewhere I’ve always dreamed of going. When he mentioned his business, I told him I’d always wanted to see it. 

This was the beginning; this was seven months ago. I don’t love him. Maybe I’m his friend. Nobody is stupid enough to say that if there wasn’t money, I wouldn’t come back. He knows too. And we’ve worked it out. Anything I needed and wanted would be mine and all I had to do was bat my eyelashes and ask. I call it a mutual benefit. 

Call me what you want- Sugar baby, gold digger, sex worker. I’ve read enough forms online to know what people might think about me. I know that even the premise of this is illegal in several countries, even with the absence of sex. I’ve never had much in my life and now I have everything. I can’t imagine my life without it now. 

Confession: Regardless of possible loss (respect or even potential lovers), I can’t get enough of it.