We have a new writer, and we are also bringing back SB Sundays, where we have an ex or current sugar baby/sponsorette channel their experiences and thoughts with us. Every weekend it will be a different topic. Feel free to comment below asking any questions, tips, or advise.
“How I became and sponsorette, and what I think of it now”
I grew up in a small, rural town in western Oklahoma, where most girls grow up to be mothers and secretaries, baggers at Wal-Mart, pill heads, maybe a teacher or nurse, if they’re lucky enough to go to college. Growing up, I harbored a great deal of angst towards this system and the lack of resources available to the women I knew. I was determined to not fall in to this cycle of poverty and unfulfilling careers, food stamps and custody battles. I was not content with marrying a farmer or getting knocked up by the sweet talking local meth dealer. I needed to get out. Being the delusional and naive teenager that I was, “getting out” came in the form of a strip club called The Red Dog, a seedy, local haunt located in Oklahoma City. I had just turned 18. I was young, hot and ready to make money, mostly so that I could get out of Oklahoma. I idolized the video vixens, models and porn stars I saw on the internet, as well as the OG strippers at The Red Dog. These women slinked around the club with purpose, grotesquely large breast implants bouncing perfectly in tune to the sound of their long painted fingernails counting dollar bills. Not one of these women ever seemed particularly happy, but they did appear to be rich and independent. I was still young and naïve enough to associate money and material items with happiness. As I’ve gotten older, I am continuously reminded that the two are not as connected as I originally thought.
Working at The Red Dog, I learned skills that will probably be ingrained in me for the rest of my life. Like how much men enjoy being told that they’re handsome, for instance. I learned to identify insecure men pretty quickly and, very much like a predator, sought out the insecure ones, knowing that they would pay me simply to lie to them, to tell them that they’re handsome and smart and wonderful. I also learned that you can make more money by giving hand jobs in the VIP section and that it’s smart to tip the manger on duty well because he’ll look the other way when you’re giving these hand jobs.
Five years later, and I’ve graduated from stripping, a move most young women in this industry eventually make. Ever seen a sponsorette post, “there are levels to this shit”, in regards to her “hustle”? Here’s a brief break down of those levels:
- Sugar baby to some creep met at the strip club
- “Companion” (prostitute) to alleged creep met at strip club
- Companion to multiple men met at strip club
- Quits stripping- full time escort (usually works on backpage/escort agency/pimp)
- Upscale escort
- Part time sugar baby/escort/”model”
During the years that I was a stripper, like a lot of girls, I picked up a pretty hefty drug habit. When I was 22 I made the decision to move to Houston, Texas, get my shit together, get clean and quit sex work forever. I had tried to repress the memories I had of stripping best I could but found that the consequences of these experiences would seep through the cracks of my memory and in to my life in ways I hadn’t ever expected. Relationships were (and are) hard, for instance. When it came to men, I was completely detached and resentful, comparing every dude who tried to be in a relationship with me to the men I knew from the club. With women I was distrusting and uninterested, as I didn’t see anything they could offer me. It was, and is, difficult to connect with people in general .For a lot of young girls who may have had their hearts broken or been hurt by men (or women) in their past, this sort of outlook may seem desirable. Rarely, “catching feelings” or becoming truly invested or vulnerable with another person seems safer, right? Not exactly. This sort of thinking may work in certain situations (like hoeing, for instance), but it’s mostly just lonely and depressing. I’ve learned that in order to live any sort of a fulfilling, purposeful life, connecting with other humans on a level that isn’t shallow or motivated by money, is crucial. I would not suggest to anyone to adapt the “fuck friends” philosophy. It doesn’t get you where you think it will.
Ultimately, I made it about a year before the lure of sex work began to creep back in to my life. Houston is a flashy place, where money cars and clothes dominate the culture and identity of many of its residents. I enviously observed other young women I saw who, unlike me, were able to afford Audis and Louboutins, designer bags and plastic surgery. It wasn’t long before I met a girl who had also been a stripper while using and wanted to get back in to it. We constructed a concrete plan to keep each other sober and went for an audition. Within a few weeks, I had quit my coffee shop job and was stripping 5 nights a week. Not long after, I met my first John.
He as a middle aged, married music producer with a small dick and bad breath. His name was Ralph and I still physically cringe every time I think about him. He paticuraly liked my friend and one night after an hour long lap dance session at the club, asked her if she would ever consider coming to his home for a “more private setting”. She said yes, but only if I could come too. A few days later and we nervously drove to a hotel to meet him, not knowing what to expect. That night, we danced for Ralph and lounged around in his hotel room. He bought us gifts on Amazon that would be sent to our homes and payed us each $500. We were there all of two hours. We left elated and joyous, high on the adrenaline of easy money. I had arrived.
Flash forward 2 months and this girl and I no longer work in the strip club. Instead, we solicited all of our best customers to our “private dance parties”. With Ralph, the question of sex eventually came up and in desperation to continue this relationship, we both relented. I’ll never forget the first time I had sex for cash. It was torturous and thrilling, all at the same time. Despite the discomfort however, sex became the norm with my customers. Some days I actually preferred it, as it was quicker and more efficient than actually having to talk with or pretend to like them.
Since this first experience, I have yet to get a normal job. Sex work, in whatever form, is truly addicting. Besides the money, the feelings you develop about yourself in the process make it difficult to believe you’re worthy of working a job you’re actually interested in or passionate about. Since then, I’ve worked for escort agencies, but I never last very long. I prefer to work for myself, having found that most of these agencies function as glorified pimps, exploiting and capitalizing on the girls they employ. I always felt as if I’d rather die than be pimped out, by anyone. Pimping however, can come in a lot of different forms. In many ways, I’ve really just been a pimp to my own soul.
Of all the things I’ve learned in my work, the concept that “nothing is ever free” has been the most important. I see lots of young girls who become disillusioned to this idea that if they remain an escort one day they’ll meet some imaginary rich older man who will demand nothing more of them than to be pretty and act sweetly. In return, they believe they’ll receive more money than they’ll ever need and can finally “stunt on their haters”, or whatever. This is bullshit. There is a price on everything. I used to believe that I made money just by being pretty. It wasn’t until years later that I learned there was an actual exchange happening in this process. The exchange in this case, was my own spiritual, emotional and mental wellbeing.Before you consider entering this industry ask yourself, “is there a price to be put on my soul”? In many ways, I wish I had.
Today, I try to approach my work as an actual job, or service, not some “get rich quick” scheme. I’m still sober, and in school full time. I try to be good to people, in and out of my job. Luckily, I have a sponsor in AA who I am totally honest with. Having to tell her things like, “I sucked on a strangers balls today… but he payed me $800!” isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. Having a confidant is extremely important. Really, writing this is helpful for me. I don’t want to be fucking ashamed anymore, and I’ve learned that being shameful about who I am and what I’ve done is more detrimental than telling the truth. Also, I want to expose the reality of the “sponsorette lifestyle”, so that young girls who become consumed by it can understand what’s really going on. It isn’t something to be glorified. Fighting for your life, for your dreams, and for your soul is. These people (trollops, sponsorettes, IG models, etc) are selling dreams based off lies. The truth, is that they afford the things they flash on the internet because they sell pussy. That’s it.
Anyways, if anyone has any questions, I’d be happy to answer them. My work is both comical and horrific, but always entertaining. I’d also appreciate feedback and am open to hearing what other people think about this industry or “hustle”. Until then, be well, and thanks for letting me share.
Thanks for taking the time to write. Rare to read the reality of sex work from the eyes of a worker as usually it’s clouded with delusion. Thanks again.