He Showed Me the Joy of Writing

My first sugar daddy was so old school. I mean, he was from an entirely different generation (there was a 40-year age gap between us), so it’s no surprise that we weren’t on the same wavelength at first. We would argue about how my generation was soft and didn’t know how to take care of ourselves. He would insult me about how much I babied my hairless cat (and the fact that I had a hairless cat to begin with).

But old school men also tend to be old school romantics. And, my first sugar daddy was the most gentlemanly partner I ever had. It went beyond opening the door for me and asking me what I wanted off the menu so that he could order for me. He would give me books of love poems with his favorite pieces earmarked. If he happened to pass through my neighborhood, he would have his driver swing by my house just so that he could leave a note in the mailbox or a bouquet of flowers on the doorstep.

Eventually, my elderly sugar daddy aged out of wanting to have a companion like me. He was moving into a permanent care facility and made it very clear that he didn’t want me to see him in that last phase of his life. I pushed back, at first, on ending our relationship. I told him that I wouldn’t mind making the trip out to his facility. But he was firm and said that he would appreciate the occasional letter or postcard if I could find the time.

In all honesty, letter-writing felt like homework, and it’s not like I was getting an allowance anymore. But I did it anyway, because I knew that it would be a comfort to him, and I felt like it was the right thing to do. Eventually, I got an email from his niece that he had passed, and I packed away my paper, envelopes, and stamps.

When the relationship with him ended, I thought about what kind of sugar daddy I would want in my life. I liked the chivalry of my first sugar daddy, and I wanted someone who would be consistent and dependable. And while I didn’t want to necessarily fall in love with someone, I did want there to be at least some emotional connection.

I cycled through a lot of possible partners over the next few months. I had a part-time job, which is great looking back, because it meant that I wasn’t desperate to find someone. And I felt like I was having at least an easier time than my girlfriends who were romantically dating. While they felt devastated every time a new fling didn’t work out, it’s not so much of an ego hit when you don’t click with a potential sugar daddy.

Eventually, I had my first date with Ben, and within fifteen minutes, I knew that we were a good fit. He was charming but not a womanizer. He was funny without needing to be the center of attention.

Ben was a programmer, but he didn’t give off a tech bro vibe at all. In fact, I would have guessed that he was a college professor by the look of him. When I told him that, he laughed.

“It’s funny you say that because I was a professor in computer science. Then, I guess I sold out. I took a job in tech and hung up my teaching hat.”

Financially, it was an excellent move. Ben started to make twice what he did as a professor, and within a couple of years, three times as much. And he was able to keep his former school year schedule: four and a half months of work, a two-week break, four and a half months of work, and then two months off.

When he told me that, I instantly started fantasizing about long trips overseas or in a bungalow on the coast. But Ben dashed my hopes quickly.

“I use those six weeks to practice disconnection.”

Hmm, I thought. That sounded like a cover-up for a man who likes to spend two months with another girl in another area code. I asked him to elaborate.

“My family left me a cabin in the woods about three hours from here. At the start of my six-week break, I canceled all my subscriptions: cell data, internet, and streaming services. And I go up to the mountains with books and some VHS tapes and cassettes. And my French horn. I know it sounds like I’m either some crazy hippy or a total liar. But I’ve been doing it for the last, oh, ten years or so, I would guess. And I love it. It’s the best part of my year.”

I asked him how he had navigated a sugar relationship in those conditions before, and he told me that usually, he offered his partners half of their allowance during the time that he was gone. This was just kind of a placeholder amount to make sure that they didn’t replace him with someone else. It was an intriguing idea: half of an allowance for no responsibilities.

“Has anyone ever missed you while you were gone? Is there any way to get in touch with you?”

I hoped this didn’t come off as needy. But I wasn’t used to a partner just disappearing for eight weeks at a time.

He hesitated. “I’ll have access to a landline, for emergencies, but I don’t share that number with anyone other than my emergency contact. But yes, in the past, partners have found it difficult to be disconnected for that long. In those circumstances, I always encouraged them to write. Then, we could share what we had written to each other when we saw each other again.

I narrowed my eyes in playful suspicion, “You’re a heartbreaker, aren’t you?”

I met Ben when he was at the start of his five-month work block, so we were able to see each other about once a week, sometimes once every two weeks. Sometimes we went to the movies, or to see a play, or to an art museum. He was definitely the most cultured and artsy guy I had ever dated. And while that was a bit uncomfortable at first, it was also inspiring and eye-opening. I found that I started using my notes app as a diary. I bought myself a cheap notebook to start jotting down ideas. My friends noticed that I was more philosophical than I ever had been before.

It’s probably no surprise, but I was falling for Ben. Of course I was. He could be a little bit pedantic (see, that’s a new word I learned during our time together, it means like a little bit of a show-off.) But mostly he was just sweet and kind and generous.

As three months turned into four months, it started to sink in that he would be leaving soon. And then, as four months turned into four months and three weeks, I found myself really agonizing over his impending departure.

I tried to ask whether it would be okay for me to check in every week or a couple of days, just to make sure he was okay. And Ben was, for the first time, cold towards me with his response.

“This break is something that I take very seriously. If there’s an emergency, you’ll hear about it from my sister. And I can give you her number in case you really need to get a message through. But other than that, no. I don’t want to have contact.”

I was sullen for the last few days that we had together. I couldn’t help it.

The first week of not hearing from Ben was, and I know it sounds dramatic, excruciating. A therapist would probably say something about me not being upset about Ben, the person, as much as I was about not being able to access him.

As Ben recommended, I started to write about what I was feeling. And the first few entries were really petty and negative towards him. I called him selfish. I said that he was probably lying. I told him it was unreasonable to think that I would wait around for him.

And then a couple of days went by, and then a couple of weeks. I kept writing, and my writing changed, and it got easier to think about other things, and I wasn’t mad anymore. I took notes of things that reminded me of Ben or that I wanted to tell him about when I saw him again.

At the end of the two months, I had filled an entire notebook. About 30% of it was letters to Ben, but the other 70% was for me. I was astounded.

“Am I really the same person who saw writing as a chore?” Yep! This was the new me.

When Ben came back, he also looked like a new version of himself. He was stronger (“from chopping wood,” he joked), and his hair had grown out. He looked calm and happy. But even with the changes, we fell right back into step with one another. It was as if he hadn’t left at all. We read select passages from our respective notebooks to one another, and I was surprised and flattered to hear that Ben had also missed me, I would even say, deeply.

Moving forward, our emotional connection was a lot stronger, and our relationship started to morph into a sugar and romantic hybrid.

A year later, when it came time for Ben to leave again, I was ready and even looking forward to it. It would be easier this time, as I had also organized a trip of my own. I was going to the coast with nothing more than my cat and a laptop that I would use to write my first novel.