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After several dates over four months, I vowed never to see him again. The first was a wonderful Malaysian divorcé who visited London four times a year and wanted a travel companion.
We became so close that after six months, our cash arrangement felt inappropriate and we stopped seeing each other. Then there was an unhappily married alcoholic banker from New York who, on orders of his therapist, had given up drink on home soil, but when abroad allowed himself the luxury of intravenous Martinis. For him, I was his drinking buddy in a feminine form, and that’s what he paid me for. I kept what I was doing from my family, and of the carefully selected friends I told, most didn’t approve.
I was in my late twenties, a television producer, and fresh out of a suffocating three-year relationship with a man who drained both my time and my finances when I signed up. Instead, I fantasised about someone older, more sophisticated, more established.
And, if I’m being honest, someone with some money, too.
But after three years on these dating sites, I stopped.
I realised that my motivations had slowly shifted to monetary gain.
At first I was horrified, and deleted such messages which filled my inbox. But then I learnt that one of my dates – a handsome 45-year-old energy trader – paid all the other girls he went out with for the evening.
I joined two of them and for the first few months was like a kid in a sweetshop.
Despite our spark, we knew we wouldn’t see each other again: neither of us were looking for anything more than a short but intimate romance.
It took me 18 months of receiving gifts in return for my company before I accepted money – or an “allowance”, as it is known on the sugar daddy sites.
The thrill of a date with an older, wiser, higher-flying executive had faded.
The allowances and gifts, which were once a happy bonus of my adventures, had become my main motivation.