Helen Croydon - Sugar Daddy Diaries: When a Fantasy Became an Obsession

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SUGAR DADDY DIARIES

When a Fantasy Became an Obsession

Helen Croydon

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licenced or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN: 9781845968564

Version 1.0

www.mainstreampublishing.com

Copyright Helen Croydon, 2011

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by

MAINSTREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY

(EDINBURGH) LTD

7 Albany Street

Edinburgh EH1 3UG

ISBN 9781845967666

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any other means without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. In some cases, names of people, profile names, places, dates, sequences or the detail of events have been changed to protect the privacy of others and for artistic reasons. The author has stated to the publishers that, except in such respects, the contents of this book are true.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

About the Author

Helen Croydon is a freelance print and broadcast journalist who specialises in investigative reports and features on sex, the sex industry, dating and relationships. She has written for various publications, including The Times, the Sunday Times, The Guardian, The Independent, the Daily Mail, Company magazine and The Erotic Review. She has produced and presented programmes for various broadcasters, including ITN, Channel 4 and Current TV.

Chapter 1

My Nervous Start

Early May 2007

My phone vibrated in my clenched hand. There was a text: Get the lift straight to the 42nd floor. Booked under Garrison. In blue suit.

I have to give his name? I thought. Is that the protocol in these posh places? I was walking or hurrying, more likely, knowing me along Old Broad Street from Liverpool Street Tube station, heading towards Vertigo 42, a decadent champagne bar on the 42nd floor of a tower building in Londons financial district. I was on my way to meet Date One. I could feel my heart beating fast. This was my first-ever Internet date my first blind date, actually and the first time I had ever taken an active step towards living out a fantasy. My fantasy. Of dating an older man an experienced, seasoned real man, someone of a higher calibre than the men I came across in normal life.

I had texted my lodger or friend, as she understandably preferred to be called before I left. I told her I had written down my dates website profile name, his real name (or at least the one hed given me), his phone number and the name of the bar where we were meeting in a notebook on the coffee table. That book became a fixture in which I wrote all my dates details. My lodger said that some nights she would come home and flick it open to see if I was going to be in or out that night.

I forced myself to walk on, conscious of the click-clacking of my tall, slender heels on the tarmac such a salacious sound! How have I ended up on this expedition? I thought. A well-brought-up girl from a happy family with a good job what was I doing, going to meet a man who had put himself on a website with such an unsavoury name as Sugardaddie.com? I suddenly wished I was on my way to meet a girlfriend for a bottle of wine. I could sit down, relax, put the world to rights over too much Chardonnay and giggle about boys. That was the form my nights out usually took, and right then I wanted very much to be in that comfort zone.

I had to pass through what looked like an office reception to get up to Vertigo 42. A glamorous female receptionist who looked more like an air stewardess checked the booking for Garrison before she let me through the barriers and directed me to the lift. I hit the only button, marked 42, and my ears popped as the lift blasted upwards. The doors opened and I was greeted by a backdrop of sound that would become familiar to me: the soft murmur of low voices mixed with piano music and distant clinking of cutlery and glasses.

Can I take your coat, madam? asked an unnaturally upright waiter in black tie.

Thank you. I took off my cream Topshop mac. I was dressed in a brown and cream dress nice but definitely not expensive with a chunky belt. The dress showed the perfect peep of cleavage. And I was wearing heels, of course, though they were a bit worn and shabby if you got up close.

What is the name of your party, madam?

The waiter led me to my first date a 45-year-old property lawyer saving me the task of having to recognise a stranger from the one picture he had sent. As with all the men I went on to meet, he didnt look at all how Id expected him to in the flesh. Several times during the evening, he tilted his head in a certain way that recaptured the angle of the pose in his photo, so I knew the picture had been real. But the general, overall look of a person, I found, can never be captured in one snapshot.

Not exactly Richard Gere or Pierce Brosnan, I thought, but definitely not unattractive.

We greeted each other with a polite peck on both cheeks.

Sorry, have I kept you waiting long?

That day I had been off the newsroom rota, which meant the only things I had to do were go to the gym and get ready for my date. But I was still late. No matter how hard I train it, my brain refuses to accept that time is inflexible. I always try to squeeze 30 minutes into 25. (If I could change one thing about myself, it would be not to be always in a mad rush wondering why on earth I didnt get time to do all the things I planned to do.)

Not at all, Date One replied. What do you do?

Im a journalist, I answered innocently.

Youre not doing an undercover sting on the site, are you?

I was surprised at his joke because back then I didnt do that type of expos at all. There was little scope for exclusives in the area of broadcast journalism I worked in, and, unlike in print journalism, you needed a camera and a crew to get a story. I had told him my true profession because I was eager to give a respectable impression of who I was. I wanted to allay any fears that I was some drifting wannabe bimbo looking for a rich man. But, of course, my level of intellect was of no interest to him. He was far more concerned about protecting himself. We were both so paranoid about our little Internet secret that we were paying more attention to ourselves than each other.

We were sitting side by side on comfortable swivel chairs aligned in front of full-length windows, which lined the entire perimeter of the circular bar, looking out onto the most spectacular dusky view of central London.

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